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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: The Land of Afternoon - A Satire - -Author: Gilbert Knox - -Release Date: June 18, 2021 [eBook #65560] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Al Haines, Mark Akrigg, Jen Haines & the online Distributed - Proofreaders Canada team at https://www.pgdpcanada.net - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAND OF AFTERNOON *** - - - - - - - [Cover Illustration] - - - - - _The Land of_ - _Afternoon_ - - A SATIRE - - BY - - _Gilbert Knox_ - - OTTAWA - THE GRAPHIC PUBLISHERS - - - - - _Copyright, 1924_ - _By Gilbert Knox_ - PRINTED IN THE DOMINION OF CANADA - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED - - - - - _The Land of Afternoon_ - _By_ GILBERT KNOX - - PART ONE ...................................THEY CAME. - PART TWO ....................................THEY SAW. - PART THREE ..............................THEY CONQUERED. - - - - - “Courage,” he said, and pointed to the land. - “This mounting wave will roll us shoreward soon,” - In the afternoon they came unto a land - In which it seemed always afternoon. - —_The Lotus Eaters_ - - - - - _Foreword_ - - -However this novel may be classified by readers or librarians, it is -frankly intended to be a satire upon some phases of social and political -life in Canada. Satire is properly a criticism of human folly or -unworthiness in a class or in the mass, and the exact limning of people -in real life is no part of its metier. When it makes such an attempt, it -ceases to be satire and tends to become biography seasoned with -defamation—a sad misuse of what is broadly regarded as a medium for the -regeneration of society. - - * * * * * - -But however satire is regarded in the abstract by his readers, the -author desires it to be clearly understood that all the characters upon -his stage are purely imaginary. While he thought it necessary to occupy -himself with some unpleasant minor types, on the other hand, he felt an -optimistic joy in the creation of his protagonist. He feels that -“Raymond Dilling” is no false start with the practical ethics of -Superman. On the contrary, he believes that there are many men with whom -we mingle in every-day contact, who, if put to the test, would react -with a moral firmness and fineness quite measurable with “Dilling’s” -conduct. - - - - - First Imprint, October, 1925 - Second Imprint, December, 1925 - - - - - THE - LAND OF AFTERNOON - - - - - THEY CAME - - - CHAPTER 1. - -Byward Market had been freshened during the night by a heavy fall of -powdery snow, that knew no peace from a bitter wind which drove it, in -stinging clouds, up and down the street. The thermometer had made its -record drop of the season. - -Marjorie Dilling stood on the outskirts of a tight-packed group and -shivered. The strangeness of the scene struck her afresh; the sense of -loneliness was almost overpowering. She simply could not bring herself -to push and jostle as the other women did—and a few men, -too!—consequently she was always thrust away from the curb and -prevented from seeing what lay beneath the furs and blankets and odd -bits of cloth in the carts. Only now and again could she catch a glimpse -of a tower of frozen beef, or rigid hogs which were trundled by their -hind legs through the thronged streets, in a manner strongly suggestive -of a wheelbarrow. Or, as the crowds broke and parted, she could -occasionally see a stiff fringe of poultry and rabbits strung across the -ends of the wagons. Eggs, butter, vegetables and cream were well -covered, and spared in so far as possible, the rigours of the morning. - -Byward was an open market which attracted farmers from districts as -remote as the Upper Gatineau—across the river, in the Province of -Quebec. Behind the line of carts or sleighs—automobiles, now!—there -ran a row of nondescript buildings that rarely claimed the attention of -the marketers; a confusion of second-hand stores, an occasional produce -shop, and third-rate public houses, whose broad windows revealed a -cluster of dilapidated chairs flanked by battered _crachoirs_, which had -seen many years of unspeakable service. Behind these, a narrow passage -led to the abode of spirits, of the kind latterly and peculiarly called -departed. Here, the farmers gathered for warmth in winter and coolness -in summer, and to slake—or intensify—their thirst in either season, -while their women-folk remained in discomfort outside, and attended to -the practical issues of the day. - -The sigh that fluttered from Marjorie’s lips took form like a ghostly -balloon and floated away on the frosty air. Her basket was light and her -spirits were heavy. She found it incredibly difficult to shop in the -Ottawa market. She simply dreaded Saturday mornings. - -At the corner, where the wind whipped down the street and few people -cared to linger, she found herself standing before an ancient crone, who -sat amid an assortment of roughly-cured hides, and under a huge, -weather-stained umbrella. At her feet lay a rusty pail overflowing with -a curious mass that looked like bloated sausages in the last stages of -decay. - -“What—what is that?” asked Marjorie, in her soft timid voice. - -The old woman made unintelligible sounds from between toothless gums. - -“I beg your pardon?” - -“I tol’ you, it is _sang pouding_. ’Ow much you want?” - -“I don’t want any, thank you,” answered Marjorie. “I was looking for -some sweetbreads. Have you any?” - -“Sweet _bread_?” echoed the ancient, grumpily. “Well, why you don’ look -on de store, hein? W’at you t’ink I am—de baker’s cart?” - -Although unaware of the complexities of the French tongue and the French -character, Marjorie perceived a rebuff in the old woman’s words. She -apologised hastily and moved away. What, she kept asking herself, could -she substitute for sweetbreads? Chickens were expensive and eggs, a -fabulous price. Nobody in Ottawa seemed to keep hens . . . - -“Have _you_ any sweetbreads?” - -She began to feel a little hysterical. It _was_ a funny question! No -wonder the old woman answered her crossly. Have you any sweetbreads? -_How_ many times had she asked it? She thought of the game the children -played—_Black sheep, black sheep, have you any wool?_ And what on earth -should she get in place of sweetbreads? Raymond was so difficult about -his food. He had such a tiny and pernickety appetite . . . - -By wriggling, she gained the curb before another cart. - -“Have _you_ any sweetbreads?” - -No one paid her the slightest heed. The centre of the stage was held by -a tall, spare woman with a stridulous voice. Marjorie knew her slightly. -Two weeks ago she had called—not as people called at home, in Pinto -Plains—but sternly and coldly, neither giving nor receiving pleasure by -the visit, save when she had laid three bits of pasteboard on the corner -of the table and left the house. Mrs. Pratt was the wife of a cheerfully -ineffectual professional man with political aspirations, and she felt -her position keenly. So did Marjorie; and she backed away while -summoning her courage to speak. - -“A dollar and a half?” Mrs. Pratt was saying. “Outrageous! I can’t think -what you people are coming to! I’ll give you a dollar and a quarter, and -not one penny more.” She indicated a pair of frozen chickens, each with -a large mauve face, that lay exposed on an old red blanket. - -“Can’t do it, lady,” said the farmer, with chattering teeth, “it cost me -mor’n that to feed them this three year,” and he winked heavily at the -surrounding circle. - -“Oh, they’re fowl! Well then, of course, they’re not worth that much! -There’s a woman across the road,”—Mrs. Pratt swept her muff vaguely -towards the horizon and unconsciously disarranged Marjorie’s hat,—“who -is selling her fowl for eighty cents!” - -“_I’ll_ take them,” cried a woman at this juncture. “It’s too cold to -haggle over a few cents. Giv’um to me!” She thrust a dollar and a half -into the man’s hand, seized the chickens and started off. - -“Those are mine!” called Mrs. Pratt, in a tone that rivalled the -sharpness of the atmosphere. - -“You take the others at eighty cents,” returned the woman, amid a ripple -of laughter. - -“Impertinence!” snapped Mrs. Pratt, as she turned away. - -Marjorie drifted on, her basket still empty. These awful Saturday -mornings! They seemed to accentuate her loneliness. Of course, the cold -discouraged long conversations and the exchange of tittle-tattle that -makes shopping, to some people, so delightful, but she was aware of the -greetings that passed between women as they met—a tip, perhaps, as to -some bargain, or a brief reference to some impending social -function—and she would have been grateful for even the smallest sign of -friendly recognition. Frequently, she saw people who had called upon -her, but evidently she had made too little impression to be remembered. -How different from Pinto Plains, where everybody knew her and cordiality -was mutual! - -She noticed that many of the ladies who came into church richly dressed -on Sundays, wore the most dreadfully shabby clothes at market, but it -was not until long afterwards, she understood that this was part of a -scheme for economy—for beating the farmers at their own game. They -disguised themselves that they might give no hint as to the fatness of -their bank account, thus implying that well-to-do shoppers were asked a -higher price than those of obviously modest means. These same -shabbily-clad ladies never seemed to buy very much, and Marjorie often -wondered how it was worth their while to spend the morning with so -little result. In those days, she didn’t realise that they had left -their motors round the corner, and that their parcels were transferred, -two or three at a time, to a liveried chauffeur who sat in a heated car -and read stimulating items from the _Eye-Opener_. - -Others, she learned, dragged overflowing baskets into one of the “Market -Stores,” whose prices were known to be a few cents in excess of those -demanded by the owners of the carts. Here, they made an insignificant -purchase, thereby placing the onus of free delivery on the shoulders of -the management. The degree to which this practice was employed varied -with the temperament of the shopper. Those of a less sensitive nature, -felt no hesitation in asking Lavalee, the aristocratic Purveyor of Sea -Food and Game, to send home six dollars’ worth of marketing with a pound -of smelts. Likewise, Smithson suffered the exigencies of trade, not only -delivering the type of foodstuffs that he didn’t keep, but every week of -the year he was asked to send home the very things that were purchasable -in his own store and which had been bought for a few cents less, half a -block away. Seeing the baskets of produce that were piled high on the -sidewalk every Saturday morning, Marjorie wondered how it was worth -while for him to carry on his business or maintain his livery, at all! - -Having made a few purchases, she set off down Mosgrove Street for the -tram as fast as her burden would permit, when she came for the second -time upon Mrs. Pratt, still searching for a bargain in chickens. - -“One seventy-five?” she was saying. “Sheer piracy! I refused a much -better pair for a dollar fifty!” - -“Call it a dollar fifty, ma’am,” agreed the farmer, between spasms of -coughing. “The wife’ll give me the devil, but I’m ’most dead with cold, -and I wanta go home.” - -Pity for the man, coupled with a touch of innocent curiosity, tempted -Marjorie to linger close at hand and see the end of the transaction. - -“But that’s what I’m telling you,” cried Mrs. Pratt. “They’re not worth -a dollar fifty. They’re miserable things. Half fed . . .” Her eyes -rested upon the owner resentfully, as though emphasising a definite -resemblance between him and his produce. “I’ll give you a dollar and a -quarter and not one penny more!” - -“Oh, lady! I’ve gotta live!” - -Something in the man’s tone told the astute lady that he was weakening, -that he needed the money, that the chickens were hers. She pushed a -dollar and a quarter into his hand, seized her purchase, and disappeared -round the corner, into a waiting limousine. - - * * * * * - -A little later that same morning, Marjorie, finding that the children -were all right in the care of Mrs. Plum, who “charred” her on Saturdays, -went down town to The Ancient Chattellarium. Her errand was simple. She -wished to have a piece of furniture repaired. It had been broken in the -moving, and one of her callers had given her this address. - -The Chattellarium could not, even by the most vulgar, be called a shop. -It was an opulent apartment where elegant furniture was displayed—and -sold—at dignified prices. Marjorie Dilling paused uncertainly on the -threshold, feeling that she must, through error, have strayed into -someone’s residence. - -But she hadn’t! A lady glanced over the rim of a lampshade she was -making, and invited her to enter. - -“Just looking around?” she asked, with the instinct of one who -recognises the difference between a shopper and a buyer. “I’ve got some -rather nice things just unpacked,” and she went on sticking pins into -the dull-rose silk with which she was covering a huge wire frame. - -“Thank you, very much,” answered Marjorie, stealing a timid glance over -her shoulder, “but I haven’t a great deal of time, and I really came to -see—if—if—to ask about getting a piece of furniture repaired. I was -told that I might have it done, here.” - -The young lady took several pins from her mouth and looked up. She was -quite pretty and had a pleasant manner in spite of her way of addressing -most people as though they were her inferiors, and a few very prominent -people as though they were her equals. She talked incessantly, and it -had become her custom to illumine her speech with Glittering -Personalities. - -She discovered Marjorie’s name and that her husband was a -recently-elected Back Bencher from an obscure little Western town, as -well as the nature of the repairs required, so cleverly, that she seemed -to be answering questions instead of asking them, and she was ever so -kind in promising to help. - -“Of course, I _don’t_ do this sort of thing as a rule,” she explained, -“I simply _couldn’t_! My men are dreadfully overworked as it is, and we -are three months behind in our orders. But because I have just recently -repaired a dressing-table for Government House, and repolished a china -cabinet for Lady Elton, at Rockcliffe, I haven’t the conscience to -refuse _you_.” - -Marjorie was rather uncomfortable after this speech. She had no earthly -wish to ask a favour, and felt unduly exalted by “being repaired” in -such impressive company. She tried to make this clear, and urged the -young lady to suggest some much more humble establishment or person. - -“I feel at such a loss,” she explained, “not knowing where to turn -. . .” and then, when Miss Brant had insisted upon helping her out of -the difficulty, she said, “I wouldn’t dare trust it to just anyone, you -know. It’s such a lovely thing! Solid mahogany, a sort of what-not -design, with some of the little compartments enclosed in glass, and -mirrors at the back—and each shelf ending in a decoration like a wee, -little carved steeple. It’s one of the steeple things that is broken, -and one of the glass doors. I told Mr. Dilling,”—the young lady winced -when she spoke of her husband as “Mr. Dilling”—“that it reminded me of -a beautiful doll’s house, and that we would have to collect heaps of -souvenir spoons and things to fill it.” - -“How interesting,” observed the other. - -“And the association counts for so much, you see. The townspeople—our -friends—gave it to us when we left Pinto Plains; a kind of testimonial -it was, in the church. They said such beautiful things, I’ll never -forget it.” Her voice was husky. - -“Charming,” murmured the young lady, wondering how such a pretty woman -could be so plain. - -Marjorie asked to be given some idea of the price, but her enquiry was -waved airily aside. “Oh, don’t bother about that,” she was told. “It -will only be a matter of my workman’s time—” an implication that -translated itself to Mrs. Dilling in the terms of cents, but which to -the young lady resolved itself into about fifteen dollars. - -Marjorie’s thanks were cut short by the entrance of two Arresting -Personalities. - -One of them was Lady Fanshawe, the wife of a retired lumber magnate, and -the other—Mrs. Blaine—assisted her husband to discharge his social -duties as a Minister of the Crown. - -“Well, well,” cried Miss Brant, assuming her other manner, “this _is_ a -surprise! I’m simply _thrilled_! Only yesterday, I was saying to Lady -Elton that I hadn’t seen you since the House opened. I’m _dying_ to tell -you all about my trip in England, and my _dear_, such things as I’ve -brought back! That’s one!” She indicated a red lacquer table. “Isn’t it -a perfect _dream_? And there’s another—no, no—not the mirror, the -table! It was positively and absolutely taken from Bleakshire Castle -where Disraeli used to visit, and there he sat to write some of his -marvellous speeches! Isn’t it _thrilling_?” - -The ladies agreed that she had done very well, and moved about the -apartment under the spur of her constant direction. Marjorie, feeling -that she ought to go, but not knowing whether to slip away unnoticed or -to shake hands and say goodbye, had just decided upon the former course, -when Mrs. Pratt made a flamboyant entrance. - -Seeing the group at the farther end of the room, she bewildered Marjorie -with a nod that was like a rap over the knuckles, and rustled -self-consciously forward. - -“Good morning,” she cried, so graciously that Marjorie could scarcely -recognise her voice. “Cold, isn’t it? I’ve just come from market. It was -simply perishing down there—perishing!” She left an entire syllable out -of this word, pronouncing it as though speaking the name of a famous -American General, then continued, “I’m a perfect martyr when it comes to -marketing! I can’t overcome a sense of duty towards the _fermers_, who -depend on us for encouragement and support; and when all’s said and -done, the only char’ty worth while is the kind that helps people to help -themselves. Don’t you agree with me, Lady Fanshawe?” - -Lady Fanshawe supposed so, and turned to the examination of a Meissen -bowl. Mrs. Blaine caught sight of an old French print on the far wall -and appeared to lose interest in all else. Miss Brant discovered a -blemish of some sort on the red lacquer table and bent anxiously over -it, using the corner of her handkerchief in lieu of a duster. - -No one considered Marjorie at all. Each was engrossed in her part, -playing a little scene in the successful _Comédie Malice_ which has been -running without a break since June 8th, 1866, in the Capital. - -If Mrs. Pratt was conscious of any lack of cordiality in the attitude of -the others, she gave no sign. Hers was an ebullient part. All she had to -do was to gush over the people who snubbed her, and to inveigle them -into her house (making sure that their visits were chronicled in the -Press). Incidentally, she had to provide them with as much as they -wished to drink, and more than they wished to eat, and to acquire the -reputation for liberal spending when and where her extravagance would be -noted and commented upon. - -Lady Fanshawe and Mrs. Blaine were cast in simpler parts. They had -merely to preserve an air of well-bred disdain, merging now and again -into restrained amazement. - -Miss Brant, on the other hand, had a very difficult role to play. -Marjorie scarcely realised how difficult. It devolved upon her to take -advantage of Mrs. Pratt’s effort to impress the others, to sell her the -most expensive and unsaleable articles in the establishment, and, at the -same time, to convey subtly to Lady Fanshawe and Mrs. Blaine, her -contempt for this monied upstart. - -The conversation progressed in this vein: - -Mrs. Pratt.—Now, _do_ help me pick up some odds and ends for my new -home. - -Miss Brant.—Oh, have you moved? - -Mrs. Pratt.—Dear me, yes! Our old house was much too cramped for -entertaining. - -Miss Brant (_Half confidentially to Lady Fanshawe_).—Speaking of -entertaining, shall I see you, by any chance, at the Country Club, -to-morrow? - -Lady Fanshawe (_Distantly_).—I am going to Mrs. Long’s luncheon, if -that is what you mean. - -Miss Brant (_Burbling_).—It’s _exactly_ what I mean! I’m _so thrilled_ -at being asked—humble little me—with all you impressive personages. - - Mrs. Long was the wife of the owner of The Chronicle and it was - suspected that she found the columns—both social and - political—of her husband’s paper a convenient medium for the - maintaining of discipline and the administration of justice. She - was naturally held in very high esteem, and persons of - astuteness made much of her. - - “I never know what’s going on,” she was fond of saying, “for I - can’t endure the sight of a newspaper. It’s so much easier to - blame than to read them,” she said, paraphrasing Dr. Johnson. - - Notwithstanding her professed disinterestedness, however, the - arm of coincidence seemed longer than usual when it was observed - that the recently-distinguished Lady Elton, who had overlooked - her when issuing invitations to a reception in honour of her - husband’s knighthood, appeared on the following day as “Mrs. - Elton”. And, furthermore, that on the day succeeding this, her - letter of protest, which was never intended for other than - editorial eyes, was published under the heading “Regrettable - Error in ignoring a New Tittle!” This was only one of many such - incidents that entertained the subscribers and suggested that - there might be a subtle influence behind the typographical - errors which occurred in the composing room. - -Mrs. Pratt’s voice rolled like a relentless sea over that of the others, -as she announced: “We’ve bought the Tillington place.” - -Miss Brant.—Oh, that charming old house! Tudor, isn’t it? I used to go -there as a child. They had some _wonderful_ things. I recall the -bookcase especially, that stood opposite the bow-window in the library. -Er—er—something like that one, it was. And one knob was off the -drawer—I remember it distinctly. - -Mrs. Pratt (_examining the piece indicated_).—I think I’ll take this -one. - -Miss Brant (_evidently much embarrassed_).—Oh, _really_ now—I didn’t -mean to suggest—this is really _too_ dreadful! I assure you, I was only -reminiscencing. - -Mrs. Pratt.—Well, I’ll take it. It’s much more suitable than my old -one. Do _you_ like it, Lady Fanshawe? - -Lady Fanshawe (_as though not having heard the question_).—Delightful! - -Miss Brant.—Well, you’re awfully good, I’m sure! I’m really ever so -glad you’ve got it. It’s rather a good thing, you know—only, I don’t -want you to think . . . However, if you change your mind after you get -it home, of course, I’ll take it back. I mean, you _may_ find it out of -tune with your old—er—er—your _own_ things. - -Mrs. Pratt.—What would you suggest in the way of a chair, and a table, -perhaps? - -Miss Brant (_tearing herself from a whispered pæon on the subject of -Mrs. Blaine’s hat_).—Well, of course, if you want something good, -that’s rather nice! A little heavy for the modern home, but _the_ thing -for the Tillington library. And there’s rather a decent chair—see, Lady -Fanshawe? Isn’t that cross-stitch adorable?—that harmonises perfectly -with the other two pieces. I don’t deny that it would be a bit stiff for -the tired business man to sit in, but for the person who can _afford_ to -have a well-balanced room . . . - -Mrs. Pratt (_promptly_).—I’ll take the chair! - -Quietly, Marjorie left the room, and as the door closed behind her, Mrs. -Pratt was saying in an attempt at playful graciousness. - -“A hundred and seventy-five? Vurry reasonable! And it’s such a -satisfaction to get the best! I hope, Lady Fanshawe, and you, too, Mrs. -Blaine, that you’ll drop in on Tuesday afternoon for a cuppa-tea, and -tell me how you like my new home!” - - - CHAPTER 2. - -The Dillings had come to Ottawa joyously, eager to accept its invitation -and to become identified with its interests. They were less flattered by -the call than elated by it. Neither of them expected merely to skim the -pleasures offered by life in the Capital; they were acutely alive to -their responsibilities, and were ready to assume them. They hoped to -gain something from the great city, it is true, but equally did they -long to give. Everyone who was privileged to live in Ottawa must, they -imagined, have something of value to contribute to their country, and -the Dillings welcomed the opportunity to serve rather than be served. - -But when Marjorie thought of Pinto Plains, of its gay simplicity and -warm friendliness, the three months that marked her absence from it, -stretched themselves out like years. On the other hand, when she -considered how little progress she had made in adapting herself to the -formal ways of the Capital, they shrunk into so many days; hours, -indeed. So far as happy transplanting was concerned, she might even now -be stepping off the train, a stranger. - -Raymond Dilling, a country schoolmaster still in his thirties, had -strong predilections towards politics, and saw in this move a coveted -opportunity for the furtherance of his ambitions. Yet the idealist who -shared his mortal envelope believed with Spencer: “None can be happy -until all are happy; none can be free until all are free,” and he fought -sternly to crush a budding and dangerous individualism. With a little -less ambition and response to the altruistic urge—public service—he -would have remained a country schoolmaster to the end of his days. As it -was, he heard the evocation of Destiny for higher things, read law as an -avenue to what seemed to him the primrose path of politics, and grasped -the hand of opportunity before it was definitely thrust towards him. He -lived in the West during its most provocative period—provocative, that -is, for a man of imagination—but he never caught the true spirit of the -land, he never felt his soul respond to the lure of its fecundity, its -spaciousness, its poignant beauty. The sun always set for him behind the -grain elevators, and it never occurred to him to lift his eyes to the -eternal hills . . . - -Dilling was scarcely conscious of his soul. Had he been, he would have -set about supplying it with what he conceived to be its requirements. Of -his mind, on the other hand, he was acutely aware, and he fed it freely -on Shakespeare, Milton, and the King James’ Bible, copies of which were -always to be found on the parlour table save between the hours of six -and seven in the morning, when he held them in his abnormally long, thin -hands. By following the example of those two great figures, Daniel -Webster and Rufus Choate, Dilling hoped to acquire a similarly spacious -vocabulary and oratorical persuasiveness. - -He was a bit of a dreamer, too, believing in Party as the expression of -the British theory of Government. He was simply dazed when he heard the -ante-bellum ideas of group government, the talk of Economic Democracy -and the Gospel of the I.W.W., which was merely Prudhon’s epigram—“_La -Propriété c’est vol_,” writ large. - -He had secured nomination for Parliament through the finesse of the Hon. -Godfrey Gough, who recognised his dialectical supremacy over that of any -other man in the West. Gough was the _âme damnée_ of the vested -interests, and so clever was his advocacy that it captivated Dilling -into whole-hearted support of their political stratagems, and made it -easy for him to bring them into alignment with his conscience. But he -did so without hope of pecuniary reward. He was honest. During his -entire career, he held temptation by the throat, as it were, determined -that no selfish advantage or gain should deflect him from unremitting -endeavour for the Nation’s good. No parliamentary success attained, nor -honours received, should be less than a meed for a faithful adherence to -high principles. - -He had never talked much with politicians, but he had been talked to by -them. On these occasions, it was not apparent to him that they were -striving to maintain politics on its lowest plane, rather than to -achieve the ideal commonwealth that is supposed to be the end and aim of -their profession. He read into their speeches and conversations the -doctrine with which he, himself, was impregnated, and the thought of -working side by side with these men, aroused in him an emotion akin to -consecration . . . - -For years Marjorie had pictured Ottawa much as she had pictured -Bagdad—The City of Mystery and a Thousand Delights—a place of gracious -boulevards and noble architecture, where highly intelligent people -occupied themselves with the performance of inspired tasks. And she -thought of it as the Heart of the Great Dominion, as necessary to the -national body as the human heart is essential to the physical body, -transmitting the tide of national life to the very finger-tips of -civilisation. - -And often, down in the secret places of her self, she had even a more -solemn thought—that Ottawa was the Chalice of a Nation’s Hopes, and -that merely to look upon it would produce an effect like that of -entering some Holy Temple. Sin and sadness would disappear, and even the -most degenerate must be led there to spiritual refreshment and -transfiguration. - -Nor did she stand alone; most of her friends were of the same opinion. -They linked themselves to the Capital as closely as they were able, and -informed themselves minutely concerning its activities, by careful study -of the daily press. They read the Parliamentary news first—this was a -sacred duty; they wrote papers on politicians and politics for their -clubs, and spoke with a certain reverent intimacy of the People in the -Public Eye. But most of all they enjoyed the social notes, the -description of the gowns, and the tidbits of gossip that crept into the -columns of their papers! Even the accidents, the obscure births and -deaths that occurred in Ottawa, were invested with a stupendous -importance in their eyes. - -To them, it was The Land of Afternoon. - -And now, as she sat in her tiny drawing-room, denuded of its handsome -what-not, and waiting for possible callers, Marjorie tried to stifle a -sense of depression, a conviction that all was not right with the world. - -She reproached herself for this attitude of mind, trying to remove the -trouble without searching for its origin or cause. The house was very -still. The children were outside, playing. Her thoughts were filled with -Pinto Plains and longing for her friends there. - -She could almost guess what they were doing, especially Genevieve -Woodside, whose turn it would be, to-day, to entertain the Ladies’ -Missionary Circle. A mist filled her eyes, and before she could control -herself, she was sobbing. - -“I’ve just got to put an end to this nonsense,” she scolded herself. -“They’d be ashamed of me, at home. I’m ashamed of myself, big baby! -Whatever would Raymond say? I really am _very happy_. This is a _nice_ -little house, and the people _are_ kind! A person couldn’t expect to -feel perfectly at home, even in Pinto Plains, all at once. They simply -couldn’t—and to think we are really living in Ottawa! Why, it’s too -wonderful to be true!” - -The door-bell rang. - -With a nervous glance at the tea table, covered with the handsome white -cloth embroidered in pink roses and edged with home-made lace that had -been such a work of love for her trousseau, Marjorie went into the tiny -hall and opened the door. - -“Is Mrs. Dilling at home?” asked a frail, little person, in purple -velvet and ermine. - -“I’m Mrs. Dilling, and I’m ever so glad to see you. Won’t you come in, -please?” - -“Lady Denby,” murmured the other, stepping daintily past her. - -Marjorie closed the door, feeling very small and very frightened. This -was the wife of the great Sir Eric Denby, the most perdurable public -figure of our time. The soundest of sound statesmen, he stood, to -Raymond Dilling, just a shade lower than God, Himself. - -And the Dillings were profoundly religious people. - -“Won’t you take off your things?” she asked, timidly, and upon receiving -a refusal, tinctured with a suggestion of reproach, excused herself and -went into the kitchen to make tea. - -When she returned, Lady Denby and Althea were staring unsympathetically -at one another across the table. - -“Why, darling,” Marjorie exclaimed, setting down the teapot, and -forgetting her social obligations in the pride of motherhood, “I didn’t -hear you come in. Dear, dear, what a very untidy little girl, with her -tam all crooked and her ribbon untied! This is Althea, Lady Denby. -You’ve no idea how helpful she can be—Go and shake hands, precious!” - -Althea was obedient on this occasion. She marched round the table and -offered a grimy, wet mitten—the left one—from which the visitor shrank -with a movement of alarm. - -“How do you do?” said Lady Denby, discovering, after an embarrassing -search, a spot upon the shoulder, dry enough, and clean enough, to be -touched by her white-gloved hand. - -“Having a good time, darling?” asked Marjorie, glowing with joy in the -child’s loveliness. “Not playing too rough a game?” - -“Cream, but no sugar,” said Lady Denby, significantly. - -For a few awkward moments, Marjorie gave herself up entirely to the -duties of hostess, then turned again to her daughter. - -“Where is Sylvester, and Baby? Are they all right, my pet?” - -Althea nodded. - -“Baby’s all covered with snow,” she explained. “Besser’s playing she’s a -egg and he’s a hen, and he’s sitting on her!” - -“Oh, mercy!” exclaimed Marjorie. “What a naughty boy! Bring them both -home at once, Althea—he’ll hurt Baby. Quick, now!” - -Althea rushed off, leaving the front door open. Marjorie excused herself -to close it. She was surprised that Lady Denby exhibited neither -amusement nor concern in the family affairs. Indeed, she wondered if -deafness might not account for her curious austerity of manner. Old Mrs. -Kettlewell, at home, was like that, but everybody knew it was because -she couldn’t hear half of what was going on. - -“Do let me give you some more tea,” she urged, her voice slightly -raised. Anxiety distracted her. She scarcely knew what she was doing. -Suppose the baby should be smothered in the snow? Suppose the children -couldn’t dig her out? She felt that she should go to the door, at least, -to make sure that Althea was successful in her mission. But something in -Lady Denby’s manner prevented her. She couldn’t explain it, yet she -simply couldn’t find an excuse to leave the room. - -Her hands fluttered nervously over the table and her eyes haunted the -door. - -“Cream, and no sugar, I think you said, Mrs.—er—er—” - -“_Lady Denby_,” corrected the other, with gentle reproof. - -Apologies. Increased nervousness. Desperate effort at self-control. -Where could they be, those children of hers? Sipping tea like this, when -anything might be happening out there in the snow! It was cruel, cruel! - -“How many children have you?” The calm voice trickled over her -consciousness like a stream of ice-cold water. - -“Three,” she answered, hurriedly. “Althea’s five, and Sylvester’s nearly -four—Besser, we call him, you know—and Baby, her name is really -Eulalie, is two and a half and simply huge for her age. Have you any -children?” - -“No,” said Lady Denby, implying by her tone that the propagation of the -species was, in her opinion, a degraded and vulgar performance. - -Marjorie tried other topics; church work, conundrums, Sir Eric’s health -and gastronomic peculiarities. She offered her favourite recipes, and -patterns for crocheted lace, interrupted, thank Heaven, by the entrance -of the snow-covered children and the consequent confusion that they -caused. - -In her domestic activities she was perfectly at ease, hanging damp -garments on radiators to dry, wiping tear stains from ruddy cheeks, and -even arranging a juvenile tea-party in a corner of the room. - -She chattered happily all the while, never for a moment realising that -in the Upper Social Circles, the last task in the world a woman should -undertake cheerfully is the care of her children; that even allowing -them to stay in the same room and breathe the rarified air with which -the exalted adults have finished, is a confession of eccentricity, if -not _bourgeoisisme_. She had no ideas that there were mothers, outside -of books—or possibly New York—who not only considered their children a -nuisance, but were ashamed to be surprised in any act of maternal -solicitude. - -Had Ottawa been Pinto Plains, and Lady Denby one of her neighbours -there, she would have been helping to change the children’s clothing, -then she would have joined the juvenile tea-party, and later, would have -heard Althea count up to twenty, prompted Baby to recite “Hickory, -Dickory, Dock,” and would have played “Pease Porridge Hot,” with -Sylvester until her palms smarted painfully. - -As it was, Lady Denby did none of these things. She sipped tea and -nibbled toast as though vast distances separated her from the rest of -them, distances that she had no wish to bridge. Marjorie came to the -conclusion that she was not only deaf, but suffering the frailties of -extreme age, her contradictory appearance notwithstanding. In this -kindly way did she account for her guest’s indifference. That her -visitor was a great and powerful lady, Marjorie well knew, but she had -no idea that it was necessary for the great and powerful to assume this -manner, as a means whereby they might display their superiority. -According to her simple philosophy, the more exalted the person, the -readier the graciousness. For what was greatness but goodness, and what -was goodness but love of humanity? Was not Queen Victoria sociability -itself, when she visited the humbler subjects of her Kingdom? - -Other callers came; Mrs. Gullep, whose mission it was to visit newcomers -to the church; Mrs. Haynes, whose husband was also a Member from the -West, and two or three of the neighbours, with whose children Marjorie’s -children played. She had a somewhat confused recollection of the late -afternoon, but certain features of Lady Denby’s conversation recurred -with disturbing vividness. - -She was amazed to learn that opening her own door was, in future, quite -out of the question. If she could not, or would not, engage the -permanent services of a domestic, she must, at least, have someone on -Wednesday afternoons to admit her callers. Furthermore, she must be -relieved—relieved was Lady Denby’s word—of all bother—(also Lady -Denby’s) with the children. - -“They will stand between you and the possibility of making friends of -the right sort,” she warned, a viewpoint which was in direct opposition -to the theory Marjorie had always held. “At least once a week, social -duties demand your undivided attention.” - -Again, without in the least having said so, Lady Denby managed to convey -the fact that she considered Marjorie a very pretty woman, and that it -would be wise, in view of her husband’s position, to make the most of -her good looks. In the Capital, she observed, much weight attached to -one’s appearance, and Marjorie would find herself repaid for dressing a -little more—another interesting word of Lady Denby’s—“definitely”. The -word was puzzling. Marjorie made all her own and the children’s clothes, -her husband’s shirts, his pyjamas and summer underwear, and she was -humbly proud of her accomplishment. She had no doubt as to her ability -to make more “definite” clothes, could she but understand exactly what -Lady Denby meant. There wasn’t anything very striking in a purple velvet -suit, even though it had a collar and cuffs of ermine. Besides, Marjorie -couldn’t wear purple velvet, it was too elderly. - -Her own crepe-de-chine blouse was a definite pink. There could be no -possibility of mistaking it for green or blue. She had embroidered it -profusely in a black poppy design (copied from a pattern in the -needlework section of a fashion magazine) to harmonise with her black -velveteen skirt, the flaps of which were faced with pink crepe-de-chine -to harmonise with the blouse. Feminine Pinto Plains, calling singly and -in groups to inspect her “trousseau,” agreed that it was more than a -costume—it was a creation—and they prophesied that it would dazzle -Ottawa. - -“So rich looking,” they said, “with all that hand-work!” Pinto Plains -set a great deal of store by hand-work. “With your lovely colour, -Marjorie, in that bright pink you’ll be charming!” And yet Lady Denby -thought that she should have more definite clothes! - -Then there was another thing—and on this point Lady Denby spoke with -greater lucidity. - -“I am sure you will find it convenient, my dear,” she had said, in a -whispered colloquy that took place in the hall, “to know some young girl -who would be flattered by your patronage, and gratified to be of service -to you. There are so many things the right sort of person could do—pour -tea, and have a general eye to the arrangements when you receive; give -you valuable hints as to the connections you should, or should not, -form; advise you as to tradesmen, and a dozen other minor matters that -must, for a stranger, be exceedingly confusing. It is quite the thing to -encourage such an association in the Capital, and I might add that it -lends an air of _empressement_ to Members of the Party. One must always -consider the Party, my dear.” - -Lady Denby saw no difficulty in the fact that Marjorie knew of no such -person. “Leave it to me,” she said, with an air of brilliant finality, -“I have just such a girl in mind. Not pretty enough to be attractive, -and too clever to be popular; so her time is pretty much her own. She -would welcome the opportunity, I know, of shining in your reflected -glory. I’ll send her to you. Her name is Azalea Deane. And remember -always, in your associations, to maintain the dignity that is due to -your husband’s position. I would almost go so far as to say that -indiscriminate intimacies should be discouraged; they are so apt to be -embarrassing—in politics, you know . . .” Without exactly forming the -words, her lips seemed to pronounce Mrs. Gullep’s name. “Very estimable -people, I am sure, the very vertebræ of Church Societies, but in a small -_ménage_ like this, my dear, you must not waste your chairs!” - -Marjorie lay awake that night reviewing the events of the day. Some cog -in the well-ordered machinery of her existence had slipped out of place, -and was causing unaccustomed friction. She didn’t know what was the -matter. Neither analytical nor introspective, she never got down to -fundamentals, and the results that showed on the surface were apt to -bewilder her. Consequently, she refused to admit disappointment with her -surroundings, and did not even remotely suspect that she was -experiencing the first, faint stirrings of disillusionment. She was a -little depressed, that she admitted, but the fault was hers; of that she -was thoroughly convinced, not only at the moment but throughout the -months and years that stretched ahead. Always she blamed herself for -failing to attain the state of mental and spiritual growth that would -enable her to fit comfortably into her environment. - -Of course, she couldn’t put all this into words. She never could make -her feelings clear to other people—not even to Raymond. So, when, -somewhat impatient at her restlessness, he asked what was the matter, -she answered, with a little sigh. - -“Oh, nothing, dearie . . . nothing that’s awfully important, I ought to -say. Only—only—I sometimes wonder . . . do _you_ ever feel that -Ottawa’s a difficult place to get acquainted?” - - - CHAPTER 3. - -Dilling adapted himself to his new environment much more readily than -did his wife. He had not anticipated that the House of Commons would be -a glorified Municipal Council such as he had left in Pinto Plains, and -that his associations and activities would be virtually the same save on -a magnificent scale; whereas Marjorie had deluded -herself—subconsciously, it may be—with the thought that Ottawa would -be an idealised prairie town, and that she would live a beatified -extension of her old life, there. Differences in customs, in social and -moral codes, ever remained for her a hopeless enigma, just as Euclid’s -problems evade solution for some people. She never could master them -because she never could understand them. Black was black and white was -white, and neither sunshine nor shadow could convert either into gray. -No leopard ever possessed more changeless spots. - -While, therefore, her husband was joyously engrossed in his work, -finding novelty and stimulation in every smallest detail, remodelling -himself to fit the mantle he had been called upon to adorn, Marjorie was -confronted with unexpected obstacles, bewildered by inexplicable ways, -homesick for familiar standards and people, and groping for something -stable to which she could cling and upon which she could build her -present life. - -Of the nature of Dilling’s work, she had but the sketchiest idea. His -conversation was becoming almost unintelligible to her, try as she would -to follow it. When, in the old days, they sat at the table or drew their -chairs around the fire, and he told her of Jimmy Woodside’s stupidity or -Elvira Mumford’s high average, she could take a vital interest in his -daily pursuits, but now, when he referred to Motions, and Amendments, -and Divisions, she had no idea of what he was talking about. He was -seldom at home, and upon those rare occasions he fortressed himself -behind a palisade of Blue Books and Financial Returns. - -He abandoned himself to reading almost as a man abandons himself to -physical debauch, and Marjorie, furtively watching him, could scarcely -believe that the stranger occupying that frail, familiar shell was, in -reality, her husband. There was about him a suggestion of emotional -pleasure, an expression of ecstacy, as when a man gazes deep into his -beloved’s eyes. - -“Ah,” he would murmur, “three thousand, six hundred and forty-two . . . -annually! Seventy-nine thousand less than . . . well, well!” - -His cheeks would flush, his breathing would thicken, his forehead would -gleam with a crown of moisture, and he would lose his temper shockingly -if the children spoke to him or played noisily in the room. - -Long afterwards, a rural wag observed that Prohibition touched few -persons less than Raymond Dilling, who could get drunk on Blue Books and -Trade Journals, any day in the year! - -Marjorie got into the way of keeping the little ones shut up in the -kitchen with her. The house was too small to allow Dilling the privacy -of a library or study, and the three bedrooms were cold and cheerless. -So he appropriated the tiny drawing-room and converted it into what -seemed to her, a literary rubbish heap. Books, pamphlets, Hansards, and -more books . . . she was nearly crazy with them! - -She had never been to the House of Commons save once, when Raymond took -the entire family on a tour of inspection. She had never seen Parliament -in Session, and had no idea that many of the women who accompanied their -husbands to Ottawa, spent all the time they could spare from bridge, in -the Gallery; not profiting by the progress of the Debates, but carrying -on mimic battles amongst themselves. Here was the cockpit, from which -arose the causes of bitter though bloodless conflicts—conflicts which -embroiled both the innocent and the guilty, and formed the base of -continuous social warfare. - -However, on the afternoon that Dilling was expected to deliver his -maiden speech, she found her way to the Ladies’ Gallery with the aid of -a courteous official, and ingenuously presented her card of admission. -Without appearing to glance at it, the doorkeeper grasped the -information it bore. - -“This way, please, Mrs. Dilling,” he said, with just the proper shade of -cordiality tempering his authority. “Here’s a seat—in the second row. -They are just clearing the Orders for your husband’s speech,” he added, -in an officious whisper. - -Marjorie sank unobtrusively into the place he indicated and thanked him. -She wondered how he knew her name, not realising that he had held his -position for forty years by the exercise of that very faculty which so -amazed her. It was his duty to know not only all those who sought an -entrance through the particular portal that he guarded, but also to know -where to place them. Should he fail to recognise an applicant, he never -betrayed himself. She was presently to learn that as her husband -progressed nearer the front benches downstairs, she would be advanced to -the front, upstairs. - -Her first sensation—could she have singled one out of the medley that -overwhelmed her—was not of exaltation at having entered into the -sanctuary of the Canadian Temple of Politics, and being in a position to -look down upon one of the clumsiest and most complex institutions that -ever failed to maintain the delusion of democracy, but of the immensity -of the place. The Green Chamber was at least four times as large as the -Arena in Pinto Plains! Its sombreness discomfited her. Although she had -read descriptions of the Commons, she never visualised the dullness of -the green with which it was carpeted and upholstered; she had rather -taken clusters of glittering candelabra for granted; indeed, it would -not have surprised her to find golden festoons catching dust from the -whirlwind of oratory which rose from the floor beneath. The unregality -of the place made her want to cry. She felt like a child standing before -a fairy king without his crown. - -Directly opposite her sat the Speaker on his Throne—the chair which the -late King Edward had used when visiting the Colonies in 1860. Above the -Speaker, in a shallow gallery suspended below that reserved for the -Proletariat, several men were languidly trailing their pencils across -the stationery provided them by the generous taxpayers of the country. -These were the scribes of the Press, profundite scriveners, whose golden -words she had absorbed so often in her far-away prairie home. - -On the floor of the House, at a long table in front of the Speaker, sat -the Clerk. At the other end of the table lay the Mace, the massive -bauble that aroused Oliver Cromwell’s choler, and which symbolises, by -its position, the functioning of the House. In splendid isolation sat -the Sergeant-at-Arms, an incumbent of the office for forty-three years, -during which time, it is said, he never changed the colour of his -overcoat, or his dog. - -On the Speaker’s left sat His Majesty’s loyal Opposition, led by that -illustrious tribune of the people, the Right Honourable Sir Wilfrid -Laurier. Facing him, across the table, was the Right Honourable Sir -Robert Borden and the Members of his Cabinet, prominent among whom was -Sir Eric Denby, who dreamed of a Saharan drought for Canada, and -affirmed his stand on the Temperance question with the zeal of a Hebrew -prophet. Then, as a counterpoise to Sir Eric, there was the Honourable -Godfrey Gough, who sought to mould a policy for his Party that would -have made Machiavelli blush! - -These were the notables; the rest were a jumble of tailenders. - -Marjorie could not locate her husband, immediately, but after a little -she recognised the top of his head. He was sitting in a dim corner, in -the very last row under the Gallery that was devoted to the -accommodation of the ruck of our splendid democracy. - -Then, before she was quite prepared for it, she saw him rise to his -feet. Her eyes filled with tears of terror, and for a moment he seemed -to stand alone—like a splendid column, islanded in a rolling sea. -Marjorie could not resist the impulse to inform the impassive lady -sitting beside her, that the speaker was her husband. - -The lady looked surprised at being addressed. - -“Indeed?” she replied, and her eyebrows added, “Well, what of it?” - -Marjorie kept her hand pressed tightly over her heart. It thumped so -heavily, she could scarcely hear what Raymond was saying. If he should -forget his speech! If he should fail! - -Gradually, the blur before her cleared, and she saw that he was standing -quite at ease, one hand resting on his hip—a favourite and familiar -attitude—and the other negligently grasping the back of his chair. His -flat voice, carrying well for all its lack of resonancy, was perfectly -steady, and his words were unhurried, clear; in fine, she realised that -Raymond had no dread of what to her, was a scarifying experience, and, -unimaginative though she was, there was borne upon her a strange, new -consciousness of her husband’s power. - -For the formal test of his ability to command the attention of the -House, he had seized upon the Motion of a Representative from the West, -calling upon the Government to adopt a vigourous policy in the -construction of grain elevators and facilities for the transportation of -wheat—Canada’s prime commodity in the markets of the world. - -“. . . As I stand here, enveloped by the traditions of the past,” she -heard him say, “listening to the echoes in this Chamber of the noble -words and sound policies that have builded this great structure that is -our Country, I am awed by the privilege that has come to me of taking a -part, however small, in directing the national welfare of this Dominion. -I seek not at this moment, Mr. Speaker, merely the glory of the Party to -which I have the honour to belong, but I am ambitious to maintain a -principle, to be worthy of the men who fashioned a nation out of chaos, -out of a wilderness of local and parochial interests. I shall strive to -be the force for good that such men would wish to see in every member in -this legislative body to-day . . .” - -Although he had known that Marjorie would be in the Gallery that -afternoon, it was typical of Dilling to ignore the fact. Small acts of -pretty gallantry were utterly foreign to his nature. He could no more -have raised a woman’s glove to his lips before returning it to her, than -he could have manicured his fingernails. To himself he termed such -graces “_la-di-da_”, by which he probably meant foppish. If his personal -vanity revealed itself in any one direction it was that he might appear -superlatively masculine—even to the verge of brutality. - -“. . . The cause I plead,” he continued, “is that which must appeal to -every thinking man, to-day. I plead an economical policy for the -guarding of our grain . . .” - -“. . . Wheat!” she heard him say. “The West is crying for elevators, and -for freighting facilities in order that she may distribute her vast -resources. The East is crying for food. The world needs wheat. _Wheat!_ -The very word rings with a strange magic, flares with a golden gleam of -prosperity.” - -His eyes were fixed on his Chief’s profile, save when they leaped across -the aisle to the “White Plume” of the grand Old Man who bent over his -desk and scribbled with a slender yellow pencil, apparently quite -oblivious to Dilling’s existence. Marjorie saw him through brimming -eyes. She did not know that in the corridor men were saying, “Come on -in! Dilling’s got the floor. He’s talking a good deal of rhetorical -rot—as must be expected from an amateur—but the making of an orator is -there. . . Come on in!” She was too nervous to notice that the empty -benches which comprise the flattering audience usually accorded to a new -speaker, were rapidly filling, that Members who discovered some trifling -business to keep them in the Chamber, had stopped sorting the collection -of visiting cards, forgotten appointments, and notes with which their -pockets were stuffed. Laryngitical gentlemen forbore to snap their -fingers at the bob-tailed pages for glasses of water—in short, Raymond -was making an impression. He was receiving the attention of the House. - -His concluding words were, - -“I have come amongst you, a stranger, unversed in the ways of this great -assembly of a young, ardent and democratic people—of members whose -experience has been so much richer than my own. I trust that none of -you—even those whose views may be at variance with mine—will have -cause to resent my coming. I realise that a profound responsibility -devolves upon each and every one of us who steps across the threshold of -this Chamber, and that although our creeds may be translated -differently, their actuating principles are identical. - -“I know, Mr. Speaker, that life lies in the struggle, that work—and not -its wage—brings us joy. The game is the important thing, not the score. -To gain the peak of the mountain is the climber’s ambition. If he be a -true man, a man who rejoices in service for others, he has no wish to -possess the summit. To serve the Empire at the cost of ease and leisure, -to expend one’s strength in the solving of her myriad problems, is the -sum total of an honest man’s desire. - -“I submit that it is possible to spread peace and plenty throughout our -Dominion. The Government has but to build treasure-houses for the grain, -and lend assistance in the way of subsidies for transportation. A hungry -people make poor citizens, and will inevitably bring desolation to any -land, for, as Ruskin has said, ‘There is no wealth but life, and that -nation is the richest that breeds the greatest number of noble and happy -homes and beings’.” - -His speech was short and admirably delivered. It hit the temper of the -House, and Dilling sat down amid a storm of applause. - -Through a mist of tears Marjorie noted that Sir Robert was bending over -her husband with an air that was more than perfunctorily gracious. -Several other men also left their desks and offered him congratulations. -She felt a little faint with pride and the reaction of it all. - -“A real triumph,” said the voice of the lady sitting next to her, -suddenly. “Your husband’s quite a speaker, isn’t he?” and Marjorie was -too grateful for these words of friendliness to sense that the lady (who -was Mrs. Bedford, wife of the Whip of the Liberal Party) would have been -much more gratified had Raymond Dilling made of his speech a bleak -failure. - - - CHAPTER 4. - -The Hon. Member for Morroway did not wait for the adjournment of the -afternoon Session. With a gesture that the thirsty never fail to -recognise, he signalled two colleagues who occupied adjacent benches, -and led the way from the Green Chamber. - -The Hon. Member was more than a little piqued at Marjorie Dilling’s -insensibility to his persistent Gallery-gazing. It was almost -unprecedented in his experience that a young woman should find the -sparsely-covered crown of her husband’s head more magnetic an objective -than his own luxuriant growth of silver hair. Looked at from above, the -leonine mane of Mr. Rufus Sullivan was in the midst of such hirsute -barrenness, as conspicuous as a spot of moonlight on a drab, gray wall. - -The Hon. Member for Morroway disliked many things: work, religion, -temperance, ugly women, clever men, home cooking, cotton stockings, and -male stenographers, to mention only a few. But more than any of these, -he disliked being ignored by a girl upon whom he had focussed his -attention. Such occasions (happily rare!) always induced extreme warmth -that was like a scorching rash upon Mr. Sullivan’s sensitive soul, and -this, in turn, promoted an intense dryness of the throat. Mr. Sullivan -disliked being dry. - -So, with admirable directness of movement, he led the way to his room, -unlocked a drawer marked “Unfinished Business,” and set a bottle upon -the desk at the same time waving hospitality towards his two companions. - -For a space the silence was broken only by the ring of glass upon glass -and the cooling hiss of a syphon. Then, three voices pronounced, “Here’s -how!” and there followed an appreciative click of the tongue and a -slight gurgling. - -“Ah . . .” breathed the trio. - -The Hon. Member for Morroway closed one limpid brown eye and examined -his glass against the light. Although an incomparable picture stood -framed in the small Gothic window of his room, it did not occur to Mr. -Sullivan to look at the distant Laurentians slipping into the purple -haze of evening, to feast his soul upon the glory of soft river tones -and forest shades; to note the slender spire of silver that glowed like -a long-drawn-out star on a back-drop of pastel sky. - -Mr. Sullivan was concerned only with the amber fluid in his glass, where -tiny bubbles climbed hurriedly to the surface and clung to the sides of -the tumbler. If he looked out of the window at all, it was to -investigate the possible charms of unattached maidens who strolled -towards Nepean Point ostentatiously enjoying the view. Sometimes, Mr. -Sullivan found the outlook enchanting, himself. This was when he was -stimulated by the enthusiasm of a pretty girl who invariably remarked -that it was a sin “to spoil the river shore with those hideous mills, -and poison good air with the reek of sulphite.” - -Mr. Sullivan vehemently agreed, for he called himself an ardent -Nature-lover, unwilling to admit that Nature, for him, was always -feminine and young. - -“Not much doubt as to the direction the wind blows from Pinto Plains,” -he observed, still intent upon his glass. - -“Not a shadow,” agreed Howarth, sombrely. “Eastlake and Donahue have -certainly got that lad buffaloed to a standstill.” - -“Railroaded, you mean,” amended Turner, essaying a wan jest. “I wonder -what his price was.” He drained his glass, set it on the table with a -thud, and cried, “I never saw their equal—that pair! Time after time, -we’ve thought they were down and out. Their subsidies were discounted, -banks closed down on ’em, credit was exhausted—you remember the -contractors we’ve fixed so that they wouldn’t operate?—even their own -supporters got weak in the knees . . . and they manage to find some -inspired spell-binder, who pours the floods of his forensic eloquence on -the sterile territory, so that first thing we know, a stream of currency -begins to trickle from the banks, subsidies are renewed . . . God! how -do they pull it off, boys? In a case like this, where do they get the -cash to pay Dilling, and what do they promise him? What’s his price, I’m -asking you, eh?” - -Rufus Sullivan, feeling that two pairs of eyes were upon him, spoke. - -“Do you know,” he said, slowly, “it wouldn’t surprise me much to learn -that young Dilling hasn’t been bought at all, that he gave himself to -the cause, and that all of that grandiose bunk he talked was truth to -him?” - -“Good God!” breathed Howarth, and gulped loudly. - -“’S a fact! I listened hard all the time he talked, and I watched him -some, and it struck me he wasn’t speaking a part he had learned at the -Company’s dictation, nor for a price . . .” - -“—which means,” interrupted Turner, “that he’s another of those damned -nuisances with principles, and ideas about making politics clean and -uplifting for the man in the street.” - -“Worse than that,” corrected Howarth. “It means that he’ll be a damsite -harder to handle, and more expensive to buy than a fellow who has no -definite convictions and finds mere money acceptable.” - -“That’s right!” Sullivan set down his empty glass and spread his elbows -on the desk, facing them. “I don’t anticipate that Dilling will be any -bargain, but,” he thundered, “we’ve got to have him. Fortunately, we can -rely upon the incontrovertible fact that like every other man, he _has_ -a price. It’s up to us to find out what it is!” - -“But, damn it all, Sullivan,” cried Howarth, “I’m sick of paying prices! -Surely we can find some means of muzzling this altruistic western -stripling.” - -“Nothing simpler,” returned the older man, with heavy sarcasm. “We’ve -only got to go to the country, defeat the Government, assassinate -Eastlake and Donahue, deport Gough as an undesirable . . . Godfrey -happens to be backing Dilling in his constituency don’t you forget -. . .” - -“What?” asked Turner. - -“What for?” from Howarth. - -Sullivan spread out his large, fat hands. “For some dark purpose of his -own that is yet to be revealed . . . and then, we must squash the vested -interests. Suppose you take on this trifling job, Bill. I’m going to be -busy this evening.” - -“Just the same,” cut in Turner, “I think Billy’s right. He ought to be -intimidated—Dilling, of course, I mean—not bought. These Young -Lochinvars ought not to be allowed to think they can run the country.” - -“Buying or intimidating, it’s much the same thing in the end,” said -Sullivan. “You’ve got to find a price or a weapon.” He corked the -bottle, locked it away and strolled across the office to examine his -features in a heavy gilt mirror that hung on the wall. “Did either of -you remark Mrs. Dilling?” he enquired, attacking his mass of hair with a -small pocket comb. - -“Mrs. Dilling?” echoed the others. - -“Why not? She sat in the Gallery all afternoon.” - -“How did you know her?” demanded Howarth. - -“Why, I saw her come in, and noting that she was a stranger—” - -“—and extremely pretty,” suggested Turner, “you took the trouble to -find out.” - -“Well, she is pretty,” said the Member for Morroway, reflectively. “A -fair, childish face, like a wild, unplucked prairie flower.” - -“Humph,” observed Turner, exchanging a significant look with Howarth -behind his host’s back. - -“Beauty is an amazingly compelling force,” Sullivan continued, -sententiously. “I have a theory—shared by very few people, it is true, -but convincing to me, nevertheless—that Beauty wields a more powerful -influence than Fear. What do you think?” - -“Never thought about it at all,” confessed Howarth, bluntly. “But what -has all this to do with Dilling’s price?” - -“Oh, nothing, my dear fellow,” said Sullivan, airily, “nothing at all! I -was merely indulging in a moment’s reflection, inspired, as it were, by -Mrs. Dilling’s loveliness. You must meet her . . . We must see to it -that Ottawa treats her with cordiality and friendliness.” - -“Do you know her, yourself . . . already?” asked Turner. - -“Er—no. I have not been through the formality of an introduction, but I -know her sufficiently well to wager that she is the sort of little woman -who responds to the sympathetic word; who is lonely, and searching for -warmth rather than grandeur in her associations and who can be relied -upon to work for her husband’s advancement . . . when that good time -comes.” - -A new light gleamed in the eyes of his two listeners. They gave up -trying to think of ways in which the new Member might be -intimidated—discredited with his constituents or sponsors; and waited -for the master mind to reveal itself. But Rufus Sullivan, M.P., was not -the man to discuss half-formulated plans. He changed the subject -adroitly, jotted down the Dilling’s address and excused himself on the -plea that he was dining with the Pratts for the purpose of laying the -foundations for a successful campaign. - -“There’s an interesting type,” he declared. “Useful—most useful!” - -“Pratt?” cried Turner. “Why, he’s a jolly old ass, in my opinion!” - -“I mean Mrs. Pratt, of course,” was Sullivan’s mild reproof. “Don’t you -realise, my dear chap, that the women of our day are the chief factors -in our Government? We are harking back to the piping times of the ‘Merry -Monarch’.” - -“Oh, rot!” contradicted Howarth, who was a married man. - -“_Régime du cotillon_ . . . petticoat Government, eh?” Turner laughed. -Both he and Sullivan had evaded the snares of feminine hunters. “I don’t -know the lady, but take it that she, also, is easy on the eye.” - -Sullivan shook his great white head. Mrs. Pratt, he explained, had not -been born to adorn life, but to emphasise it. Nature, in her wisdom, had -given to some women determination, and the callousness that must -accompany it. - -“Purposeful,” said Mr. Sullivan, “grimly purposeful, with about as much -sensitiveness as you would find in a piece of rock crystal. She’s got -her mind set on having Gus in Parliament, and if Queen Victoria and her -attendant lion got off the pedestal outside there, they wouldn’t be able -to prevent her. She would repeal the B.N.A. Act if it stood in her way. -A very useful woman,” he repeated, and insinuated himself into his -overcoat. - -“What’s he up to?” Howarth asked his companion as they bent their steps -towards the restaurant and dinner. - -“God knows!” answered Turner. “But there’s a load taken off my mind by -the knowledge that he’s got something up his sleeve. And it won’t be all -laughter either, if I know him.” - -Howarth paused in the corridor. His dulled conscience was trying to -shake off its political opiate and prompt him to play the man in this -thing, but its small voice was speedily hushed by the animated scene -about him. Pages were scurrying around; Members, released from the -tension of debate, were greeting each other noisily; the _omnium -gatherum_ of the Galleries was debouching upon the Main lobby, so that -the very air he breathed was vibrant with a _scherzo_ of human voices. - -“I say,” he cried, “let’s ask Dilling to feed with us. Under the -intoxication of triumph, he may loosen up a bit—become loquacious. You -get a table. I’ll get him!” - - - CHAPTER 5. - -“It isn’t the thing, my dear!” Or, “It’s quite the thing, you know!” - -The thing! THE THING! What on earth did it mean? - -Marjorie first heard the phrase on the lips of Lady Denby, and gradually -she recognised it as a social influence that was as powerful as it was -mysterious. It was one of the most elusive of her problems, for, while -she understood vaguely, the significance of the term, she failed -entirely to apply its principles to the exigencies of her new life. -“Besides,” she said to herself, “one discovers what _is_ the thing, only -to find presently, that it isn’t . . . or the other way round. There -doesn’t seem to be any fixed rule.” - -It was hers to learn in the hard school of experience, that Ottawa in -the twentieth century, was controlled by a social code quite as -remorseless in its way as the tribal etiquette which governed the -Algonquins when Champlain visited its site, three hundred years before. -Wherever she went, the attitude of the people from Government House down -to those who moved on the very periphery of its circle, was such as to -repress and chill the frank and unquestioning impulse for friendliness -that lent much charm to her character. She developed a curious sort of -nervousness—an inner quaking, that disconcerted her, and made her feel -unnatural. She became so fearful of offending people, that her manner -was frequently described as obsequious. Now and then, she knew she was -being criticised, but could not, for the life of her, fathom the reason. - -The Thing . . . of course, but what _was_ The Thing? - -She had tried to break the children of saying “ma’am”. Lady Denby told -her it wasn’t _the thing_. - -“No nice people speak like that, Althea, darling,” Marjorie declared. -“You should say, ‘Yes, mother,’ or ‘No, Lady Denby,’ or ‘I don’t know, -Miss Deane,’—as the case may be, but please, darling, don’t say -‘ma’am’!” And yet to her astonishment, she heard Miss Leila Brant -address no less a personage than the Lady of Government House in this -ill-bred manner! - -“This, ma’am,” said she, “is one of the forks used at the Carlyle table. -It’s really rather a good thing, and I was _thrilled_ at having picked -it up.” - -“You have some very interesting bits,” observed The Lady, graciously. - -“Oh, _ma’am_! How can I ever thank you for those words,” cried Miss -Brant. “Even the slightest breath of praise from you, means—well, it -means more than you can possibly realise.” - -Ma’am . . . ma’am . . . Why, Marjorie could scarcely believe that she -wasn’t dreaming. - -She left the Ancient Chattellarium in a despondent frame of mind. Why, -in Ottawa, must she appear so stupid? Why could she not make friends? -Would she be humiliated forever, by the lifted eyebrow and the open -reproof . . . “It isn’t the thing, my dear?” - -It was not her nature, however, to be melancholy, so she thrust dark -thoughts away and gave herself up to ingenuous excitement in -anticipation of her first party at Rideau Hall. - -The Skating Parties held at Government House on Saturday afternoons -during January and February were very much THE THING; in fact, -geographically speaking, Rideau Hall was its very source, its essence, -the spot from which it emanated and seeped into virtually every other -residence in the Capital. Scarcely a person from a master plumber down, -but felt and yielded to its malison. - -Owing to the intense and protracted cold, there was excellent ice as -late as the middle of March, and Their Royal Highnesses extended the -hospitality of the rink considerably beyond the date specified on the -original invitations. - -Not that the majority of the people went to the Skating Parties to -skate, or even to toboggan—the thoughtful alternative suggested on the -large, square card—about two inches below the Royal Coat of Arms. -Sufficiently difficult were the performances already expected of -them—the curvettings, gyrations and genuflexions demanded at the moment -of their presentation to the Vice-Regal party. Sebaceous dowagers -teetered dangerously in their endeavour to achieve a court curtsey, -occasionally passing the centre of bouyancy and plunging headlong -between the two pairs of august feet. - -A crowd larger than usual massed in the skating pavilion and fought -politely for the mulled claret, tea, coffee, cake and sandwiches that -were being served from long, narrow trestles. His Royal Highness, the -Duke of Connaught, and the picturesque Princess Pat had come in from the -open-air rink below, and without removing their skates, had led the way -to the tea-room, whereupon several hundred people unleashed their -appetites, sampled the various refreshments, and disposed of the vessels -from which they had eaten on the floor, window-sills or chairs, if any, -that had been vacated. - -In a corner, removed as far as possible from the disordered tea-tables -sat three ladies, eating, drinking and conversing as though they were -spectators at some bizarre entertainment. They stared with frank -insolence about them, looking through many persons who came hopefully -within their vicinage, and warning a few by the manner of their -salutation that they must approach no nearer. They had been -distinguished by receiving a welcome from the Duke and Duchess, who -called each by name and hoped that their health was good. After this -distinction, the ladies withdrew from the commonalty into their corner, -exalted and envied. - -“Who in the world _are_ all these people?” asked Lady Elton. She spoke -fretfully, with an edge of desperation on her voice. A stranger might -have imagined that she was required by the statutes to learn the name -and history of each member of the throng, and that she found the task -inexpressibly irksome. - -Of course, such was not the case. It didn’t matter whether she knew any -of these people or not—at least, it only mattered to the people -themselves, many of whom would have been glad to be known by her or any -other titled person. She asked the question because it was the thing -_to_ ask at Government House, because it was one of those intellectual -insipidities that have supplanted conversation and made it possible for -a group of persons without visible qualifications, according to the -standards of yesterday, to exchange an absence of ideas, and form -themselves into a close corporation known as Society. - -Mrs. Chesley shook her head. “Isn’t it amazing?” she breathed. “Only a -few years ago it was such a pleasure to come down here—one knew -everybody—and now . . .” - -“Sessional people, I suppose?” interrupted Miss de Latour, with just the -faintest movement of her nose as though she was speaking of a -drain-digger, or some other useful class of citizen who, by reason of -necessity, moved in the effluvia occasioned by his work. - -Captain the Honourable Teddy Dodson approached at this moment to ask if -the ladies were satisfactorily served. - -“Do let me get you some more tea,” he begged. “I’m afraid no one’s -looking after you—this awful mob, you know.” He pushed a collection of -discarded cups aside and seated himself on the edge of a chair, leaning -forward with an air of flattering confidence. “Cross your hearts and -hope you may die,” he whispered, “and I’ll tell you what we call these -beastly tea fights.” - -The trio playfully followed his instructions and encouraged him to -reveal the limit of his naughtiness. - -“We call them ‘slum parties’,” confided the young Aide, and while the -ladies shrieked their appreciation of his wicked wit, he clumped away on -his expensive skates, balancing three cups quite cleverly as he elbowed -a passage to the table. - -“How do you suppose these people get invitations?” Miss de Latour -demanded, indignantly. “Look at that woman over there—no, no, the one -in the purple hat. Isn’t that the awful Pratt creature who’s pushing -herself into everything?” - -“My husband,” said Mrs. Chesley, “calls her the Virginia Creeper. -However, she’ll get on. They say she’s been left a disgusting lot of -money, and that her husband’s going to run for Parliament.” - -“That’s no reason why she should be here,” said the other. “Are there no -impregnable bulwarks left to protect Society?” - -“Why, Pamela,” cried Mrs. Chesley, “how clever of you to remember that! -I read it, too, in Lady Dunstan’s Memoirs, but I’ve no memory—I can’t -quote things . . .” - -“. . . as though they were your own!” finished Lady Elton, and laughed -at the neatness of her thrust. - -Miss de Latour’s question as to how people secured their invitations was -merely an echo of her friend’s banality. There was no secret about the -matter; no bribery or corruption. Anyone—almost anyone—desiring to be -insulted by the Lady Eltons, Mrs. Chesleys, and Miss de Latours of -Ottawa, or to be snubbed of their acquaintances, had only to proceed to -the Main Entrance of Rideau Hall, pass beneath the new facade—so -symbolic of fronts, both physical and architectural, that had suddenly -been acquired all over the City in honour of the Royal -Governor-General—and there, in the white marble, red-carpeted hall, -sign a huge register, under the eye of two supercilious, scarlet-coated -flunkeys, who regarded each newcomer with all the antagonism of their -class. This unique procedure was known as “calling at Government House,” -and within a few days of the delightful and friendly visit, His -Majesty’s Mails conveyed a large, rich-looking card to the door and one -learned that “Their Royal Highnessess had desired the A.D.C. in Waiting -to invite Mr. and Mrs. Van Custard and the Misses Van Custard for -Skating and Toboganning between the hours, etc., etc.”. Thereupon, one -wrote to rural relations or foreigners of one kind and another, and -mentioned carelessly that one had been “entertained at Government -House”. - -“There’s Mrs. Long,” announced Lady Elton. “Who’s the man?” - -“Oh, some newspaper person, I think—an American,” volunteered Miss de -Latour. Obviously it was bad enough in her opinion to be any kind of a -newspaper person, but to be an American newspaper person offered an -affront to Society that was difficult to condone. Pamela de Latour was -intensely proud of her father’s legendary patrician lineage, her -capacity for avoiding friendships, and her mother’s wealth. She was well -aware of the fact that she was regarded as a person whom “one should -know.” - -“He’s not bad looking,” murmured Lady Elton, charitably, “and he must be -rather worth while, Pam. She’s introducing him to everyone. Let’s wander -over and see what we can see.” - -But Mrs. Long, watching them from the corner of her very alert brown -eyes, and anticipating this move, beat a strategic retreat, and soon -lost herself and her newspaper man in the dense crowd. Lady Elton, Mrs. -Chesley and Miss de Latour looked significantly at one another as though -to say, - -“Ah-ha! What do you think of that? Something queer about this affair, if -you ask me!” - -An expression of their thoughts was denied them, however, for the moment -they left the shelter of their corner they were like the Romans -advancing across the Danube—a target for the surrounding barbarian -hordes. - -Almost immediately they were attacked by the Angus-McCallums, two -sisters with generous, florid cheeks and rotund figures, who, to quote -Azalea Deane, seemed to lie fatly on the surface of every function, -rather like cream on a pan of milk. - -Their grandfather was a Bytown pioneer whose first task, after complying -with the formalities imposed upon all immigrants by the various -government officials, had been to find a house—a house, that is to say, -requiring the services of a stone mason. - -Now Masonry, whether Free or Stone, has always offered signal advantages -to those who labour in its interests, and the present case was no -exception to the rule. Not only did prosperity attend the twilight years -of old Thaddeus McCallum, but especial privileges descended to his -progeny, the most conspicuous being the Freedom of Government House -grounds which the Misses Angus-McCallum enjoyed. That is to say, the -young ladies were at liberty to pass unchallenged within the sacrosanct -limits of this estate, whenever whim or convenience dictated . . . an -inconceivably rich reward for the excellence of the fine old man’s -chisel-drafting and hammer-dressing! They seemed, however, to lose sight -of the patriotic service he had rendered to the nation, in an -unremitting search for families on whom, without demeaning themselves, -they could call. - -“Who is . . .,” dominated their every conscious thought. - -“Ah, Effie,” cried the elder sister, addressing Lady Elton, “I thought -you would be skating.” - -“For Heaven’s sake, hush!” warned Lady Elton, severely. “Weren’t you -here last week to see me crash to the ice with H.R.H.? I dared not risk -another such fall!” - -“But with the uncle of a King,” murmured Miss Mabel Angus-McCallum, -“such an honour, my dear!” - -Helena Chesley laughed. - -“That’s not bad for you, Mabel. It’s a pity Mrs. Long didn’t overhear -it,” she said. - -Between her and the Angus-McCallums there existed an almost perceptible -antagonism which was regarded variously as a source of amusement and -uneasiness by their friends. Such traditional antipathy was not at all -unusual, and marked the relation between many of the “old” families in -the Capital. - -Before her marriage to the scholarly young man, whose nimble wit and -charm of manner had won him a permanent place in the Vice-Regal -entourage, Helena Chesley had been a Halstead, and the Halsteads had -owned the estate upon which such discomfiting evidences of Thaddeus -McCallum’s craftsmanship rose up to confound his descendants. Whether -they imagined it or not, is difficult to state, but the Angus-McCallums -always felt the condescension of the landed proprietor to the day -labourer in Helena Chesley’s cynical smile, while the latter resented -the patronising air which the others assumed as a cloak for the -inherited resentfulness of Industry towards Capital. - -Miss Mabel Angus-McCallum’s retort was cut short by the arrival of Mrs. -Hudson, who, metaphorically speaking, embraced the ladies as Crusoe -might have taken Friday to his bosom. - -“My dears,” she breathed, “I’m so glad to find you! Did anyone ever see -such a mob, and _such_ people? Who do you suppose brought me my tea?” -and without waiting for an answer to the question, she continued, “That -awful Lennox man! You remember, he used to be the stenographer in Sir -Mortimer Fanshawe’s office!” - -“Did you drink it?” asked Mrs. Chesley. - -Mrs. Hudson’s social position was triumphant and secure. She could sit -on the top rung of the steep and slippery ladder (if one finds an apt -metaphor in so comfortless a recreation) and look down upon a mass of -struggling, straining, pushing microcosms who clutched, and climbed, and -slid and fell in an effort to reach the pinnacle she had attained; for -just what reason or by what right, no one was prepared to explain. True, -she was a frank snob, which was partially accountable. Also, she was -wealthy, and “entertained” in a pleasantly formal manner that lent an -air of importance to the least important sort of functions. - -Had breakfast been served in Mrs. Hudson’s small but well-regulated -_ménage_, indubitably it would have been announced with an impressive -opening of double doors, and served by respectful, liveried attendants. -Moreover, there would have been a correctly morning-coated gentleman for -each lady of the party, for the express and especial purpose of offering -her his arm and escorting her to the card-marked table! - -Nor was that all. There were those who called Mrs. Hudson a “bug -specialist,” and attributed her social success to this interesting form -of enthusiasm. Her entomological research was conducted with -considerable originality and on lines that differed radically from the -method of the late Dr. Gordon Hewitt, similarly called by a large group -of affectionate and admiring associates. In Mrs. Hudson’s case, “bug -specialising” signified an ardent (and inconstant) pursuit of a fad, or -a person, or a combination of both. Rarely did a stranger with any claim -whatever to renown, escape from Ottawa without enjoying her hospitality, -and it must not be forgotten that she frequently dragged absolute -obscurities out of their gloom and played most happily with them for a -time. - -Azalea Deane said that Mrs. Hudson was the most recent development of -The Big Game Hunter—game and bug being interchangeable, if not -synonymous in her mind. The truth of the matter was, she made a serious -study of the state of being termed Society. She attacked the problems -and the methods of succeeding in it, with the same energy and -concentrated purpose that a man gives to a great commercial enterprise. -It was her business and she made it pay. Mob psychology and -regimentation of thought were the fountains from which she derived her -source of supply, and judicious investment added to her power. People -often wondered how Mrs. Hudson had achieved social eminence when women -with superior claims had failed. The answer lies just here—her life was -spent in a conscious striving for it. Never a move, an invitation, an -acceptance, a salutation on the street, was made without forethought. -She made Society her tool. Most people are tools, themselves. Usually, -Mrs. Hudson was described as a “character”, which meant that she was -different from ordinary people. Her peculiarities—and she wore them -consciously, like a crown—were called odd; her vulgarities, original. -She was clever enough to keep the fact that she _was_ clever from being -realised, and many people were sorry for her! She had married a man -several years her junior, and loved to confess that he was an answer to -prayer! - -“I saw him first at a concert,” she was wont to remark, “and the moment -my eyes fell upon his dear, unsuspecting head, I said to myself, ‘Thank -God! I have found the man I intend to marry, and need look no further!’ -I went home, and prayed for him, and I got him!” - -What effect this disclosure may have had upon the spiritual trend of the -community, what intensity of supplication or increase of attendance at -the churches, there is, unfortunately, no means of estimating. It can -scarcely have failed, however, to have exerted some marked influence -upon the spinsters of the Capital, and many a married woman, I am told, -bent a devout knee because of it, arguing hopefully, that if the Lord -could give, He could also take away! - -Mrs. Hudson loved her husband with a sort of cantankerous affection that -was like the rubbing of a brass bowl to make it shine. She was always -prodding him, or polishing him, or smacking at him with her hands or her -tongue. Marriage had robbed her of the joy of believing him a genius, -but she was fond of him in her peculiar, rasping way. - -“Is anyone else here?” she enquired, wiping out the hundreds of people -about her with a gesture. - -“Mrs. Long,” she was told, “and a strange man.” - -“Ah-h-h!” cried Mrs. Hudson. “Speaking of Mrs. Long, have you heard -. . . can’t we sit down, my dears? They say,” she continued, after the -group had recaptured their corner, “that her bridge winnings are simply -fabulous; and that if she can’t get money, she’ll take the very clothes -off your back. Of course, you’ve heard what happened at the Country -Club, the other afternoon?” - -The group drew in closer, and Mrs. Hudson set forth on the most -dangerous of all adventures, the telling of a half-truth. - -“She invited Mrs. Knowles, Madam Valleau and little Eva Leeds to lunch, -at which, my dears, _they say_, far too much Burgundy was served, -(especially for Eva, who is not used to it) and afterwards, of course, -they settled themselves at the bridge table. I’m not saying that Eva is -free from blame. Indeed, I have spoken to her most frankly on the -subject, and she knows that I think her behaviour most culpable. -Gambling amongst women who can afford it is bad enough, but that those -who can’t, should be given an opportunity to imperil their husband’s -meagre Civil Servant’s salary, is a crime that should be punishable by -law.” - -“It might be done, too,” murmured Lady Elton, who was an agitative -member of the National Council. “If we can prohibit the sale of liquor -to a drunken man, I don’t see why we can’t restrict gambling to persons -of a certain income.” The sum which occurred to her was, of course, -amply covered in her own case and that of her companions. “But, go -on—what happened then?” - -“Well, Eva lost, and lost, and _lost_! But do you think that Hattie Long -would stop playing? Not a bit of it! At last—this really is too awful, -my dears, you’ll never believe me—” - -The ladies had already foreseen this possibility, but like everyone else -they liked the colourful romance of Mrs. Hudson’s stories, so they urged -her to continue. - -“Very well,” she agreed, “but mind, not a breath of this must go any -further! To make a long story short, when they stopped, Eva was so badly -in the hole that she couldn’t cover her loss by an I.O.U. for Tom Leeds’ -_monthly cheque_!” - -“Horrible!” whispered the group, genuinely shocked. - -“What did she do?” asked Lady Elton. - -“It seems that a few days before, she had bought from Leila Brant an -Empire table. How she buys these things, I’ve no idea. The point is, -that Hattie Long was crazy about that same table, too, and fully -expected to have it. When she found Eva had got ahead of her she was -simply wild, and offered almost double the price—certainly more than -the thing was worth.” - -“And Eva refused it?” - -“I’m obliged to say she did. No one can admire her for doing so. I -repeat, I don’t think she has behaved properly, but the point is that -she had the table Hattie Long wanted, and so, when she had been driven -into this quagmire of debt from which she could not possibly extricate -herself, Hattie, with devilish finesse, suggested that she should give -up the table and call the matter settled.” - -“She didn’t do it?” - -“She had to! Her I.O.U.’s for . . .” Mrs. Hudson had the grace to pause -“. . . such a sum were utterly valueless! So, bright and early the -following morning there was a transfer at her door and now the table -decorates Harriet’s reception room.” - -At that instant the crowd parted, and before either faction could avoid -an encounter, Mrs. Long and her newspaper man stood beside them. -Elaborately amiable greetings were exchanged. Mr. Reginald Harper was -introduced. Inured as they were to association with the owners of great -names, there was not a member of the group who escaped a sudden -palpitation upon meeting this world-famed monarch of newspaperdom. It -was not easy to keep gratification out of their manner when -acknowledging the introduction, but by tacit agreement they were -obligated to flick Mrs. Long over his innocent head. - -“Are you living in Ottawa, Mr. Carter?” asked Lady Elton, deliberately -mis-calling his name, but with a charming show of interest. - -Mr. Harper had only arrived the day previous, for a brief stay. - -“The place is full of strangers,” volunteered Miss de Latour. “It -scarcely seems like home, any more.” - -“It’s the fault of the Government,” declared Mrs. Hudson. “New people -are always getting in. I don’t understand how they work it, but there -you are. Are you connected with the Government?” she asked the stranger, -coyly. - -Mrs. Long flashed a sharp look at the questioner and answered for her -guest. “Only to the extent of financing our poor little country,” she -replied. “Mr. Harper,”—she turned to him, archly—“I suppose I may tell -it? . . . Mr. Harper has just concluded a loan for a few paltry millions -which a New York syndicate is advancing, so that the salaries of the -Civil Service,”—her glance rested for a fraction of a second on the -trio—“will be paid as usual.” - -The elder Miss Angus-McCallum hurriedly changed the subject. “How -stunning you look, Hattie,” she said. “But then, you’ve a style of your -own and can wear those inexpensive things. _I_ saw that costume in -Hammerstein’s window, and thought it charming.” - -Hammerstein was an obscure costumer of Semitic origin, who had recently -benefited by one of his frequent fire-sales, and the implication that -Mrs. Long’s exclusive tailor-made had been purchased there was so -obvious as to border on crudity. Mrs. Hudson could have done much -better! - -Mrs. Long ignored the thrust. “There seem to be so few men at these -parties, nowadays,” she observed, at no one in particular. “But when one -looks at the women, one can hardly blame them.” - -“If we had a little gambling,” said Miss de Latour, “no doubt they would -find it more attractive.” - -“But there would be complications.” Mrs. Hudson objected. - -“In what way?” prompted Miss Mabel Angus-McCallum. - -“Well, my dear, they couldn’t play for the Vice-Regal furniture, could -they? They’d get into immediate trouble with such stakes, for the -furniture belongs to the taxpayers of Canada and is not negotiable.” - -In the sharp silence, Mrs. Long flushed slightly, realising that the -incident to which this remark referred had been grossly distorted under -Mrs. Hudson’s capable and imaginative manipulation. She was about to -make a stinging retort when she thought better of it, promising herself -a day of reckoning in the future. Just how, did not at the moment occur -to her, but time would show her the way. - -“There’s Captain Teddy beckoning us, Mr. Harper,” she said. “We must -go,” and over her shoulder she explained, “Mr. Harper has never enjoyed -the delicious terrors of toboganning. The Princess is going to take him -down. Goodbye!” - -“That’s that,” snapped Miss de Latour. “Now, look out for yourself, Mrs. -Hudson!” - -The well-known purple velvet and ermine of Lady Denby caught Mrs. -Chesley’s attention. “She’s got Azalea with her this afternoon, and who -in Heaven’s name is _that_?” - -Lady Denby did not leave them long in doubt. “You must all know Mrs. -Dilling,” she said. “Mrs. Raymond Dilling, from Pinto Plains. Her -husband is a Member, you know, and one of the most promising young -speakers in the Party.” - -The ladies bowed frostily, not because they bore any particular grudge -against Marjorie, but because they could not afford to miss this golden -opportunity for expressing their dislike of Lady Denby, who, though -glorified by a title, was not “of their set”. They looked upon her as an -“uplifter”, living well within her husband’s income, and exuding an -atmosphere, not only of economy, but frugality; one who allied herself -with organizations for the benefit of the human race, notably of women -and children, and preached the depressing doctrine, that “Life is real, -Life is earnest, and the grave is not its goal!” - -Marjorie was embarrassed. She had been embarrassed all the afternoon, -and something inside of her old fur coat ached intolerably. She noticed -that an air of hostility prevailed over the entire throng. She did not -realise, however, its fundamental cause; that the acknowledgments of -friendships was a delicate matter within the grounds of Government -House, for, as a man is known by the company he keeps, so the guests -were desirous of being ranked in a higher classification than that in -which they ordinarily moved. Which is to say, that although Mrs. -Polduggan and Mrs. Crogganthorpe were friendly neighbours, and quite -ready to acknowledge one another on their own verandahs, the moment they -entered the skating pavilion their vision became blurred, and they saw -for the most part, only the Ministers’ wives, persons who were -especially prominent, or, better than all, chatted with the wife of a -Foreign Consul who was too polite, or too ignorant of Western -conditions, to take a decided stand with regard to class distinctions. - -“Dilling, did she say?” asked Mrs. Chesley, as Lady Denby and her -protegées moved away. “What an impossible person!” - -“Who is she?” asked Miss Angus-McCallum. “Should we call?” - -Pamela de Latour shrugged her shoulders. “I haven’t anything to do on -Wednesday afternoon.” - -“Lunch with me,” said Lady Elton. “We’ll all go together.” - -“One never knows . . .” - -The crowd had thinned perceptibly by the time Lady Denby released -Marjorie from the strain of constant introductions, and went away to -have a moment’s chat with Miss Denison-Page, the statuesque -Lady-in-Waiting. - -Marjorie indicated a tall, florid gentleman with a shock of silver hair, -who loitered at the doorway in a manner that suggested he was waiting -for someone to go home. - -“Who is that?” she whispered to Azalea. - -“Where? Oh, that’s Rufus Sullivan, the Member for Morroway,” answered -the girl. “I meant to have pointed him out to you earlier in the -afternoon, only I had no chance. He’s Lady Denby’s pet aversion. One -dares not mention his name in her presence.” - -“But why?” - -“Lots of reasons. He’s quite a character, you know. Heavens, how he -stares!” - -Marjorie turned away with flaming cheeks. She was loath to admit that he -had not only been staring, but that he had been at her elbow during the -entire afternoon. This distressed her, for, according to the ethics of -Pinto Plains, a man impressed his attentions only upon the woman who -encouraged him, and Marjorie felt that something in her manner must have -been very misleading. She resented his pursuit less than she felt -ashamed of herself for inspiring it, and was inexpressibly relieved when -he finally left the room. - -The terrible disorder of the pavilion sickened her housekeeper’s soul, -and she turned to Azalea, impetuously. - -“Just look at this place! Isn’t it disgusting to expect any human being -to clean it up?” Then, a little afraid of her own daring, “Wouldn’t you -just love to open the back door and let a drove of pigs come in?” - -“Yes,” answered Azalea, shortly, “after you’d opened the front door and -let them out!” - - - CHAPTER 6. - -Marjorie was far from happy. The experience at Government House haunted -her. Incidents that she had scarcely noted at the time, recurred in the -pitiless glare of a good memory to harry her and rob her of her peace of -mind. It had all been so different from what she expected! - -Sunday dragged wearily on. The children seemed fretful and unusually -difficult. The roast was tough and the furnace went out, so that Raymond -was obliged to devote most of his precious afternoon to re-lighting it. -By the time, therefore, that the children had sung their evening hymn, -had each chosen a Bible story to be read aloud, and had been put to bed, -Marjorie felt that she could bear no more, and she invaded the -disorderly “drawing-room,” too troubled to be repulsed by the -unwelcoming expression in her husband’s eyes. - -“Well, what is it, my dear?” Dilling closed the volume upon his long, -thin finger, and tapped it with a slender pencil. “Is anything -especially the matter?” - -“I don’t know,” sighed Marjorie. “That’s just what I want to ask you, -dear. Something _must_ be wrong, somewhere, only I can’t find it! I seem -to be so stupid here, Raymond, and people don’t like me. I know I -oughtn’t to bother you, dear,” she said, noticing how his eyes strayed -back to the book that at the moment she almost hated, with its chrome -leather binding, its overwhelming contents, and the voluptuous -overpowering odour that reflected the literary richness of its -substance, “and I won’t stay long, but _can’t_ you help me, and tell me -what to do, so that I’ll be more like the Ottawa people?” - -Dilling stared down into the mist-blurred eyes, only half seeing them. -His thoughts were snared by his own problems and he could not free them -immediately. His casual words of encouragement carried no comfort to his -wife, who stumbled on, - -“You’re so clever, dearie! If you aren’t sure of a thing, you always -know where to learn all about it. . . and that’s all I’m asking you, -Raymond—to tell me some book that will explain these queer things that -I don’t seem to understand.” - -“What kind of things?” - -The question was not exactly brusque, but to anyone less troubled it -would have suggested a definite desire for a brief interview. Marjorie -raised her hands and let them fall to her sides helplessly. - -“Hundreds—hundreds!” she began. “All sorts . . .” - -“Give me a concrete illustration. Tell me one.” - -“Well, I never do anything _right_! Yesterday—you _do_ shake hands with -people when you meet them, don’t you?—well, yesterday, Lady Denby took -me to the Skating Party at Government House. I thought it was going to -be so nice, Raymond. We always thought so at home, you know, but it -wasn’t just like what we imagined—in fact, it was awfully different.” - -“Yes, yes. But the point of the story, Marjorie?” - -“I’m trying to tell you, dearie. You see, if you haven’t been there, -it’s so difficult to understand the queer customs of the place. I’d been -introduced to Captain Dodson—he called out the names, you know, -standing just beside Their Royal Highnesses—and when we got into the -room where they were receiving, Lady Denby went first, and I came -second, and Miss Deane last, and you understand, Raymond, I couldn’t see -whether Lady Denby spoke to him or not, and so when I came along and he -saw me and sort of smiled, I said, ‘How do you do, Captain Dodson?’ and -held out my hand. You _do_ shake hands with people, don’t you, Raymond?” - -“Never mind just now. Go on.” - -“Well, he didn’t shake hands with me! Worse than that, he put his hands -behind his back and said, ‘Mrs. Raymond Dilling,’ in an awful voice, and -Miss Deane simply _pushed_ me past him! I didn’t know what to do when I -got there in front of the Duke and the Duchess. I didn’t know whether to -shake hands or not, and I’m—I’m afraid, darling, that I behaved like a -terrible simpleton. It was easy enough to see that Lady Denby was -frightfully annoyed. She said that to shake hands with Captain Dodson -was _not_ the thing, and to shake hands with Their Royal Highnesses, -_was_ the thing, and altogether, I’m so muddled, I don’t know what to -do! Raymond, what on earth _is_ THE THING?” - -Dilling drew his finger definitely from his book, laid the volume on the -table, and gave his attention to the question. - -“Well, Marjorie,” he said, “although I’ve never formed a considered -opinion on this subject, I’ll lay the facts before you, and we’ll reason -it out together.” - -Reasoning a subject out together between Marjorie and her husband was a -merest euphemism for a philosophical lecturette with Dilling on the -platform and his wife supplying the atmosphere. With his characteristic -gesture when entering upon a discussion of some remote topic that -interested him—an upward sweep of the right arm with the sensitive -fingers coming to rest on his rapidly-thinning chevelure—he proceeded -to instruct her. - -“_The Thing_, my dear girl, as I see it, is one of the forms of what the -Polynesians call ‘Tabu’. In the large, ‘tabu’ may be said to be negative -magic—that is, abstention from certain acts in order that unpleasant or -malefic results may not ensue. Do you follow, so far?” - -“Yes, dear . . . I think so . . . a kind of rule, you mean, don’t you? -One can see that, but what puzzles me, is that it works both ways. How -does one learn _when_ it is right, and when it is wrong? Isn’t there -some starting point?” - -“Most certainly! ‘Tabu’ originated in religion, and was rooted in fear. -Moreover, it was common to all peoples in their tribal beginnings. It is -associated with the Totem of the North American Indian and the Fetish of -the African races; it oppressed the alert Greek mind for an astonishing -period, and prevailed amongst the Romans. Some day, you must read about -the Flamen Dialis—a member of the priestly caste, who stood next the -King in sacerdotal rank.” - -“I was thinking especially of shaking hands,” murmured Marjorie. - -But Dilling ignored her. He slipped easily into his Parliamentary -manner, as though addressing Mr. Speaker, and his political associates. -Furthermore, he was enjoying this opportunity to open doors that led -into little-used rooms in the treasure-house of his mind. - -“So rigid were the laws that governed the Flamen’s conduct—er—so -drastic was the discipline of The Thing—that even a knot in the thread -of his clothing was practically a crime against the State! Can you -imagine it? He couldn’t spend a night outside the City. He was forbidden -to ride—even touch—a horse. He . . . well, I could continue at length, -but this is sufficient to show you that The Thing, as you term it, is no -new, prohibitive measure, designed for your particular embarrassment.” - -“Oh, I didn’t think that . . .” - -“I forgot to mention that it was not The Thing for the Flamen to suffer -marriage a second time—an historical statement, my dear, which has no -personal application, I assure you! You see, the wife of the Flamen -became sacrosanct, and passed, also, under the iron rule of the ‘Tabu’.” - -Marjorie nodded hopefully, and urged her husband to explain how women -were affected. - -“If you are thinking of the Flaminica,” returned Dilling, “she was -affected very severely. I seem to remember that she was forbidden to -comb her hair at certain intervals; also, she became unable to discharge -her religious duties unless purified by a sacrifice, after hearing -thunder. Upon my word,” he broke off suddenly, “I shouldn’t wonder if -the wide-spread fear of electric storms may have taken its root from -this very law! You have provoked a most interesting train of thought, my -dear!” - -“I’m ever so glad,” was Marjorie’s quick response. “But do you remember -anything about her shaking hands?” - -“Not at the moment. However, I venture this opinion . . . the Flaminica -was the foundress of those social ‘Tabus’ which have held the minds of -women in bondage for so many ages; that she was the dictatrix of moral -and social etiquette, to-day. You can readily understand how ladies, -supporting this distinguished but irksome office, would seek to mitigate -its rigours by using their rank to the discomfiture of less favoured -members of their sex.” He began to chuckle. “In short, I believe that -Mrs. Grundy and Queen Victoria were her lineal descendants.” - -“Queen Victoria?” echoed Marjorie. - -“I mean, my dear, that the Flaminica was the mother of Snobocracy, the -divine High Priestess of the Order, whose code is expressed in the -cryptic formula, ‘It is—or is not—The Thing!’.” - -The alarum of the kitchen clock startled them both. Marjorie frowned. -Althea must have been naughty again. She had been distinctly forbidden -to touch it. - -“I’m afraid I’ll have to leave it at that, my dear,” said Raymond, as he -opened his book. Its peculiar odour enveloped her like a puff of smoke. -“This report is somewhat more tricky than I had anticipated. But you -have the main facts of the case—haven’t you? To-morrow, I’ll bring you -a book from the Library.” - -As Marjorie closed the door, a sharp whirr sounded from the telephone. - -“Hello,” she said, wondering whether Raymond would mind being called. - -“Is Mrs. Dilling at home?” asked a mellow voice at the other end of the -wire. It was a voice that vibrated, and struck some unfamiliar chord -within her consciousness; a voice that unreasonably disturbed her. - -“I am Mrs. Dilling,” answered Marjorie, and waited. - -“My name is Sullivan,” the voice continued. “Rufus Sullivan, the Member -for Morroway.” - -“Oh!” cried Marjorie, startled. Then, “Oh, yes?” - -“I am wondering if you will allow me the pleasure of calling on you, -Mrs. Dilling. I have been a fervent admirer of your husband ever since I -heard his speech in the House, last week, and I’m very eager to meet -you. It is scarcely necessary for me to tell you that we have not had -Dilling’s equal in Parliament for many years.” - -“You’re awfully kind,” murmured Dilling’s wife, to the accompaniment of -a pounding heart. She didn’t know why, but she was trembling. - -“Well, I’m not sure about being kind,” laughed the Hon. Member easily, -“but I confess that I am desperately jealous. There’s something about a -man of Dilling’s calibre that accuses us old chaps of unappreciated -opportunities and wasted youth. One begins to taste the ashes of -discouragement.” - -“Nobody should be discouraged,” returned Marjorie, feeling the words -inadequate, but not knowing what else to say. - -“No, no! You’re right, of course! As Walpole tells us, ‘It’s not life -that matters; it’s the courage you put into it.’ Just the same, courage -is acquired rather less by an effort of will, than by inspiration, don’t -you think so?” - -“Ye-es,” returned Marjorie, not very sure after all. - -“I was wondering, Mrs. Dilling,” the Hon. Member went on in a lighter -tone, “if I might be admitted to the list of your acquaintances? If you -would permit me to call?” - -“I should be very pleased.” - -“Thank you . . . thank you . . . I can’t say more! Are you busy this -evening, or have you other guests? It goes without saying that I should -not care to intrude.” - -Marjorie explained that she was quite free and that a call would not be -the slightest intrusion, but that “Mr. Dilling” seemed to be very much -engrossed in a book, and she wasn’t quite certain— - -“Don’t think of it!” cried Sullivan. “I understand perfectly, and -wouldn’t allow you to disturb him for the world. Just let me slip in -quietly, and when he has finished, perhaps he will join us. I do want to -know your husband better, Mrs. Dilling, but it’s quite impossible to -form any intimate contacts up there on the Hill, and in the midst of the -turmoil of our every-day existence. I won’t say any more, however, -through the medium of this unsatisfactory instrument. I will be with you -in a moment.” - -He was. Before Marjorie had decided whether or not it was The Thing to -entertain a Member of Parliament in the dining-room (where the table was -set for breakfast) she was summoned to the door by a discreet tinkle of -the bell. - -Although his enormous bulk nearly filled the tiny passage, Sullivan’s -handclasp was very gentle and his voice was low. - -“No words, Mrs. Dilling, can convey to you my gratitude for this -privilege! I am a lonely man, a shy man for all my huge body, and I do -not readily make friends!” - -The house seemed to quiver as he followed her to the dining-room, and -Marjorie was distressed at her failure to regain her composure and to -still the strange quaking within herself. She had never been affected -like this, before. - -“What a cosy little nest!” exclaimed her guest. “And are there _three_ -birdlings?” - -His fine brown eyes turned from the children’s places—where neat -oilcloth bibs and porridge bowls stood ready for the morning—back to -her face. - -“Yes, we have three children—two girls and a boy.” - -“Wonderful little woman,” he breathed, reverently, “and she’s only a -slip of a girl, herself.” - -“I’m twenty-seven,” declared Marjorie. - -“A golden age,” he sighed. “But tell me about the children—do! One of -the bitterest disappointments of my life is that I haven’t half a dozen -. . . I’m a lonely old bachelor, Mrs. Dilling. Few people realise just -_how_ lonely.” - -It flashed through Marjorie’s mind that he had lost his sweetheart years -ago. Perhaps she had died. Perhaps she had married someone else. In -either case, Mr. Sullivan had remained true to her memory. She liked him -for his constancy. Her embarrassment faded a little. - -“It’s dreadful to be lonely,” she said, feeling that it would not be -polite to ask why he had not married. “I’ve been a little lonely, -myself, since we came to Ottawa.” - -“Poor child!” - -Mr. Sullivan pressed Marjorie’s hand with bland sympathy. The gesture -reminded her of Uncle Herbert, whose comfort, in the face of any trial, -expressed itself by a clicking of the tongue and that same spasmodic -crushing of the hand. Indeed, now that she grew more at ease with him, -Marjorie noticed that Mr. Sullivan was quite an old man and she -attributed that mysterious something in his manner to the eagerness of a -lonely man to make friends. She smiled, brightly. - -“Oh, you mustn’t pity me,” she cried. “I like Ottawa. All my life I have -dreamed of coming here, and now the dream has come true. But, it is only -natural that I miss some of my dearest friends. I wouldn’t be a really -nice person if I didn’t, now, would I?” - -Mr. Sullivan knitted his brows and said that, try as he would, he could -not imagine her being anything but a fine friend. There was just the -slightest suggestion of a pause before he added— - -“You remind me of the noblest woman I ever knew.” - -“Did—did she—die?” - -The great, white head sank slowly. Again, Mr. Sullivan sought her hand. -“She was just twenty . . . I was a youngster, too. Life has never been -the same . . . But there! I mustn’t burden you with my sorrows. You were -going to tell me about the children. I don’t suppose you would let me -peep at them—just a little tiny peep, if I promise not to wake them?” - -“Would you really like to see them?” asked Marjorie, now thoroughly at -ease with her guest. - -“I can’t tell you how much.” - -“Then, of course, you may!” - -With an unconsciously coquettish gesture, she laid her finger on her -lips and led the way up the creaking stairs. Her thoughts were of the -children. Had she been careful to wash all the jam from Baby’s rosebud -mouth? Althea, she remembered, had pulled the button off her Teddies and -she had found it necessary to resort to the ubiquitous safety pin. And -Sylvester—well, there was no prophesying what might have happened to -Sylvester since she heard his “Now-I-lay-me,” and kissed him. - -The thoughts of Mr. Sullivan, on the other hand, were concerned with -almost everything but the children. He was wondering why that door at -the foot of the stairs did not open and a voice ask what the devil he -was doing, prowling through the house. He was trying to decide whether -Marjorie had advised her husband of his coming and he was being -deliberately ignored, or whether Dilling habitually shrouded himself -with aloofness, and indifference to the affairs of the home and the -personnel of his wife’s callers. - -At the landing, Marjorie turned to whisper. - -“Please don’t look at the room. It’s so hard to be tidy with babies, you -know.” - -Mr. Sullivan hung yearningly over the cots where Althea and Sylvester -were sleeping. He did it very well, and Marjorie was delighted. - -“Beautiful,” he murmured, and he indicated that he found a strong -resemblance to her. - -Beside the baby’s little crib he was overcome with emotion, and -Marjorie’s heart went out to him as he groped hastily for his -handkerchief and passed it across his eyes. “The cherub,” he whispered, -“the exquisite little flower. She has her father’s cast of features, -but—” transferring his expression of adoration to the face nearer his -“—but I’ll wager she has her mother’s eyes!” - -When they creaked their way downstairs again they were on the -friendliest terms, and Marjorie could scarcely reconcile this kind, -elderly gentleman and his interested, avuncular air, with the debonair -gallant who had caught and held her attention so unpleasantly at -Government House. - -“It only shows,” she reproved herself, “how you can misjudge a person. -And he’s old enough to be my father . . .” which state was always -synonymous to her with extreme rectitude and respectability. - -He would not hear of her disturbing Raymond, nor would he allow her to -make cocoa for him, fond of it as he avowed himself to be. But he made -her promise that she would let him come soon again, when the children -were awake, and that when he was especially lonely, he might telephone -her; and moreover, that once in a while she would have tea with him in -order that he might prove what an excellent and handy man he would have -been . . . under different circumstances! - -“This has been for me a wondrous night,” he said, holding her hand and -looking affectionately down at her, “and one that I shall never forget. -There is little I can do to prove my gratitude for a glimpse of real -home life, and the joy that has eluded me, but perhaps there may come a -time when you feel that I can serve you. Will you put me to the test, -then, Mrs. Dilling?” he queried, softly. - -Touched, Marjorie nodded. “I am very pleased to have had you come in -like this—” - -“‘_Sans ceremonie_,’ as our French friends say,” interrupted Sullivan, -looking furtively over her head at the closed door behind which he knew -that Dilling sat. “The strength of the weak,” he murmured, “the courage -to endure the emptiness of solitary days and weary evenings. I’ve been -through it. I understand. God bless you, little woman! But there can be -no more loneliness for us so long as we are . . . friends!” He pressed -her hand and was gone. - -As she went upstairs, Marjorie wondered whether or not she had imagined -a shade of difference in him as he left her. - - - - - PART II - They Saw - - - CHAPTER 7. - -Azalea Deane was a much befamilied young woman, who was leaving “mile -30” behind so rapidly that it was already quite blurred in the distance. -Ahead, there stretched a bleak and desolate roadway, leading right into -the heart of that repository for the husks of men—Beechwood—and at the -best of times, she found her journey wearisome and uninspiriting. - -She did not cavil at her fate. No one ever heard Azalea complain—of -poverty, obscurity, dullness or villenage. She accepted her destiny with -a fine stoicism, which reflected itself in well-feigned indifference and -enabled her to proceed along the same monotonous route at the same -monotonous speed, with the same monotonous companions month after month, -and year after year, without developing gangrene of the soul or breaking -into open revolt. - -“Oh, God,” she prayed each morning, before descending to the agitated -atmosphere of the breakfast table, “keep me from being difficult to live -with!” - -And Heaven heard her prayer. - -No one really knew Azalea—least of all, her family. Perhaps, no one -ever really knows anyone else, a phase of ignorance which, personally, I -am not inclined to deplore. Souls should be clad no less than bodies. -They should be gowned with decency, and in so far as possible, -loveliness; and if, now and again, the garment slips or wears thin, then -should the beholder turn his eyes away, nor seek to pry into anything -that may be so terrible or so sublime. - -Outwardly, as Lady Denby had said, Azalea was a plain little person. She -should have been dainty of form, but through some irreparable -miscalculation, the Creator had dowered her with the large features, -hands and feet designed for some much more ample person. Therefore, she -gave no pleasure to the sensitive, artistic eye, and this was an acute -grievance to her who possessed a deep and pagan love for Beauty. She was -a toneless girl, with thin, straight, dun-coloured hair which she could -not afford to keep marcelled. Her eyes were unarresting, as a rule; too -sharp to be appealing and not lustrous enough to sparkle. Her skin had a -sandy cast and usually shone. Even when rouge and the ubiquitous -lip-stick assumed the respectability of universal usage, Azalea’s -appearance was scarcely improved, for the former would not blend, and -lay like a definite glaze upon her cheeks, while the latter only -accentuated the flatness of her too-ample mouth, and made one wish that -she had not tampered with it at all. - -Her wardrobe was an appalling miscellany of discarded grandeur. Ladies -whose clothes were too passé for their own adornment, bestowed them upon -Azalea with the remark, - -“You can see, my dear, that these are scarcely worn, and anyway, they -are not the sort of things one could give the servants!” - -She had learned to smother the hot rebellion that flared up in her -heart, to thank them prettily, and to convey huge, unwieldy bundles -through the streets and hold her tongue when her family commented upon -the generosity of Lady This or Mrs. That. But she often wondered that -her father never divined that Lady Elton’s cloth-of-gold dinner gown -remodelled by her impatient and unskilled fingers, caused abrasions upon -her spirit deeper than sackcloth could have produced, and blithely would -she have consigned every stitch that she owned to the flames, for the -joy of buying the most ordinary, commonplace, inexpensive frock at a -bargain sale. - -The future of the Deanes stretched behind them. The best of the family -lay underground. Mr. Grenville Harrison Deane was the sole male survivor -of an illustrious line that could be traced (so he declared) with an -occasional hiatus, back to Alfred the Great! It was never clear to the -upstarts whose genealogical tree took root in England about the time of -the Conquest, or thereafter, how he arrived at his conclusion, but if -antiquity of ideas was anything of a proof, then they were forced to -admit that there was justification in his contention, for his views of -life antedated those of Britain’s noble King. - -Aloofness from fatiguing toil had rewarded him with an erectness that -was impressive, and a complexion that a flapper might have envied. A -Dundreary of silver gossamer caressed his cheeks, and his clear, -lustrous eyes looked out from an unfurrowed setting. His chief -characteristics were piety and an Eumenidean temper. The former, which -should have been broad, was constricted to the dimensions of a number -ten needle, and the latter, which should have been narrow, expanded to -encompass impartially every one who held views divergent from his own. -Particularly, was it directed against the blistering injustice of the -Civil Service. - -The Civil Service had served him faithfully for thirty-five years, -despite his eternal villification of it. Recently, his incompetence had -been recompensed by superannuation and the payment of seven-tenths of -his salary—shall it be said, seven times as much as he was worth? But -Mr. Deane had always fancied himself in the Premier’s place, or at least -in a Ministerial capacity. Failing that, a Trade Commissionership, or -even a Deputy’s post would have appeased him. Therefore, to be -superannuated after thirty-five years’ inconspicuous hampering of the -postal service, appeared to him as a blot upon the integrity of the -Nation. - -He was forever “taking up his case” with this or that influential -person. What his case was, Azalea had but a misty idea, and whether he -actually took it up or merely gloated over the notion of doing so, she -had no means of ascertaining. Anyway, the matter had long ago ceased to -interest her. - -Mrs. Deane was the type of woman now happily becoming quite extinct, who -was born to be dominated, and ably fulfilled her destiny. The eldest and -most unattractive daughter of a rural English divine, she had won her -husband by a trick for which he never forgave her, though he realised -that she was in no way responsible. He had fallen fatuously in love with -Dorothea, her younger sister, and had received the parental sanction to -an engagement before setting sail for “Kenneda” and a post that his name -might dignify. Six months later, Dorothea, who had quite innocently -intrigued the affection of a visiting curate—a nephew of the Dean of -Torborough, no less—had been prodded weeping to the altar, while Fanny -was trundled on a steamer and shipped to Montreal to console the -palpitant bridegroom, who had not even been apprised of the fact that a -substitute had been forwarded. - -The agony of that trip left its mark on Fanny Deane. A kindly lie would -have spared her so much—for a time, at least. But the Rev. Arthur -Somerset deemed suffering a salutory need, for others, and stated the -case to his first-born with unequivocal lucidity . . . One phase of a -woman’s duty is to grasp the opportunity for marriage and thus clear the -way for her younger sisters, who, also, must have husbands. The prospect -of fulfilling this duty in St. Ethelwyn’s was slender, and Fanny was no -longer young . . . Did she want to be a burden in her old age to her -family? . . . Dependent upon them for a home . . . Such inconsideration -in a daughter of his was unthinkable . . . And as for young Deane, the -Rev. Arthur waived his preference aside with a clerical gesture -calculated to display advantageously his well-kept hand . . . Any man -might be proud of a wife begotten and bred by Arthur Somerset, D.D. - -“You must carry it off well, Fanny,” he adjured her, at the close of the -interview, “for otherwise, you will be stranded in a strange country -where . . .” the alternative was painted in no mean and unromantic -terms. - -Fanny “carried it off” successfully enough, though by no fault or virtue -of her own. Too ill, almost, to stand, she crept down the gangway, and -cowered before the eager-eyed young man who did not even recognise her -when she addressed him. - -Ah, if she had only been told that kindly little lie, and could have -raised a radiant face to his, whispering, - -“Here I am, dear! It was too wonderful that you should have sent for -me!” - -Instead, with ashen lips and shame-filled eyes, she muttered, “Mr. -Deane, they married Dorothea to a curate—she couldn’t help it—she -wanted you to know! Here is your ring . . . and . . . and . . . they -made me come . . . For God’s sake, don’t send me back! I’ll work for you -till I drop dead . . . I’ll be your servant—anything—only, for God’s -sake, don’t send me home!” - -He stared at her while the devastating truth burst over him like an -engulfing flood. He shook with rage, with the anguish of blighted hopes -and his own impotence in escaping the net that had been spread for him, -while Fanny cringed beside him praying that God would strike her dead -. . . - -And Heaven did not hear her prayer. - -Speechless, they faced one another. After a bit, he took her roughly by -the arm. - -“Come, girl,” he said, “we’ll get this rotten business over, quickly. -The license reads ‘Dorothea’—I suppose I’ll have to get another one. -There now, for God’s sake, don’t sniffle! People are looking at us.” - -To give him credit, Grenville Harrison Deane never charged her with the -deception of her parents. He never referred to it in so many words. But -for two and forty years, Fanny lived in connubial torment, under the -shadow of this smothering humiliation, and the fear that he might some -day be led to speak of it. Often, there was that in his manner, that -threatened to burst into violent and comminatory reproach. - -She tried to efface herself, to reduce herself to nothingness, and to -spare him the reminder of her substitution. She had a way of watching -him, endeavouring to divine his whims and moods, that was loathesome in -its humility. Her entire life was an apology for having failed to be her -sister. - -Unfortunately, Fanny never suspected that the greatest need of her -overlord was association with a strong-minded tyrant, who, in the guise -of the clinging-vine—or any other—would have thrust upon him the -unexperienced pleasure of putting his shoulder to the wheel and hearing -it creak as he moved it. He would have been happy doing things, being -wheedled into service; but, as matters stood, Fanny Deane would have -breathed for him, had such been possible. She relieved him of every -burden and responsibility, and became a substitute not only for her -silly, simpering sister, but for a shabby armchair and a pair of carpet -slippers. Azalea, who was the youngest of five daughters, went so far as -to say that the tomb to which his mortal envelope must one day be -committed, would never equal in comfort the padded sepulchre her mother -provided him while living. - -Azalea’s earliest remembrance centred round a very common -occurrence—her mother kneeling in the midst of broken toys and howling -children, pleading, - -“Don’t cry, my darlings! We will mend them! Sh-sh-sh—_Please_ be quiet! -_Don’t_ irritate your father.” - -She lived in constant dread of irritating a man who would have kept his -temper had he really been vouchsafed anything to be irritated about; and -her life was one which no self-respecting dog would have endured. - -No one was more surprised than Fanny Deane when her four elder girls -found husbands. Naturally, perhaps, she regarded marriage as a difficult -and sordid undertaking—for parents, that is to say. Many a night, as -she sat beside a moaning baby, the thought that one day she might have -to engineer her children into the State of Holy Wedlock was like a -deadly stricture about her heart. However, Hannah, Flossie, Tottie and -May all married without any fuss or flurry, in a satisfactory, -chronological fashion, the Civil Service yielding up its living dead to -provide their sustenance. They became the Mrs. Polduggans and Mrs. -Crogganthorpes of Ottawa; that large, uneasy, imitigable -body—scrabbling, straining, jostling, niggling, fighting for the power -to give rather than receive—snubs!—and living largely in the hope of -supplanting their superiors and lifting themselves out of the ruck -composed of other women, whose husbands, like their own, were merely -“something in the Government”. - -But Azalea was different. Marriage, in her opinion, was neither the -subliminal pinnacle of feminine felicity, as her father claimed to -conceive it, nor the Open Door to Independence, as her sisters averred. -Shrewd observation led her to the conclusion that of independence there -was little, and feminine felicity there was none. Always interested in -the dark side of life, e.g., the married side, Azalea divided the women -of her acquaintance into two classes—the parasites, who slyly or -seductively tapped their husbands and appropriated their material and -spiritual substance without suffering the smallest compensatory impulse, -and the antithetical order, who resigned themselves to a stronger will -and found matrimony a state of reluctant vassalage. - -Azalea dreamed sometimes of an ideal companionship, or perhaps, a -companionable ideal, but the paradigmatic young men whom her sisters -(with the patronage of the successful angler who has already gaffed his -fish and offers to instruct the novice how to bait a hook, and cast) -enticed for her selection, inflamed her disgust rather than her -romanticism. - -Her greatest hunger was for economic independence, and this was -summarily denied her. - -Mr. Deane, drenched in archaic theories, confused idleness with -refinement, and work with degradation. Moreover, he would have felt a -sense of incompetence, mute reproach, even contempt, had he permitted -his daughters to join the restless ranks of the employed. By such a -measure, would he have confessed his inability to support them as -befitted women of gentle breeding, and to provide them with all the -amenities that their natures craved. That one of them should possess a -bank account of her own and feel at liberty to spend money without the -humiliating necessity of applying to him, was a condition that smacked -of positive shamelessness. It was characteristic of him that although he -never wished to perform any useful task unaided by the members of his -household, he never allowed them to perform the task alone. - -He had a genuine horror of the modern business woman who could look him -unflinching in the eye, without that sweet deference which testified to -his superiority. All business women were, in his opinion, coarse; -besides, economic independence resulted in their getting “out of hand”, -and a woman who got out of hand, was, in Mr. Deane’s judgment, a very -dangerous proposition. Therefore, he refused Azalea the freedom she -craved. He immolated her self-respect (and that of the community for -her, in a measure) on the altar of his vanity, and condemned her to a -life of servitude far more degrading than anything she would have -chosen. She was depressed under the burden of obligations that gave her -little benefit and no pleasure, and she secretly despised herself for -being forced to accept them. - -“Do let me go away and work,” she used to entreat, “I could teach. -That’s a lady’s profession.” - -But her mother made vague gestures of distress that said, - -“Don’t bring up this dreadful subject again! Please, my dear, be careful -or you will irritate your father!” - -And father, giving every promise of fulfilling this prophecy, would -reply, - -“So long as I live, I hope that no daughter of mine will be forced from -the shelter of her home, and out amongst the ravening wolves of -commerce. When I am gone . . .” he left an eloquent pause “. . . But in -the meantime . . .” - -The words, not to mention the gesture that accompanied them, implied -somehow that caravans of voluptuous commodities assembled by his protean -labours, should continue to arrive at their very door. - -He was unctuously proud of her friends, and actually toadied to her in -deference to her association with the aristocracy of the Capital. So did -her sisters, and their husbands, and the “char”, and the tradespeople, -all of whom knew that she enjoyed sufficient intimacy with Lady Elton to -assist at a luncheon or dinner-party—assist, that is to say, in the -kitchen. And the splendid thing about this kind of assistance was that -she received no honorarium for her services. That was where she took -conspicuous precedence over Mrs. Wiggin, the char, and Ellen Petrie, who -“waited on all the exclusive affairs of the city”. To work without -salary was Mr. Deane’s conception of a lady’s highest calling, and a -means whereby she might be kept from getting out of hand. - -He was supported in this attitude by one of the foremost ladies in the -land, who argued that “no woman engaged in earning her own living should -be presented at the Drawing Room!” - -The Dillings struck a new note in the monotone of Azalea’s existence. -She had never seen their like, and was profoundly touched by their -genuineness, their simplicity. For the first time in her life she felt -that she had come into contact with people to whom friendship is dearer -than the advantageous acquaintanceship that travesties it; for the first -time in her life she could show an honest affection without being -suspected of having an ulterior motive. At that time, Azalea had nothing -to gain from the Dillings. On the contrary, she had something to -give—an ineffably joyous experience—and she delighted in the sensation -of being for once the comet instead of the tail; instead of the trailer, -the cart. - -Towards Raymond Dilling, she was conscious of an intense maternalism. -Mentally, she acknowledged him her master, but in every other respect, -he was an utter child—hard, undemonstrative, cold, but, despite that, a -very appealing child. And she saw with her native shrewdness that mere -mentality would never gain for him the success which he deserved. -Ottawa, she knew, was thronged with brilliant people whose gifts were -lost to the City—to the Dominion—because they lacked the empty -artifices and consequent social standing which enabled them to get a -hearing. No strolling mummer in the Middle Ages needed ducal patron more -sorely than does a mere genius in the Capital of Canada. - -And Dilling liked Azalea. She was a new and interesting type to him who -had never considered feminine psychology a topic that was worth -pursuing. His wife’s friends in Pinto Plains were, he realised, -estimable creatures running to fat and porcelain teeth at middle age. -They were conscientious mothers, faithful to their husbands and earnest -seekers after a broader knowledge than that provided by their homely -tasks. But they wearied him. Whenever he encountered a group of them, -his dominant wish was to escape, and he rarely failed to gratify this -desire by excusing himself with some such remark as, - -“I’ll just slip off and leave you ladies free to discuss the three D’s”, -by which he implied (with some degree of justification, doubtless) that -the conversation of women is restricted to the topics of Dress, -Domestics and Disease. He hated women’s chatter. - -Azalea Deane was the only woman he had ever known who possessed what he -later termed a bi-sexual mind. He was never irritably conscious, as was -the case with Marjorie’s other friends, of the fact that she was a -woman. Even when she discussed the three D’s, there was a broad -impersonality, a pleasing and quizzical tang to her remarks that he -chose to arrogate to the mind of man. Before he had known her any length -of time, he discovered that, unlike Marjorie she not only understood -what he said, but that in some startling and inexplicable manner she -divined thoughts which he had expressly refrained from putting into -words. - -For him, she was a novel experience, whose flavour he enjoyed rather -more intensely than he was aware. Not that his emotions were even -remotely touched by the personality of the girl. No! She was a mental -adventure which he followed with frank curiosity and a diminishing -display of patronage. Her mind was full of exhilarating surprises, and -he was astounded to discover how easily she ornamented arid facts with -garlands plucked from her rich imagination. She had a neat twist in the -handling of them which Dilling was not slow to see and imitate. She -guided him into many a pungent domain of thought, where he lost himself -completely in an exciting pursuit after some winking little light, that -led to the very middle of an icy stream into which he fell, spluttering, -only to find Azalea calm and dry, on the opposite shore, laughing at -him. He contracted the habit of reading extracts from his speeches to -her, and presently, he tried the effect of an entire discourse. Now and -again, he sounded her as to what he considered saying, and discovered -that her enthusiastic understanding was like an extra filter to his -already well-clarified intention. - -He stored up particularly smart bits of political repartee to tell her, -while his own triumphs of wit were laid at her feet rather than those of -his bewildered wife. And all this time, the prevailing fancy that -overlaid his subconscious mind, was, - -“Quite a good sort, that girl! Pity she isn’t a man!” - -He voiced this latter sentiment to Azalea one evening shortly before -prorogation and his return for the summer to Pinto Plains. In their -sharp and peppery fashion, they had been discussing the Budget, -inflated, Azalea contended, beyond all reason by the conscienceless -demands of those picaresque buccaneers, Eastlake and Donahue, whose -issue of private enterprise was begotten in the womb of the public -treasury, when Dilling turned to her and cried, - -“You’ve made out a good case, Miss Deane! You should have been a man!” - -The girl’s cheeks burned a painful brick tint. But she laughed and -retorted, - -“By which you tactfully imply my unsuitability for the state to which it -has pleased God to call me, and regret that physical limitations prevent -my choosing a more adequate sphere. I confess to you in strict -confidence, that frequently, I have deplored this condition, myself.” - -“Come along into politics,” invited Dilling, a touch of seriousness -behind his banter. - -“Right-o! Just so soon as you amend the B.N.A. and offer me a refuge in -the Senate,” she answered, and changed the subject. - -Later that night, Marjorie hinted that he had hurt Azalea. - -“Eh?” cried Dilling. “What are you talking about? Hurt her—how?” - -“By what you said.” - -“What did I say?” - -“That she should have been a man.” - -Dilling carefully twisted his collar free from the button. A violent -physical action of any kind was foreign to him. Running the curved band -between his fingers, he gave an abstracted thought to the possibility of -wearing it again on the morrow, even while he turned to contradict his -wife. “Nonsense, Marjorie, she liked it! All women like it; it’s a -tribute to their mentality, my dear. One often has to say some such -thing to a perfect ninny, but in this case I happen to be sincere and I -think Miss Deane knew it.” - -Marjorie did not contest the point. She never argued with Raymond, but -once in a while she felt, as now, that his non-combatible correctness -covered an error in judgment. Of course, he was sincere in paying a -tribute to Azalea’s cleverness, and, of course, she knew he meant what -he said. But that was the very trouble—the very barb that pierced her -spirit! - -In a strange and mysterious way (of which she was somewhat ashamed) -Marjorie often reached perfectly amazing conclusions that were directly -opposed to Raymond’s incontrovertible logic. And Azalea’s hurt was a -case in point. Just why the words had stung, it was beyond Marjorie -Dilling to explain. Orderly thinking and systematic juxtaposition of -facts found their substitute in flashes of intuition which, throughout -the ages, have stood for women in the place of reason. But she knew, -without knowing how she knew, that Azalea would rather have impressed -Raymond with her incomparable womanhood, than the fact that she was the -possessor of a brain that should have functioned in the body of a man. - -As for Azalea, she was not conscious that Marjorie had heard the echo of -that discordant note, and she would have been inexpressibly surprised -had she suspected it. Years of rigid discipline had taught her to -conceal all the emotions she thought she had not strangled, and she was -accustomed to being treated as a man when not as a nonentity. Times -without number she had paid for an evening’s entertainment by escorting -timourous and penurious ladies safely home in the silent watches of the -night . . . a delicate assumption that she, herself, lacked sufficient -fascination to stimulate brute design. On other occasions, hostesses -frankly asked her to slip away quietly, “so that my husband won’t feel -obliged to take you home, dear.” And once, a particularly considerate -host glimpsing the blizzard that raged beyond his portal, had placed her -in the care of a diminutive messenger boy, of some nine years, who -struggled through the snowdrifts and sniffled that he had come from -Hewitt’s Service, and please where was the parcel? - -So Dilling’s words cut without producing an unendurable pain. The spot -was well cocained and would ache long after the incision had been made. -Azalea listened to his defence of his leader, his Party, and Messrs. -Eastlake and Donahue, sensitive to a breath of discouragement beneath -his words. - -“I came to Ottawa expecting to find co-operation, and in its place -fierce competition confronts me—competition,” he said, “within the very -ranks of the Party! It may strike you as being particularly naive, but I -confess that I had not expected to find this sort of friction. It puts a -different complexion on politics.” - -This was a tremendous admission for him to make, and in one of those -flashing visions that supplemented her more leisured mental processes, -Azalea saw that just as Marjorie groped along her level, so Dilling -stumbled into pitfalls in his particular sphere, that a cumulus vapour -of disenchantment threatened the horizon of his career, and that even as -his wife bade fair to be a victim of the Social Juggernaut, so he would -be crushed beneath the wheels of the political machine. - -And they thought that this was The Land of Afternoon! - - - CHAPTER 8. - -The Dillings returned to Ottawa refreshed in body and spirit. Their -summer in Pinto Plains had been a prolonged triumph and its effect, -beneficial. Not only had they been welcomed with affectionate deference, -entertained sedulously, and permitted to depart with honest regret and a -dash of frank envy, but they had been reclaimed by that splendid -illusion from which six months in the Capital had freed them. - -By the time they turned their faces eastward, they were quite prepared -to attribute their disheartening experiences of the previous winter to -hyper-sensitiveness—the difficulty generally felt in accommodating -oneself to a new environment. - -It was during the last stages of the journey that uneasiness returned, -and expressed itself in remarks such as, - -“Just think . . . this time last year we were strangers, and now, it -seems almost like coming home!” or - -“It’s nice to know that we have friends here, isn’t it? We won’t be so -lonely, this year, will we?” - -Each in a characteristic way tried to capture a sense of confidence, a -glow of happiness, and to feel that being no longer aliens, Ottawa would -be different—that is, as each would like to find it. - -Marjorie succeeded better than her husband. - -“It’s awfully exciting, isn’t it?” she cried, as the train panted along -beside the canal, and familiar landmarks unfolded before her. - -Across the muddy water where barges and the Rideau Royal Pair were tied -up for the winter, she could see the Driveway, spotted with children and -women casually attendant upon perambulators. The Pavilion at Somerset -Street, where she used to sit with her little brood, looked bleak and -uninviting, but she was glad to see it, just the same. Two lovers -occupied a bench in front of the Collegiate, and kissed shamelessly as -the train moved past. Marjorie’s heart warmed to them, not that she -approved of kissing in public places, but because there was something -human about them; they added weight to her theory that Ottawa was not so -forbidding and formidable, after all. - -Dilling stared out of the window, too, but he did not see the lovers, -the Armouries, the Laurier Avenue Bridge, the Arena, nor the warehouses -flanked by the Russell Hotel. He saw a straggling little lumber village, -gay with the costumes of Red Men, voyageurs, and the uniforms of sappers -and miners, who were at work on the Canal. What a mammoth undertaking -and how freighted with significance! By the building of a hundred and -twenty-six miles of waterway that linked Kingston with the infant -Bytown, English statesmen provided an expedient for adding to the -impregnability of the British Empire! - -“War,” he mused. “How it has stimulated the ingenuity of man! With -sacrifice, with blood and tears, we carve a niche for ourselves out of -the resistant rock, in the hope that there we will find peace, but -immediately the task is finished, we set ourselves to fortify it against -the hour of war.” - -He pictured the Cave Dweller, bent over his crude instruments of -destruction, clubs of bone and stone, which, in all probability, the -modern man could scarcely lift. He considered the inventor of primitive -projectiles. That was a long step toward the mechanism of modern -homicide. One could lie, ambushed, behind a mound and use a sling, a -boomerang, a blow-pipe or a javelin, and arrows . . . he gave a mental -shudder and thanked God that he had not lived a hundred years ago. There -was something about an Indian that made his flesh creep; a traditional -antagonism that he did not try to overcome. The romance of the Red Man -never gripped him. Like all unimaginative people, his prejudices were -sharp and immutable. - -He picked the word “blunderbuss” from a confusion of pictures that -combined Gibraltar and Queenston Heights, and cumbrous cannon that were -dangerous alike to friend and foe, and repeated, - -“War! Always fashioning some new tool to strengthen the hand of Death. -They spent a million pounds on a ‘military measure’ to safeguard the -Colony from invasion on the South . . . and behold, the Rideau Canal!” - - * * * * * - -He started when Marjorie thrust parcels into his arms, and observed that -at last they had arrived. - -Azalea met them at the station. She had opened their tiny house, and -with the assistance of Mrs. Plum had put it in order. - -Hers had been an exceptionally uneventful summer, and she had looked -forward to the Dillings’ return with an impatience that astonished her. - -From the last of June until the first of September, Ottawa is like a -City of the Dead. Despite the fact that these are the pleasantest weeks -of the year, the town is deserted by every one who can get away, even -though the exodus extends no farther than Chelsea, on the other side of -the river. But Azalea hadn’t even got so far, this summer. Her time had -been pretty fully occupied carrying out commissions for more fortunate -friends. Lady Denby who had gone to the sea, asked her to superintend -the installation of the winter’s coal. Mrs. Long preferring the -irresponsibility of Banff to the responsibility of presiding over her -country home and a succession of unappreciated house-parties, decided -that this was an excellent opportunity for papering some of the obscurer -portions of her town residence, and ‘knew that Azalea wouldn’t mind -overseeing the work’. She interviewed a cook for Mrs. Blaine, hunted up -a photograph of Sir Mortimer Fanshawe taken on the golf links (before he -had acquired the game) and excellent as a pictorial feature for a -sporting supplement. She shopped, exchanged articles, paid bills that -had been forgotten, and found herself generally confronted with the _res -angusta domi_ of a woman without an income. She did not grumble. At the -same time, she could imagine a hundred happier ways of spending a -summer. - -Mr. and Mrs. Deane left the shelter of their comfortable home to suffer -in turn the hospitality of each of their married daughters, who -holidayed according to their means (i.e., spent a good deal more money -than they could afford, and returned home soured by the necessity for -retrenchment). Azalea could have gone, too, but there were limits even -to her endurance. - -The Dillings fell upon her joyously, not only Marjorie and the children, -but Raymond. - -“You must come home with us,” he cried, “and tell us all the news. Is it -true that Pratt is running for the Federal House? I heard a rumour to -that effect on the train.” - -Azalea nodded. - -“You can’t be surprised. This has been his wife’s ambition for years. -She’ll achieve it, too, if there’s anything in persistent campaigning. -But I’ve something else to say—I wrote you about it a few days ago, -before your wire came. The house that Lady Denby has been so keen for -you to take, is empty. I have an option on it in your name.” - -Marjorie could not suppress an exclamation. The house in question was -large, and in her opinion, unduly pretentious. Their living expenses -would be more than doubled. It seemed strange to her that people of -their modest means should be encouraged—urged, indeed—to make such -extravagant outlay. Display of any sort was, in the eyes of Pinto -Plains, vulgar, and a cardinal sin upon which her friends felt -themselves qualified to sit in judgment, was that of trying to appear -above one’s station. - -To Marjorie, one of the most amazing features about life in the Capital -was the discovery that women who dressed with most conspicuous elegance, -lived in impressive style and drove in motor cars, commanded only a -Civil Servant’s meagre salary. Later, she learned that over their heads -a cloud of debt continually hung, but it caused them no more distress -than did the dome of the sky. The infamous credit system in the city was -responsible for these moral callouses which she simply could not -understand. Debt, to her, was synonymous with dishonesty, and that -anyone could become accustomed to living in its shadow, was beyond the -limits of her comprehension. It was a shock for her to learn that -respected families had unpaid accounts at the large stores extending -over a period of twenty years! - -Virtually, any tradesman would supply merchandise on account to a Civil -Servant, because although the salary could no longer be garnisheed, they -hoped that a small payment would be snipped with regularity from the -infallible Governmental cheque. - -“Why don’t you buy a set of sectional bookcases for your husband’s -books?” asked Azalea’s sister, Flossie, during the progress of a call. - -Marjorie’s reply was ingenuous, naively truthful. “We’ve been under so -much expense lately,” she said, “I felt that I couldn’t afford them.” - -Mrs. Howard, whose husband was an anaemic little man, occupying a humble -post in the Department of Labor, opened her eyes in genuine -astonishment. - -“You don’t have to _pay_ for them,” she cried. “Hapgood is most -considerate in the matter of his accounts. I generally have to beg for -mine!” - -This latter remark was not strictly in line with the truth—not in Mrs. -Howard’s case. She had heard it, however, dropped from the lips of one -of Ottawa’s twenty-three millionaires, and appropriated it, she felt, -with some effect. - -But Marjorie couldn’t see any future happiness at all, knowing that she -would be faced with financial problems, and she was absolutely unable to -understand the attitude of Lady Denby, who, throughout the previous -winter, had stressed the necessity for making a better appearance “for -the sake of the Party”. - -“When people are wealthy and have an assured position,” she counselled, -“they can enjoy a freedom of action that is denied those less -fortunately conditioned. Mrs. Hudson is an example. She could, if one of -her extraordinary whims dictated, dine at Government House in her -great-grandmother’s faded bombazine, without injuring her position in -the slightest degree. On the other hand, should _you_ attempt the -smallest unconventionality, I assure you the result would be socially -disastrous. The same principle applies in the matter of entertaining. -You are no less a part of public life than is your husband, and you can -render him no greater assistance than by displaying a judicious and -well-regulated hospitality. Cultivate _nice_ people—er—the Minister’s -wives, and so on . . . Entertain them and entertain them well, but—” -she broke off, abruptly, “—you can’t do it _here_!” - -It quite took Marjorie’s breath away to learn that Lady Denby considered -women important in politics, and that they might sway their husbands for -or against a fellow member was an idea that had never entered her mind. -Neither could she understand how her own popularity could be a factor in -Raymond’s success, and that it was dependent upon maintaining a position -she would not afford, instead of living according to her means and -simplicity of requirement—was an attitude of mind that she never -completely grasped. But the necessity for it all was made evident even -to Raymond, and by no less a person than Sir Eric himself, who ably -coached by his wife, remarked that “to save, one must first learn to -spend!” - -“Establish yourself, my dear fellow,” were his words, “establish -yourself in the life of the Capital, and when the roots are firmly -implanted in this loamy soil, draw in your horns—if one may be -permitted to mix a metaphor. I am not advocating a reckless expenditure -of more than you have to spend,” emphasised the advocate of all the -verbotens, “but rather the point that it is not advisable for a young -politician to appear to hoard his salary. Education, you say? The -children’s education will, I trust, be well provided for by a generous -and appreciative country.” - -So the Dillings moved, and Marjorie memorialised the occasion by issuing -invitations to a large tea. - -“I suppose you didn’t keep a visiting list?” - -“No!” - -Azalea had expected a negative answer, so she was not disappointed. But -Marjorie added, - -“I’m sure I shan’t forget any of my friends.” - -“Doubtless! The difficulty will lie in remembering all your active -enemies!” - -“Oh, Miss Deane—I mean Azalea—what shocking things you say! Surely, I -don’t have to ask people who have—that is, who haven’t—who aren’t -exactly what you might call friendly with me?” - -“Positively!” - -“Oh, but that doesn’t seem right!” protested Marjorie, in dismay. “It’s -deceitful! There’s no use liking people if you treat the ones you don’t -like just as well!” - -“Sound logic, my dear, but impractical from a social standpoint. You -see, it’s something like this—” Azalea slipped a thin gold bracelet -from her arm, pouring within and about it, a quantity of pen nibs. -“Society is like this bangle, and these nibs are the people who compose -it. I’ll jostle the desk and then see what happens to those who are not -safe within its golden boundary. They fall off and go down to oblivion. -The others, though disturbed, are in a sense secure, so you can see, my -dear, that the paramount business of life in the Capital is to get -_inside_. Of course, there are circles within circles, and you must -learn about them, later. But for the moment, concentrate upon getting -within the shining rim. Once there, you can stick, and prick, and jab, -and stab to your heart’s content, and you need not treat your friends -and enemies alike. But until you _do_ get there—well, you really won’t -matter, one way or the other. Your friendship will be prized scarcely -more than your enmity will be deplored.” - -“But,” objected Marjorie. “I never heard of dividing people into lots, -unless—” a sudden thought occurred to her “—unless you mean that all -the nice people are inside and the other kind are not. Is that it?” - -“Indubitably,” laughed Azalea. “And you must affirm your belief that -this is so, on each and every occasion.” - -“I don’t know what you mean.” - -“Why, you must find all the people within the circle charming and -brilliant and desirable, and all those outside commonplace and dull, and -not worth while. You must like the former and despise the latter. Oh, -it’s quite simple, really!” - -Marjorie smiled the smile she reserved for her husband’s excursions in -wit. She thought, of course, that Azalea was joking. - -“Now, there’s sometimes a little difficulty in classifying people who -teeter on the edge,” she poised a nib on the golden circle to illustrate -her point. “A little push one way or the other will decide which way -they will go, and until they get pushed, I admit they are something of a -problem. However, we’ll begin with the certainties, and then I’ll borrow -a list from Lady Denby, so as to be sure not to overlook anybody . . . -The Ministers’ wives—Mrs. Blaine, Mrs. Carewe, Mrs. Haldane, Mrs. -Carmichael, Lady Denby . . .” - -Azalea wrote rapidly for a few moments, carefully spelling the French -names as she recalled them. - -“Then the wife of the Black Rod: she goes everywhere—” - -“And I like her,” interrupted Marjorie. “She’s not a bit stiff, is she?” - -Azalea laughed and shook her head. Marjorie’s dread of women who were -“stiff” and men who were “sarcastic”, amused her. - -Between consultations with Lady Denby, the Parliamentary Guide and the -Telephone Book, the invitations were issued, and Azalea sat back, -sighing after her labours. - -“Now you will have paid off all your tea obligations,” she said, “but -you really must keep a list. Separate ones for luncheons, dinners and -suppers. Probably, a dinner will be the next thing.” - -“And who must I ask for dinner, when I give one?” enquired Marjorie, -ignoring in her distress the rules of grammar. - -“Why, the people who have had you, of course! Not luncheon people, not -tea people, mind!” Azalea was quite stern. “But the people who have had -you for _dinner_! It will be simple until you have been entertained -frequently, and then you will have to sort out members of different -sets.” - -“I don’t like it,” said Raymond Dilling’s wife. “I don’t want to -entertain that way. I tell you, it’s deceitful!” - -“Entertaining,” said Azalea, with a suspicion of hardness in her voice, -“is an admirable illustration of the ‘eye for an eye’ transaction -mentioned in Holy Writ. Only, in the Capital, an astute woman schemes to -obtain two eyes for one optic, and a whole set, upper and lower, for the -molar she has sacrificed. When she accomplishes this, my dear, then she -has achieved real social success. Bismillah!” - - - CHAPTER 9. - -Several circumstances combined to make possible the large and -representative crowd that attended Mrs. Raymond Dilling’s first big -crush. The day was fine, the season was only beginning so that there -were few counter-attractions, and the Parliamentary set, who were -hearing with increasing frequency of the fervid young prophet of the -prairies, went out of curiosity to see, as Mrs. Lorimer tactfully put -it, “_What_ he had married.” - -Dilling had already made a strong impression—partly favourable, and -partly the reverse. But it was definite in either case. - -Lastly, the Hollingsworth house, into which the Dillings had moved, was -a landmark which still bequeathed a flavour of by-gone grandeur to its -successive tenants, although no member of the illustrious family had -lived beneath its roof for close upon half a century. But no matter who -lived there, it was a mansion into which one could pass with dignity and -a certain satisfaction, secure in the knowledge that even should it be -converted into a boarding-house, there would remain the manifest though -indefinable air that differentiates the messuages of patricians from the -tenements of the proletariat. - -That the Hollingsworths’ should be transformed into anything so needful -as a private hostelry, however, was almost inconceivable, for Ottawa’s -last concern was her housing problem. - -Accommodation was so scarce at the seat of Government that many Members -began to fear, after a discouraging search, that they would have to -stand. Over-furnished rooms, and under-furnished houses were offered at -opulent rentals, but of comfortable pensions, there were none. There are -but two or three to-day. What solution has been reached, may be -attributed to the number of picturesque old residences that have been -remodelled and split into half a dozen inconvenient mouse-traps. - -Inside, the Hollingsworths’ was a riot of fantastic ugliness. A gaunt -reception hall engulfed the visitor and cast him, from beneath a series -of grilled oak arches, into a sombre drawing room. One end was bounded -by folding doors that resisted all efforts at movement, and beyond, -there yawned a portentous bay window that invited invasion by the house -next door and reduced the cubic contents of the dining-room. Strange -abutments, niches that looked as though they had been designed for -cupboards and abandoned before completion, appeared in unsuspected -places. Angles were everywhere. The ceilings were lumpy, like the -frosting of a birthday cake, and there wasn’t a gracious line to be -seen. - -Marjorie’s hangings, chosen with the idea of giving a cheerful touch, -looked somewhat as a collar of baby ribbon might have looked upon the -neck of an elephant. Her Brussels rugs were suggestive of a postage -stamp on a very large envelope, while the Mission furniture and mahogany -What-not, added to the general air of discord. With several violent -examples of the lithographers’ skill on the walls, there was completed a -terrorising picture that might aptly have been labelled “The Carnage of -Art”. - -Marjorie stood in front of the cherry-wood fireplace and tried not to be -nervous, but she couldn’t forget that immense issues depended upon the -success of this tea—Raymond’s entire future, perhaps! It was a thought -that almost petrified her. - -Pamela de Latour was one of the first guests to arrive. She was early -because she was assisting, and she was assisting because Lady Denby had -made the matter a personal favour to herself. It was customary, in -Ottawa, for unmarried ladies to “assist” in the dining-room, no matter -what their age, while matrons, either old or young, officiated at the -tea table. It therefore frequently developed that youthful -matrons—brides, indeed—were comfortably seated behind the tea-urn, or -that they cut interminable ices, while spinsters thrice their age, -percolated kittenishly among the guests on high-heeled slippers, -deprived by man’s short-sightedness, of the rest which their years were -craving. - -Miss Lily Tyrrell, aristocrat by inclination and democrat by -necessity—a charming woman whose family had been both wealthy and -conspicuous in an older generation—also assisted, as did the wholesome -Misses McDermott. These latter were so much in demand that their -“assistance” had become almost a profession, as had tea-pouring for Mrs. -Chalmers, wife of the Black Rod, and presiding at meetings for Mrs. B. -E. Tillson. - -“I’m so pleased to see you,” said Marjorie to Miss de Latour, a little -too precipitously, and spoiling the effect of Hawkin’s announcement. - -Hawkins “announced” at every function of any importance, and infallibly -employed the precise nuance of impressiveness with which to garnish each -name. - -“Miss de Latour,” he called, and in a tone which plainly said, “Here’s -Somebody!” - -“Missus ’Anover,” he droned, a moment later, looking over that lady’s -shoulder, and taking a deep breath before booming, - -“_Lydy Denby!_” - -That was his way. - -“It was so good of you to come,” Marjorie continued. “I didn’t know but -that you would have forgotten me.” - -“Not at all,” murmured Miss de Latour, gazing with a sort of outraged -intensity about the room. “Had you a pleasant summer?” - -“Oh, wonderful, perfectly wonderful! It was so good to get home and feel -. . .” - -“Missus Moss,” observed Hawkins, listlessly. - -“Pleased to meet you,” said Marjorie, nervously cordial. (She recalled -later, with considerable puzzlement, that most of her guests said -briefly, “How d’y do?” If they reciprocated her friendly sentiments, -they displayed admirable restraint in suppressing the fact.) “Isn’t it a -lovely day?” - -“Glorious,” agreed Mrs. Moss, estimating Miss de Latour’s dress at an -even hundred. “I suppose you’re glad to be back in Ottawa? Those little -prairie towns must be so dull!” - -Before Marjorie could spring to the defence of Pinto Plains, Mrs. -Hotchkiss was announced. The smile with which she was prepared to meet -her guest changed to a look of surprise. The rather plain little person -advancing towards her was not the dashing Mrs. Hotchkiss she so greatly -admired. - -“You were expecting my namesake, I see,” laughed the newcomer, easily. -“Yes, there are two of us—no relation. She’s the good-looking Mrs. -Hotchkiss. I’m the other one!” - -“Pleased to meet you,” said Marjorie, magenta-colour with embarrassment. -“Have you had—I mean, won’t you have your tea?” - -“Mrs. Plantagenet Promyss,” blared Hawkins, as though impatient to get -Mrs. Hotchkiss out of the way. - -A small, untidy woman plunged into the room. - -“How d’y do?” she said, not only to Marjorie, but all who were within -hearing distance. “I hope I’m not too late for a nice hot cup of tea! -There’s nothing so depressing to me as a third lukewarm steeping . . . -and that’s what a good many sessional hostesses give one, my dear!” Then -catching sight of Mrs. Long, “I’ve just come from a meeting of the -Little Learning League, where Lady Elton read a perfectly delightful -paper called ‘Good Buys in Old By-town’. You know, she’s so clever at -bargaining and that sort of thing . . . eh? The Little Learning League, -my dear Mrs. Dilling, is the only organization of its kind in the -Capital. It concentrates once a fortnight, the essence—absolutely the -essence—of feminine culture and intelligence. Mrs. Lauderdale Terrace -is our president. You probably haven’t met her . . . yet,” she added, -kindly. - -As a rule, Mrs. Promyss found the literary afternoons very wearisome. -She possessed a pretty gift for modelling in soap, and was eager to -instruct her fellow-members in the use of this charming and ductile -medium. So skillful was she that her copy of the famous Rogers’ group, -“You Dirty Boy” was once mistaken for the original. Indeed, she was so -intrigued by its artistic quality, that she was disposed to argue that -soap should be used for no other purpose, whatsoever! - -Lady Elton’s personal title, however, combined with the smart caption of -her paper, had quite enchanted the sculptor, and she was in high good -humour. “You must come to see me in my studio,” she called, as one of -the Misses McDermott led her away to the dining-room and a hot cup of -tea. - -Marjorie smiled and shook hands until faces, like great expressionless -balloons, wavered in the air. She lost all power to distinguish what was -being said to her, and had no idea what she replied. Now and again -phrases tumbled against her ear out of the general uproar but they -seemed to have very little sense. - -“. . . very proud of his children,” shouted a richly-dressed person on -her right. - -“. . . me, too,” came from a group on her left, “only we fry ours in -butter.” - -From the direction of her leatherette divan drifted a remarkable -statement—“. . . and she learned to swim . . .” “with a floating kidney -. . .” “. . . and came ashore at Quebec in a Mandarin’s coat!” - -Mechanically, she took the tea Azalea brought her, and approached a -group of Cabinet ladies. - -“Appalling,” one of them was saying. “Like something in a nightmare!” - -“Do you think she’ll ever learn?” murmured another. “He’s really -clever.” - -They turned suddenly. - -“We were just admiring your house,” exclaimed Mrs. Carewe. “This room -. . .” - -“Oh, I’m so glad you like it!” Marjorie’s voice trembled with happiness. -“I feel very small in such grandeur, but we’re not using the top floor -at all, and that helps a little. It was fortunate that our furniture was -dark, wasn’t it? I used to think there was nothing more gorgeous than a -gold drawing-room suite, but even if I could have it, it wouldn’t do at -all in here, would it?” - -“Positively not!” agreed the ladies, heartily. - -At the other end of the room, a group of Ottawa’s youthful Smart Set -sought to extract a modicum of enjoyment from what they termed a dee-dee -party. - -“They’re getting damnder and duller,” sighed one. - -“I thought nothing could beat Lady Denby’s, but this has it skinned to a -finish!” - -“Can’t any one think of a funny stunt?” asked another. “I’m so bored, I -could lie down on the floor and sing hymns.” - -“Do it,” dared Mona Carmichael, obviously the leader of the group. “Go -on, Zoe . . . I’ll bet my new pink knickers, you haven’t the nerve!” - -“Nerve’s my middle name,” declared Zoe, with a toss of her head. “But -the trouble with me is Mother. She’s prowling about somewhere in the -festal chamber, and she never appreciates my originality.” - -“Let’s eat,” suggested Elsa Carmichael, the Minister’s second daughter. -“That always fills up time.” - -“My time’s stuffed full,” observed Mona. “Had an awfully late lunch.” - -Their shrieks of laughter sounded above the din. - -“Sh—sh—sh—!” warned Zoe. “Little Nell from Pinto Plains is looking at -us.” - -“Well, let’s do _something_,” insisted the first speaker. “Couldn’t we -go upstairs and hide things?” - -Mona objected that this form of recreation was stale. - -“We might smear their tooth brushes with cold cream,” suggested Elsa. - -“Perhaps they don’t use them,” Zoe returned. - -“I say,” cried Mona, suddenly alive to a new thought, “how many olives -can you hold in your mouth at once?” - -Nobody had ever tried. - -“Let’s do it now,” they agreed with one accord. - -“Me first,” said Mona. “It was my idea.” - -They seized a plate from the table, surrounded the experimentator, and -watched half a dozen large, green olives disappear. - -“My word,” breathed Elsa, “she’s swallowing them whole!” - -“Eight,” counted Dolly Wentworth, her cousin. “Nine, ten—my Sunday hat, -doesn’t she look like a chipmunk?” - -This was too much for Mona. She gulped, grabbed the plate now almost -empty, and shot explosively, ten whole olives into it. - -Screams of delight rewarded her. - -“Look,” panted Zoe, “she hasn’t even bitten them!” - -“You beast,” said Elsa, “now we can’t tell t’other from which.” - -“Sorry,” replied her sister, “but you know I can’t eat them. They make -me disgustingly sick.” - -“You’ve got to eat them,” cried Dolly. “If you don’t, they’ll be served -up at the next party.” - -The thought threw them into agonising spasms of mirth. Oh, this was -wonderful . . . priceless . . . _mervellus_ . . . the very best ever! -They really expected to expire . . . - -“Slip them back on the table,” commanded Mona, as she saw Marjorie -approaching. - -“Not a minute too soon,” whispered Dolly. “Now then, girls, your best -Augusta Evans smile . . .” - -“Have you had tea?” asked Marjorie, finding something about their -hilarity that was as incomprehensible as the sombreness of the other -groups who appeared to be too bored for words. She had little time for -reflection, but there flashed through her mind a comparison between this -and a tea in Pinto Plains, where a friendly atmosphere was -inter-penetrating and a hostess wasn’t ignored by her guests. - -They turned to her with the insolence of people who felt they had graced -her home by their presence. Mona Carmichael answering for her friends, -replied, “Quarts . . . thanks.” - -As that seemed to be productive of no further conversation, Marjorie -moved away, suddenly conscious that there was a slight commotion at the -door. A late guest was arriving. To her amazement, she recognised Mrs. -Augustus Pratt, coarctated in a sapphire velvet, whose fashionable slit -skirt revealed a length of limb that fascinated, while it unutterably -shocked her. - -“Mrs. Pratt,” confided the lady to Hawkins. - -“Parding?” - -“Mrs. Pratt,” she repeated, bending a shade nearer. - -“Missus Spratt!” he relayed, resentfully. - -Hawkins knew Mrs. Pratt. He knew that she was marching round the golden -circle seeking a weak spot through which she might force an entrance, -and he felt it an insult to his position that he should have to deal -with any one outside the charmed enclosure. He hated Mrs. Pratt. - -Mrs. Pratt bore down upon Marjorie, and in her wake followed a girl who -was obviously a relative. - -“I came because I knew you must be expecting me. I said to Mod ‘. . . -something has happened to that invitation, and your father would never -forgive me if I didn’t make a particular effort to get down to Mrs. -Dilling’s this afternoon’. This is Mod, Mrs. Dilling. I suppose she’s a -little older than your children?” - -Marjorie was unequal to the occasion. She was surprised that Azalea had -asked Mrs. Pratt. Azalea was surprised, herself, although she took in -the situation at a glance, knowing that it was not unusual for persons -of Mrs. Pratt’s calibre to attend functions at Government House—and -elsewhere—with a sublime disregard for the necessity of an invitation. - -Maude was impaled upon the group of smart young ladies who stared -disapprovingly at her, while her mother wandered about for half an hour -with the intention of having everyone in the room know that she was -there. Later, that night, she took the precaution to telephone Miss -Ludlow, society reporter of The Dial, and, with cunning innocence, -offered the item about Mrs. Dilling’s tea as a means of helping the girl -to fill up her column—or colyum, in Mrs. Pratt’s phraseology. She -believed in helping women, and she realised how difficult a task -confronted the reporters. At any time, she would always be willing to -confide information, and advised Miss Ludlow (who listened with her -tongue in her cheek) not to hesitate to call upon her. - -As the crowd thinned, a chic little motor drove up to the Dilling’s -door, and, after a tired glance in the direction of the bright chintz -curtains, the driver settled back to await the pleasure of his lady. - -He was discovered almost immediately by the group standing in the -dining-room. - -“What slavery,” murmured Mrs. Long. “I wonder if it’s worth it.” - -“Perhaps he doesn’t mind,” suggested Mrs. Blaine. - -“Oh, I should say it’s part of the day’s routine,” said Miss de Latour. -“He calls somewhere for her every afternoon. One can grow accustomed to -anything.” - -“They say she’s writing a novel,” confided Mrs. Long, “an acrimonious -tale about all of us in the Capital.” - -“How delicious,” cried Miss de Latour. “Dante will be jealous, I fear!” - -“But it isn’t a novel,” Mrs. Blaine informed the group. “At least, -that’s not what she calls it.” - -“What is it, then?” - -“Well,” said Mrs. Blaine, “I’ve never seen it—nor any of the other -literary productions of which she is guilty, but she told me that it was -a sort of allegory, a child’s story, called “The Fable of the Fairy -Ferry-boat” . . . and she’s having it multigraphed for free distribution -among the children of the English peerage.” - -“Be careful,” cautioned Pamela de Latour, “here she is!” - -Mrs. Hudson fluttered to the window in response to the summons of Azalea -Deane. She waved a sprightly hand in the direction of the waiting car, -and mouthed, - -“Coming, directly, darling!” as though speaking to a young and -inexperienced lip-reader. - -“Isn’t it absurd?” she cooed coquettishly to the others. “But he _will_ -come! One would think we were bride and groom,” and she made an -ineffectual effort to blush. - -“Some men are lovers always,” sighed Mrs. Blaine. - -“That’s Bob to the life,” cried Mrs. Hudson. “No wonder I’m so spoiled.” - -“You certainly look exceptionally well,” remarked Mrs. Long. “Such a -becoming hat . . .” the fibs trickled fluently from her lips “. . . such -an artistic blending of gay colours . . . I like bright colours on any -one who can wear them. And your hair has grown so beautifully white -. . . not a dark strand to be seen anywhere . . .” Her eyes wandered to -the patient car “. . . And Mr. Hudson looks like a perfect boy . . .” - - - CHAPTER 10. - -Mrs. Pratt was racked by indecision. She was faced by a stupendous -problem. She could not determine whether to invite the young girls who -had so frankly snubbed “Mod” to drive home in her limousine, or whether -to honour herself by cringing before a group of elderly notables. She -had not possessed a motor long enough to understand that people to whom -driving would be a boon, do not expect to be invited, and that only -those who own cars, themselves, or are perfectly able to hire taxis, -should be asked to enjoy the convenience of a motor. - -So she made the mistake of offering to drop Miss Lily Tyrrell at her -remote apartment, and prodded Maude into urging the Carmichael sisters -to be driven home. - -“We could easily take a couple more,” she announced from the doorway, -rather as a barker tries to fill up his sight-seeing car. “No trouble at -all!” But as couples were slow in stepping forward, she strode off with -the persons already captured. - -There was silence for a space after Mrs. Pratt had telephoned directions -to her chauffeur. A sensitive stranger would have suspected that each -member of the party was waiting for the other to throw the first stone. -But such was not precisely the case. The unpleasant _timbre_ in the -atmosphere was due to the fact that between each individual there -existed a definite sense of animosity which was clothed with the -filmiest cloak. Each seemed to be waiting an opportunity to step into -the open and club the others into sensibility of her own importance. - -Mrs. Pratt looked at the ears of her chauffeur. Miss Tyrrell turned her -head towards the window and thanked Heaven she would soon be able to -take off her shoes. The Carmichaels maintained a series of signals by -kicking one another beneath the lap robes, and Maude stared into her -folded hands, wondering vaguely why people were born at all. Chickens -and dogs and cats seemed so much more worth while. - -“Where do _you_ live?” asked Miss Tyrrell, with just the proper shade of -patronage. She wished to make very clear to the Carmichael sisters that -there existed no intimacy between Mrs. Pratt and herself. - -The former plunged into a minute description of the improvements she had -effected in the Tillington place, and warned Miss Tyrrell that she would -scarcely recognise it, now. - -“I suppose in its day, it was considered all right,” she said, “but it -was quite impossible when I took it over. You must see it . . . Of -course, you _will_! With a husband in Parliament, I shall have to do a -lot of entertaining. Do you like to dance?” she asked Mona, suddenly. - -“I adore it,” returned the girl, with elaborate indifference. “You -don’t, do you?” she demanded of Maude. - -“Oh, yes, I love dancing.” - -“Really? I never see you, anywhere.” - -“Mod is just home from school,” said Mrs. Pratt. “I don’t believe in a -girl carrying all her brains in her feet. She went out rather more than -was good for her in Montreal . . . not being vurry strong. That’s why I -can’t let her go to the University, as she wants.” - -“What a pity,” murmured the sisters, in a tone that made Miss Tyrrell -bite her lips to keep from laughing. - -The moment they were alone, Mrs. Pratt wheeled upon her daughter. -“Whatever will I do with you, Mod?” she scolded. “Aren’t you ever going -to learn to say anything for yourself?” - -“I don’t like those girls,” muttered Mod. - -“I should hope not! But is that any reason why you shouldn’t make -friends with them?” - -“I don’t want to have friends that I don’t like.” - -Mrs. Pratt was struck speechless by such philosophy. It had never -occurred to her that anyone could hold views at variance with her own, -least of all, her daughter. She found herself at a loss for an argument, -a retort, indeed. The girl might just as well have said she didn’t like -having two hands. - -“But everybody has!” exclaimed Mrs. Pratt. “There’s no getting around -it! Look at your father . . . look at me!” - -Maude looked. - -“You don’t suppose I went to that Dilling imbecile’s tea because I -_liked_ her—or any of the people there, for the matter of that—do -you?” - -“Then why did you go?” asked Maude, sullenly. - -“Why—why—how absurd you are! I went, and you will have to go because -other people do—because it’s the way of Society, because, whether you -like it or not, it’s THE THING!” - -They found Mr. Rufus Sullivan enjoying the fruits of the cellar when -they reached home. - -“Blame Gus, not me!” he cried. “Heaven knows I’ve tried to take myself -off half a dozen times. Is this your girl?” - -“Yep,” answered Pratt, his harsh voice softening. “This is our baby.” - -“Too big for me to kiss, I suppose,” said Sullivan, secretly -congratulating himself that this was so. Maude bore a striking -resemblance to her mother. - -Mrs. Pratt acknowledged this witticism with a dry cackle, and invited -the Hon. Member to stay and take _pot-pourri_ with them. She slurred -over the words cautiously, never quite certain as to the correct -application of the phrase. Some people, she knew, said pot luck, but -this had, to her way of thinking, a vulgar sound. - -“That’s the stuff,” cried Gus. “We can go back to the House together -after a bite of supper.” - -“Dinner,” corrected his wife, coldly. “You’re quite all right as you -are, Mr. Sullivan. None of us will dress.” - -“I should hope not,” breathed the irrepressible Pratt, and drained his -glass with a smack. “Sullivan’s no party.” - -As it had been this gentleman’s intention to stay and talk with Mrs. -Pratt, he demurred politely, calling himself an inconsiderate nuisance -and other equally applicable terms. But in the end he allowed himself to -be persuaded, and settled down to accomplish the object of his coming. - -“It’s a great pleasure to meet a woman with so keen a sense for -politics,” he remarked, speaking to Pratt but indicating his wife. Mr. -Sullivan was one of the few men who could eat and talk at the same time, -without seeming to give undue preference to either operation. “Our -Canadian women take shockingly little interest in the life of the -country.” - -“Don’t blame ’em,” mumbled Pratt, struggling with a very hot potato. - -“Augustus!” Between telegraphing reproach to her husband, and directing -the maid in what she conceived to be the correct serving of a meal, Mrs. -Pratt’s heavy eyebrows attained a bewildering flexibility. “He pretends -not to take his position seriously, but leave him to me, Mr. Sullivan, -leave him to me!” - -“With confidence, Madam,” returned the Hon. Member, gallantly. “Would -that I had half so much in the other women of the Party. Is it not -curious,” he went on, “that a politician’s wife rarely appreciates the -extent of her influence in shaping her husband’s career? The parson’s -lady identifies herself with his interests; the doctor’s wife realises -that she can attract or repel patients; and only the other day, the wife -of a small-town banker confided to me that she never misses an -opportunity for doing a stroke of business on her husband’s behalf. As a -matter of fact, I understand that she was largely responsible for the -rival institution closing its doors, and leaving the field. Yet, a -politician’s wife as a rule, seems to take pride in holding herself -aloof from politics.” - -“Dirty business for a woman,” commented Pratt, stroking Maude’s hand -underneath the table. - -“Not a whit dirtier than Society, my dear fellow, and there she likes to -wallow. Am I not right, Mrs. Pratt? As a woman of the world, I feel sure -you will agree with me.” - -Mrs. Pratt, who desired above all else to be a woman of the world, -agreed with him, darkly. In this coalition, they seemed to form a vague -but tacit compact from which the recently-elected Member for Ottawa was -excluded. - -“What, in your opinion, is the vurry best way for a woman to help her -husband, politically?” she enquired, as they rose from the table. - -Sullivan managed to assume an arch expression as he pressed her arm, and -answered, - -“How can you ask such a question of a mere man?” - -“I can ask anything of anybody when there’s something I want to find -out,” was the blunt retort. “Gus—Augustus—has _got_ to make good.” - -“He will! We have the utmost faith in him . . . and may I add, in you. -You’ll be a tower of strength to Gus, Mrs. Pratt, with your keen sense -for politics. Only the other evening, I was making this statement to my -little friend, Mrs. Dilling.” - -“Mrs. Dilling?” - -“Yes. Wife of the Member for Pinto Plains. You should know her, Mrs. -Pratt. A creature of rare beauty and charm.” - -Mrs. Pratt confessed to a slight acquaintance in a tone calculated to -chill her guest’s enthusiasm. “She gave a big tea, this afternoon. Mod -and I were there.” - -“Really? I am glad to hear it. You two ought to be great friends—with -interests that are so nearly identical.” As Mrs. Pratt said nothing, the -Hon. Member continued—somewhat more easily, noting that his host and -Maude had left the room—“I’m so fond of her . . . almost _too_ fond, -I’m afraid! She’s a wonderful little woman, Mrs. Pratt—and I’ve known a -good many in my day. Do you realise that Marjorie could simply _make_ -her husband, if she had a tithe of your political sense . . . if she -only knew how!” - -“You surprise me,” said Mrs. Pratt, and in her tone the Hon. Member was -gratified to detect the ring of truth. - -“Well, it’s a fact. Dilling’s a marvel, my dear lady. Even the -Opposition concede him the respect due a powerful antagonist.” - -“He’s not a bad speaker,” admitted Mrs. Pratt. - -“There isn’t a man in the House who can touch him! Now, is there?” - -Mrs. Pratt hedged by suggesting that the country looked for something -more than forensic eloquence. - -“A profound remark!” Mr. Sullivan could not restrain his admiration. He -beamed and stroked his knees, deriving from the performance, apparently, -much satisfaction. “Trust you to dig right down to the root of the -matter! Not that he hasn’t principles, dear lady, and also the courage -necessary to express them. We mustn’t overlook that. Moreover, it’s -almost impossible to defeat him in argument . . . Such disconcerting -agility of mind, you know. He lets the other fellow expend himself in an -offensive, and then, without apparent effort, stabs and thrusts until -his opponents fall in regular—er—regular—” - -“Windrows,” suggested Mrs. Pratt, whose unacknowledged relatives were -honest farming people. - -“Windrows, a capital comparison! They fall in regular windrows before -him. Why, he can prove that black is white any day in the week.” - -“Men are fools!” was the lady’s oracular remark. - -“Unfortunately for them . . . us, I really ought to say. I, myself, have -felt the force of that young man’s power, and I’ve been absolutely putty -in his hands.” - -Mrs. Pratt drew her lips into a thin, straight line, and forbore to -comment on this weakness. - -“The trouble is—as, of course, you are aware—he has been trained in a -bad school, and it may take some time to undo the effect of early -education. Then, naturally, he’s only human and the wine of success is a -heady beverage. He’s somewhat determined—” - -“Mule-ish,” amended Mrs. Pratt. - -“No, no, I protest,” cried the Hon. Member, playfully. “You must not be -too hard on the fellow. All he needs is a little guidance—perhaps even -a shade more definite opposition. For example, this elevator and freight -idea of his . . .” - -“G’aranteed to plunge the whole country into roon,” interrupted Mrs. -Pratt, whose investments were centred strictly to the East. - -“I anticipated you would take the view of the better minds,” returned -Mr. Sullivan, perceiving that the time had come for him to discard the -subtler implements of finesse, and employ the rough, but honest trowel. -“But when all’s said and done, it may be better to support a man with -whose policies we are not in accord than to split into groups, and -eventually be forced from our seats into the benches on the opposite -side of the house.” - -Mrs. Pratt watched her guest with unmistakable bewilderment in her hard -blue eyes. - -“I see that you agree with me,” he went on, “and you are probably -wondering, just as I am, how soon the need will come for us to prove our -Party loyalty. It can’t be far away, dear lady. I have ten dollars in my -pocket that says there’ll be a Cabinet vacancy before the spring.” - -“And Dilling will get the portfolio!” barked Mrs. Pratt, thrown -completely off her guard. - -“What a head you have!” cried Sullivan. “I’ll wager there aren’t a dozen -men who have suspected it! But he needs support . . . he must have it. -We must stand solidly behind him, for no matter how divergent may be our -views upon this question of western freight, we’ve got to train up a -man—a good strong fellow—who will sweep the country and be able to -step into the shoes of the Prime Minister, some day!” - -“Prime Minister!” gasped Mrs. Pratt, and fell to preening herself in -order that she might hide the trembling of her hands. - -She hated the Dillings—Raymond for his reputed genius, the clear, cold -brilliance that would not be eclipsed, and Marjorie for her childish -friendliness and ingratiating ways. The meek might inherit the Kingdom -of Heaven without provoking her envy, but that they should also inherit -the earth was a contingency that aroused her cold fury. - -She saw them sought after, deferred to, taking precedence over everyone -save the representative of the King! Her thoughts fell into narrower -channels and she pictured Marjorie opening bazaars, lending her -patronage to this or that gathering of Society’s choicest blossoms, -arriving at the state where she would be unstirred by invitations to -Government House! - -Under the turquoise velvet, her bosom rose and fell, heavily. At the -moment she hated her husband no less fiercely than she hated the man -whom she chose to consider his rival. What could Augustus carve in the -way of a career? How could he ever hope to triumph over this aggressive -man from the West? Where would she be when Marjorie Dilling had become -the wife of Canada’s young Prime Minister? - -The suave voice of Rufus Sullivan fashioned itself into words. The first -ones she failed to catch, but the last pierced her like the point of a -white-hot rapier. - -“. . . and then, naturally, a title. And how graciously she will wear -it, eh?” - -A title . . . Mrs. Pratt felt suffocated. A portfolio was bad enough; -the Premiership was a possibility that she could not consider without a -cataclysm of emotion, but a title . . . the pinnacle of human desire, -the social and political apogee . . . - -Sir Raymond and Lady Dilling . . . Lady Dilling . . . - -She rose abruptly and strode to the door. Pratt avoided a collision with -difficulty. He was just coming in. - -“No more time for philandering,” he cried, with vulgar geniality. “On to -Pretoria! Nelson expects every man to do his duty!” - -Mrs. Pratt watched their departure with contradictory sensations. The -Hon. Member for Morroway was not the man to spoil a good impression by -an inartistic exit. He made a graceful adieu, managing to convey the -idea that, although now and again he might be the bearer of news that -was disturbing, on the whole he was a man who could be mulct by a woman -of astuteness, of the most intimate and useful information. - - * * * * * - -Augustus Pratt, M.P., arrived home on the stroke of midnight to find his -wife and daughter in the midst of a litter of stationery, calling lists, -telephone and Blue Books. - -“What’s up now?” he demanded, picking his way across the floor as one -hops over a brook by means of stepping stones. - -“Look at that,” cried his wife, and pointed to the evening paper. - -Pratt gave his attention to the item indicated. It headed the Personal -column, and read, - -“The following ladies and gentlemen had the honour of dining at -Government House last evening . . . and Mr. and Mrs. Raymond Dilling.” - -“Well,” he yawned, “there’s nothing very startling about that! I don’t -see the answer.” - -“No! Naturally you wouldn’t!” Mrs. Pratt pounded a stamp on an envelope. - -The M.P. turned to his daughter. “Tell her old dad what it means, little -Maudie.” - -“Mother’s giving a big dinner party, on the seventeenth.” - -“Oh, my God!” sighed Augustus. Then, “I’ve got to go to Montreal on that -date, Minnie—honest, I have!” - -“You dare! And listen, Gus, while I think of it; if I ever hear that -you’ve given one atom of support to that Dilling, I’ll have my trunks -packed and the house closed, before you can get home! Now, don’t -forget!” - -“Dear, dear!” Pratt assumed an air of panic. “What’s the poor beggar -been up to now?” - -“He’s up to getting himself into the Cabinet, if men like you don’t want -the job, yourselves—that’s what he’s up to. And once in the Cabinet, -you know where he’ll land next.” - -“Where?” - -“In the Prime Minister’s seat,” returned Mrs. Pratt, sourly. - -“In the Senate, you mean,” laughed Augustus, and pinched Maude’s ear. - -“Your idea of jokes is sickening,” Mrs. Pratt declared. “Sometimes I -wonder why I bother with you. Now, Mod, read out the names on those -envelopes down there!” - -Dutifully, Maude complied . . . “Mr. and Mrs. Chesley . . .” - -“Like enough they won’t come,” interrupted her mother. “We’ve never -called.” - -“. . . Mr. and Mrs. Long! Mr. and Mrs. Robert Hudson . . .” - -“There’s another hateful snob. This afternoon I could have strangled -her!” - -“Mr. and Mrs. Herbert Truman . . .” - -“They say she only goes to Government House,” mused Mrs. Pratt. -“However, I took a chance. It only cost two cents—and you never know.” - -“You bet you’ll never know,” said the Member. “Minnie, you’re plain -crazy asking all these swells that you don’t even know when you see ’em! -Why don’t we have any _real_ friends, nowadays?” - -Mrs. Pratt answered with a baleful glance that was more eloquent than -words. Then, assured that there would be no further interference from -her husband, directed Maude to finish her work. - -“. . . Sir Eric and Lady Denby . . .” - -“They ought to come, anyhow,” she groaned, hopefully, “seeing it’s the -Party. The Fanshawes, the Howarths, Sullivan and Azalea Deane . . . -she’s sure to come . . . that makes twenty-nine. There’s one more -envelope, Mod!” - -“Mr. and Mrs. Raymond Dilling,” read the girl. - -“Dilling?” echoed her father. - -“Of course, Augustus. Don’t gape at me in that way!” - -“But you just told me—I thought you had your knife into the Dillings.” - -“So I have, you fool!” - -“Then why the hell do you ask them to your party?” - -Mrs. Pratt so forgot herself as to stamp her foot. “Can’t you see,” she -cried, “that they’re getting on?” - - - CHAPTER 11. - -For a time, Dilling was entertained by the visits he received from -ladies of varying ages and mixed intentions. He found their vapoury -subterfuges or engaging candour equally amusing. But presently, this -type of diversion, so eagerly welcomed by many of his confrères, began -to pall, and he developed amazing ingenuity in the avoidance of such -callers. - -He had grown suspicious of “deserving cases,” and “ancient grievances”; -he found himself totally unsympathetic towards the erection of monuments -commemorating the questionable valour of somebody’s obscure progenitors; -he could sit absolutely unmoved and listen to schemes which were being -projected “at considerable personal inconvenience,” in order that he -might attain immortality. The measures he was asked to father in the -House ranged from the segregation of the feeble-minded to prohibition of -philandering. - -“He’s a cold fish,” complained more than one lady, after failing to -elicit the smallest response, either to her project or her personal -charms. - -It was true that Dilling’s emotional reactions were slight, but it was -equally true that had they been vehement, he would have forced himself -to a course of conduct commensurate with what he conceived to be the -demands of national welfare. He never could accept the idea that the -Government Service was an institution in which hundreds of persons—like -Mr. Deane—might find a comfortable escape from the storm and stress of -a fruitful life, and render in return but a tithe of the work that even -their small abilities could fairly perform. He never could sympathise -with the attitude of those who looked upon the public funds as private -means, and he opposed, in so far as he was able, every effort to tap the -Dominion Treasury for individual gain. - -There were times when he thought with discouragement about these things; -times when he was oppressed with the basic insincerity of public life. -It was so vastly different from what he had imagined! He felt himself -eternally struggling against the malefic urge of partisanship—and -partisanship was not always, he found, an expression of high principle. - -And he saw also that, as his success gathered head, petty -jealousies—and great—sprang up on every hand. The very persons who -assisted in his rise would be the first, he knew, to herald his -downfall. He used to think that because a man was prominent, he -possessed universal good-will, but now he knew that the exact reverse -obtains. - -“I am the most unpopular man in the House,” he said to Azalea, one -evening. “On the floor, they cheer and applaud me, but in private or -social life, I am shunned.” - -Another woman would have contradicted him. Such a course did not occur -to Azalea. - -“Do you mind?” she asked. - -He considered a moment. - -“I’m not sure. It seems to me that the popular Members don’t _do_ -anything. They’re too busy being popular . . . too busy being agreeable -to a herd of tireless parasites.” - -“Which is quite out of your line, is it not?” - -“Well, why _should_ I snivel and crawl?” he defended. “One respects a -man or one doesn’t. Popularity is, after all, only an expression of mob -psychology; as you know, it is unstable—having either the vaguest of -excuses, or palpable insincerity behind it.” - -“You mean the insincerity of the person who is popular?” - -“Of course! What man feels genuine friendliness towards enough people to -make him ‘popular’?” - -Azalea shook her head in the characteristic way that implied her -resentment against accepting the inevitable. - -“But don’t you feel that a certain amount of studied affability is—let -us say—necessary to the attainment of success in public affairs?” - -“No! I believe with Lincoln that the conduct of a statesman—and that is -my high ambition, if it be God’s will that I attain to it—should be -moulded upon three principles; ‘malice towards none, charity for all, -firmness on the right’. These principles are not compatible with the -flatteries and lightly-regarded mendacities of a popular idol. A -statesman ought to be less of a man and more of an ethical inspiration. -It’s not an easy ideal to live up to,” he concluded, “but at least it’s -a clean one, and I think the only one that history justifies.” - -“Yes,” repeated Azalea, as though careful that her voice should not -betray her true opinion, “it’s a very clean one.” - -Recalling that conversation, Dilling found himself musing rather -pleasantly about Azalea. What a curious little creature she was! What a -stimulating companion! He could not, for the life of him, visualise her -features, but he could bring to mind many an illuminating twist of her -thoughts. Times without number, he realised, he had invoked her -extraordinary intuitive powers and transmuted them in the crucible of -his logic, into what Sullivan was pleased to designate as invincibility -in debate. - -“She’s more than half responsible,” he told himself. “I couldn’t have -achieved my present position by any process of reasoning alone.” - -He looked over his crowded desk with a sensation of helplessness. How -could any man, single-handed, clear that accumulation away? He wondered -if other Members allowed their business to get into such a distressing -tangle, and if they had better luck than he when a stenographer came in -for a few hours, to reduce the congestion? - -“It’s this eternal speech-making,” he reflected. “That’s what takes so -much of my time. I wish . . .” - -He left his chair and began to pace about the room, surrendering to an -access of restlessness that was quite foreign to him. Azalea Deane . . . -there was the solution! Why not? Why should she not come to him as a -permanent assistant . . . a sort of private secretary? - -“She could relieve me of a myriad minor duties,” he thought. “Foreign -press . . . correspondence . . . research work . . . She’s amazingly -accurate . . .” He smiled as he caught himself suppressing the familiar -corollary, “for a woman!” - -Yes, that was the solution! He would ask Azalea Deane to work with him. -“We’ll get on famously together,” he thought. “She’s so quick to catch -the drift of my intention. She really understands me.” - -He sat down again, amused at the recollection of an original view -expressed by Azalea in answer to Marjorie, who complained of Ottawa’s -persistent misunderstanding. - -“There’s no cause for distress in being misunderstood,” she had said. -“It’s the opposite condition that we should dread! Imagine one’s -stupidity, covetousness and smallness of spirit being laid bare! -Unthinkable, isn’t it? You mustn’t forget, my dear Marjorie, that being -misunderstood works both ways, and through imperfect understanding we -are frequently credited with motives and qualities that are quite as -flattering as we could wish. Heaven forfend that I should ever be -thoroughly understood!” - -Dilling applauded her and reminded his wife that if men were compelled -to write their thoughts and wear them as phylacteries on their -foreheads, few, indeed, would carry themselves bravely in public. - -“And why should they do that, dear?” Marjorie enquired, her pansy eyes -clouded with perplexity. - -“He is only trying to be clever,” explained Azalea. “He is subtly -suggesting that if the very best of us proclaimed our thoughts upon our -foreheads, there would be jolly few who didn’t pull their hats low above -their brows.” - -Azalea did not wear her thoughts upon her forehead, Dilling reflected, -and he smiled at his conceit in thinking that if she did, they would -probably be written in a language that was difficult to read! It -suddenly occurred to him that he knew very little of what was passing in -Azalea’s mind. His endeavour had been directed to an opposite -course—assisting her to understand what was in his thoughts. - -“She’s a curious creature,” he repeated, “a problem. But she has rare -intelligence and imagination. I need her . . . She is necessary for the -advancement of my work. I can’t concentrate in this hopeless muddle -. . .” - -The idea excited him more than he realised. In planning a schedule for -their day’s routine, he did not recognise his keen desire for a closer -intimacy with the girl’s mind, the assurance of her esteem, the stimulus -of knowing that she expected him to conquer unconquerable things. He -began to wear down her arguments, to win her from possible -disinclination. She must agree! She must come! - -He pictured a scene with her tiresome old father, when he should ask not -for her hand but for her brain. How insensately stubborn the old -antiquarian would be! How damnably unreasonable! - -He consulted his book of appointments . . . not a minute Wednesday . . . -nor Thursday . . . Ah! Mrs. Pratt’s dinner party . . . Good! He would -ask her then . . . - -A thin smile touched his features as he said to himself, - -“If I can move the Opposition in the House, surely I can override the -objections of Grenville Deane!” - - * * * * * - -Mr. Deane would have swelled with pride had he known that his daughter -was engaging the attention of more than one Parliamentary Member that -day. In a room above that occupied by Raymond Dilling, the thoughts of -three other gentlemen bent themselves fleetingly upon her. - - * * * * * - -“The fellow’s not only clever,” grumbled Turner, “but he’s too damned -careful. We’ll have some trouble in pinning anything on him.” - -Sullivan sipped his whisky reflectively. “The trouble is that he never -meets the right sort of people.” - -“God knows they go out enough,” protested Howarth. “According to the -Personals which I’ve read conscientiously for several weeks past, they -go pretty much everywhere.” - -“Because he’s become the vogue, in a manner of speaking,” said Sullivan. -“But that won’t do us any good. It won’t last long enough. Socially, -they are failures and always will be . . . Mark my words, the time will -come when they will be asked only because their political position -requires recognition, not for their personal charm. Church-workers and -unambitious obscurities will be their particular friends . . . her -particular friends, perhaps I should say. He won’t have any.” - -“Still, he’ll meet some interesting women,” objected Turner. - -“I grant it, but not deliberately interesting,” returned Sullivan, with -a wink. “In other words, he won’t stumble into a trap. He’ll have to be -led into it.” - -“Why won’t he stumble?” Howarth asked. “Other men do.” - -“His temperament is a safeguard, for one thing. He is not sufficiently -attracted by women to go exploring, and only those who wander into -unfamiliar places get caught in traps.” - -Howarth remarked that his wife had reported a warm friendship between -the Dillings and the Deane girl. - -“Yes,” said Sullivan, “I’ve been watching that. Mrs. D. tells me that he -admires the girl intensely.” - -“Humph!” commented Turner. - -“I’ve never met the lady,” said Howarth, “but judging from her looks I -should think that a man’s intensity of feeling for her could not be much -more than a mild passion of the imagination.” - -Sullivan laughed. “That’s not bad for you, Billy. I’ll go even further -and opine that Dilling’s intensity of feeling for anyone will be like -the passion of a fried sole! However, the Deane girl won’t do.” - -“What about de Latour’s daughter?” suggested Howarth. “She looks clever, -and might help, ‘for the sake of the Party,’ as our estimable Lady Denby -says.” - -“Good God, Billy,” groaned Sullivan. “We don’t want anyone who _looks_ -clever! Don’t you know me better than that?” - -“Well, the sweet young thing should be easy to find,” said Turner. - -“No good, either. In the first place, it’s hard to find one with any -sense, and in the second, he gets that type as a daily diet.” - -“Those Carmichael girls seem to be consistent winners,” suggested -Turner, once more. “Some brains, and good looks . . .” - -“Too young,” said the old campaigner. “Undependable! Kids are apt to -lose their heads and weaken, when it comes to using the scalping knife. -First thing we know, they’d give the whole show away. No,” he went on, -reflectively, “what we want is a regular stunner, who’ll stick right at -the game until she has his scalp at her belt . . . a woman of the world, -you know, chock full of horse sense and able to handle men with as -little difficulty as an expert trainer handles cats.” - -There was a short silence. - -“I can’t think of anybody,” Turner’s tone was sodden with -discouragement. - -“Nor I,” said Howarth. “Haven’t you got anybody up your sleeve, -Sullivan?” - -The Hon. Member for Morroway modestly admitted that there was a lady of -his acquaintance who combined all these alluring vices. - -“Either of you ever heard of Mrs. Barrington?” he enquired. - -Turner thumped his approval. Howarth took his satisfaction more -cautiously. - -“I’ve seen the dame. Kind of flashy, eh?” - -“Tastes differ,” replied his friend. - -“Just moved here lately, hasn’t she?” - -Sullivan nodded. - -“Hangs round the House a good deal, trying to put something over for her -husband, I’ve heard.” - -“You’re remarkably well informed, Billy,” mocked the older man. - -“Did you ever know her before?” asked the unabashed Howarth. - -Sullivan confessed to a previous acquaintance. “Her mother’s first -husband was my sister’s brother-in-law. So, you see, she’s a sort of -relation.” - -“Not too close to be interesting,” observed Turner, who had his private -opinion about Sullivan’s relations. “Has she been sounded? Do you think -she’ll take on the job?” - -The Member for Morroway was hopeful, “provided,” he said, “she is not -absorbed in any other emotional adventure. They are chronic.” - -“Is that the only provision?” Howarth wanted to know. - -“Well—er—as you, yourself, remarked, she seems to be determined to get -Barrington a nice, cushioned berth in which he will be well protected -against the rigours of enervating toil. I understand that she fancies -the Chairmanship of the Improvement Commission.” - -William Howarth, M.P., expressed relief, and the opinion that this was -“pie”. - -“We’ll just put little Augustus Pratt on the job,” he said. “How soon -could we see the lady?” - -Sullivan didn’t doubt that she was somewhere in the House at the moment. - -“You trot along and find her, then,” urged the other. “Bring her up here -and let’s hold a friendly little conference. The sooner we get her -started on this escapade, the sooner our young friend will lose his -head!” - - - CHAPTER 12. - -A light but insistent tapping put an end to Dilling’s reflections. - -“Come in!” he called, impatiently, and turned towards the window as if -intent upon the landscape. - -There was a slight pause, and then, like a well-timed bit of stage -business, a woman stood framed in the open door. - -Dilling appreciated the dramatic note even while he resented it. On -general principles he despised the theatrical. - -“Oh, I _am_ lucky!” cried his visitor, in a well-disciplined contralto. -“I scarcely dared hope to find you alone. Every atom of courage I -possessed oozed out of my finger-tips at the thought of interrupting a -secret caucus, or some other of the dark conspiracies that are supposed -to occupy our Members’ time!” - -She advanced and extended an ungloved hand. Dilling touched her fingers -without speaking. - -“My name is Hebe Barrington,” she went on, “Mrs. Arthur, on my calling -cards, you know . . . and I’m here on a desperately serious mission. Its -success means everything to me, and you, yourself, Mr. Dilling, have -buoyed me up with the hope that I shall not fail.” - -She shifted her position slightly, contriving to draw her skirt close -about her long, slender limbs like a sheath. - -But Dilling was not looking. He had taken a penknife from his pocket, -and was giving First Aid to an untutored finger-nail. - -“How shall I begin?” she went on, watching him from beneath her lashes. -It was one of her prettiest gestures. - -“Perhaps, if you made some notes and sent them to me—” - -“Oh, please!” she protested. “That’s heartless of you. And _do_ sit -down! I can’t think while you wear that ‘Time’s up’ expression. It -drives every idea from my head. I tell you frankly, Mr. Dilling, I -expected you would be much more kind.” - -She flung him a smile that had dazzled many another man. Dilling -received it with indifference, in a wholly unprecedented manner. Mrs. -Barrington found the experience somewhat disconcerting. - -In his expression there was no appreciation of her loveliness. Neither -was there the disapproval that betokens a recognition of it, or a sign -of that wariness by which man betrays his knowledge of its danger. There -was nothing. - -In the abstract, Dilling saw men as trees, walking, but women he saw -scarcely at all. Emotionally, he was vestigial. Artistically, he was -numb. Beauty in any form registered only through his outward eye. He -missed the inner vision that should have quickened his soul. - -Mrs. Barrington was not an unfamiliar figure to him, although he had -never been sufficiently interested to ask her name. Frequently, of late, -he had seen her in the restaurant, or in the corridors, sometimes -surrounded by a group of Parliamentary gallants, and sometimes in -earnest tete-a-tete with just one man. If he thought of her at all, it -was to conclude that like other women who haunt the House, she was -engaged in the popular occupation known as lobbying, and he felt an -instinctive opposition to whatever request she might be about to make. - -On her part, Mrs. Barrington felt the disappointment of one who has been -unexpectedly repulsed at the first line of attack, and sees the -necessity for finer strategy. She laid aside the ineffectual weapon of -physical charm, and took up the subtler blade of flattery. - -“I have come to you,” she said, “because you are not only essentially, -but so patently, sincere. Not your speeches alone, but your whole -manner, proclaim it. I suppose that is a good deal to say of a -politician, is it not?” - -“By no means!” - -“There is little evidence to the contrary! Most of them rant about a -loftier patriotism, service for the public weal that knows no respite -and the realisation of a higher idealism for Twentieth Century Canada, -but their actual performances are not marked with the large -disinterestedness they profess. You are different. Perhaps you won’t -like my saying so, Mr. Dilling, but as you sit in the House, surrounded -by your colleagues, yours is a noticeably solitary figure. I felt it the -instant I saw you, and the impression has grown steadily stronger . . . -with reason. You have brought a different element into politics, Mr. -Dilling. Like Disraeli, you are on the side of the angels! You have -brought what I call practical spirituality, a force that can and will -defeat materialism, if—if—you do not get discouraged, and tired of -struggling on, alone.” - -“Aren’t you rather disheartening?” - -The question was asked with such utter unconcern that Mrs. Barrington -could not deceive herself into thinking she had made an impression. Had -Dilling taken her seriously, or accorded her half the sincerity she -professed to impute to him, he would have been unconscionably -embarrassed. As matters stood, her words, like her beauty, failed to -touch him. He heard them as he heard agreeable music, without annoyance, -but without pleasure. It was said of him, that once, in Pinto Plains, -when asked if he enjoyed piano playing he had answered, “Oh, I don’t -mind it!” and he could aptly have applied the same phrase to this -woman’s conversation. - -He didn’t mind it! He was listening without giving particular heed to -what she said. He knew that she had come to ask a favour, and he was not -sufficiently amenable to feminine wiles to lose sight of the methods of -a shrewd campaigner. - -“I may be disheartening,” he heard her say, “but I am sincere. Would you -have me pretend—tell you how popular you are, and how certain to become -the idol of the people? Do you not remember that the Cæsars and Lincolns -of history have been slandered and slain by their friends and -compatriots, and can you hope to escape a similar fate at the hands of -our people—even though despotism is not tempered with assassination -here, as it was a hundred years ago in Russia?” - -Dilling was conscious of a flicker of interest. It was curious, he -reflected, that this woman should have come to him and given expression -to the very thoughts that had been uppermost in his mind. He wondered -whether she had been talking to Azalea. - -“And what has all this to do with your mission?” he asked, closing his -penknife with a snap. - -“Everything!” she cried, vehemently. “Everything depends upon the -honesty behind your protestations, upon the fact that you are not merely -content to talk about idealism, but will work to see it blossom -throughout the country. Moreover, I have counted on your vision, your -ability to see the benefit of what, to others, may look like an -impractical measure. Any other type of man would laugh at me,” she -added. - -She stopped and waited for him to speak. But he made no comment. - -He was not insensible to the cleverness with which she assembled her -points. There was about her address a climacteric quality that compelled -his admiration. But her speech fell flat because he failed to pick up -his cues. The obvious retort that she must have anticipated, was never -spoken; so each pause was pregnant with the suggestion of finality, of -failure. - -“I felt as though I were being driven, blindfold, along a crooked -passage,” she said, later, in describing the interview to Sullivan. -“Each time I turned a corner, some one rose and struck me in the face, -so that I reeled and lost my bearings and had to wait a bit in order to -recover myself and my sense of direction.” - -Dilling half suspected this. He did not, however, assume a difficult and -disinterested manner, deliberately, nor did he act with conscious -rudeness. He simply felt no curiosity in Mrs. Barrington nor in the -object of her visit, and no obligation to pretend that he did. - -“I have come to you,” she said, again, “because you are the embodiment -of all the qualities I have mentioned. Your sympathy, I take for -granted, for the reason that the cause I plead is a spiritual cause, Mr. -Dilling. I am asking for the development of a nation’s soul.” - -“Oh!” - -This response, though almost imperceptible, affected the woman as -applause breaking suddenly over an unfriendly house, stimulates an actor -to greater achievement. She left her chair and stood before him, a -vision of aggressive beauty. She nearly lost herself in the part she was -playing, and allowed impulse rather than design to dominate the moment. - -“We admit that in the fierce struggle for existence, a young country -must concern itself primarily with material problems, and that the song -of the spirit is often stifled by the cry of hungry children. But has -not the day arrived for us when our thought, and at least a small part -of our resources, should be devoted to providing nourishment for the -Canadian soul? I know that this sounds like the spell-binder’s affluence -of speech, but, believe me, Mr. Dilling, I have a practical proposition -behind it.” - -“Well?” said Dilling, without enthusiasm. - -She pointed to the Little Theatre movement, to various literary and -dramatic organisations that have sprung up throughout the Dominion, as a -proof that we are seeking a means of artistic expression, for spiritual -development, that we are feeling a reaction from the wave of materialism -which, in these times, holds the land in thrall. “In a word,” she said, -“we are looking for happiness, only just realising that we have striven -without it all these years. We are not a happy nation, Mr. Dilling.” - -“Show me a more prosperous one,” he cried. - -“Ah! But there’s our trouble. Prosperity and happiness may lie at -opposite poles. The one is of the earth and its fulness, the other of -the spirit, and in our pursuit of the former, we too frequently forget -the needs of the latter. Happiness depends upon the emotions, Mr. -Dilling, and Canadians have almost suffocated theirs.” - -Obviously, the spark of interest she had ignited had turned to ashes. He -was silent, so she hurried on. - -“We need Art—the medium through which spirituality flows into the life -of man. We want to hear the symphonies of our composers, the songs of -our poets, as well as the throb and thunder of motor factories and power -plants. I would ask the Government to recognise the organisations that -are endeavouring to promote artistic creation, and to give financial -assistance to the conspicuously talented artists throughout the -Dominion!” - -“Hold on!” cried Dilling, stung into repelling this premeditated attack -upon the National Treasury. “We maintain a big Gallery out at the -Museum. We subsidise Art.” - -“Yes,” she countered, quickly, “but not the artist. What you do only -goes to swell the pay-roll of the Civil Service . . . You don’t go far -enough! Hasn’t the Government helped to build up the industries of this -country? Has it not pap-fed factories and commercial enterprises of -various kinds? You know it has! If I should want a water-power for some -silly little saw-mill, shall I not have it from my Province, for the -asking? There’s not a doubt of it! Yet, no one thinks of providing a -greater power and one whereby this growing unrest can be composed. We -are making a great point of conserving our natural resources, but who -thinks of conserving our _spiritual_ resources, Mr. Dilling? We need the -one no less than the other. Men are reaching out towards Art!” - -“Government is organised to legislate for peace and order in the -community.” - -“Aristotle said that Government was organised to make people happy. I -scarcely think we have made good along his principles, do you?” - -“You can’t legislate people into happiness.” - -“No! But you can provide the things that will create that state of mind. -I should like to see a National Theatre, Mr. Dilling, in which the -struggles and triumphs of Canada might be told by her own sons and -daughters. Love of our common country can be fostered in no happier way. -Let us have annual prizes for excelling talent in the Arts, and Science, -and Literature!” - -“Have we any poets worth recognising?” interrupted Dilling. - -“Ah, I knew you would make that objection!” cried Hebe Barrington. “I -knew that your thoughts would fly at once to Milton, and Keats, and -Shelley . . . and the greatest of them all, Shakespeare. You immediately -compare us with the immortals, and feel that we lose by the comparison. -I don’t profess to offer you a Homer or a Sappho. But there were lesser -poets in Athens whom Pericles favoured at the expense of the people’s -purse. It’s harder for poetry and the Arts to flourish to-day, than two -thousand years ago—Oh, don’t you see, _we_ need a National Theatre?” - -“It’s an idea,” conceded Dilling, with caution. - -Hebe Barrington was clever. She did not press her slight advantage but -prepared to beat a strategic retreat. - -“I knew that you would see it,” she cried. “How else can we make -idealism real save by expressing it first through Art and then weaving -it into our practical experiences? How else can we keep alive the -traditions that have given us our Empire? How teach them to the young? I -am full of schemes for working this thing out. May I come to see you -again—or better still,” she amended, watching him intently with her -great, soft eyes, “will you come to me, say this day week?” - -“If you like,” he said, opening the door. - -Presently, he opened the window, too. The room was close with a heavy, -sweetish odour that offended him. - -He looked down the river, past the Mint and the Archives. Catching sight -of the smoke-clouded roof of Earnscliffe—once the stately residence of -Sir John Macdonald—he fell to wondering what the Grand Old Man would -have said to such a proposition . . . - -A National Theatre! - -The Greeks, he remembered, spared neither time nor money on their -dramatic temple, which was free! On the other hand, the Canadian theatre -was almost prohibitive in point of admission fee, and far from being the -object of Governmental support, it was controlled by a group of Semitic -gentlemen whose habitat was Broadway and whose taste reflected anything -but a Canadian National spirit. In Rome, Mommens had taught him, there -were fewer occupations more lucrative than those of actor and -dancer—Roscius, one of the former, receiving the equivalent of $30,000 -as his annual income, and Dionysia, a fairy-footed maid, $10,000 -yearly—more than twice the amount of his Parliamentary indemnity! - -Why should Canada not have her theatre? - -He had dreamed of leisure to write—a drama of the West. Often he had -pictured its theme unfolding in a mighty spectacle that would rival -those of Ancient Rome, when six hundred mules passed in review across -the stage of a military pageant, and whole armies were in requisition to -give verisimilitude to a production. - -He saw vast herds of buffalo and cattle; he heard the thunder of their -flying hoofs and the yells of the pursuing Red Men. From the south and -east, troops of devil-may-care cowboys burst upon the scene. The whirr -of arrows, the snap of rifles, beat across his consciousness. And as the -play progressed, over the flaming prairie there crawled a slow, white -streak, coming to a halt at last in what looked like the heart of -infinity. And presently, there appeared a tiny farm. - -Deep in moonlit gorges, Dilling saw fur traders, whiskey smugglers, -Indians, and cattle thieves, threading a cautious way. Then came the -flash of scarlet coats and diminishing disorder. - -And along the trails made by the thirsty buffalo, followed by wary Red -Men, rediscovered by ambitious young surveyors who found that wisdom was -born in brute, and even in primeval man, before it made its way to -books, the railway flung its slender arms across an infant nation; and -settlers came hard upon the heels of construction crews, a strange -assortment who spoke their parts in the music of unfamiliar, polyglot -tongues. - -And on the site of some forgotten Indian encampment, where patient -squaws pounded out their corn, there grew a field of wheat which gave -way to a small settlement, and then a town where gigantic storehouses -now husbanded the grain! - -Ah, God, the glamour of the West—his West! Suddenly, it sang in his -blood, it shone in his eyes, it dazzled him and provoked emotions that -no woman had ever stirred. - -A National Theatre? Well, it certainly was an idea, but he must not be -intrigued by it; there was no hurry. The proposition needed thinking -. . . Dilling crossed the room, took the receiver from its hook and -called up Azalea. He was unaccountably disappointed to learn that she -was out. - -He realised with a sense of shock that she was the only friend he had -made since coming to the Capital. At the moment, he felt that she was -more than a friend . . . that she was a necessity. But he resisted this -weakness as he would have resisted dependence upon a stimulant or -sedative. Dilling liked to believe in his self-sufficiency, his -detachment from all human ties. He could not deny, however, that Azalea -fed him intellectually—food convenient for him. - -“She feeds my mind,” he repeated, surprised that this should be so. -“Isn’t it curious that she should possess this power . . .” It was all -he asked of God. - -His feeling was one that did honour to Platonism and now, as he sat -reflecting upon it, Raymond Dilling wondered just what Azalea thought of -him. Did she think his standards worthy of his calling? Had she faith in -his singleness of purpose, and did she commend his policy for its -wisdom? Or could she have misunderstood him, read into his unashamed -confessions, the easy cant of him who makes a profession of sincerity? - -He had taken for granted that she was in accord with his political -creed, that she appreciated his native worth; but never before had he -asked himself the question . . . did she like him? He had no assurance -that she did. Admitting her acceptance of him upon his own terms, so to -speak, might she not feel for him as we so often feel towards estimable -persons whose blameless characters inspire us with nothing but -respectful tolerance? On the other hand, suppose she did not regard him -as a worthy figure, would she dislike him? Are there not natures to whom -an impostor presents a personality unreasonably appealing? Has not the -world had its Casanovas and Cagliostros? - -What manner of man did Azalea like? What type stirred her rich -imagination? - -These unanswerable questions provoked him to an unwonted consideration -of the girl, but he failed to recollect an occasion when she had -revealed her inner thoughts and aspirations to him. What heart throbs, -he asked himself, pulsed beneath that strange, drab exterior? What -spirit wounds were covered with the cuirass of her whimsical satire? -What was her philosophy of life, and what did she really think of him? - -He had no idea, but he did know that he wished to be her friend. - -Dilling couldn’t recall ever formulating a definite opinion on the -subject of friendship, and he was not at all sure what Azalea might -require of him. Sympathy, he mused, might be helpful in times of strain, -but he was not prepared to admit that friendships were vital. A man -could—perhaps should—be independent of their fetters, unseeking and -unsought. Friendship had its rise in the emotions according to -philosophers, and was therefore a weakness. Yet, was it? History showed -that great men transmuted it into strength. - -Which would it be for him, a weakness or a source of strength? And if -the latter, how best could he convert its power into fuel for his -energy? - -He looked at his watch. Almost time for lunch. Azalea should be at home -now, he thought. Again, he turned to the telephone. - - * * * * * - -In the room above, Mrs. Barrington was eagerly accepting a whisky and -soda from the hospitable Member for Morroway. - -“You look as though a little stimulant would do you no harm,” observed -Howarth, busily attentive with the cigarettes. - -“Without it, I shan’t last till sundown,” returned the woman. “Never -have I spent such a half hour . . . and never again!” - -“Difficult, eh?” asked Sullivan. - -“Impossible! Why, Uncle Rufus, that man’s not human! Heaven knows, I’m -not a vain woman,” she declared, “but for all the notice he took of me, -he might have been a graven image, or I might have been one of the -shrieking sisterhood! There wasn’t a smile . . . there wasn’t a flicker -of response! I kept thinking all the time of Congreve, and his _Lady -Wishfort_ trying to captivate that stupid ass, old _Mirabell_!” Her full -voice trembled with excitement and anger. Into her cheeks flooded a wave -of natural colour, beneath their expertly applied rouge. “I’m through -. . . I’m through,” she cried. “He made me think of a eunuch -contemplating a statue of Venus!” - - - CHAPTER 13. - -Mrs. Pratt stood in the hard glitter of too many electric lights, in a -hard, encrusted green gown, and greeted her guests with a hard, set -smile that froze any budding sense of enjoyment they may have brought -with them. Maude was silent and sullen. She had caught the backwash of -her mother’s ill-temper throughout two trying weeks, and the party had -become a nightmare to her. Augustus, miserable in his evening clothes, -and perspiring under the weight of admonitions that warred with his -sense of hospitality, watched her in a passion of sympathy. After a -succession of violent scenes, he was dolorously conscious that he and -Maude together, were no match for the determined woman whom he had -meekly followed to the altar. - -“She’s got too damned much gulp,” he thought to himself, wondering how -to reduce this hampering characteristic in his daughter. - -A vigorous jab in the side reminded him that something was amiss. “Eh, -my dear?” he whispered. “What’s wrong?” - -“Take your hands out of your pockets, Augustus,” hissed Mrs. Pratt, “and -don’t you dare to call Dr. Prendergast, ‘Doc’!” - -“Doctor and Missus Bzen-an-Bza-a!” announced Cr’ymer, from the door. - -Cr’ymer was a very recent acquisition to the Pratt ménage. Mrs. Pratt -would have preferred a Japanese but for once she was overruled by her -husband, who harboured the malicious belief that every man of foreign -birth, especially negroes and Orientals, look upon the women of our race -with lascivious eyes. So when Cr’ymer applied, and upheld his -cleverly-forged reference with a plausible story, Mrs. Pratt engaged -him—bibulous mien and Cockney accent, notwithstanding. - -Having been but a few weeks in the city, and most of that time -comfortably soothed by vinous refreshment, Cr’ymer was not conversant -with the names of social Ottawa, and even had he been, it is doubtful -that those of Mrs. Pratt’s guests would have been familiar to him. - -“How d’ye do?” asked Mrs. Prendergast, annoyed to find that no one else -had arrived. There was a suggestion of over-eagerness in being early. - -“How do yuh do?” returned Mrs. Pratt, wishing that she was Lady Elton or -someone worth while. “Sit down, won’t you? I think you’ll find any of my -chairs comfortable, and there’s no need for you to stand because we have -to . . . The others can’t be long, now.” - -“They can if they choose,” remarked Dr. Prendergast, who liked his -dinner in the middle of the day and a substantial supper at six o’clock. -“Never saw anything to beat the people, to-day. They don’t start out -till it’s time for decent folks to be in bed. Things get later and -later. Shouldn’t be surprised to see the hour for dinner set at eleven -o’clock . . . Outrageous!” - -“Well, with so many engagements to crowd in of an afternoon, and with -the House sitting till six o’clock, it’s vurry difficult to dine much -earlier than seven o’clock,” argued Mrs. Pratt. “Oh, here are the Leeds. -How do yuh do? Augustus, meet Mrs. Leeds!” - -“How do?” mumbled Augustus, and prayed for the coming of the cocktails, -which, as an antidote for the concoctions of an atrocious cook, he had -made extra strong. - -Mrs. Pratt aspired to a good cook, by which she meant a person who could -disguise the most familiar comestibles so that recognition was -impossible. Personally, she liked plain and wholesome cooking. Most -people do. But she laboured under the misapprehension that members of -the aristocracy ate strange and undistinguishable dishes; moreover, that -the degree of exaltation which one had attained, was evident by the kind -of food one ate. For example, she could not conceive of His Majesty -enjoying a rasher of liver and bacon, nor a Duke sitting down to the -staple pork and beans so familiar to the humble farming class. Long -hours she pondered the question of food, rising gradually through the -ragouts and rissoles, ramakins and casseroles, to ravioli, caviare, -canapes and the bewildering _aux_ and _a la’s_ that make a wholesome -menu so picturesque and indigestible. - -The cook that Mrs. Pratt had in mind, was one who had served at least an -Earl, and had titillated the palates of his class. But at that time—now -half a decade past—social distinctions were drawn quite as finely in -the kitchen as the drawing-room, and the woman who would exchange her -culinary gifts and aristocratic associations for the wages of a mistress -not even an Honourable in her own right, had not been found. - -The hour set for dinner had past. In the drawing-room, a noticeable -chill tempered the atmosphere. Mrs. Pratt was not an easy hostess. The -word “entertaining” was, for her, the most perfect euphemism, and in -ordinary circumstances, she would have taken satisfaction rather than -pleasure by gathering people at her home. On this occasion, she was -denied satisfaction, and a rising resentment gave her far from gracious -manner an added acerbity. Conversation lost all semblance to -spontaneity, and every eye seemed to be fixed upon Mrs. Pratt, who sat -stiffly on a Louis Quinze chair and hoped that Rufus Sullivan was -sensible of her displeasure. - -She blamed him for this contretemps. It was he who had asked her to -invite the Barringtons, laying delicate emphasis upon their social -importance no less than upon their importance to the Party. - -“Strangers,” he said, “but excellently connected and frightfully -smart—rather too smart for parochial Ottawa, I fear, dear lady! -However, they’re well worth cultivating, and a clever woman could make -no little use of Hebe Barrington.” - -Certainly, she was not difficult to know. Her acceptance of Mrs. Pratt’s -laboured and formal invitation—delivered for lack of time by -telephone—was so casual as to startle that good lady. This was not her -conception of the manners of the elect. - -And now they were quite fifteen minutes late. Mrs. Pratt’s anger rose. - -She had just decided to proceed to the dining-room without them, when -there was a furious ring at the bell, a hurried step on the stair, and -Cr’ymer signalled her that they had arrived. - -“My dear Mrs. Pratt,” cried Hebe, sweeping forward, “_is_ there an -apology profound enough to touch the hearts of your guests—not to -mention your husband and yourself? How do you do, Mr. Pratt? And your -daughter . . . why, you dear child, kiss me! Fortune has indeed smiled -upon this family . . . Mr. Dilling? What a delightful surprise . . . -Mrs. Pratt,” she went on, bowing and smiling impartially, drawing -everyone about her, if not actually, at least by suggestion, “_do_ tell -me that I am to sit next to Mr. Dilling, and—” with an arch glance at -her host, “not too far from Mr. Pratt!” - -“Mr. Dilling is to take you in to dinner,” replied the hostess, tartly. - -The cocktails, supplementing Mrs. Barrington’s entrance, infused new -life into the party. Most of those present walked from the drawing-room -in a pleasant frame of mind. - -“They say that society is divided into two classes,” said Hebe, as they -took their places at the table, “those who have more dinners than -appetite, and those who have more appetite than dinners. I don’t know -that I should confess it, but I belong to the latter class. I’m always -ready for a meal . . . Ah, what a charming room this is!” - -With one or two exceptions, the guests were unpleasantly impressed by -this expression of frank admiration. According to their canons of -etiquette, personal remarks were not The Thing. But if the impulse to -make one proved utterly irresistible, then it should be prefaced by some -such phrase as, - -“If I may be pardoned for saying so, that is a beautiful . . .” or, “I -hope you won’t be offended if I pass a remark on your . . .” - -Even Mrs. Pratt was only slightly mollified. The personnel of her dinner -party differed radically from what she had designed. Indeed, of the -eleven guests who took their places at the table, there were but three -whose names had figured on her original list of invitations. Besides, -she was not conscious of the instinctive liking for Mrs. Barrington that -Sullivan had predicted. Quite the contrary! In the first place, she -disapproved of her gown—a shimmering sheath of opalescent sequins -infinitely more striking than that which Mrs. Pratt herself was wearing. -In the second place, she did not like a(nother) woman to monopolise the -conversation. In the third place, she objected to the manner in which -Augustus was being captivated right under her very eyes, and these were -but a few of the items that she set down upon her mental score. But that -Mrs. Barrington was smart could not be denied; and as illustrious names -slipped artfully into the recital of her experiences and associations, -most of the assembled company found themselves giving her a grudging -respect. There were four exceptions—the Dillings, Sullivan and Azalea. - -“I’m sure I’ve heard of you, Dr. Prendergast,” she glowed at that -gentleman. “But where, or from whom, I simply can’t remember. I have the -most dreadful habit of forgetting names . . . if it weren’t for Toddles, -there, I’d forget my own. He’s just as good at remembering as I am at -forgetting, so we manage famously, eh, my fond love?” - -Barrington hid a smile and mumbled something that passed for an answer. -He was a delightful little man who had become accustomed to his wife’s -brilliant impertinences, and rather enjoyed them when they were not -carried too far. - -He had not been taken into her confidence, of late, but suspected that -she had some telling reason for imposing these curious people and this -abominable dinner upon him. It was his nature to be amiable under trying -circumstances, so he made himself agreeable to the ladies on either -side, and tried to look upon the occasion as a bit of a lark. Mrs. Leeds -was not lacking in charm—a pale little creature whose mouth had a -discontented droop and who was ashamed or afraid to meet her husband’s -eyes. She talked bridge throughout the evening, bewailing the sums she -had lost because someone at the table had failed to bid or to play -according to the rules of the game. It was quite distressing to hear her -re-play hands that should have added to her score below the line, but -which built the tower for her opponents. - -“For example,” she said, under cover of Dr. Prendergast’s monologue, -“only last night, the most unheard-of thing happened! I declared no -trump. Though weak in spades I had every suit protected, and was -perfectly justified in my declaration. The man on my left bid two -spades. My partner passed, telling me he had no protection in that suit, -but I felt safe in raising to two no trump, because, supposing that the -bidder held ace, king to five, _at least_, I knew that my queen was -sufficiently guarded by two little ones. Do you follow me?” she asked, -anxiously. - -“Perfectly,” lied Barrington. “And then what happened?” - -“Well, the bidder led the seven of spades. My partner laid down his hand -which only held the ten. Picture my horror when this woman—” she -indicated an imaginary third player “—took the trick with the ace, and -then _led the Jack through my Queen_! Of course, my hand was shot -absolutely to bits. They took five straight spade tricks and two in -diamonds before I had a look in. Time after time, I am penalised just -that way by playing with imbeciles who don’t know how to bid.” - -“Rotten luck,” sympathised Barrington. “What the devil is this we are -eating?” - -Mrs. Prendergast was the simplest person to entertain. When not giving -undivided attention to her husband, she was entrusting to her -sympathetic partner a list of his outstanding virtues as a citizen, -husband and father. - -What “the Dawkter” thought and said provided her with an inexhaustible -topic for conversation. Apparently she had no opinions of her own, but, -as her husband was quite willing to listen to the echo of his oracles, -they were an exceedingly happy couple. - -The Doctor was a generous-waisted gentleman whose talents exercised -themselves in the field of proprietary medicine. Prendergast’s -Anti-Agony Aliment was just beginning to fraternise with Best Wear -Tires, Breakfast Foods and Theatrical Attractions on the bill boards. -Presently, however, as a result of sapient advertising and the -deplorable ignorance of English by the people who speak it, “aliment” -merged into “ailment” and Prendergast’s Anti-Agony Ailment became the -popular specific for those to whom all advertising makes direct appeal. - -And so carefully generalised was the nature of the disorder it was -supposed to correct that the decoction was consumed indiscriminately by -sufferers from rheumatism, chilblains, dyspepsy, sciatica, high blood -pressure and sclerosis. According to the testimonials that made their -way into the press it did many people . . . good. - -The Doctor’s mind was full of human ills, and the value of advertising. -To the latter he was a recent convert, and inevitably fanatical. -Requiring several thousand dollars to carry on his campaign, he was -doing his best to bring the others to his point of view. - -With the exception of Mrs. Barrington, no one gave him any -encouragement. Throughout three entire courses, she murmured, -“Incredible! Amazing! It sounds like a fairy tale!” at moments when he -might have given some one else an opportunity to speak, and started him -off again with renewed zest and vigour. Under cover of his eloquence, -she talked to Raymond Dilling. - -Dilling was suffering acute mental and physical distress. Fastidious -always about his food, he could not eat the dishes put before him, and -the little bit he did manage to swallow was flavoured with the scent -which Hebe Barrington perpetually exuded. Positively, he would have -preferred the odour of moth balls. - -He had never seen a woman so naked . . . not even his wife. Marjorie -emphasised a characteristic which she called modesty and, having no -curiosity whatever about the human form, Dilling respected her reserve. - -He sat at the corner of the table, next to Mrs. Pratt, and found that he -could not escape contact with the warm mundanity of Mrs. Barrington. -Although the table was not crowded, she seemed to give him no room. Once -or twice, he shuddered, and she mistaking his movement, smiled -provocatively into his eyes. - -“You haven’t forgotten about Monday afternoon?” she whispered. “I’ve -been thinking of it all week.” - -Dilling had forgotten. - -“There’s really nothing to be gained by discussing the proposition yet,” -he said. “We’ve been so busy in the House, I haven’t had time to think -about it.” - -“No matter. We can become friends,” she murmured, significantly. “Can’t -we?” - -A sudden silence relieved him of the necessity to answer. Dr. -Prendergast had run down, and was looking at Mrs. Barrington. - -“Positively the most interesting thing I ever heard,” she cried. -“Toddles, I wish _you_ could invent something other than tarradiddles. -_Do_ send me an autographed bottle, Doctor! I haven’t a thing the matter -with me, and don’t promise to use it. I’m so disgustingly healthy. But -I’d love to have it to put on the shelf with my signed books and other -treasures. Won’t it be nice, Toddles?” - -Azalea bent her head above her plate and scarcely knew whether to be -angry or amused. Sitting on the same side of the table as Mrs. -Barrington, Dilling and the Doctor, neither she nor her partner, Leeds, -could see exactly what was going on. But what she did not divine, was -reflected in the varying expressions of Turner, who sat on Mrs. Pratt’s -left, Eva Leeds and Marjorie. Even Pratt, who had fallen an instant and -unresisting victim to Hebe Barrington’s charms, gave her more than -inkling of the by-play at the other end of the table. - -She was very much alive to the presence of Sullivan, who sat directly -opposite and assumed towards Marjorie an air of offensive -proprietorship. Prejudiced against him perhaps by the opinion of her -friends, she had never felt for the man active dislike until this moment -when every slanderous tale she had heard leaped into her mind. Although -he had become a frequent visitor at the Dilling home, she had met him -for the first time this evening, and had not the slightest desire to -continue the acquaintance. Furthermore, she wondered if Marjorie could -be persuaded to put an end to such a friendship. - -“Are you having a good time, little woman?” she heard him whisper. - -“Yes, thank you,” replied Marjorie, hoping that telling a polite lie -would not be a sin. - -“Not so good as though we were having dinner alone—without all these -dull people?” - -“No,” admitted Marjorie. - -“When shall we have another party . . . of our own?” - -“I don’t know just now. Perhaps next week.” - -By the furious colour that surged into Marjorie’s cheeks, Azalea knew -that Sullivan had caressed her under cover of the table. - -“It’s always at this point that the liveliest dinner begins to grow -dull,” cried Hebe Barrington. “Have you ever noticed it, Mrs. Pratt? No? -Dear me, _what_ partners you must have had! I believe there _are_ -super-women with whom men are never tiresome. How do you account for -that, Doctor?” Then, without waiting for an answer, she went on, “I have -a theory of my own regarding this slump in brilliancy and wit. It is -simply a matter of being too well fed. The animal wants to stretch and -sleep. What do you think?” she smiled at Augustus, who was so disturbed -by this sudden attention that he interfered with Cr’ymer’s unsteady -serving of the wine and between them they managed to upset the decanter. - -“Oh, Mrs. Pratt!” Hebe turned in mock terror to her hostess. “I throw -myself upon your protection. He is going to blame me! I’m sorry, but I’m -innocent. Uneasy looks the face that wears a frown, Mr. Pratt! If you -will only forgive me, I’ll promise not to speak to you again all -evening.” - -“Wish you’d get the missus to go that far,” retorted Augustus, avoiding -his wife’s eye. - -There was a laugh in which Mrs. Pratt did not join. Conversation dropped -to a murmur between couples. Hebe repeated her question to Dilling and -received from him a grudging affirmative. A ponderous hummock of doughy -consistency was tasted and thrust aside, and the hostess rose from the -table. - -“Poor Augustus!” whispered Hebe, as she sank down beside Azalea in the -drawing-room. “Won’t hell-fire be his when we’ve gone?” - -“Perhaps if we’re especially nice to her, she will have forgotten by -then.” - -“Not a chance, my dear! I don’t know the individual, but I know the -type. Death will be his only escape . . . But, tell me, just who are -you?” - -“Nobody in particular,” answered Azalea. “That’s why I’m here,” she -added, with an unusual touch of malice. - -Mrs. Barrington was startled at this thrust. Into her eyes there shone a -budding respect for the girl. - -“Yes, but who _are_ you? What’s your name?” - -Azalea told her. - -“Deane? Oh! You’re a great friend of the Dillings, then?” - -“You seem surprised.” - -“I am,” confessed the other woman. “I’ve heard of you, but—er—” she -ran an appraising look over the reconstructed gown that had adorned the -person of Lady Elton for three years—“I thought you would be -different.” - -“A doubtful compliment,” suggested Azalea. - -“As you like,” returned Hebe, and seated herself at the piano. - -Somewhat to Azalea’s surprise, Mrs. Barrington made no effort to capture -Dilling when the men re-joined them. She turned the battery of her -fascinations upon Pratt with an occasional shot at the Doctor. Dilling -made his way directly to Azalea and dropped on the chair beside her. - -“How long do these things last?” he enquired, under his breath. “Can’t -we go home?” - -“In a few minutes. Wait until Mrs. Barrington stops singing. The bridge -players will probably stay on.” - -Dilling made a frank signal to his wife, then turned back to the girl. -“Do you mind coming to the house with us?” he asked. “I will see you -home. There is something particular I want to say.” - -The song ended abruptly, and Azalea raised her eyes to meet those of -Hebe Barrington. There was something in their expression that made her -flush. And there was the same suggestiveness, the same mockery in her -words at parting. - -“If Miss Deane will wait until I have redeemed my promise to Mr. Pratt -and sung him one more song, we will drop her at the door and save Mr. -Dilling the trouble.” - -“Cut him out of that pleasure,” amended Barrington, quickly. - -“Even pleasures are troublesome, Toddles, dear,” said his wife, “look at -me, for an illustration. However, there may be another time . . . You -must all come and see me. They say my parties are rather fun. I’m -usually at home on Friday evenings, and nearly every Sunday afternoon.” - - * * * * * - -Azalea did not speak for a moment after Dilling had made his -proposition. She dared not trust her voice. - -“You can’t be offended?” he asked, bluntly. - -She shook her head. - -“On the contrary, it gives me the most extraordinary sense of pleasure -that you want me . . . that you think I can be of some real service to -you.” - -“Well?” - -“Well . . . that’s all! It’s simply out of the question! I know my -father will never hear of such a thing.” - -“He must! I’ll see him to-morrow. I’ll show him that he’s wrong. I’ll -say . . .” - -“You’ll say,” interrupted Azalea, forcing a laugh, “‘Sir, I have come to -make a formal request for your daughter’s . . . shorthand!’ And then, -“I’m glad, for your sake, Mr. Dilling, we don’t own a dog!” - -“You can’t discourage me,” cried Dilling. “I’ve made up my mind that we -will work together, and if you consent I feel that the thing is as good -as settled.” - -It was. The following morning, when Azalea carried in her father’s -breakfast tray, she found that he had passed out of life as he had -passed through it, easily, and without toil or struggle. - - - CHAPTER 14. - -Two months had passed since Azalea had undertaken her secretarial -duties. She felt that she had entered into a new life, that a wonderful -renascence was hers. Never in all her imaginings, had she dreamed of -days so replete with happiness. - -A sense of deference to the dead prompted Mrs. Deane to protest against -her daughter’s accepting the appointment. They talked at one another -across an abyss that widened daily and separated them. - -“You shouldn’t do it, Azalea,” she cried. “It doesn’t seem right. You’re -disobeying your father when he’s scarcely cold in the grave . . . It -isn’t as though you didn’t know that . . . I mean, I suppose it wouldn’t -be so bad if he had been dead a long time . . .” - -“Disobedience is a matter of principle, not time, mother!” returned the -girl. “Don’t you see that I have no choice? We can’t live without the -equivalent of father’s superannuation allowance!” - -“Well, I’m sure I don’t know what to do,” Mrs. Deane whimpered, -“Business is so difficult for a woman to grasp . . . Oh, Azalea, if he -knows it, he will be so dreadfully annoyed! Isn’t there some other way? -If you had only been married . . .” - -“Please, mother, let’s not go into that! I’m sorry to have disappointed -you, but for myself, I haven’t a single regret. I don’t look upon -marriage as the only solution of a woman’s financial problems, you -know.” - -“It’s a convenient one,” argued Mrs. Deane, rather more pertinently than -usual. “There are the girls . . . they don’t have to work.” - -“If they don’t, then they are cheating their husbands,” cried Azalea, -purposely misunderstanding. “And too many married women who don’t cheat -their husbands are being cheated—like you,” she nearly ended. - -“Oh, my child!” - -“I can’t look upon marriage as a refuge from the dangers that beset a -female traveller on the Sea of Life. To me it is a tricky craft that may -play you false as it operates between the two inescapable ports of Birth -and Death.” - -“And you are our baby, too,” sighed Mrs. Deane, as irrelevantly as Mrs. -Nickleby. - -“A baby who has grown up at last, and thanks God for the opportunity -that has come disguised as a necessity; a baby, dear mother, who does -not look upon congenial work as a test of courage, but as a divine -privilege.” - -Curiously enough, once she was established in her new position, -unreserved approval was expressed among her friends. Many of them -attributed the move to some suggestion of their own. Lady Denby and Mrs. -Hudson both remembered having advised Azalea to take some such step -years ago. Lady Elton thought she had shown her good sense at last, but -hoped that Mr. Dilling would not be too exacting. Entertaining was a -bore under the best of conditions. She simply could not imagine getting -along without Azalea’s assistance. Mrs. Long saw an opportunity for -picking up odd bits of political gossip that eluded the ordinary -reporter, and making a neat little income on the side. - -“You’re clever enough to do it, my dear,” she said. “Now, don’t be -thin-skinned. Spice is what the people want—any of them who bother to -read the papers.” - -As for Dilling, he felt himself infused with new zest and enthusiasm. He -was conscious of a greater capacity for work, an accession of power. His -brain seemed to function tirelessly and with amazing clearness. He -developed a veritable rapacity for what appeared to be ineluctable -problems, and he who had been a model of industry became a miracle of -inexhaustible energy. - -It was about this time that men began to look to him as the most able -exponent of their political creeds; it was upon him that they called to -master such questions as Newfoundland’s entrance into the Dominion, -trade with the West Indies, reciprocity with the United States, and upon -his slender shoulders fell the burden of carrying on the most -contentious debate of latter times—Canada’s Naval Policy. In short, it -was to him that his Party turned, as the only man capable of grasping -those knotty issues of international importance and presenting Canada’s -case in a masterly way before the Council of the Nations. - -“I’ve been invited to join the Golf Club,” he announced one morning, as -Azalea came into the office. - -“I’m glad! You’re not hesitating about it, are you?” - -“Oh, I don’t know. What do you think?” - -“I think you are becoming no end of a social lion,” she replied, -smiling, “and that soon you will be roaring as lustily in drawing-rooms -as on the floor of the House. Seriously, I think you should accept. It -will be good for Marjorie.” - -“I’m not so sure. She hasn’t many friends among that crowd. However, I -think I see what you mean.” - -Azalea hoped he did. She was desperately anxious for him to realise that -in the Capital success is regarded from only one angle, the Social. -Professional, literary, political, all these are but feeders to the main -issue. - -“I spent the afternoon with your exceptionally brilliant Dr. Aldrich,” -said Sir Paul Pollock, the eminent British anthropologist, during the -course of a dinner the Chesleys had given in his honour. - -“Aldrich?” echoed the company. “Who’s he?” - -Sir Paul did not take the question seriously. “I don’t blame you,” he -laughed. “Two scientists at the same party would be excessively heavy -wheeling.” - -“But who _is_ he?” insisted Miss Mabel Angus-McCallum. “I never heard of -him.” - -“Nor I . . .” - -“Nor I . . .” - -“Well—ah—ha—if you are not pulling my leg,” answered the amazed -guest, “perhaps you will be interested in knowing that he is one of the -most famous biologists living. But—ah—ha—! I expect you are just -stringing me.” - -It was gradually borne in upon him that they were not, that they had no -desire to cultivate the men and women whose lives are devoted to the -advancement of their race, that even the names of such people were -unfamiliar to them and that prominence in their especial sphere was -clouded by a total eclipse of the social solar system. - -It was this latter point that Azalea ardently wished to make Dilling -recognise. He was so immersed in his public life that there was little -time for the consideration of any other question, and Marjorie had not -sufficient astuteness to make the most of her advantage or profit by -experiences. - -She seemed incapable of keeping step with her husband, of acquiring a -broader vision than that which was hers in Pinto Plains. In her eyes, a -thousand dollars was always a staggering sum, five hundred an immense -concourse of people. - -“But, dearest Marjorie,” cried Azalea, in affectionate exasperation one -day, “you _must_ learn to see beyond a home-made dress and a parish -tea-party!” - -“If my clothes and my food mean more to people than I do, myself,” -argued Marjorie, “then I don’t want to have anything more to do with -them. We’re just plain Canadians, and I don’t want to pretend -otherwise!” - -“Yes, but—but—” Azalea often found herself at a loss for illustrations -that would co-ordinate with her friend’s code of ethics, “conforming to -certain conventions isn’t exactly pretence. You might look upon it as a -ceremony, ritual, something that is an adjunct to a position.” - -“A lady is a lady anywhere,” murmured Marjorie conscious, herself, that -she was not precisely strengthening her argument. - -“So is a clergyman,” replied Azalea, “but you would not like to see him -conduct a Service in a pair of tennis flannels or a bathing suit.” - -“Oh!” The point had gone home. “What have I done that’s wrong?” - -“Nothing so very wrong, you dear lamb,” said the older girl, kissing -Marjorie’s troubled mouth, “but try not to be so humble. Humility is a -splendid virtue, sometimes—but not when we’re heading for the Cabinet!” - -“It frightens me to think of it.” - -“But you must overcome that, and feel perfectly at ease with Mrs. -Blaine, Mrs. Carmichael, Lady Denby and the others. You must make them -your friends.” - -“I can’t be friends with people if they don’t want me!” - -Azalea tried to explain that in public life friendship and association -are more or less interchangeable terms. “You were not friends with all -your classmates at school,” she said, “but you associated with them, -especially on formal occasions. It was then that your status was fixed -by your class. It is exactly the same with your position as Mr. -Dilling’s wife. You must feel yourself worthy of belonging to the -highest class—the class which has been reached by a very prominent man, -who will be known in history as one of the greatest statesmen of his -country.” - -“What must I do?” asked Marjorie, as Mrs. Deane might have said it. - -“Learn and observe social distinctions. Everyone else does. Show that -you respect your husband’s achievements and others will follow your -lead. Why, the Society Columns are read to better advantage by the -tradespeople, the gas inspector, the telephone operators, the very cab -drivers, than you.” - -“I don’t know what you mean,” said Marjorie, very close to tears. - -“I mean that those people almost unerringly place the rest of us in our -proper class. They observe the rules of precedence, which you don’t. If -there happened to be but one cab at a stand, and both you and Mrs. -Blaine wanted it, which one of you would get the thing?” - -Marjorie did not answer. - -“Mrs. Blaine! You know it! Why? Because she goes to Church regularly on -Sundays, pays her bills promptly, refuses to gossip and slander her -neighbours? Not a bit of it! Because she puts a value on herself that is -compatible with her husband’s position . . . at least, that’s near -enough the mark to serve my purpose in scolding you!” - -“All right,” sighed Marjorie, “I’ll try to be stiff with people, if -that’s the way to help Raymond. I don’t believe it, you know, Azalea, -but I think I see what you mean.” - -Azalea, however, was not so sanguine. - - * * * * * - -“Do you play golf?” she asked Dilling. - -“Oh, I’ve handled the clubs once or twice. But I won’t have any time to -devote to the game.” - -“You must make time. It will do you a world of good. All play and no -work will make you an ideal politician,” she teased. - -“You will come out with us to dinner, the first night we go?” - -“Oh, no!” she cried. “You must take someone infinitely more -distinguished. You must shine and let your light be seen before men. If -I might make a suggestion, give a very exclusive dinner party and invite -the Chief.” - -“But you must come, too!” - -“We’ll see. In the meantime, hadn’t we better tackle this formidable -mail? It seems to grow larger every morning.” - -Towards the middle of the afternoon, a spare, thin-lipped little man -came into the room. - -“Howdy, Raymond?” he greeted. “Been tryin’ to run you down to your hole -this last half hour. Got kinder twisted in this big buildin’.” - -“How are you, Sam?” said Dilling, shaking hands. “It’s good to see -someone from home. Just get in?” - -“Just about. How’s the Missus and the kids?” - -Dilling assured his visitor that their health was good. - -“We’ve had an awful lot of sickness this winter. First, the baby was -taken with swollen glands, and we’d no sooner got her up an’ about when -Sammy came down with grippe, and on top o’ that, the wife had to be -operated on for appendicitis. Makes me creep to think what the doctor’s -bill is goin’ to be.” - -“Don’t worry about that, Sam. Halsey is the soul of consideration and -patience.” - -“Still, he’s got to be paid. Swell office, you’ve got, Raymond.” - -Dilling smiled. - -“An improvement on my old one, but modest as offices go.” - -“This all there is of it?” queried the stranger. - -“This is all. We don’t have suites, you know, until we get to be -Deputies or Commissioners, perhaps. It’s plenty large enough.” - -“Sure. I was only wonderin’ where we could have a little talk—a kinduv -private confab, as you might say,” returned the other, nodding at -Azalea’s industrious back. - -“We can have it right here,” said Dilling, promptly. “This is my -confidential secretary, Miss Deane. Mr. Sam Dunlop, of Pinto Plains. -Miss Deane. He’s an old friend and worked hard at the time of my -election. Go ahead, Sam. What is it?” - -“Well—er—” began Mr. Dunlop, in some embarrassment, “it’s about that -block of ours out home. You mind when we four bought it from them -Winnipeg fellows, the idea was that they would start in putting -improvements all around us?” - -“In the centre of the town,” supplemented Dilling. “I remember very -well. There was some talk of street cars. What of it?” - -“They’re a bunch of shysters, that’s what! They haven’t spent a dollar -on First or Second Streets, they only pulled down a couple of buildings -on the Avenue, and they’re investin’ every dollar they can raise to -develop Pond Park and turn it into a summer resort. And business is -trailin’ ’em right out that way.” - -Dilling looked grave. - -“Has anyone actually moved off First Street?” - -“Bowers is moving in the spring. Jennings got an option on the corner of -Cedar and the Avenue which takes the two biggest merchants away. After -that, all the little fellows will go.” - -“And the hotel they talked about?” - -“If they build, it’ll be out the other way. Oh, there ain’t a bit of use -in you settin’ there thinkin’ that we’ve got a chance,” cried Mr. -Dunlop. “We’ve studied this thing till it’s a wonder we didn’t get brain -fever. Says Lewis, ‘We four went into this here deal as friends and -we’ll stick together. You go down to Ottawa and see Raymond. He’ll look -after us, same as we’ve been tryin’ to look after his interests.’ -Mumford’s the hardest hit—next to me, that is! But none of us, outside -of yourself, can afford to hold that property an’ pay taxes while the -town grows in the other direction.” - -“And what do you think I can do?” asked Dilling, in a hard voice. - -“You can recommend the sale of our block to the Government, boy, that’s -where you come in!” Mr. Dunlop dragged his chair closer and poured forth -his proposition in a rapid whisper. - -“But Pinto Plains doesn’t need another Post Office,” argued Raymond -Dilling. “The Liberals spent fifty thousand dollars for the one we have -only a few years ago, and you were the first to denounce it, Sam. -Everyone agreed that the town wouldn’t grow up to it in a hundred -years.” - -“But, damn it all, Raymond, can’t you see that this is different? Can’t -you get it through your head that we’ll be ruined unless we can sell -that property and sell it quick? All of us—of course, exceptin’ -you—all of us have got to raise interest on the money we borrowed to -put into it, and Lord knows where mine is coming from. What’s a dinky -little Post Office to the Government? Lewis says it ought to be a cinch -to put it through, for he can condemn the other one, easy! How long do -you figger it’ll take to get the matter settled, son?” - -“It’s settled right now, so far as I’m concerned.” - -“How do you mean?” - -“I can’t undertake such a job.” - -“You . . . what?” - -“You’re asking me to betray the confidence of the country, Sam; to rob -the Treasury. That’s the proposition in plain English, isn’t it?” - -Mr. Dunlop denied this accusation eloquently, if irrationally. He -cajoled, he stormed, he pleaded, he threatened. He reminded Dilling that -during his election campaign, support had been based on friendship, not -a strict adherence to truthfulness, and that the boys had not stopped to -consider every lie that was told on his behalf. - -“Runnin’ the country ain’t the same as runnin’ a Sunday School,” he -added, in justification. - -“The governing principles should be the same,” answered Dilling. “No, -Sam, I can’t do it. Argument is useless. When you and the boys think it -over, you will agree that the man who would have carried out your -proposition is not the type that you would have to mould the policy of -the Nation. I hope that Pinto Plains will never send a chap like that to -Parliament! You’ll come down to the house, of course, won’t you?” - -But Mr. Dunlop did not hear the invitation. He was so absorbed in -expressing his opinion of the man he had sent to Parliament, that he -failed to recognise Sir Robert Borden whom he passed in the corridor, -and ran violently into Sir Eric and Lady Denby without uttering a word -of apology. - -“We’ll fix him,” he muttered under his breath. “We’ll fix him!” - -In the office there was silence save for the sibilent fluttering of -papers on Azalea’s desk. Presently, Dilling spoke. - -“I’m too indignant at the moment to be sorry for them!” he said. “And -it’s something of a shock to find that they held me in no higher esteem -than to think I would be a party to such jobbery.” - -“I doubt that they looked at the matter in just that way. Isn’t it -merely another example of the common practice of bringing your white -elephant to feed at the Dominion crib?” - -“It’s another example of perverted ethics,” growled Dilling, and he went -angrily off to lunch. - -Azalea sat on, thinking. What, she asked herself, would be the outcome -of Raymond Dilling’s uncompromising attitude with men of Dunlop’s -calibre? Would he, like Marjorie, persistently close his eyes to the -advantage of temporising in matters that affected his political career? -Would he never learn that a gentle lie turneth away enquiry and that as -Dunlop had so truly said, the country was not run like a Sunday School? -She had heard him reject more than one proposition made by men of his -own Party who never could be brought to see the criminous side of -misappropriation of public funds. She had known him to ignore the -Patronage system by refusing positions to incompetents, as bluntly as he -had discarded Dunlop’s scheme. And a little compromising, or even -temporising, would have accomplished his object without loss of good -will. - -“Custom,” he once said in answer to her remonstrance, “can never in my -opinion sanctify piracy or brigandage. I don’t believe in Patronage and -never shall. Incompetency should be treated and overcome if possible, -but not rewarded.” - -Rejoicing, as she did, in this fine adherence both to the letter and -spirit of his political creed, yet she could not but feel apprehensive -for his political future. As a lamp unto his feet were the rules of the -Independence of Parliament, but he was rapidly making enemies when by -the employment of a little diplomacy he might have had hosts of friends. -Scarcely a week passed without bringing forth some public attack upon -him, and the mere fact that he championed a cause was sufficient to win -for it a mob of fanatical obstructionists. - -Yet Azalea realised that anything less than this unswerving rectitude -would have been for Dilling ignominious surrender, and she prayed that -he might uphold his ideals at all costs, that he might achieve a -spiritual triumph even at the price of material defeat. She wondered how -it would all end. - - - CHAPTER 15. - -“You had better go up to the House, to-night,” called Long, as he passed -his wife’s door on his way to dress for dinner. - -“What’s going on? I’m booked for bridge at the Blaine’s.” - -“Dilling’s going to speak. I think you’ll be repaid for calling off your -game.” - -“All right. I’ll telephone,” said Mrs. Long, carefully adjusting a hair -net. “Perhaps the others would like to go. Only two tables, I understand -. . .” - -The House was crowded by the time Mrs. Blaine and her party arrived. The -“Ladies of the Cabinet” were shown, of course, into the front row of the -Speaker’s Gallery, and those of lesser rank were distributed wherever -space permitted. - -Marjorie had been directed to a seat in the second row, immediately -behind Mrs. Carmichael and next to Mrs. Long, beyond whom sat Eva Leeds, -Pamela de Latour and Mrs. Chesley. Strictly speaking, none of them -deserved a place in the Member’s Gallery, but in deference to Mrs. -Blaine, whose guests they were, and also to their social status, they -were thus happily privileged. The vacancy next Marjorie was presently -filled by Mrs. Pratt, although Deputy Minister O’Neill’s wife sat -several rows behind. - -“Well, upon my word,” whispered Mrs. Carmichael to Mme. Valleau, wife of -the Postmaster-General, “The Virginia Creeper will be clinging to us, -next. How does she do it?” - -There was no mystery. Mrs. Pratt’s superb lack of what her husband -termed “gulp” was partially responsible; and, in addition, she knew how -to wring one hundred per cent returns out of a five dollar bill. The -doorkeeper, who was the object of her investment, was more affected by -the frigidity of her reception than she was, herself. - -“Good evening, Lady Denby . . . How d’yuh do, Mrs. Blaine? Mrs. -Carmichael . . . Good evening, Madame Valleau . . .” She bowed right and -left, murmuring names—prominent names—and creating the impression -among those who didn’t know, that she was on pleasantly intimate terms -with every one worth while. “Oh, Mrs. Dilling . . . I didn’t notice -you!” - -“Good evening,” returned Marjorie, with strained politeness. - -She was determined to be just as stiff as Azalea could have wished. Not -that she was converted to the belief that this attitude on her part -would be in the least helpful to Raymond, but because she was, by -nature, docile and amenable to discipline. Always for Marjorie the word -“must” held an ineluctable obligation. - -Therefore, when Azalea insisted that she must adopt a greater formality -of manner, the time came when Marjorie surrendered. - -“Who is that woman in the other Gallery?” asked Mrs. Long, from behind a -jewelled lorgnette. - -“Which one?” queried Pamela de Latour. - -“There—in the front row. She seems to have forgotten her clothes, so -far as her torso is concerned.” - -“Oh,” cut in Mrs. Pratt, “that’s Mrs. Barrington. They’ve recently come -to Ottawa. Her husband’s something or other on the Driveway Commission. -I can’t akkerately say just what, although Mr. Pratt was largely -instrumental in getting him appointed.” - -“Barrington?” echoed Mrs. Chesley, “why, that’s the woman who’s rushing -Raymond Dilling, isn’t it?” - -“Sh—sh—sh—” warned Pamela, nodding in Marjorie’s direction. - -“Well, isn’t it?” insisted the other. - -“Hush! She’ll hear you.” - -“I suppose that means it is. Does she know?” - -“I don’t think so,” whispered Pamela. “Doesn’t see much beyond the -kitchen cabinet and the drawing-room curtains, I fancy.” - -“Lucky woman,” murmured Helena Chesley, thinking of her impressionable -husband. - -“Who’s speaking?” Mrs. Long was moved to ask. Until that moment, no one -had given a glance at the House. - -Mr. Sullivan, it seemed, had the floor. A few Members watched him -languidly. Nobody listened. - -Pamela de Latour turned attentive eyes upon him for a moment or two. -Then, - -“There’s really something intriguing about that man,” she murmured. “If -only he would apply a little veneer to cover the knots once in a while, -he would be accepted everywhere. No one minds what he does when you come -to analyse things; only they mind what he does so openly. Does anyone -happen to know the reigning favourite?” - -“I hear she is a taffy-haired manicurist,” whispered Eva Leeds, wishing -they had stayed at home and played Bridge. Her losses had been shocking -of late, and she felt that the tide of bad luck would certainly have -turned this evening. That was always the way, she never really had a -chance! “But there’s no telling . . . That may be ancient history. I -haven’t heard much about him, lately.” - -“About whom?” demanded Madame Valleau, bending back her handsome head in -order to see the speaker. She was supposed to be the best informed lady -in the Cabinet—informed, that is to say, regarding the shadowy side of -the Members’ private lives. - -They told her. - -“Oh, Sullivan,” she cried, in her fascinating broken English. “A -delightful dog, hein? I wish there were more men like him in this dull -town!” - -Mrs. Carmichael, having two young daughters to whom she enjoyed applying -the inappropriate word “innocent”, protested. - -“Why, no woman is safe with him,” she said. - -“A few,” argued Madame, allowing her eyes to travel slowly over the -immediate group. “Besides, who wants to feel safe with any man? Not I, -for one! If women had been safe with men, there would have been no need -for cavaliers, for gallantry. Sullivan is charming.” - -“I think he’s a conscienceless old reprobate,” declared Mrs. Carmichael, -“and the National Council should make an example of him.” - -Marjorie leaned forward. It required a good deal of courage on her part -to push into this argument, but she felt that loyalty to an absent -friend demanded it. - -“You misjudge him, Mrs. Carmichael,” she defended. “I know him very well -and I am certain the things people say about him are not true. He’s too -kind to everybody, that’s his trouble! He is as kind to a—a—manicurist -as he is to . . . well, to me! He’s always so ready to help people and -to give them good advice!” - -Mme. Valleau gave vent to a musical little scream that was heard by the -Sergeant-at-Arms, and impelled him to shake a playful warning for -silence at her. - -“Don’t kill my enthusiasm for that man by telling me he is giving good -advice!” she said. “He won’t be doing that for a long while, I’ll be -bound.” - -“Why not?” demanded Marjorie. - -“Because it’s only when Sullivan is too old to give the bad example he -will begin to give the good advice,” returned the Frenchwoman. “_Mon -Dieu_, I hope that won’t be for many a long day.” - -“I don’t think you are fair to him,” championed Marjorie. - -“My child,” interrupted Lady Denby, “I should be greatly disturbed if I -thought you were trying, seriously, to defend that man! Mme. Valleau has -original ideas on every subject, including honour, but for you to -express yourself favourably on Sullivan’s behalf, or admit friendship -with him, would be little short of compromising. I know you too well to -misunderstand, but these others might get a sadly erroneous impression.” - -“But . . .” began Marjorie. - -“Stop chattering,” cautioned Mrs. Long, who had only just stopped, -herself. “Mr. Dilling is going to speak.” - -The House filled rapidly. Members slipped into their seats and turned -towards the slender young man who stood, hand on hip, in the very last -row of back benches. In the Press Gallery there wasn’t a vacant chair. -Representatives of the leading dailies jostled and crowded one another -at the desk, and those men who could not obtain so convenient a -position, drew sheaves of copy paper from their pockets and recorded -Dilling’s speech on the surface offered by their neighbour’s backs. -Pages flung themselves on the steps of the Speaker’s dais, and relaxed -into an attitude that was almost inattentive. They had learned that -while the Member for Pinto Plains was speaking, the House rested from -its customary finger-snapping, and, like otiose diversions. - -A cheer crashed through the silence. On the right of the Speaker, desks -were thumped and feet beat upon the floor. A babel arose from the -Opposition, and in the Galleries, visitors forgot that they were -“strangers in the House,” and that, like the children of a bye-gone -generation, they were supposed to be unheard. - -“Or-r-der,” drawled the Speaker. And the clamour died. - -“_Bon!_” chuckled Madame Valleau. “He has the courage to speak, that -Dilling—and behind his words, there is the mind to think!” - -“Very good,” pronounced the ladies surrounding Marjorie. “Most -interesting! Quite excellent, indeed!” - -“Thank you,” returned Marjorie, so stiffly that they looked at her in -amazement, wondering if success had suddenly turned her head. - -They wondered still more when a messenger approached her, delivered a -note and said there would be an answer. Eyebrows were raised, and -incredulity was telegraphed from one to the other of the group. - -“What’s this?” asked Lady Denby, in what she conceived to be a playful -tone. “Have we an admirer in the House?” - -A furious blush and confused stammering was Marjorie’s reply. With one -of those rare flashes of insight for which she could never account, she -knew that in view of the recent discussion about Sullivan and her -defence of him, he was suspected of being the writer of that letter. She -didn’t blame the women in the least, for she suspected him, herself. - -But she was mistaken. The scrawling signature of Hebe Barrington met her -eye as she hastily turned the last page, and the body of the -communication was an invitation to supper. - -“I have persuaded Mr. Dilling to join us,” the letter announced, “and he -asked me to say that we would meet in his room, at once. Please come!” - -“Mrs. Barrington has invited me to supper,” Marjorie explained, with a -noticeable moderation of stiffness. “I think I will say good night and -hurry on.” - -“What’s got into her?” asked the ladies. “Her naiveté was bad enough, -but her snobbishness is insufferable!” - -Marjorie had never seen a home just like the Barrington’s. It reminded -her of the Ancient Chattellarium, and struck her as being a curious -place in which to live. There weren’t two chairs that matched in the -whole house, and the black rugs and hangings she found very depressing. -Moreover, the rooms bore names as strange as their furnishings, and she -had no idea what her hostess meant by the Cuddlery or the Tiffinaria. - -Mrs. Barrington entertained easily. She did not stand in the centre of -the drawing-room, beneath the chandelier, and greet her guests with -flattering though repetitive phrases. In the first place, there wasn’t, -properly speaking, a drawing-room. In the second, there was no -chandelier. What light there was, came from half a dozen shaded sconces, -and a pair of Roman lamps. There were no pictures on the wall. At least, -Marjorie did not call them pictures. They were scratchy drawings -representing Chinamen engaged in such profitless occupations as -contemplating the tonsils of a large-mouthed dragon, or leaning -thoughtfully upon a naked blade—naked, that is, save for the head that -clothed the point of it. She had never seen their like, before, and -thoroughly disapproved of them. - -Mrs. Barrington did not stand in the drawing-room at all, but wandered -about with a cigarette in one hand and a glass of Scotch in the other, -and seemed intensely surprised to see the people she was entertaining. - -“Well,” she greeted more than one guest, “fancy your trotting away out -here. Are you with anyone or did you come alone?” - -With the exception of Mr. Sullivan and the Carmichael girls, they were -strangers to Marjorie, as, indeed, many of them were to their hostess. - -“Who is the young blood so effectively burgling the cellarette?” she -would ask her husband. Or, “Toddles, tell me quickly, is that girl in -blue some one I ought to know?” - -Supper was spread in the Tiffinaria and eaten all over the house. -Marjorie was inexpressibly shocked to hear a nice looking young man call -to his partner, - -“You wait upstairs, old dear, and I’ll bring up the victuals. We can -mangle them on Hebe’s dressing table.” - -“Peacherina!” answered the girl, throwing her slipper at him. “What’s on -the menu, this evening?” - -A recital of the contents of the table and buffet resulted in guarded -approbation. - -“Get a dab of everything,” called the girl, “and we’ll manage to find -something we can digest.” - -A Sheffield tray was dismantled and heaped with food sufficient to have -served four persons. Added to this, the young man used as a centrepiece -his partner’s slipper, into which he had poured a mould of chicken -jelly. - -The Hon. Member for Morroway was, as always, tenderly solicitous of -Marjorie. He made several attempts to find a place in which they could -sit to have their supper tete-a-tete, before he was successful. - -“Somebody’s in the Cuddlery,” he announced, backing out of the door and -guiding her hastily away. “Oh, excuse me,” he cried, to an unseen couple -who were occupying a nook under the stairs. “Looks as though we’d have -to try the pantry or the kitchen. Let’s see if we can find a corner on -the floor above.” - -“Oh, no!” protested Marjorie, “I shouldn’t care to do that. Why, can’t -we go there—into the front room? I don’t mind others being about.” - -“Dear little woman,” Sullivan whispered, and drew her close against him -under the guise of protecting her from collision with a youth who -carried an empty glass, “of course we don’t mind, but the ridiculous -fact is that _they do_!” He sighed in his most elderly manner. “I do -wish that Hebe would infuse some dignity into her parties. Perfectly -innocent, you understand; not a hint of harm, but just naturally silly -and boisterous. Look at young Creel, there, daring Mona Carmichael to -stand on her head! By Jove,” he slapped his leg and burst into a laugh -that seemed to be a spontaneous expression of hilarious amusement, “he’s -got her by the ankles and she’s going to try!” - -But, after being trundled about the room like a wheelbarrow, Mona -decided that she didn’t want to stand on her head. “I tell you what,” -she cried, “let’s dress up in Toddles’ clothes!” - -With a whoop they raced for the stairs, half a dozen of them, leaving -Marjorie and Sullivan in possession of the room. Shrieks and confused -scamperings followed. Evidently, they were much at home, there. - -“Who are all these people?” Marjorie wanted to know. - -The girls, it seemed, were a dashing and exclusive group whose number, -and conduct, had earned for them the sobriquet of “The Naughty Nine”. -They were the envy of all those who stood without the golden circle -drawn round them, and subsequently, by dint of heroic pressure that was -brought to bear, their number was increased by three and they became -“The Dirty Dozen”. The youths were the scions of Ottawa’s aristocracy. - -“You don’t care for them?” asked Sullivan. “You wouldn’t like Althea to -behave in that way?” - -The bare suggestion produced physical pain. “But, she wouldn’t,” cried -Marjorie. “She _couldn’t_, Mr. Sullivan! Not that they aren’t -very—er—bright,” she added, seeking to say the kindly thing. - -When they returned to the room, the girls were dressed in Mr. -Barrington’s clothing—business suits, riding breeks, pyjamas and -underwear, while the boys had costumed themselves in their hostess’s -attire. - -Marjorie kept telling herself that she was dreaming. - -She longed to go home. She could neither enter into the revelry nor did -she wish to separate herself from the crowd and stay alone with -Sullivan. She had been very uncomfortable with him, lately. Sometimes, -almost afraid. She refused to acknowledge this fear, even to herself, -but she knew that it existed. - -The conversation in the Gallery recurred to her with disturbing -vividness—not that slander ever influenced her judgment—ever! The -person who was swayed by unkind criticism was, in her opinion, no better -than the person who uttered it. At the same time, there was something -about the Hon. Member for Morroway from which she instinctively shrank, -without suspecting that she was making, by her attitude, a confession of -her secret impression of the man. - -No amount of reasoning could correct this state of affairs. In vain did -she tell herself that he was old enough to be her father, and that his -frank affection for them all was merely the enthusiastic expression of a -lonely man’s dependence upon a kindly household. In vain did she try to -overcome a sensation of shame and personal impurity after she had been -alone with him. - -“My own mind must be evil,” she scourged herself, time and again. “He -never has done or said a thing that Raymond couldn’t know. What _does_ -make me feel so wicked when I’m alone with him?” - -It may have been a sense of impotence that frightened her. She could -never see the wheels of Mr. Sullivan’s mind in operation, she could -never tell what he was going to do. He seemed to arrive at a goal -magically, without progressing step by step, and he had such an uncanny -way of divining what she was thinking. - -She was not conscious of his footfall, nor of the opening of the doors -that admitted him to a closer intimacy, but suddenly, he would stand -before her, very near to the Inner Shrine of her Temple, catching her, -as it were, unclad, or in the act of prayer, and she couldn’t put him -out. - -He was very quiet and respectful and walked as though aware that he was -in a Holy place, but that didn’t alter the fact that he had passed -through those obstructing doors without a sound of warning, and without -her permission. - -And he took such shocking liberties. For example, Marjorie couldn’t -possibly have told how he had been allowed to contract the habit of -kissing her. To be sure, it had begun in fun, one evening, when they -were playing with the children. But she couldn’t explain why she found -it impossible to deny him the privilege thereafter. It was very curious -and disturbing. - -Perhaps her difficulty lay in the artful naturalness with which he -performed his acts of pretty gallantry, taking so much for granted and -trading on her clean simplicity. - -“I don’t want to behave so that he will think I have nasty notions,” she -said to herself, and Sullivan knew it. - -“You’re tired, dear,” he said to her, not wholly inattentive to the -Vaudeville on the other side of the room. “Lean back against me. Raymond -won’t be long, now!” - -She felt his arm slip round her and moved away in sudden panic. - -“Oh, Mr. Sullivan, not here, please!” she cried. - -It wasn’t in the least what she should have said; but there was no -opportunity for explanations or corrections then. - -“You’re right, little woman,” he whispered, “this is _not_ the place. I -understand.” - -It was only too obvious that he didn’t; that he misconstrued her gentle -repulse of all familiarity into a prudish discouragement of this -particular expression of it, and his manner suggested satisfaction that -she should prefer to receive his caresses when they were alone. It was a -case of another door being opened and one which resisted her efforts to -close it. - -“I’d like to go home,” she said. “Do you think you could find Raymond?” - -The Hon. Member for Morroway knew his hostess too well to commit himself -to a definite promise. But he murmured something hopeful and made his -way with a good deal of bluster to the top of the house. - -The door of the Eyrie was closed. - - - CHAPTER 16. - -Meanwhile, Dilling had been an unwilling victim to Hebe Barrington’s -charms. - -“Your wife is coming home with me for a bite of supper,” she had written -him, “and I want you, too. The bald truth is—I don’t trust Toddles with -a pretty woman, so you must be on hand to see her home.” - -But although he had signified his readiness to perform this happy task -several times, she had made it impossible for him to break away. - -“Don’t you love my little nest?” asked Hebe, closing the door and -leading him by the arm to a deep couch, standing well beyond the faint -light thrown by a winking oriental lantern. - -“It’s very unusual,” said Dilling. - -“Everything here has a history,” she told him, “but I won’t tell you -about any of my treasures just now. You need only know that this room is -called the Eyrie, and I want you to feel that it is your own. Any time, -day or night, that you want to run away from the abominations of -politics, this place is ready for you. You need not even share it with -me—if you don’t wish.” - -“Thank you,” muttered Dilling, seeing that she expected him to speak. - -“And now, let’s talk about your speech. It was tremendous! How easy it -seems to be for you to avoid the feeble word and choose those that -thrill one with a sense of power. Every fibre of my being was alive with -response to you, to-night. But why didn’t you look at me, Raymond?” - -“I? Er—why—I didn’t know that you were there,” stammered the man who -was supposed to avoid the trite and obvious. - -“But why didn’t you look and _see_?” insisted Hebe. “Is the admiration -of mankind in general, and of woman in particular so unimportant? Does -it give you no stimulation?” - -“Oh, it isn’t that,” said Dilling. - -He was very ill at ease. Admitting her intellectual attainments, yet he -never enjoyed talking with Hebe Barrington as he enjoyed talking with -Azalea. He was too conscious of her, too acutely aware of the fact that -she sought to attach his scalp to her belt, his frail person to her -chariot wheels. Instinctively, he was on his guard against a temptation -to which he could not imagine himself surrendering. - -“What is it, then?” she asked, passing her fingers through his thin -hair. - -As Marjorie recoiled from Sullivan, so Dilling tried to withdraw from -the caresses of Mrs. Barrington. He had never received advances from -women—decent women—and he was shocked, revolted. Even her use of his -Christian name jarred unpleasantly upon him whose social standards -decreed that although a man and woman might address one another -familiarly before the marriage of either party, the instant they turned -from the altar, rigid formality should be observed. To be called -“Raymond” by a married woman whom he had known but a few weeks, smacked -strongly of indecency. - -“Is it possible that beneath your discomfiting iciness of manner,” Hebe -continued, “you want to attract men, hold them and make them your -friends? Do you feel the need of friends, Raymond Dilling?” - -“I am only human,” he returned. - -Suddenly he felt an overpowering urge to talk, an imperious need for -candour. He wanted to open his heart, deplore his failures and the -unfulfilment of his desires. He saw his inability to draw men to him, -and surround them with a vivid atmosphere of comradeship in political -endeavour and a common patriotic inspiration. He felt that men did not -like him, that he would never be an adornment to their clubs, one upon -whom the success of a social event depended. And, unaccountably, he -realised that he cared—cared for himself, and for Marjorie, and for -Azalea Deane. As though reading his thoughts, Hebe went on, - -“You’ll never do it as you are, Raymond. You are suffering the result of -the habit contracted, I have learned, in your college days, when you -withdrew yourself from all but the few who recognised your talents and -thrust themselves upon you for your worldly, and other-worldly behoof. A -native shyness of strangers and an inherited reluctance to spend money -on the amenities of life, moved you to live in cloistered exclusiveness, -when you should have been expanding your soul in joyous contact with -your fellow men. Am I not right?” - -“I don’t think it was so bad as that,” said Dilling, fighting against -the stupefying effect of the perfume he had learned to associate with -her. - -“But it was! You avoided human contact, and only by such means is life -rid of its tendency to become set and small. Don’t you remember the -French axiom, ‘_L’esprit de l’homme n’est malleable que dans sa -jeunesse_’? You are still young, Raymond, but it is high time that you -began remoulding. If you had only allowed yourself the Paganism of -Youth, you would have spared yourself the Philistinism of Maturity.” - -“It’s all very well to preach conviviality and _bon camaraderie_,” -Dilling returned, stung into making what he afterwards felt to be an -undignified defence, “but you must remember that I couldn’t afford to -hold my own with the roisterers at college.” He moved, with a gesture of -impatience, beyond the reach of her marauding fingers. “It was not so -much inherited caution as immediate limitations that made my ‘exclusive -cloistering’ necessary. I put myself through college, you know,” he -added, with a touch of unconscious pride, “and I couldn’t afford to -enjoy it.” - -“But that’s the very point—the very point I’m driving at,” she -triumphed. “If only you _had_ spent beyond your means—if only once you -had overstepped your limitations! We all do, all of us who have souls. -One way or another, the artist is always spending. The lover never -counts the cost. You can’t—you shouldn’t want to—reduce emotions to -blue prints and specifications, and that’s what you have done! Listen, -Raymond, and forgive me if I offend you. There is a corner of your -personality that lies fallow because its dull atmosphere refuses -nourishment to artistic taste and sensuous beauty. In other words, you -are afraid to spend, even now, lest the ultimate cost may prove to be -something you think you can’t afford. You are afraid to let yourself go, -for emotions lead one even farther than the tangible medium of -exchange.” Her tone changed. “How you ever came to marry a pretty woman -is something of a mystery to me—a frump would have answered just as -well. Indeed, I ask myself, why did you ever marry at all. Will you tell -me?” - -“I don’t think there’s any mystery about it,” parried Dilling. - -He was not prepared to confess that love had played a very small part in -his relations with Marjorie, nor that his need of her was more that of -an amiable associate than wife. With the simplicity that marked so many -of his social adventurings, he believed that when he could support a -wife and family he should marry; and he chose the least -objectionable—and most desirable externally—woman of his -acquaintanceship. There was the explanation in a nutshell. - -“Have you ever felt the appeal of sensuous beauty?” Hebe Barrington -persisted. “No! I am answered. The very phrase revolts you as I speak -it. It is an evocation of the Seventh Commandment and a ruined -household. Queer fellow! Your insensibility to beauty in line and -colour, not only in Art but in life, proclaims you a Philistine.” - -“You’ve called me that before.” - -“And I call you so again. You had no ear for the cry from Paxos, ‘When -you are come to Pallodes announce that the Great Pan is dead’,” she -cried theatrically. “Little you understand how it was that Pan’s trumpet -terrified and dispersed the Titans in their fight with the Olympian -gods.” - -“You have a harsh opinion of me,” said Dilling, a little nettled. “I -thought I knew my classics.” - -“You read them—you bathed in their sensuous beauty, but you never felt -it, Raymond, even while imagining that you were mewing a mighty youth of -the intellect. Deluded boy,” she murmured. “Blind boy!” Her hand -fluttered over his face and rested upon his eyes. For the life of him he -could not respond to this woman, but at the same time he made no -definite resistance, judging that by so doing he would lay himself open -to the charge of priggishness. Dilling had little dread of ridicule when -he trod upon familiar ground, but of late he had realised how virginal -he was in the social struggle. Quite still he sat, while Hebe -Barrington’s hands moved softly about him. He did not know that to her -his unresponsiveness was incredible; the web she was weaving was as -apparent to him as his power to break it. “It is not too late,” she -whispered, “to save yourself, to save your soul alive.” - -“Am I to take that as encouragement?” he enquired, with intentional -rudeness. - -“As the body in its vigour renews itself every seven years, so it is -possible for the spirit to open its doors periodically upon new realms -of percipience and creative power. Set about your own rebirth, Raymond! -Don’t imagine that you can achieve re-genesis by pondering the sources -that gave the pagan Greek his apprehension, shall I say, of the joy of -life. The Greek lived in a narrow time and in a narrow world, in spite -of which he made living glorious. You, on the other hand, live in a big -world where there is room for the coming of the superman. Oh, Raymond, -lay hold of the sensuous beauty that lies within your very grasp. Come -out of your barren cloister and inhale the warmth of the sun and perfume -of the blossoming flowers! Mere intellect has never achieved perfect -happiness for any man. He must develop his emotional nature in order to -get the most life has to offer and in order that he may give her of his -best,” she added, quickly. “He must learn to understand men and women, -and to understand them he must—live!” - -“You seem to be very certain that I am one of the unburied dead!” - -“Exactly! Every man who doesn’t love is dead. Oh, don’t point to your -wife and children as contradictory evidence. You love neither, Raymond, -I mean, with the love that is like a great, engulfing tide, the love -that haunts and tortures, and racks and exalts. I mean the love that is -like a deep, ecstatic pain, that simultaneously is a feast and a cruel -hunger.” - -Her words poured over him like a warm scented flood. He was conscious of -a curious desire to plunge his body into their deeps, to feel their heat -and moisture. But the impression eluded him. He could not abandon -himself to the enchantment Hebe Barrington was trying to cast over him. -No glamorous mist blurred his vision. He saw with penetrating clarity, -and his only sensation was one of distaste. - -“I am of opinion that life can be useful without these exaggerated, -emotional outbursts,” said Dilling, “that where so much energy is -expended in one direction the drain is felt in other lines of -endeavour.” - -“But will you never open your eyes to the radiant truth that a great -love is not a drain but a reservoir, a source of supply? It enlarges -one’s power and stimulates creation. Did not every conspicuous figure in -history have his feminine complement, and is not at least a part of his -achievement credited to the stimulation of an overmastering love?” - -Dilling was not so sure. Average and sub-average persons, wholly unable -to apprehend the subtle forces of will and intellect behind a great -achievement, accept it with dull simplicity and dismiss it with a word -of praise. But average and sub-average persons experiencing the driving -power of emotion in varied degrees think themselves capable of -understanding a sublime passion and therefore place it—perhaps -unconsciously—ahead of intellectual accomplishment. In fine, we bring -others down to our own level, a fact that explains why “human interest” -and “heart interest” make a wider appeal than things that live and move -and have their being on the higher plane of mind and spirit. - -“I doubt it,” he said, answering Hebe’s question. “I doubt, for example, -that Parnell’s skill in leadership depended upon the dashing Kitty -O’Shea, or that Nelson would have failed at Trafalgar save for Lady -Hamilton.” - -“Do you mean that no _particular_ woman is necessary to a man, or that -emotional relationship between two persons of opposite sexes is -over-estimated?” - -“Either, and both,” laughed Dilling, and rose. “But I really must find -my wife. She will think I have deserted her, and, anyway, late hours are -forbidden in our house. Shall we go down?” - -But Hebe held him. - -“Just a moment,” she begged. “I can’t allow you to leave me with a wrong -impression. Oh, I know quite well how my conduct to-night must appear in -your eyes—your blind eyes, Raymond, and it is not a sense of -prudishness that impels me to explain that I do not throw myself at you -for a narrow, personal satisfaction. It is true that I love you, but I -love the big You, the public man, the orator, the statesman, and I have -a supreme longing to see you attain greater honours and bring greater -glory to Canada. To achieve this, I am firmly convinced that a closed -door in your nature must be opened. You are like a man working in -artificial light. He can see, yes—but he attains results through -greater strain than is immediately apparent and, therefore, his season -of usefulness is lessened. There is sunshine, Raymond, and in its -radiance, much of what was work becomes play. Love is my sunshine and is -a miraculous creative force. With your frail body, you must draw power -from an outside source, Raymond, and what other reservoir is there but -Love? Listen, dear, just a moment more,” she cried, tightening her arms -about him. “I would rather see you love some other woman than not love -at all, for I know that the awakening of your soul would be Canada’s -great gain. And now,” she concluded, rising, “will you kiss me before -you go?” - -Dilling hesitated, and in that instant’s delay a step sounded on the -stair and a gentle tattoo beat upon the door. - -“Come in,” cried Hebe, crossly. “Oh, Uncle Rufus, we were just going -down!” - - - CHAPTER 17. - -Representing the constituency of Morroway by no means exhausted the -dynamic energy of the Hon. Rufus Sullivan, and he had ample time for -engaging in pursuits of a tenderer and more congenial nature. But -occasions did arise when concentration upon Parliamentary problems -became a necessary part of the day’s routine, for they affected not only -the political standing of the Hon. Member, but the size and stability of -his income. - -He sat alone in his office, oblivious for the moment, of the heavy gilt -mirror that hung opposite his desk, and to the contents of the drawer -marked “Unfinished Business”. He glared unwinkingly into space, -forgetful of the existence of a fluffy-haired little manicurist who sat -waiting for him in an over-decorated, under-lighted apartment of his -choosing. Sullivan was carefully reviewing each step taken at the caucus -he had just attended, and satisfying himself that his own part in the -proceedings would react in an advantageous manner. - -The anticipated vacancy in the Cabinet had occurred, and the inevitable -complications had developed. Howarth stepped modestly into the -spotlight, and put forth claims that were not without justification. -Gilbert, the Radical, stood out as an advocate for Reciprocity and felt -the power of the Middle West behind him. Dilling, more or less thrust -into the contest, was supported by the phalanxes of Eastlake and -Donahue, and opposed any such trafficking with the United States. - -Sullivan endorsed him. - -This was an extraordinary thing. Even Howarth was surprised, and no one -found it more unaccountable than Dilling, himself. - -The constituency of Morroway was divided on the Reciprocity issue, but -the preponderance of sentiment was favourable. This involved a little -difficulty for the Hon. Member, who did not approve it although he was -confident that in securing the measure, the Borden Government would in -no way imperil the existence of Canadian Federation. On the contrary, -Mr. Sullivan was secretly—oh, very secretly!—of the opinion that -unrestricted Reciprocity with the United States would be the most -effective antidote to the disintegration sentiment with which our -National wells are being poisoned. He believed that it would mean peace, -plenty, and a renewed ambition amongst a class of people in whom hope -had almost died; that its immediate result would be employment in lieu -of discontented idleness, and an instantaneous circulation of money. He -saw clearly the advantage that would accrue to the fishermen of British -Columbia and the Maritime Provinces, were they able to dispose of their -perishable merchandise quickly in the American market at a maximum price -and a minimum cost for transportation. He saw also that the Quebec and -Ontario farmers could sell to the Middle States at an advanced profit, -while the grain speculators of the Prairies could offer their wheat in -the Chicago pit before it was harvested and at the lowest possible -figure for haulage. Moreover, Mr. Sullivan realised that there would be -no congestion at the freight terminals, because cars would be moving -north and south as well as east and west; and, furthermore, the railways -of both countries would be co-operating. - -Nor did he overlook the fact that the prairie farmers could buy their -implements at fifty per cent less than present prices for Canadian -manufactures—a Utopian condition for which every man with large -holdings ardently prayed according to the particular doctrine he -professed. - -But Mr. Sullivan opposed Reciprocity. For years he had opposed it. He -held a considerable number of bonds issued by the Grand Trunk Pacific, -which though guaranteed by the Government of Canada must inevitably -depreciate if the silver stream continued to be diverted from the -National coffers in to the channels fashioned by Eastlake and -Donahue—those enterprising exponents of the cult whose treasure lies in -earthen vessels. He also happened to be heavily invested in Eastern -industrial corporations. Long ago, Mr. Sullivan had decided that -anything less than an impregnable tariff barrier between the United -States and Canada would spell his financial obliteration. - -Therefore, although it irked him to lift a finger towards Dilling’s -political advancement, and although he found it extremely difficult to -justify his support in the face of his traditional opposition to -Eastlake and Donahue, Mr. Sullivan threw the weight of his influence -against Howarth, who expected it, and Gilbert, who hoped for it, in -order that Dilling might obtain the portfolio. - -“In him we have a specimen of a genuine twentieth century man,” he -argued, “one who actually believes there is such a thing as a British -Constitution. He prints it in Capitals, (God save us all!) and he loves -it with as much veneration as the younger Pitt. Furthermore, he believes -that the incredible utterance of Pitt, in 1784, is true to-day and -forever—‘The British Constitution,’ he said, ‘is equally free from the -distractions of democracy and the tyranny of monarchy. It is the envy of -the world . . .’ - -“For myself,” the Hon. Member continued, “I think that Dilling is the -best debater we have had in the Commons since Confederation. He eclipses -Cartwright—the best of his day—because when that strict economist fell -a victim to his own high temper, he swapped logic for vituperation and -lost the ear of the Big Men of the House; he is a match for Denby, who -too often talks to Hansard and the Galleries, and too seldom comes to -grips with his antagonists on the floor of the Chamber. When, I ask you, -gentlemen, has Sir Eric ever influenced a vote on a Division? - -“Dilling, on the other hand, captures both parties by his earnestness, -and his logic is as irrefragable as his temper is cold. Although I have -heard him declare that he despises rhetoric, yet we all know his ability -to draw deep from the pure wells of English undefiled. What Horace -Walpole said of the youthful Fox as a debater, could be as aptly applied -to Dilling . . . . ‘Cicero’s laboured orations are puerile in comparison -with this boy’s manly reason’.” - -The Hon. Member brought his remarks to a climax by terming Gilbert a -traitor, charging Borden with political locomotor ataxia for making no -effort to stem the tide of Western opinion towards the Reciprocity -movement, and pronounced it treason against the Imperial Crown—thus -serving at one and the same time, his ambition and his pocket-book. - -The contest was short and sharp. It was universally recognised—even by -those who held divergent political opinions and were personally -antipathetic—that Dilling was the man for the Cabinet, and Sullivan’s -speech left them no alternative but to support him. - - * * * * * - -Howarth and Turner rattled the handle of the door and demanded -admission. Sullivan complied jauntily, giving no sign of the mental -struggle in which he had been engaged. Indeed, at the moment of their -entrance, he recalled the gilt mirror that hung opposite his desk, the -drawer marked “Unfinished Business” and the fact that a little -manicurist was disconsolately awaiting him. - -With an admirable gesture of preoccupation, he concerned himself with -the telephone. - -“Is that my dearie?” he questioned into the instrument. “Forgotten? ’Pon -my soul, I hadn’t! Simply couldn’t break away . . . eh? Yes, in my -office, certainly . . . No, there was no thought of another party. . . . -Well, I won’t come if you are going to be cross . . . Promise? All right -. . . within five minutes . . .” - -The business that was never finished while the three of them lived, was -placed upon the desk and uncorked. Sullenly, two men drank, while the -third tossed off his portion and then consulted his reflection with -meticulous care. - -“Sorry,” he said, “but I must rush off. Exacting little devils—these -women. _Très exigèante_, as our French friends say. But help yourselves, -boys, and lock the drawer when you leave—that is if you have the grace -to leave anything!” - -His flair met with no response. - -“Damned if I can understand you, Sullivan,” Howarth burst out. “Here, -for months, we’ve been trying to freeze Dilling to death, and keep the -E. D. Co. from establishing a firmer foothold in Parliament, and now you -turn right round and boost him into the Cabinet. Surely, one of us is -crazy!” - -“Only under stress, old man! Ordinarily, you are merely peculiar,” -returned Sullivan, with a smile. - -“Gilbert’s a much safer man,” Howarth went on, “to say nothing of any -qualification _I_ may possess.” - -“Yes,” Turner cut in, “what the devil were you thinking of, Rufus? -Didn’t Bill, here, deserve your support?” - -“Neither of you would believe me if I were to tell you my reason for -backing Dilling’s claims,” said the Hon. Member for Morroway, feeling -that he must make some sort of explanation. - -“Let’s have it, anyway,” said Howarth. - -“Well—er—” confessed the other man, pulling on his gloves, “I acted -according to my best judgment in the interest of the whole country.” - -“Oh, hell!” remarked Mr. Turner, M.P. - -“I’ve been asked to swallow many a big mouthful,” cried Howarth, “but -this one chokes me.” - -“And granting this noble patriotism—this alarmingly noble patriotism, I -might say—” sneered Turner “why such sudden interest in the welfare of -our fair Dominion?” - -“By God!” breathed Howarth. “I believe in my soul that that little -baby-faced simpleton has put one over on you, Rufus! She’s got you -halter-broke and working for her husband!” - -“Mrs. Dilling?” echoed Turner, incredulously. - -“No fool like an old fool,” quoted his friend. “I’ve become accustomed -to seeing him lose his heart over a fine pair of shoulders and a -well-turned ankle, but I’m damned if I ever thought he would lose his -head!” - -Sullivan paused with his hand on the door. - -“It strikes me, Billy,” he said, “that disappointment makes you rather -coarse. Forgive my seeming inhospitality, gentlemen, but I dare not keep -a lady waiting.” - - * * * * * - -As he turned from the bright thoroughfare into a shadowy street, Mr. -Sullivan was not free from disturbing reflections. This was a big game -he played, and one that admitted of miscalculations. He tried to keep -before him its analogy to Chess, when a man sees ultimate gain -developing out of a temporary triumph won by his opponent. He tried to -assure himself that he had been wise in helping Dilling to victory as a -means whereby to accomplish his swifter defeat. Only the short-sighted -player tries to vanquish his foe at every turn. - -There was nothing small about Rufus Sullivan. Even his defamers granted -him a largeness that extended to his very vices. He sinned, but he -sinned grandly, with a _joie de vivre_ that was lacking in the righteous -deeds of confessed Christians. He loved readily and hated magnificently, -but he did not begrudge the object of his hatred a modicum of pleasure. -So, in this matter, he could look with equanimity upon Dilling’s -attainment of the Ministership and feel no envy at his brief success. - -For it _must_ be brief . . . and yet . . . - -As he swung along, his eyes fixed on a window where a balloon of rose -light swayed out into the darkness, the Hon. Member for Morroway -realised that such schemes had been known to fail. By some totally -unforeseen miracle, the anticipated downfall had not occurred, and men -had lived to bite the hand that so calculatingly fed them. Would Dilling -prove to be one of these exceptions? Would he survive to frustrate Rufus -Sullivan’s ambitions? - -These and other cogent problems engaged the Hon. Member throughout the -ensuing hours. The taffy-haired manicurist found him abstracted and -singularly unresponsive. - - - CHAPTER 18. - -The new Minister wore his honours with such an utter absence of hauteur, -that, to many persons his manner was wanting in the dignity they had -been taught to associate with the position. - -Never cordial and rarely responsive, Dilling now made the unfortunate -error of trying to be both, and few there were possessed of sufficient -astuteness to recognise in his changed attitude, a sincerity as native -to him as it was embarrassing. Most people saw only the insinuating -affability of the professional politician and added another black mark -to his already heavy score. - -Marjorie, on the other hand, half-convinced that by following the advice -of Lady Denby and Azalea, her “stiffness” had been a factor in securing -Dilling the appointment, redoubled her efforts to appear -ungracious—with the result that the indifference of many acquaintances -crystallised into active dislike. - -“They’re experimenting with _receets_ for popularity,” remarked Mrs. -Pratt to her social rival, Mrs. Prendergast. “I don’t mind anybody being -popular,” she graciously conceded, “if I don’t have to see how they go -about it. But this business,” she jerked her head towards the Dillings, -“is, in my opinion, perfeckly disgusting!” - -The ladies sat in a corner of the Royal Ottawa Golf Club, and although -they had just partaken of a dinner given in honour of Raymond Dilling, -their mien was far from congratulatory. They had made astonishing -progress in their ascent towards Society’s Parnassian Heights, and once -a week, at least, their names appeared in the local calendar of fame. - -Mrs. Pratt employed the methods of a battering ram, charging through -obstructions with ruthless vigour, and indifferent alike to wounds -inflicted or received. She spent her money shrewdly, squeezing double -its worth from every dime. Even her victims respected her. - -Mrs. Prendergast adopted the opposite course. She slithered through the -barriers lying in her path sublimely unaware that they were supposed to -be barriers. It was related of her that one morning, happening to shop -in a store sanctified by the immediate presence of a party from -Government House, she preceded the Governor’s lady down a cleared -passage, passed first through the door held open by an apoplectic -Aide-de-Camp, and bestowed upon that young gentleman a gracious, if -bovine, smile. She spent the proceeds from Prendergast’s Anti-Agony -Aliment lavishly, using two dollars to accomplish the work of one, with -regal unconcern. Slowly, she was buying her way onward and upward. - -Both she and Mrs. Pratt entertained—if one may be permitted so -euphemistic a word—with resolute frequency. Mrs. Pratt rarely received -anyone less important than a Senator, now, and Mrs. Prendergast had -recently dined a lady, honourable in her own right. The fact was -chronicled in the Montreal papers and also in Saturday Night. - -Both ladies saw the advantage of making their homes a rendezvous for the -young, and using their children’s friends as a bridge, however -precarious, to that happy land where Society dwelt. Moreover, both -expressed the resentment of their class against one who, in their -judgment, had been exalted above her station, and from that altitude -demanded homage from people not only just as good but far better, i.e., -themselves. There was no limit to the servility they would offer an -unworthy aristocrat, but a deserving member of the bourgeoisie—never! - -“How do you mean ‘experimenting’?” asked Mrs. Prendergast, referring to -her friend’s remark. - -“Well, it’s hard to explain,” said Mrs. Pratt, “in so many words, that -is.” The implication here was somewhat veiled. How many words -legitimately belonged to an explanation, Mrs. Pratt didn’t know. But -Mrs. Prendergast was not embarrassingly curious, so she continued. - -“When they first came, _he_ was the disagreeable one, so superior and -grumpy you couldn’t get a word out of him.” - -“Yes,” assented the other. “I remember saying to the Dawkter that it -must be very trying to be married to a mute.” - -“On the other hand, _she_ was just the opposite—apparently trying to -cover up his grouchiness and bad manners. I don’t know whether you -understand me, Mrs. Prendergast?” - -“Oh, yes! Oh, certainly,” cried Mrs. Prendergast, emphatic in defence of -her intelligence. “I understand exactly. Indeed, I remember saying to -the Dawkter that I found her quite a pleasant little thing.” - -“Well, she’s fur from pleasant, now! Heaven knows I try to see good in -everybody, but rully, Mrs. Prendergast, I think I may be purdoned for -saying that by the airs she puts on, you’d think she was a member of the -Royal family! And now that _he_ has been given such a prominent position -in the Party—can you blame me for asking what is politics coming to?” - -Mrs. Prendergast hastened to assure her that such a question was -blameless. She was not vitally interested in politics nor the intrigues -that grew out of Party differences, and it concerned her very little who -occupied the positions of prominence. That they should appreciate her -and those belonging to her was a matter of far greater importance. - -She cherished an ambition to be associated with the “Old Families” of -the Capital—those who regarded the ever-changing political element with -disfavour. Substantial clubs appealed to her—the Rideau for her -husband, the Minto for her children, the Laurentian Chapter, I.O.D.E., -for herself, and the Royal Ottawa for them all. As a matter of fact, she -and the Doctor had just been admitted as Life Members of the latter. In -the ordinary course of procedure, they might have waited twenty-years. - -A banging of doors and loud commotion in the hallway prevented further -conversation, and Hebe Barrington, surrounded by a group of Naughty -Niners, danced breezily into the room. Seeing Dilling, she ran forward -and caught him by both arms. - -“Congratulations, Raymond!” she cried. “I’ve been out of town or you -would have had them sooner. Aren’t you very proud and happy? Your -friends are, for you! Whose funeral is this?” she demanded looking with -gay impudence over the group. “Ugh! I can guess. One of these deadly -Party affairs, given—of course—in your honour! How do you do, Mrs. -Dilling? Why, hello, Mr. Pratt . . . _and_ Doctor Prendergast!” She -extended a naked left arm and shook hands across the enraged head of -Lady Denby. “Come along with us, Raymond. We’re going to dance. Mona -Carmichael will teach us some new convolutions, so to speak. Come!” - -In a low, embarrassed voice, Dilling demurred. - -“Oh, stuff and nonsense! They won’t miss you. And, besides, a Minister -must acquire a bagful of lightsome parlour tricks, otherwise he’ll be -monstrously heavy wheeling. Gaze upon this company, Raymond, and take -warning!” - -She laughed gaily, ignoring the tensity with which the atmosphere was -charged. - -“Seize him!” she cried. “Lay violent hands upon him, and if he -struggles, smother him—with affection.” - -Half a dozen boys and girls rushed forward and dragged Dilling away. As -Hebe moved off after them, Pratt called out to her. - -“Won’t you take me, Mrs. Barrington? I may be a Minister some day—you -never can tell.” He bravely avoided his wife’s eyes. - -“You shall be my particular charge,” retorted Hebe with well-feigned -delight. Mr. Pratt bored her inexpressibly. He was rapidly acquiring the -manner of the professional politician, who looks upon every individual -as a vote and who conducts himself as though life were a perpetual -election campaign. He had the air of one who thinks he is the soul of -the very party, moving about from group to group, telling ancient -political stories as having happened to himself, and releasing at set -and stated intervals, borrowed and well-worn epigrams. - -Certainly, Hebe did not find the companionship of Augustus Pratt -inspiring, but just now it pleased her to pretend the contrary and bear -him off beneath the battery of angry eyes the women trained upon her. - -As they moved towards the door and his rather moist hand caressed her -unclad elbow, she said in a loud voice, - -“None but the immediate relatives of the deceased followed the body to -the grave . . . I don’t wonder people have wakes, do you, dear Mr. -Pratt? Solemnity in massive doses is so depressing. Have you tried the -Argentine? It’s enchanting! You take three steps to the right . . .” - -A brief silence followed their exit. The women glowered at Mrs. Pratt -and Marjorie Dilling as though they were personally responsible for -their husbands’ defection. The men fidgetted and offered one another -fresh cigarettes. - -Lady Denby drew her lips into a thin line and remarked to Madame Valleau -who was choking back a yawn, - -“I do wish that woman would wear some clothes! It simply infuriates me -to see her going abroad like that!” - -The Frenchwoman smiled. - -“Perhaps that is why she does it.” - -“I don’t know what you mean, and I don’t see anything funny,” Lady Denby -retorted. - -“One observes so much! For myself, I think it very funny you do not -realise that instead of dressing to please men, as most people think, -women dress to annoy other women. Consider yourself, _par example_ and -this gay Madame Barrington! There, you see?” - - * * * * * - -The gay Madame Barrington presented a violently contrasting appearance -the following morning, as she lay on the Eyrie Chesterfield and consumed -a box of Russian cigarettes. - -Her eyes were heavy and dull. Her complexion, wearing the make-up of the -night previous, looked thick and dead. Over her citron-tinted sleeping -robe she had flung an inadequate _batik_ garment that required -continuous adjustment or reclaiming from the floor. - -Sharp spears of light thrust themselves between the close-drawn mulberry -curtains, and sought out the vulnerable spots in Hebe’s house-keeping. A -thin film of dust lay on a teakwood table; flakes of ash and tobacco -strewed the floor. A stale odour combining scent, cigarettes and -anise-seed hung in the still air. - -Mr. Sullivan, correct in new spring tweeds, lay back in an easy chair -and absently caressed the glass he held in his hand. Beside him on the -table, stood a decanter and syphon. - -He sniffed, with disapproving discernment. - -“Do you find absinthe a satisfying beverage, my dear?” - -“Oh, as satisfying as any other.” - -“Well, tastes differ . . . and stomachs. For my part, I’m afraid of the -stuff. The less subtle and more reliable Scotch is good enough for me, -although there are occasions, it goes without saying, when the bouquet -of a fine wine is somewhat more acceptable. I am fond of a high grade of -Burgundy, and am unique, I believe, in fancying a glass of old Madeira, -which, by the way, is not adequately appreciated among the English -people.” - -Hebe watched him sullenly, but said nothing. - -“It was during the French war that our soldiers made the discovery of -this delectable drink, and it was they who carried the taste for it back -to England, where, I admit, its flavour deteriorates. Climate probably, -though there are some who maintain that Englishmen don’t know how to -keep it.” - -“Why did you come to see me?” Hebe asked the Hon. Member, bluntly. - -She lit a fresh cigarette and dragged her negligée from the floor, -knowing that Mr. Sullivan had not called upon her to discuss the virtues -of various intoxicants. She suspected that the real object of his visit -would be even less agreeable as a topic of conversation. Her feeling -towards Mr. Sullivan could never be accurately described as blind -adoration, but this morning she unqualifiedly hated him. - -“Why _did_ you come here at such an hour, Uncle Rufus? You know how I -loathe to be disturbed early in the day. I’m never human till noon.” - -“The artistic temperament is interesting in all its phases,” murmured -Mr. Sullivan, suavely. - -“Don’t be funny!” - -“Nothing is further from my intention. With perfect gravity I assert -that a woman is infinitely appealing to me in her gentler moods. Her -fragility, her beautiful feminine weakness . . . She inspires me with -overwhelming tenderness . . . And how doubly charming when her verve -returns.” He smiled, reflectively, at the tip of his boots. - -“Oh, drop that nonsense and tell me what brings you here!” - -“Well, my dear Hebe, I must plead a stupid man’s irresistible desire to -discuss a somewhat delicate situation—albeit of his own making—with -the cleverest woman of his acquaintance.” - -“Bosh!” - -“The unadulterated truth, I assure you. I am paying you no idle -compliment, my child.” - -“Thanks,” said Hebe, shortly. “Go on.” - -“I succumbed to the imperious need for feminine companionship, sympathy, -understanding.” - -“Eliminate the first two.” - -“Charming naivèté! Delicious frankness! Hebe, you enchant me!” The Hon. -Member drained his glass, touched his lips with a lavender handkerchief -and beamed upon his sulky hostess. “But, tell me, what do you think of -our new Minister?” - -“You know what I think. Not that my opinion matters a damn!” - -“A mistake, my dear. If you approve of the appointment, then your -opinion coincides with my own, and that, in itself, lends it some -importance. I feel that Dilling is the very man for the post . . .” - -“. . . which is the very best reason in the world for your opposition to -his securing it.” - -Sullivan laughed, indulgently. He raised his cuff and consulted the face -of his watch. - -“In ten minutes,” said he, “you will be human. Meanwhile, may I help -myself?” - -The hiss of a syphon filled the room and Hebe stretched out her hand for -the glass. For a space neither of them spoke, and then the midday gun -sounded its message over the city. - -“Now,” said the Hon. Member for Morroway, “what about this business with -Dilling?” - -“I can’t do anything. I’ve tried.” - -Mr. Sullivan protested that she hardly did herself justice. “A woman of -your age—er—experience,” he tactfully amended, “_and_ talents . . .” -He smiled benignly at her. “Now is your golden opportunity. The more -prominent his position, the more conspicuous he becomes, and every act -is subject to criticism.” - -“I tell you I can’t do it.” - -“Don’t be so childish. The world talks of men compromising women, but -that’s a difficult task compared with the ease with which women -compromise men. What’s the matter? Are your weapons rusty with disuse? -It seems to me that only just before you came up here I heard rumours of -. . . Oh, but let that pass! The point is now, that there must be no -further dallying. Before’s there’s any possibility of his obtaining any -hold on the country, Dilling must go, must hang himself, must dig his -own grave and bury himself! It’s up to you!” - -Hebe avoided his glance, and, as he regarded her, a change came over -him. His suavity vanished, his smile disappeared, as his lips set -themselves into firmer lines. In his eyes, tiny hot sparks gleamed like -pinpoints of fire. There awoke in Mr. Sullivan’s breast a disturbing -suspicion. - -“What’s the matter?” he repeated. “Why don’t you drag him through the -streets at your chariot wheels—as is your playful wont? Let people see -that this zealous prophet who preaches righteousness and a higher -idealism, is bitten no deeper by his fine doctrine than is the average -disciple of orthodoxy. Get busy, girl; get busy!” - -“He won’t respond,” muttered Hebe. “He’s different.” - -“Bah! _You’re_ different—that’s the trouble. I’m half inclined to -believe you’ve fallen for this aesthetic milk-veined -Parliamentarian—that you’ve become the victim instead of the -victor—that you have allowed your undisciplined emotions to play you -tricks. But by God! you shan’t play any on me! I’m a bad man to double -cross, Hebe, and don’t lose sight of that for an instant. You undertook -to see this thing through . . . now, go to it!” - -“I tell you it can’t be done! I’ve worked like a dog, and anyhow, -there’s nothing in it for me—nothing but humiliation . . . Besides,” -she added, with seeming irrelevance, “I can’t live on Toddles’ salary!” - -Mr. Sullivan laughed as he made his way to the door. With the knob in -his hand he turned, and observed, - -“I know you can’t! Moreover, I know you _don’t_ . . . my dear!” - - - CHAPTER 19. - -Everybody now called upon Marjorie. Even the A.D.C.’s from Government -House were to be found at her receptions on Monday afternoons. -Invitations poured in upon her. She was an integral part of Canada’s -official life, and her presence was deemed necessary at all public -assemblages. Socially, she was accounted of importance, and her -attendance at private affairs lent to them that subtle odour of -distinction which—with a fine disregard for principle—democracy loves -to inhale. Tradespeople solicited her custom, agents waited upon her -pleasure and her patronage was sought for a bewildering variety of -functions. - -She found herself in the hands of exploiters, who called at all hours, -with slight excuse or no excuse, to crave favours or heap them upon her, -with high hope that she would liquidate the debt in social currency, and -Marjorie never learned to deny herself to these people. She was more -embarrassed than flattered by their ambiguous attentions, and was -positively distressed at having to take precedence over those who, but -yesterday, had snubbed her. - -Life became a round of perplexing complications, and she yearned for the -peace and quiet that used to be hers at home. - -Then, too, she was worried by the fierce light of publicity that played -upon her. Interviewers distorted her timid utterances in half a dozen -metropolitan papers. Illustrated weeklies requested her photograph for -publication. Local reporters took a sudden and absorbing interest in her -gowns, and the gatherings at which she was expected to wear -them—gatherings, which, under other conditions, would not have -attracted the Press by so much as a line. - - “The Sweet Arbutus Club enjoyed the distinction of entertaining - Mrs. Raymond Dilling at its annual supper on Thursday evening. - The President of the Club, Mrs. Horatio Gullep, received the - members, and little Miss Ermyntrude Polduggan presented the - distinguished guest with a shower bouquet of white carnations. - The Secretary, Mrs. (Dr.) Deitrich, and the Treasurer, Miss - Emmeline Crogganthorpe, presided at the supper table, while the - following young ladies assisted . . . Throughout the evening - several delightful selections were rendered by the Club - Orchestra, consisting of the Messrs. . . . and the Misses . . . - Mrs. (Rev.) Muldoon charmed her audience with three recitations, - and the programme was brought to a close with a chorus sung by - seven dainty little maidens all under the age of seven . . .” - -This was the sort of thing that Mrs. Long claimed not to have read and -that drove Lady Denby to a state closely akin to frenzy. - -“I never saw anyone so intractable,” she cried to Azalea. “You would -think that she actually preferred those awful people!” - -“I believe they are ardent workers in the church,” murmured Azalea. - -“Even so! Church work should be encouraged, and I admire her for -undertaking so much of it. But you know as well as I do, Azalea, that a -Minister’s wife has her own peculiar duties to perform, and they are not -fundamentally concerned with—” - -“Church workers,” suggested the girl. - -“Well, I mean to say that she needn’t be afraid we will contaminate her. -There _are_ Christians outside the Church.” - -“I’m glad to hear you say so, Lady Denby! There certainly aren’t many in -it.” - -“Child! How can you think of such things?” - -“You flatter me,” returned Azalea. “It’s not original. Nietzsche gave me -the idea. He said there was but one Christian, and Him they crucified.” - -Lady Denby was outraged by this blasphemy. She was not the only person -who thought Azalea Deane had developed an unpleasant emancipation since -the death of her father, and she took this occasion to mention her -feeling in the matter. - -“I have nothing to say against the Civil Service,” she concluded, “but I -have noticed that so many of the women who enter it acquire an air of -independence that is unbecoming to a lady. I am speaking as a friend, -and for your own good, my dear, so I trust that you will give heed to -what I say.” - -“Thank you, Lady Denby,” murmured Azalea. “Now to return to the -Dillings—” - -“You _must_ make her see that these parochial affairs should not claim -her attention.” - -“I have tried to make her see that, but it is difficult. You will -remember that her creed is a literal acceptance of the golden rule. -Indeed, she is literal in everything.” - -Lady Denby sighed. “Well, keep on trying. Upon my word, I think the -world is turning upside down! Where _are_ the nice young people, -nowadays? Why couldn’t she have been like Helena Chesley or Eva Leeds, -or the Angus-McCallums, or—er—even you? You would have made him a very -good wife, Azalea!” - -Azalea turned a painful scarlet, but Lady Denby was too deeply immersed -in her own trend of thought to notice her companion’s confusion or to -read its meaning. - -“There seem to be but two types of young woman,” she complained, “hers, -and the one represented by that terrible Barrington person. Of the two I -almost incline towards the latter. At least, she would give some tone to -the Party.” - -“I grant it.” - -“Don’t misunderstand me, Azalea! You know well enough what I mean. She -has a manner . . . On the other hand, here is a young couple, qualified -in many respects to adorn not only the Party but the Dominion. Heaven -knows we need his brains. Except for a few of the older men, notably my -husband, the country can’t muster enough to fill a good-sized thimble! -But what do they make of their gifts! Nothing! Less than nothing! They -ignore advice, scorn convention and, unless they suffer a radical change -of heart, they will undermine the foundations of the very structure -which has made them, by refusing to adapt themselves to the exigencies -of their official position. Can you imagine him a Prime Minister, -representing Canada abroad—for example, at an Imperial Conference?” - -“Yes, I can!” flared Azalea. “And furthermore, I can imagine that in a -broader field, associating with bigger people, Raymond Dilling would be -accepted at his genuine worth. Proportions would be adjusted, and the -gifts he undoubtedly possesses would shine with a brilliance undimmed by -the shadow of his humble origin. I mean to say,” she went on, “a shadow -that is formed, locally, by petty insistence upon a matter that is of no -importance. Here, in this trivial atmosphere, heavy with a spurious -culture, most of us regard the position as less significant than the -man. We expect him to adorn his office, and the manner in which he wears -his mantle means more to us than the manner in which he administers his -public duty.” - -“Fine feathers . . .” began Lady Denby. - -“Moreover,” continued Azalea, unheeding the interruption, “we are -impressed with his personality first and his political integrity later. -People of a different calibre would relegate the mantle to its proper -place, and Dilling, the orator, the statesman, would come into his own. -Do you suppose,” she cried, with more heat than she realised, “that the -men who mould our Imperial policies are influenced in their estimate of -Raymond Dilling’s usefulness to Canada—to the Empire, indeed—by -considerations of his talents and inflexibility of purpose, or by his -adherence to custom in wearing a black tie or a white?” - -“Now you are being stupid, Azalea,” pronounced Lady Denby. “Conventions -cannot be broken without harming both the offender and the cause he -represents. There never has been a telling argument in favour of -conventionality, yet it persists. My charwoman may be _gauche_ and amuse -me, but similar behavior on the part of Lady Elton, for example, would -disgust me and kill my respect.” - -“But the Dillings are _not gauche_,” Azalea defended. “I know few words -that could be more inaptly applied to them. Mrs. Pratt is _gauche_, for -if she followed her instincts she would do the clumsy, cruel and vulgar -thing. The Dillings, on the other hand, do the orderly, kind and decent -thing. They make no pretence, use no lacquer or veneer. If they err at -all, it is not due to _gaucherie_, but utter simplicity. They do not -think that it becomes them to ape or assume the manner of the great. -They even go so far as to be _logical_, which is the last attribute that -one should have to be socially presentable. Oh, why, Lady Denby,” she -cried, “_why_ can’t people let them alone, stop this carping criticism, -and applaud, if they won’t follow, the fine example that is being set -them? As a man thinketh . . .” - -They parted in some constraint, Lady Denby unpleasantly stirred by the -truth behind Azalea’s championship, and Azalea quivering with -indignation at the unreasonableness of such attacks upon the Dillings. -Never had she hated her townsfolk more bitterly than at this moment. -“They are like a swarm of vicious wasps,” was her thought, as she raced -along through the mild spring night, “stinging a lovely and unoffending -body until its sweetness is absorbed and its beauty marred.” - -And Azalea was alive to another sensation. Above the clamour of her -directed thinking, Lady Denby’s words rushed unbidden into her mind, and -would not be dislodged. - -“You would have made him a good wife, Azalea!” - -“God,” she thought, “why must life be so cruel? Why is it that some of -us are denied not only the privilege of having, but even that of giving? -I could give him so much . . . so much . . .” - -A verse filtered through her memory. It was the cry of Ibsen’s _Agnes_, -and it spoke to her own heavy heart: - - “Through the hours that drag so leaden, - Think of me shut out of sight - Of the struggle’s beacon-light; - Think of me who cannot ask - Aught beyond my petty task; - Think of me beside the ember - Of a silent hearthstone set, - Where I dare not all remember - And I cannot all forget . . .” - - - CHAPTER 20. - -Sleep eluded her. Wide awake, she lay on her back, staring into the -tepid darkness and listening to the whisper of a thin, spring rain. Her -thoughts were of Raymond Dilling. - -Only at night, beyond the reach of prying eyes, did Azalea dare to open -the doors of her soul’s concealment. Only then did she allow herself the -freedom of the emotion that possessed her, and enjoy the warmth of a -communion that no one could suspect. Her thoughts were like perfumed -caresses . . . tender, delicate, and as they held him in sweet contact, -she glowed with the reflection of their radiance, conscious that her -entire being was suffused with a light—an ectoplasm—visible to the -naked eye. - -To-night, however, her thoughts were poisoned with acute bitterness. The -world, as Lady Denby had said, was upside down. Clamouring for justice, -it offered high reward for iniquity, nepotism and refined knavery of -every colour. - -“Give us Honour and Idealism,” cried the voice of the People, “but give -them to us garbed in the motley of hypocrisy and alluring vice. If you -must be good, disguise yourself, so that you are still a knave and a -rattling good fellow!” - -Would the Public—that vague, vast body, of which none of us -acknowledges himself a member—never come to the realisation that in -Raymond Dilling the country had the man for whom it sought, a man of -magnificent honesty, courage and fidelity to high purpose; a man whose -talents were devoted to more lasting matters than the wearing of a -morning coat, and the sequence of forks at a dinner-table? Would the -Public never see that to him these things were non-essentials? Beau -Brummel, she reminded herself with angry vehemence, spent several hours -daily conferring with his tailor, and doubtless both found the -association profitable. A pilot, on the other hand, has time—during the -pursuit of his calling—for no such recreation. That he guide his ship -through shoal and reef, fog and other dangers of the sea, is all that is -required of him. Nor is he adjudged a less worthy pilot because he -appears unshaven to steer his vessel into port. - -Which did Canada need—a Beau Brummel to lend her picturesqueness in the -Council of the Nations, or a pilot to guide the destiny of her Ship of -State through the reefs of ready disaster? - -Into her mind came the story of a young man who climbing in the Alps, -lost his footing and was hurled to his death in the glacier hundreds of -feet below. One of his companions, a scientist, computed that at the end -of so many years, the body would reappear as the glacier moved towards a -certain outlet. On the date specified, a group of the youth’s friends -gathered at the spot signified, to see if the computation would prove -correct. - -It did. There, before the company of old men, battered and scarred in -their struggles against life, lay the body of the boy—fair and -unsullied as on the day he had left them. - -Azalea wondered whether Raymond Dilling, having climbed so far along the -treacherous crags of politics, must lose his foothold and plunge into a -glacier of oblivion; and she wondered, passionately, if such had to be, -would he emerge after a lapse of years, beautiful and fair, to reproach -the country that had rejected him. - -Azalea was, perhaps, the only person who saw Dilling’s reaction to -Public Opinion. Universally, he was supposed to be indifferent, a man of -stone, impervious alike to enmity and friendship. But she could recall -half a dozen instances when the lack of sympathy—more difficult to -endure than active opposition—from men whose warm approbation he richly -deserved, filled him with corroding discouragement. She knew that he -felt his isolation keenly, and was depressed by it. - -Her thoughts turned to this new appointment, and her happiness for him -was dulled by the manner in which Ottawa had received it. There had been -noticeably lacking the warmth of genuine congratulation that made formal -expression of it acceptable. The Press of the Dominion and many foreign -countries commented enthusiastically upon the Government’s action, and -paid a worthy tribute to the young Minister, but the people amongst whom -the Dillings lived, were lukewarm and perfunctory. Azalea knew that to -Raymond, the honour—the cloak—was cold, and that he shivered as he -wore it. - -She wondered what he thought about the attitude of Rufus Sullivan. There -was something altogether extraordinary in the support of the Hon. Member -for Morroway. Azalea did not agree with certain organs of the Press that -credited him with sinking private considerations in the interest of -public weal. She did not believe in the sincerity of Mr. Sullivan’s -vaunted Imperialism. Unable to find any proof for her suspicions, yet -she came very near the truth in listening to the warning of her -instinct. - -Of Mr. Sullivan’s private affairs, she knew nothing. Nor of his -ambitions. Amongst his friends—and he had friends!—he was not adjudged -an ambitious man. He kept modestly out of the Press, and appeared in -Hansard only often enough to satisfy his rather easygoing constituents. -He never gave interviews. Interviews, he had observed, had an unpleasant -way of rising to condemn one. It was safer not to espouse a cause, for -then one could not be accused of inconstancy when one disavowed it. - -This reticence on the part of Mr. Sullivan was variously regarded as -humility towards those of superior wisdom, and an almost extinct -distaste for publicity. There were many who thought that save for a -certain moral obliquity, Mr. Sullivan was a very fine man! - -But Azalea distrusted him. With the feminine shrewdness that is really a -manifestation of Bergsonian intuition, she saw his modesty as caution, -and naturally inferred that caution is only necessary when one has -something to conceal. The fact that he never declared himself definitely -upon any stand, made her suspicious of his enthusiastic support of -Dilling. Azalea sensed treachery behind it. - -Scattered bits of gossip, an odd suggestion dropped here and there, -unremarked at the time, rose now to the surface of her mind, and -strengthened her case against Rufus Sullivan. Besides, had not Lady -Denby hinted that Sir Eric was not unqualifiedly pleased at the -championship of the Hon. Member for Morroway? That, in itself, was cause -for apprehension. - -So far as Azalea knew, Mr. Sullivan had never denounced Eastlake and -Donahue, nor had he uttered any anti-Imperialistic shibboleths, but she -simply could not bring herself to accept his attitude as sincere, and -something warned her that this sudden flare of patriotism served an -ignoble end. - -What, she asked herself, could he gain by putting Dilling in a position -of honour and importance? - -Bribery was unthinkable, but might it not be that he sought some higher -honour for himself, some post which could be more easily acquired by a -friend at court than by personal application? - -“That’s stupid,” thought Azalea, “for the man has hosts of influential -friends, who, though hesitating to introduce him to their wives and -daughters, would exert no end of energy to gratify a political whim. -There must be something else . . .” - -She drew in her breath sharply. - -What if animosity towards Dilling, and not friendship, or even -self-interest, had prompted this extraordinary act of Mr. Sullivan’s! - -Was it possible, she asked herself, that he had built his policy on the -theory that Dilling would be self-defeated by the deficiencies which -Lady Denby so persistently deplored? Did he rely on the Capital’s -beguilement by a Beau Brummell, and its rejection of a pilot who placed -the substance before the shadow? Sullivan was astute enough to aim at -Dilling’s most vulnerable spot, realising that it was scarcely probable -for him to be overthrown by a political misadventure. - -A motive was not far to seek . . . Marjorie! Did Mr. Sullivan wish to -cripple his antagonist beyond the chance of giving battle, and then -himself reap the spoils? He was, she decided, quite capable of such -infamy. - -She required no complaints from Lady Denby to remind her of the -Dillings’ social short-comings. Times without number, she had tried to -convince Marjorie that in Ottawa—in any Capital, probably—Success -demands that aspect of good breeding which may be described as a -superficial adaptability to others. But neither Marjorie nor her husband -would conform to the standards set by other people, when those standards -were opposed to the principles on which they had been nurtured. - -“It’s deceit,” said Marjorie. - -“It’s duplicity,” said Raymond. - -Success was not worth attaining unless it accompanied a cleanly heart. - -In such small matters did they transgress against the rules of that -great governing body called Society. In such stupid little things! It -was immaterial to Dilling whether he appeared in black shoes or tan. -Marjorie developed a perfect genius for wearing the wrong clothes. At a -luncheon given to some distinguished visitor, she could see no reason -for “dressing up”, while for an affair confined to the humbler members -of the Sunday School, she would wear the best that her wardrobe -afforded. Similarly, in entertaining, she would provide the simplest -repast for a guest of high degree, and spread before the officers of the -Sweet Arbutus Club, a dinner that was elaborate by comparison. - -“People like Lady Sommerville and the Countess of Lynwood,” she argued, -“have so much better than I could give them, they wouldn’t even notice -any effort I could make. But with the others . . . it means something to -them to be entertained in a Minister’s house. When I have them here, I -am giving somebody real pleasure. Don’t you think it is worth a good -deal of trouble?” - -The caparisons of greatness would always remain for them non-essentials. -All externalities were vain pomp and inglorious display. The things that -counted lay within—within the heart and mind and soul of man, and these -they pursued and cultivated ardently. - -Azalea began to fear that without a drastic shifting of ideals, life -would soon become quite insupportable for them in their Land of -Afternoon. - -The birds were stirring, and a sullen dawn was taking possession of the -sky before she fell into a troubled doze. She was conscious of a -disturbing dissonance, a harsh thumping that beat against her brain, and -she awoke to the sound of Lady Denby’s voice crying, - -“You would have made him a good wife, Azalea!” - - * * * * * - -Heavy-eyed, she entered the office in the morning. - -“Hello,” cried Dilling. “You’re here, at last! I’d begun to fear that -you were ill.” - -The eagerness in his manner enraptured her. She drew it into her being, -and was refreshed as from a draught of wine. She was conscious of a -lifting of the weight that lay upon her spirit. He had been watching for -her . . . he had been anxious . . . afraid that she was ill . . . - -She looked at him, standing in the doorway, vibrant with unusual health -and vigour, scarcely able to keep the glory of her happiness from -shining through her eyes. “Here you are, at last,” he had said. It was -wonderful but it was true. - -Dilling relapsed into his accustomed matter-of-factness. He was utterly -unconscious of his dependence upon this girl. At least, he was -unconscious of the extent of his reliance. During the time he was -waiting here, when his thoughts were definitely concerned with her, he -was by no means wholly aware that she stood for him as an absorbing -problem, intensifying mysteries and contrasts, pricking strange and -sensitive spots in the sheath of his imagination. He only dimly -suspected how much he owed her for the enlargement of his world and the -discovery of new regions of thought and feeling. - -He had looked at the clock, trying to summon a sense of irritation. -Azalea had never been late before. Instead, he succumbed to anxiety. She -must be ill . . . He tried to recall her appearance, yesterday, and -failed. He was stupid, that way . . . intensely stupid. He never noticed -people . . . Marjorie was very clever. She could have seen in an instant -whether Azalea Deane was ill . . . - -A curious thought cut athwart the woof of his reflection, a thought that -had disturbed him more than once. Might she be tiring of her work? Did -she find it—him—too exacting? Perhaps she wasn’t coming back at all! - -He rose, opened the door and looked out into the corridor. She was not -coming. Tired out, probably . . . sick of her job! How could he make the -work more interesting, he wondered? How could he show her greater -consideration? - -He found it difficult not to drive Azalea. She encouraged him to overtax -her strength. “If she’d only tell me when she’s had enough,” he thought -guiltily. “But she won’t stop . . . won’t take advantage of the -scheduled periods of rest!” - -Dilling felt that he must put a stop to this sort of thing. For example, -the girl must go out for lunch. He must see that she went. Anticipation -of proposed tyranny sent an agreeable warmth over him. There were many -Members who took their secretaries out to lunch . . . why should he not -take Azalea? - -A very sensible solution, so far as it went. He would see that she ate a -proper meal in the middle of the day. He might take her at noon . . . if -she would only come. - -The sequence of his thoughts was shattered, and Dilling caught himself -speculating upon a hitherto unconsidered problem—Azalea’s relations -with other men. What were they? Had she any close friends? If so, which -were the men, and if not, why? Had she ever been in love, and why had -she not married? - -Hastily, he discarded all the men he knew as unworthy of such a -relationship, and then he fell to wondering how much she liked him. Was -she capable of any depth of feeling, or was a sort of consistent -cordiality, the expression of an intellectual glow that substituted for -emotion? - -But he made little headway. He found that the clear, cold reason that -ate like an acid through the metal of ordinary barriers, was impotent to -solve this subtler question . . . that he was slow and clumsy in -considering the psychology of Romance. - -Not that Dilling scented the least romantic element in his relationship -with Azalea Deane. On the contrary! Never had he consciously admitted -her femininity; never was he aware of the slightest exoteric appeal. -Truly, did women say of him, “He’s a cold fish!” Azalea was, to him, a -fine mind, a sort of disembodied intelligence, upon whose judgment he -unconsciously leaned, and whose approbation he keenly desired. - -As he drew the telephone towards him to put an end to his impatience, -the door opened and she entered the room. - - * * * * * - -“One might judge from your cheerful aspect, that the House would -prorogue before lunch,” she smiled at him. - -“No such luck! Although, as a matter of fact, I believe the end’s in -sight. The Budget should be down this week. There won’t be much more -after that.” - -“This week?” Azalea bent diligently over her desk, “Then it won’t be -long before you start West, again.” - -“Marjorie and the kids will probably go home. But I have no intention of -accompanying them.” - -“Well, what will you do?” asked Azalea, in surprise. - -“I shall stay around Ottawa and become a golf addict. I played eighteen -holes yesterday afternoon.” - -Above the mad singing of her heart, she caught a strange note in his -voice, a note she was at a loss to diagnose. “I shall stay in Ottawa -. . .” he said calmly, but in a peculiar way. - -She dared not trust herself to look at him. Eyes are responsible for -more betrayals than are the lips. She wondered, nervously, whether he -was looking at her. “I shall stay in Ottawa . . .” Surely, he had not -meant . . . No, no! The thing was impossible! Never, by so much as a -fleeting glance, had Raymond Dilling expressed anything more than -friendliness towards her, and at that, it was the friendliness that man -offers man. Had he not deplored the fact that she was born a woman? Hope -that was as dear as it was unfounded, died under one smart blow of -Reason and Azalea called herself a weak fool. She was ashamed. - -“You are singularly uninterested in the affairs pertaining to your -Minister,” Dilling teased. “Why don’t you ask me some intelligent -questions?” - -He looked at her with a sudden softening in his glance that was almost -warm enough to be affectionate. - -“Very well. Why are you going to stay in Ottawa?” she asked, looking -squarely at him. - -“Ah, that’s the wrong question. I can’t tell you at this moment. But you -may make a note and refer to it, again.” The same curious sombreness -crept into his voice. A new intensity shone in his face. “Later, I will -remind you that I _had_ a reason! But ask another . . .” - -“With whom did you play golf?” - -“None other than His Royal Highness. Are you impressed?” - -“Not a whit! I’m not even surprised.” - -“What?” - -“No! I’ve already seen it in the papers.” - -“You’re joking!” - -“Really! It’s the first item in the Social Column. Only the reporter -neglected to mention the score.” - -Dilling thanked heaven for that. The Duke, he thought, must be one of -the best players in the United Kingdom. “He beat me”, he added. “Indeed, -Pratt, who followed us round with fatuous insistence, called it a -wallop.” - -“Do you know,” said Azalea, “I can scarcely picture you being beaten. -Somehow, one feels that you ought to do everything well.” - -“Heaven forfend! You don’t understand me, Miss Deane! You think me -always and inevitably serious—that my disposition will not permit me to -do things by halves. Nothing is further from the truth.” - -“But you don’t agree with Horace, do you? Remember, he said that it is -pleasant to play the fool deliberately, and be silly now and then.” - -“I do not! No one who recognises the thin line that divides sanity from -its awful opposite, can ever willingly approach that line. On the other -hand, however, I believe that it is an expedient of great psychonomic -value to do things which one knows he does badly—or let us say -inartistically—at times.” - -“Golf certainly offers rare opportunities to many persons,” murmured -Azalea. - -“And dancing! Look at me . . . I dance as badly as I play golf, but -candidly, I don’t _want_ to do either of them well. My mind rests itself -in the conviction that I am doing badly, and so I am refreshed.” - -“What harm do you see in doing them well?” - -“Speaking for myself—and myself alone, you understand—I should be -ashamed of excelling in either of these arts, because excellence spells -much long and arduous labour in acquiring perfection. You remember -Herbert Spencer’s rebuke to the young man who beat him handily at -billiards . . . ‘Your exceedingly great skill argues a mis-spent youth’, -he said. That’s just it! Skill in trivial things is not worth while -unless you are earning your bread thereby. For example, were I a golf -pro. or a dancing master . . . No, Miss Deane, I despise the crack -amateur.” - -“Oh!” - -“It’s true, and having said so much, you will be prepared to hear me add -that I dispute the sonorous counsel, ‘Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, -do it with all thy might’. Utter nonsense, I call it!” - -“Alack, alack!” cried Azalea. “What shall we do for copybook mottoes?” - -“I’ll give you a better one . . . ‘What’s only worth doing once in a -while, should be forgotten until the next time!’ Now for the foreign -papers. This parcel? Thank you.” - -He glanced rapidly through half a dozen of them—English, French and -German. Azalea, watching him, saw his expression darken into -apprehension, the meaning of which she could not fathom. Nor was she -able to interpret his increasing preoccupation until one August morning -he called her to the telephone. - -“I can tell you now why I stayed in Ottawa,” he said. “Despatches have -just arrived . . . England has declared war on Germany . . . Canada will -have to fight!” - - - - - PART THREE - They Conquered - - - CHAPTER 21. - -Destiny seemed to be setting the stage for Armageddon, the last tragic -scene in the play of human life. Pandora’s box had been opened and every -mortal ill loosed to the bonds of hate. For more than three years, the -sword of War had maimed the body of civilisation. It was a time when the -vision of young men was carnage, and the dream of old men, despair. -Prussian frightfulness was still exacting dreadful tribute from Celt and -Anglo-Saxon battlefields that had lost all trace of old-time chivalry. -The virtue of sheer sacrifice was confined to the English-speaking -Dominions, the flower of whose youth had gone forth against a foe that -had not directly challenged them; gone forth with joy to build their -splendid bodies into ramparts that might be shattered but never stormed. - -The Blond Beast was shaking the blood from his eyes and looking -anxiously across the Atlantic. But America had not yet decided to step -into the breach. - -Thus with the men. Nor was the mettle of our women lacking in the hour -of trial. Spartan mothers never sent their sons into battle with finer -renunciation than did the mothers of the unconscripted youths who -crowded the transports in the first two years of conflict. Women stepped -into the gaping ranks of industry at home—into the farms and fields, -and into factories originally designed for making ploughshares and -pruning hooks, but now converted into plants for fashioning the -panoplies of war. Thousands of these women clad themselves in the -overalls of labour, and hundreds put on the uniform of the Red Cross. -Life so lived was hard but it was intense, and “Carry on”, came to -express one of the spiritual values of the ages. - -This was one picture of the activities of women during the grim tourney -of Might against Right. There was another, not so inspiring. It revealed -the cocotte and the flapper. Birds of beautiful plumage, these, who -thronged London, Paris, Ostend—God knows where they were not—and sang -their siren songs into masculine ears echoing with the shriek of shot -and shell . . . songs that offered forgetfulness, Nirvana, to men who -came out of a stinking Hell where the form of Death stalked grinning at -their side. These were they who filled the theatres, cabarets, and tea -shops, providing fat profits for jewellers, modistes, motor liveries; -the hotels and inconspicuous road-houses. - -How swiftly in our own land came the changes wrought by war! One grew -inured to bobbed hair, knee-length skirts, universal smoking, Einstein, -trousered women, camouflage, expensive economy and economical -extravagance, unashamed macquillage, weddings à la volée, War Babies, -and appetency for divorce. - -The social limousine, as it sped on the road of Hysteria, was not alone -in its responsiveness to the influences of the time. The car of politics -was jolted from its accustomed track. Union Government was formed under -the leadership of Sir Robert Borden, and both the great parties lost -their distinctiveness, not so much from the deliberate fusion as from -the departure of the pick of capable men from each. To complete the -debacle of the Liberal Party, Sir Wilfrid Laurier—the thaumaturge of -Canada’s peaceful days of growth—passed away, stupefied by the alarms -of war. The nation lost its beautiful Parliament House by fire, set it -was generally thought, by the myrmidons of the Kaiser. - -In the Dillings’ home, changes had also made their way. Marjorie found -the top floor convenient as a meeting place for the dozen and one -organisations over which she was asked to preside. Dilling had an office -on the ground floor as well as at the Victoria Museum—whither the -burnt-out Members of Parliament had been driven for refuge, and Azalea -practically lived at the house. - -Mr. Sullivan was by no means an infrequent visitor and Lord Ronald -Melville, the A.D.C., found a curious respite from Society’s -kaleidoscopic demands upon him in the prim ugliness of Marjorie’s -drawing-room. - -“I like him better than any man I ever knew,” she confided to Azalea, -one evening as they sat waiting for the children to return from a -masquerade at Government House. “He’s so old-fashioned.” - -Azalea laughed. “In what way?” - -“Ever so many ways! He doesn’t like women who smoke or swear, and he’s -so fond of children.” - -“That _is_ old-fashioned!” - -Marjorie nodded. “I don’t think he likes Ottawa very much. He said that -the Society here was like a blurred and microscopic reflection of London -life. Wasn’t that pretty strong, Azalea?” - -“Well, it certainly is a definite view.” - -“I find it easy to get on with him,” Marjorie continued. “All the things -I like to talk about seem interesting to him. With other people, no -matter what I say, it doesn’t sound quite right, but with Their -Excellencies and Lord Ronald, there is such a different feeling!” - -She sighed. Long ago, she had observed that famous people whose names -she used to revere in Pinto Plains, neither talked nor acted like the -sons of God; gradually, she discovered that age was not to be confused -with sapience or high life with respectability. She realised that to -succeed she must say daring things to people from whom she shrunk, and -repeat the latest gossip freshened by a spraying of her own invention. -She divined that in being kind to men and allowing them to talk frankly -with her, she earned the enmity of their wives, and that if she held -herself aloof, these same women considered her a stick and a fool. She -could acquire neither the smart badinage of people of parts, nor the air -of those who used ponderosity to cloak their native insipidities. - -“You should be very grateful for being clever,” Marjorie said. “If I -were only a little bit cleverer, I shouldn’t have found Ottawa half -so—so—difficult.” She blushed. “Do you know, Azalea, I used to think -that everybody here would be like Lord Ronald, good and kind and -friendly. I used to think Society was exactly like _that_!” - -Azalea’s mouth grew hard. She knew, without being told, that some one -had inflicted a hurt upon Marjorie’s tender spirit, and all her love -rose up in revolt. - -“Society!” she cried. “Can’t you see that what we dignify by that name -is merely a mechanism devised to give a certain class of climbers and -parasites the power to lead a comfortably otiose existence at the -expense of the shrinking and the credulous?” - -“I’m afraid I don’t understand quite all of that,” confessed Marjorie. -“But I know it’s clever. There are so many clever people, here. That is -what makes me seem stupider than I really am, by comparison.” - -“They are not clever,” contradicted Azalea. “They are simply experts in -the art of pretence. They succeed by bluff.” - -“You have to be clever to do that,” argued Marjorie. Then suddenly, “I -hope you won’t mind my saying so, Azalea, but you know I’ve often -thought how much better everything would have been for everybody if you -had been married to Raymond!” - -Azalea raised startled eyes to see Dilling standing in the doorway. That -he had overheard Marjorie’s words was obvious. He stood regarding her -with a strange interest as if studying her in the light of a sudden -revelation. With an onrush of knowledge, he became conscious of his -soul, for the first time. He knew its needs and how Azalea had met them -during the months they had worked together. He saw Azalea as a woman -. . . as the luminous source of all his inspiration. - -A moment passed . . . a moment that held an eternity of understanding. -Soul met soul, disdaining the barriers of sense. The room was filled -with the sound of Marjorie’s knitting needles. The clock began to chime -. . . - -The pell-mell entrance of the children shattered the spell that gripped -them. Baby, drunk with excitement, staggered to Marjorie and climbed, a -crumpled heap of tarltan and tinsel, into her lap. Besser, proudly -wearing a jester’s cap over one ear, retrieved from his pocket, three -sticky lumps that had once been cake, and laid them on the table. -Althea, infected by the snobbery in which she had so lately been a -participant, flipped up her skirts at the back, and wriggled decorously -upon a chair. - -“Well, my treasures, and was the party boo-ti-fool?” demanded Marjorie. - -A torrent of speech answered her. - -“And were you dear, good children?” she asked. “What of my tomboy, -Althea?” - -“I was the goodest one at the party,” replied that young person. “Mind -you, Mummie, I was the _only child_ what folded up my napkin!” - - - CHAPTER 22. - -Dilling and Azalea met on the following morning, in all outward -respects, exactly as they had met for nearly five years. - -A third person watching them would have detected no change in their -manner, no relaxing in their poise, no studied indifference. Neither was -there discernible the strained control proclaiming a furtive -curiosity—a hunger—to see how the other would behave. - -“Good morning,” said Dilling, finding her engrossed with the mail. “I -hope you are well.” - -Azalea echoed this cliché and observed that their correspondence seemed -to increase daily. It was the sort of thing they often said. - -“I’ll be ready in just a moment,” he told her, and passed quickly behind -the green baize door that gave into his private office. - -All this was as it had been many times before. - -Azalea caught her breath in two fluttering little sighs. That was over; -and without any of the embarrassments she had dreaded. It had been quite -easy—almost disappointingly easy—but altogether fine. That was what -she had prayed that Dilling should remain; it was what she knew he would -always remain—fine! - -At the same time, she wondered how he felt, exactly what minute little -thoughts had come to him since he stood between the dull, fringed -portieres and stared at her, stunned, yet with the light of a sublime -revelation dawning in his eyes. She wondered with a hot stab of pain, if -he felt himself duped, humbugged, betrayed. - -She visualised the brief and pregnant scene again, imagining—or was it -divining?—the thought that must have come to him as his eyes held hers -in that sudden bond of understanding. “This is a piece of staggering -news to me,” he must have said. “I am taken at a disadvantage . . . -emotionally naked . . . but you knew . . . you knew . . .” - -And she saw herself mutely admitting the accusation, but with sadness, -as a mother might have felt when some disturbing information could no -longer be withheld from the child she loved. And she wondered if he -suffered at losing the false serenity in which he had been living. - -Did he resent the age-old wisdom that enabled her to see, while he -groped and stumbled, fatuous in his blindness? Did he feel humiliation? - -On her desk the buzzer sounded. His summons. For a moment, Azalea sat -quite still, looking at the little instrument that had called her in -exactly the same way countless times before. And yet, not quite the -same. To-day, there was something different. No, it would never be the -same again. - -As she gathered up her notebook, pencil and a sheaf of papers, her heart -ached for him. - -“Why,” she asked herself, rebelliously, “why must the cup of knowledge -be so bitter? Why must the coming of truth be so difficult and hard to -bear?” - -He did not raise his eyes when she entered the room, but presently, he -seemed to know that she was seated and ready. - -“Taking up the matter of the Quebec Bridge,” he began, “is the report -down from Council, yet?” Then, without waiting for an answer, “But -first, are there any Imperial despatches?” - -The routine of the morning progressed as usual. Reports to Council, -petitions from small centres demanding votes from the Public Treasury -out of all proportion to their possible returns, eternal complaints and -criticisms from malcontents, applications for pensions from War Widows, -enquiries from distracted mothers—all the departmental _acta-diurna_ of -a ministerial incumbency that had to be cleared away before he was free -to undertake the pressing matters that fell to his especial talents to -perform. - -And he compelled his brain to function along its accustomed channels, -while some inner chamber of his mind carried on a separate trend of -thought—separate, and, at the same time, veiled, like the thinking that -is part of a dream. - -He wondered how Azalea felt, sitting there so composedly; and beautiful, -like Lamb’s divinely plain _Miss Kelly_. Was there an element of pity, -even contempt beneath her consistent consideration, for the man who was -insentient to the message of his own heart? Dilling recoiled from the -mawkish flavour of the phrase. He despised all sentimentality, and had -he been called upon to debate the subject would have denied the heart -the conspicuous place universally accorded it, in emotional relations -between the sexes. Imbeciles and sensualists “fell in love”, because the -world refuses to countenance the cruder, if more honest, passion. -Dilling had never been in love—neither with Marjorie nor any other -woman. Even now he refused to connect the term with Azalea. He had -suddenly become aware of joy in her companionship, of his dependence -upon the mental stimulation she provided, of a hitherto unsuspected -peace in their spiritual communion. In her, he had found the priceless -thing for which men seek throughout their lives—Understanding. - -“I couldn’t get along without her,” he said to himself. “She understands -me.” And having thus spoken, he could say no more. It was the highest -tribute he could pay—the highest tribute any man can pay to woman. - -With Azalea, he felt himself the man he wished to be; not smug and -stodgily content, but rejoicing in the struggle towards an ideal which -he believed was one that she approved. - -Sitting opposite her, apparently engrossed in matters of a widely -divergent nature, Dilling examined himself, detachedly. He had no desire -to touch her . . . to cry to her, “I love you!” But the thought of -losing her companionship, mental contact with her, produced a pain so -intolerable that it dismayed him. - -And in that flash of utter wretchedness, he saw how completely he was -wedded to Azalea; how sublime was this cold, pure marriage of the -spirit. With Marjorie, mental companionship was absolutely non-existent. -They were bound together by duty, habit, and the intimacies permitted -those who have accepted man-made ritual as final . . . and Divine. They -had no need of one another. Fondness expressed the extent of his -emotion, and for several years, he had realised that a fierce -maternalism on her part was substitute for the rarer ecstasy of love. - -He was as free from connubial fetters as it is given man to be. Marjorie -was never exacting, but even so, Dilling was conscious of restriction, -bondage. He wanted to be free! - -He thought of other married men, and saw for the first time how their -wives crowded into their lives; they were like two snails trying to -crowd into the same shell. Through no fault of hers, Marjorie often -crowded him. Then his mind turned to Azalea, who never had provoked that -sensation in all the years of their association. On the contrary, she -always seemed to liberate his mind, to give him light and space and air. -She was his mate, not his keeper or his charge. - -He wondered when she first began to love him, and whether the knowledge -had brought her pleasure or unrest. Had she felt humiliation at his -unresponsiveness, perhaps? Had he ever hurt her? What a contrast between -Azalea and Hebe Barrington! A gentle perspiration broke out on his brow, -and he lost the trend of his thought for an instant. One was suggestive -of the hot breath of the jungle; the other, the cool freshness of the -open sea. Mentally, Dilling removed his sandals as he looked across the -crowded desk, and reverently kneeled at Azalea’s feet. - -“I’m glad I know . . .” he said to himself. “Not that it will make the -slightest difference. We will go on exactly as before. Thank God, she is -sensible—not like other women!” - -It did not occur to him, however, that he was like other men—in one -respect, at least; that this was a matter differing from any problem -that had entered into his career. It would not be settled once and for -all. It would not be laid away beyond the need of further consideration. -He was soon to find that he could not ignore the insistency of this -strange emotion that caught him at most unexpected, inconvenient -moments. At first, such unaccustomed tyranny annoyed him. But gradually, -he grew to like it, to seek the refreshment of it, as one who finds -refreshment in the perfume of a flower. - -Mechanically, he selected a letter from the wire basket under his hand, -and dictated, - -“Dear Mr. Jackson, - -“(The Jackson case again. I’ll finish it this morning!) . . . I have -just had your letter, dated 22nd ultimo—now a week overdue, here—by -this morning’s mail. It does not occur to me that carelessness caused -your delay in sending it off. I note that it was posted only four days -ago. - -“I am inclined to think that it was some evocation of your better -judgment, I will even go so far as to say conscience, in this extremely -unpleasant affair, that provoked a debate within yourself as to whether -the letter should be mailed to me, at all. - -“It is necessary at times to speak plainly to one’s friends, and a -moment’s reflection will convince you, I am sure, that this is such a -time. Frankly, your letter and its suggestion that I should use my -political influence to forward the project of the Moccasin Realty Co. -Ltd., which is only the business name cloaking that of yourself and your -son-in-law, to sell the jerry-built Cameron Terrace to the Dominion -Government at five times the price for which you built it two years -since, is a stark offence to me. I will have no part or lot in such an -unpleasant—I speak euphemistically—transaction, and I ask you to -consider this answer final. - -“The Terrace has twice been reported against by the Inspector of the -Indian Department as quite unfit for the purpose of an Indian School. -You, sir, are perfectly well aware that it is ill-drained and impossible -to heat without being veneered, or stuccoed, at great additional cost. - -“I shall say no more about the matter, but if my refusal to aid your -attempt upon the Treasury of this overburdened country costs me the loss -of your support—if it should cost me the loss of my entire -constituency—I shall accept the situation in the knowledge that, at -least, I have done my duty. It is only upon such a footing that I can -remain in public life . . .” - -He raised his eyes, hard and cold with anger, and asked, - -“Do you think he’ll believe I’m sincere?” - -Azalea shook her head. “He’ll complain, as so many of them do.” - -“How’s that?” - -“He will say when in power the Liberals forget their principles and the -Conservatives, their friends.” - -They both sighed. - -The banging of doors and quivering of beaver-board partitions that had -converted the spaciousness of the Victoria Memorial Museum into cubicles -wherein Canada’s Parliamentarians might be temporarily housed, the -scurrying along corridors and clang of the elevator gate, told Azalea -that noon had come. When immersed in work, Dilling was utterly oblivious -to the flight of time. - -“What about lunch?” she asked, as soon as he paused. “The gun sounded -some time ago.” - -How often had she said exactly the same thing! - -“Are you so hungry?” he asked, astonished to miss the playful effect he -had intended to convey. Dropping into the still room, the silly words -had almost a nervous note. - -“Starving,” lied Azalea, easily, and knowing his unadmitted dependence -upon food. - -“Very well. I’ll go, too. But I’m coming back early, to-day. We must -unearth that Hansard before I go to Council. It will never do to let -Bedford get away with his want-of-confidence Motion on the British -Preference, in this high-handed fashion! We must make him eat his words -. . . and while I think of it. Miss Deane, please don’t let -anyone—_anyone_—disturb me.” - - - CHAPTER 23. - -Azalea lunched lightly, and then found herself an inconspicuous bench in -the little park off Lewis Street. The sun was warm and golden; the air -soft with the promise of approaching summer. The trees had already burst -into leaf. Careless children had left their toys about on the moist -walks. Gardeners, taking advantage of the dinner hour, had deserted the -wire-fenced enclosures that would presently break into a melody of -colour. - -But Azalea saw none of these things. She was at variance with spring. -More autumnal was her mood. She sat quite still, unfidgetting, yet with -the air of one who is tense, who is waiting for the storm that is bound -to break. - -“How long can this go on?” she was thinking. “He won’t continue the -pretence that things are the same. He is too honest. But what will he -do, then?” - -A wave of exultation surged over her. It wouldn’t be easy for him to -find another secretary, she said. He would miss her in the office, to -say the least. And not only in the office. His eyes had betrayed so -much. Why could they not go on, she asked herself, with passionate -vehemence? - -They could. The whole thing rested upon her. The type of relationship -that exists between men and women, always rests upon the determination -of the woman. In this case, Azalea knew that she must keep Dilling from -being too conscious of her. She must make none of the unspoken demands -that even the least exacting woman makes upon the man who has confessed -himself in love. Neither must she allow him to feel that a secret bond -was held between them. Above all, she must keep his emotional -temperature at its accustomed low ebb. Any suggestion of coquetry on her -part, now, would disturb his tranquility, and remind him that he had -violated the spirit of the narrow law governing his moral code. - -Could she do all this? If so, she knew they could go on. - -Azalea believed that love could exist between a man and a woman without -emotional gratification and without expression save in the terms of -friendship. She believed that it can be fed freely, by the mind and by -the spirit, just as the body can be fed sanely without the bizarre -concoctions demanded by self-encouraged neurasthenics. The secret lies -in a woman’s power, and wish, to keep the association free from the -tempering of passion. It is not enough to control it, argued Azalea. It -must never be aroused. And this is rare, but not impossible. - -She was not a vain woman. There was no conceit in her, and illusions had -long since flown on the wings of dreams that were unfulfilled. She knew -that she was plain, unlovely, unmagnetic; that never since adolescence -had she awakened the readily distinguishable expression in man’s eyes -that proclaims his discovery of the femaleness in his companion. But it -was because she hadn’t tried! - -According to her theory, the physical envelope matters comparatively -little. The mysterious force that is called attraction, magnetism, -passion, what you will, exists in plain and beautiful alike, and can be -projected at will. Therefore, she possessed the female’s instinctual -power to project this force—this beam that is like a shaft of light, -and blinds the man upon whom it is thrown. He beholds the woman in a -flame of radiance, unmindful of her lack of pulchritude. And not only is -his physical sight impaired, but his mental eye loses its clarity of -vision, and he invests this uncompanionable female with every quality he -thinks desirable. He wants her. He starves for her. He will not be -denied. And after marrying her, what happens? - -The woman, having acquired the man upon whom she has fixed her choice, -grows careless, indifferent, lazy. She no longer lights the shaft that -dazzled him; she no longer projects it in his direction. He blinks, -looks, and rubs his eyes; half the time, he doesn’t understand . . . -Where is the woman he loved and married? Who is this creature, this -unattractive stranger who pushes herself into his life, and tries to -dominate, absorb it? There has been some hideous mistake . . . Steeped -in the delusion that man is the determining factor in the mockery of -emotional marriage, he takes the blame upon himself, persuaded that the -fault is his. At first, he tries to hide his disenchantment. He says -nothing . . . He determines to do nothing . . . just go on . . . They -both go on . . . spiritually too far apart, physically too close -together . . . bound by Church and State, and accustoming themselves to -the functioning of two persons who live in that abominable -intimacy—ironically termed the bonds of Holy Wedlock! - -Azalea believed that the bond of wedlock could only be holy when it is -not artificially constructed by predative females in search of economic -ease, with a possible thrill or two, to boot. She agreed with the -cynicism that marriage is man’s after-thought and woman’s first -intention. She further believed that by continuing the rigid control of -herself—control that neutralised and de-natured her—she and Dilling -could maintain a relationship that not only was free from irregularity, -but embarrassment. - -Mingling with the stream of Civil Servants that flowed in and out of the -Museum, Azalea’s mind was still concerned with the relationships between -men and women, married and single. She thought of her sisters with -something very like disgust; of Lady Elton, Eva Leeds, Mrs. Pratt, Mrs. -Blaine, Mrs. Hudson, Mme. Valleau . . . what real comradeship did they -offer their husbands? Swift’s words came to her as being especially -applicable. “There would be fewer unhappy marriages in the world,” he -said, “if women thought less of making nets, and more of making cages.” - -She had never tried to make a net, not even for Raymond Dilling. She -loved him too deeply to trap—to ensnare him. And if she longed to make -a cage for him, it was as a means of protection, safety, refuge; not the -terrible gilt-barred thing in which he would feel a sense of shame at -his imprisonment. - -She could hear him pacing about his little room, muttering fragmentary -sentences now and then. The sound disturbed her. He was not, as a rule, -stimulated to intensive thought by prowling. Was she already responsible -for disorganising the methodical workings of his mind? - -Poise, control, fell from her. She turned the pages of Hansard -feverishly and without intelligence. She longed to go to him, to take -his frail body in her arms, to soothe him in her self-effacing -renunciatory way. She longed to whisper to him, “There, my dear, you -needn’t dread me. You needn’t be afraid.” - -Instead, she sat at her desk and fluttered the leaves of Hansard, and -suffered the anguish of one who cannot take on the suffering of that -beloved other . . . - -A knock on the door startled her. She turned to see Hebe Barrington -advancing into the room. - -“Oh! _You_ are still here?” was her greeting. - -“I find the work congenial,” returned Azalea. - -The two women faced one another, understood one another. Neither made a -pretence of concealing the animosity that had always existed between -them. Azalea resented Hebe’s habit of establishing herself, taking -complete possession of situations and people, and ordering the destiny -of all with whom she came in contact. Hebe hated Azalea for the calm -tenacity and cold superiority that had thwarted her so many times in the -past. She had just returned from England, whither patriotic fervour and -the personal attractions of a certain fulgid major had drawn her. The -zest with which she had undertaken a particular form of War Work had -strained even Toddles’ indulgence, until the only way they could live -together was to live apart. - -Hebe had abandoned her pursuit of Dilling, and renounced all complicity -in Sullivan’s plans after a stormy interview with that gentleman. What -she demanded, grandly, were his nugatory projects compared with the -clarion call of Empire? He felt very bitterly towards her, blaming her -for the miscarriage of his schemes. Had he foreseen the outbreak of the -War, or Hebe’s defection, he never in the world would have assisted -Dilling to a position of prominence where his public record commanded -respectful admiration and where his private life was above reproach. - -“Isn’t this a killing little hole?” Hebe observed, alert to every -detail. “Sordid, undignified. You should see the quarters of the British -politicians . . . and the War Offices . . .” - -Tiny flames of anger gathered in Azalea’s eyes. There was something in -the insolence of the other woman that suggested a personal criticism—as -though she could have arranged the room more fittingly, prevented its -sordidness, its displeasing atmosphere. - -“A few flowers would make a difference,” she went on, appraising -Azalea’s coat and hat that hung near the door. - -“We don’t spend much money on flowers, now, merely for decorative -purposes,” answered the other. - -“What a pity! I always think that’s what they’re for. Is Raymond—Mr. -Dilling—in there?” - -“Yes, but he’s too busy to be disturbed.” - -Their eyes met in open hostility. - -“I object to the word ‘disturbed’,” said Hebe. “My visit is supposed to -have exactly the opposite effect.” She smiled, a brilliantly ugly smile. - -Azalea lifted her shoulders almost imperceptibly. “Mr. Dilling gave me -definite instructions to allow no one to see him. I’m sorry, but I can’t -make an exception, even in your favour.” - -“What fidelity to duty,” mocked Hebe. - -“You are very kind,” bowed Azalea, as though receiving a compliment. - -“You know very well that your employer would not refuse to admit me,” -cried Hebe. “Don’t you think I can see the vicious pleasure behind this -rigid adherence to your instructions? Let me pass!” - -“You are making a ridiculous scene,” said Azalea, white to the lips. “I -am treating you just as I would treat anybody else—the Prime Minister, -himself. You are not going to disturb—interrupt—Mr. Dilling!” - -“How are you going to prevent me?” taunted Hebe. “Lay violent hands upon -me and fling me to the floor?” - -“I shan’t touch you,” retorted Azalea, her voice trembling with cold -anger. “But I shall regard intrusion upon Mr. Dilling as a personal -attack, and shall not have the slightest hesitation in ordering the -policeman to protect his privacy.” - -She stretched out her hand towards the telephone and held it ready for -use. - -Hebe burst into a peal of derisive laughter. She advanced with an air of -high daring. Then an expression of cunning crept into her fire-shot -eyes. Azalea had threatened to call a policeman. He would lay -restraining hands upon her. She would struggle upon the very threshold -of the young Minister’s office. She would scream. People would rush from -their rooms into the corridor to see . . . - -A splendid scene! Magnificent! There would be a glorious scandal . . . -“Two women fight over the Hon. Mr. Dilling. Shocking episode in the -temporary House of Parliament.” She laughed again. Uncle Rufus would be -not only placated; he would be grateful. - -“I’ve warned you,” said Azalea. - -“You won’t dare!” - -“Stop!” - -“I’m going in, I tell you!” - -Raising her hand to push open the door, Hebe found Azalea directly in -her path. But it was too late to change her intention, and she struck -the girl a smart blow in the face. Exactly at that moment, Dilling -stepped into the room. - -There was a painful silence. Of the three, the Minister felt the -greatest embarrassment. He could readily guess what had happened. - -Hebe spoke, - -“In another moment, we should have been almost angry, Raymond,” she -cried. “I couldn’t make this dear girl see that I was an exception to -your iron-bound rule covering the ordinary visitor.” - -“When did you come back?” asked Dilling, allowing his hand to lie limply -between hers for an instant. - -“Only this morning. Half past twelve, from Montreal. Landed yesterday, -and here I am to pay my respects. And your faithful secretary wanted to -turn me out. Scold her, Raymond,” she cried, archly. “Please do!” - -“I’m afraid I haven’t time, just now,” replied Dilling. Then, as he -passed the desk to which Azalea had returned with a fine show of -absorption in Hansard, he said, “Can you stay after five? We must -consult together as to my future policy following to-day’s eventful -meeting.” - -“We?” echoed Hebe, with a noticeable touch of derision. “La, la! _Que -c’est charmant!_ I’ve heard that a successful politician is merely a -matter of having a clever secretary, but I never credited the statement -until now.” She turned directly to Dilling. “You are going out?” - -“Yes.” - -“I will come with you—as far as you go.” - -“Thank you,” said Dilling. “We meet in this building.” - -He opened the door, started to pass through, then, remembering the -conventions, waited for Hebe to precede him. Azalea did not raise her -eyes, but she knew without looking that he did not glance behind him. - -She sat motionless after they had gone, while her heart stilled its wild -plunging, and the air cleared of crimson-hot vibrations. She did not -think of herself or review the part she had played in the absurd drama -of Hebe’s making. She did not ask herself whether her attitude had been -convincing or ridiculous. Strangely enough, she did not think, “I might -have said . . .” Her concern was for Raymond Dilling. - -She knew that he did not, never could, love Hebe Barrington. Jealousy -was far removed from her considerations. But a slow, cold fear crawled -through her as she thought of another contingency. Dilling’s balance had -shifted. He had become conscious of new and disturbing emotions. He was -like an instrument tuned by a gentle hand and therefore prepared to -respond even to the coarsest touch. Would not the very fact of his -awakened love for her, make him an easier victim of Hebe’s seductive -beleaguerment? - -The thought racked her throughout the afternoon. She could not keep her -mind on her work. She spent herself in a sort of helpless passion of -protection, feeling that she would give her very life to save him from -the toils of the other woman. She had set him on a lofty pedestal, high -above the ruck of mud and slime. Her pride in him was renunciatory, -fiercely maternal. She wanted to keep him fair and pure for himself -. . . not in the slightest sense for her. - -She had grown strong in a fanatical belief that one of the chief -elements of Britain’s power is the moral weight behind it; that her -statesmen are clean, straight-forward and honourable, on the whole, and -that intrigue and deception are alien to their nature. Furthermore, she -felt that now, in the Empire’s hour of supreme trial, it was upon the -power and pressure of this conviction throughout the world, that the -future of England must depend. - - - CHAPTER 24. - -The Premier’s health had been sadly broken by the War. This pandemic -scourge had come into being while Canada was still in her nonage, and -what she needed most in leadership throughout the conflict, was what he -had most to give, namely, a fine obstinacy of purpose. Possessing this, -the lack of dramatic picturesqueness was forgiven him by a -spectacle-loving people. - -But inflexibility is always a target and a challenge for assault, and -when not engaged in repelling his foes on Mr. Speaker’s Left, Sir Robert -was called upon to reckon with the mutiny of his colleagues whose sense -of honour was not inconveniently high. Throughout the actual ordeal of -battle, the edge of the weapons of menace found him adamant. But towards -the end of the four years’ darkness, the strain became too heavy, and -several months before the world settled to enjoy the hostility of peace, -rumours of his impending resignation drifted along the currents of the -House. - -The break came later—after he had gone to France to sign the Treaty of -Versailles on our behalf—a glorious mission, truly, and significant of -Canada’s entry into the Council of the Nations. It was then that the -burden of his great labour and achievement levied a heavier toll than he -could pay. Atropos threatened him with her shears. He sank into the -relaxation of a profound collapse, and offered his resignation as Prime -Minister. Holding the Rudder of the Ship of State with a world in arms, -had broken him, as it broke the great Commoner, Pitt. That the parallel -was not completed by his death, was a matter of national rejoicing, and -he lived to know that his purity of conduct, his strength of purpose and -his courage in the supreme crisis of civilisation, marked him as one of -the real forces in history. - -And so it happened that in Canada there was no man like Lloyd George who -held his position unchallenged throughout the duration of the War. -Political and military scandals had their ugly day. Heroes were exalted -and overthrown almost within the same hour. - -Dilling offered the closest analogy, perhaps, to the great British -statesman. He retained not only his own portfolio, but undertook the -directing of several others, while an interregnum occurred and there had -been discovered no incumbent to fill the office. He had “acted” as Prime -Minister on more than one occasion, and when these resignation rumours -began to float about, his name was mentioned as a possible successor. - -Public Works were paralyzed. The gargantuan ambitions of Eastlake and -Donahue hung in abeyance. They dared not intrude their demands for -further subsidies while war taxes bled the country white. Dilling turned -his eyes from the elevators, and saw only the Empire’s present need. -Grain moved heavily eastward, but the great driving power of the West -was crippled. The hand that rocked her cradle was engaged in destroying -the very manhood she had suckled at her prairie breast. Capable of -producing food for more than half the world, she was starving for -sustenance to keep herself alive. - -Never had the Hon. Member for Morroway been so deeply engrossed in the -business of politics. Never had he applied himself so sedulously to the -successful culmination of his vast schemes and secret projects, or -neglected for so lengthy a period the gentler pursuits that so intrigued -him. It was rumoured in some quarters that he had reformed. The rumour -was not received with universal satisfaction, for the penitent has only -the applause of the devotee who reclaims him. - -Howarth and Turner watched him with mingled concern and respect, and -wondered as to the nature of his game. After the entry of the United -States into the War, and when the outcome was a foregone conclusion, -these two gentlemen became somewhat apprehensive as to the future of the -Party (and incidentally their own place in the political sun). The -rumours of Sir Robert’s resignation moved them profoundly. - -“Of course,” said Turner, as the three sat in Mr. Sullivan’s cheerful -office, “Sir Adrian Grant will be a candidate, but I don’t believe he -has the ghost of a chance. It looks to me like a walk-over for Dilling. -He’ll march to the seat of honour, terrible as an army with banners.” - -“Yes,” agreed Howarth. “I don’t know who’s going to stop him. That -damned silly boost of yours, Sullivan, has done us in the eye, if you -ask me.” - -Mr. Sullivan examined the contents of his glass against the pale spring -twilight, and remarked that he was always glad to hear the opinions of -his friends, even though he had not asked for them. In the present -instance, however, he seemed to detect some thing monstrous and -repetitive. - -“Sure, I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again,” announced Howarth, -warmly. “What’s going to keep him from stepping into the P. M.’s shoes, -if we have to go to the country? Hasn’t he made good! Don’t the people -think he’s a little tin god? Hasn’t he got a lot of useful experience -out of the last few years?” - -“All because of this Minister business,” supplemented Turner. “Except -for that, we could have kept him down. He wouldn’t have had a chance.” - -“But now, as matters stand, he’ll walk in, put over the Elevator -project, and . . .” - -“. . . the E. D. Company will flourish like a green bay tree, and where -will our little plans come in?” demanded Turner, bitterly. “If you want -to eat honey in peace, say the Russians, you must first kill all the -bees.” - -Mr. Sullivan nodded, but preserved an inscrutable silence. - -“Have you got something up your sleeve, old man?” asked Howarth, in a -foolish, coaxing tone. “There’s no denying you’re a pretty shrewd lad in -your own way, Rufus, and you don’t often make mistakes. Personally, I -rely absolutely upon your judgment, and am ready to follow—oh, -_absolutely_,” he insisted, conscious of a slight twitching at the -corners of Mr. Sullivan’s full lips. “At the same time, there are -occasions recorded in history, when the most astute persons have been -misled, when the best-laid schemes have taken a most unprecedented and -disastrous twist. If you have a plan, why not take us into your -confidence, Rufus? Why not discuss your ideas . . . three heads, you -know . . .” - -“Reminiscent of Cerberus”, cut in Turner. “Pretty good watch dog, eh?” - -“Sure,” assented Howarth. “Three heads . . . as I say. And besides, I’m -just restless in my desire to help.” - -But it was Marjorie who was the Hon. Member’s first confidante. She -neither realised the importance of this, nor appreciated the honour that -he did her. - -He had begged for an uninterrupted moment—a moment clipped from her -over-full days, when appointment followed appointment in a continuous, -dizzying succession—and, because he had said it was urgent, she agreed -to receive him one night at ten o’clock. An earlier release was -impossible from the pandemonium advertised as a Patriotic Bazaar. - -“The dear little woman looks tired,” he said, taking her hand. “Isn’t -she trying to push a great heavy Mercedes up a very steep hill, with a -Ford engine? Aren’t you doing far too much of this hysterical War Work, -little Marjorie?” - -“Wednesday is my worst day,” she told him, and tried to withdraw her -hand . . . “not the actual work, but going to things. You see,” she -explained, “it makes such a difference . . . I can’t understand it, -really . . . If we go to these patriotic things . . . the Ministers’ -wives, I mean. We don’t do anything but walk around, and have people -introduced to us, and it’s _so_ useless and tiring!” - -“My dear . . . my dear!” murmured the sympathetic Member. - -“I don’t mind the work, a bit,” Marjorie continued, trying to force a -note of weariness out of her voice. “The sewing and sorting of donations -and that kind of thing. I feel as though—as though, well, I feel that I -am really doing something for our boys over there, whereas walking -around these bazaars and sitting idle at Executive meetings—” she shook -her head and left the sentence unfinished. “But you wanted to see me -about something in particular, you said.” - -The Hon. Member for Morroway assumed his most charmingly avuncular air. -Little by little, he overcame Marjorie’s instinctive resistance. She was -always so eager to like people, to believe in them and find them good. -He asked if she could keep a secret—even from her husband, and gaining -a somewhat hesitant answer, whispered, - -“How would you like to see him Prime Minister, my dear?” - -Marjorie’s tired brain reeled. She couldn’t grasp the thought, at all. -Prime Minister . . . Raymond . . . so soon to see the fulfilment of his -heart’s desire? No, no! She shrunk away from the idea. There must be -some mistake. They were so young, so inexperienced. They were not -properly prepared, not sufficiently worthy. She felt an overwhelming -pity for all those women whose lives were broken, and whose hearts were -torn by the War. It shadowed the satisfaction, the joyousness she might -have taken for herself. Prime Minister! - -Sullivan sat quiet, watching her, and the changing expressions that sped -across her haggard face. He read them as easily as though they had been -printed there, and he waited. - -“Do you want Raymond to be Prime Minister?” Marjorie finally whispered. -“Do you think he _ought_ to be?” - -“There is little doubt on either score.” Mr. Sullivan was soothing, -reassuring. “As you know, I am only an inconspicuous cog in the -political machine, but even the smallest cog can control the working of -the whole. Just as it can obstruct,” he added, lightly. “Without meaning -to boast, I believe that my influence is sufficient to secure him the -Premiership—just as I was somewhat instrumental in putting him into the -Cabinet.” - -“Oh, Mr. Sullivan—Uncle Rufus, do you really mean to help?” - -“With all my heart, little woman,” he replied, “and so must you.” - -“I?” Her confused mind translated the assistance he suggested into a -need for increasing “stiffness”. - -“Of course! Why not?” - -“What must I do?” - -Mr. Sullivan became affectionately confidential. The most important -thing, he assured her, was persuading Dilling how ardently she wanted -him to accept the position. - -“But he won’t refuse . . . will he?” - -“There is just that little possibility . . . yes, it is conceivable that -he might. I mustn’t tire you with an exposition of the complicated -question,” he went on, “but to secure the support he needs, would -require a slight change of policy . . . not quite superficially, either. -I might go so far as to say _ab imo pectore_, if you know what I mean.” - -He watched the strained bewilderment in her eyes with something akin to -brutal pleasure. - -“Raymond is a strong man, determined almost to stubbornness, may I say? -He is guided—er misguided, many of the older parliamentarians think—by -an idée fixe. If I know him as I think I do, it will be hard to convince -him that relinquishing it will be a sign not of weakness, but of -strength.” - -“I’m afraid I don’t understand all of this . . .” - -“Don’t bother your lovely head with it! I did not come here to worry you -with tedious politics, but I do want you to understand me . . . so that -we can work together in this most momentous matter. Raymond must be made -to see that all previous measures now require adjustment to the changed -times. The end of War is in sight, thank God, but we can’t delude -ourselves with the thought that the world will find immediate peace, -that it will pick up its burdens and its pleasures where it left them -off, and that the policies we followed prior to 1914 are those to take -us forward to-day. He must change. Can’t you persuade him?” - -“I never interfere,” said Marjorie, in a low voice. “He would think I -was crazy to suggest anything about politics. I’m so stupid, you know.” - -“But you can plead your own cause—convince him of the happiness this -promotion would mean to you . . . and,” he hurried on, “you realise what -it would mean for him, for the children, for the country! Why, he would -be the youngest, the most brilliant Prime Minister in the world! Think -of it, little Marjorie . . . our own splendid Raymond, of Pinto Plains!” - -He rose to take his leave. Marjorie got rather dizzily to her feet. The -room heaved in gentle waves, and the harsh lights suddenly went dim. An -awful sickness attacked her, and out of the curious amethyst fog, the -face of Mr. Sullivan advanced upon her, huge, satyric, terrible. - -“What is it?” she whispered. “Oh, dear, what is the matter?” - -“Aren’t you going to kiss me?” he asked, in a voice that scorched her. - -“Oh . . . please . . .” - -Marjorie escaped from the hand that came towards her. She slipped behind -the table. Mr. Sullivan followed. She ran to the Morris chair and took -refuge on the other side of it, for a moment. Her knees would scarcely -support her. This cloud threatened to blind her. The room was filled -with a noise as of some one’s heavy breathing. It occurred to her that -Althea must be sobbing, upstairs. - -“Come on, child! Don’t be silly!” The voice of the Hon. Member sounded -husky, but very loud. It thumped against her consciousness. “Aren’t you -going to give me one little kiss in return for the help I’m giving -Raymond?” - -“No, no! Please . . .” She circled unsteadily around the table, again. - -“Well, by God, you will, then!” cried Mr. Sullivan. “I’ve had just about -enough of this catch-as-catch-can. You come here!” - -“No . . . oh, no . . .” - -Marjorie crumpled in a heap on the floor, and burst into wild sobbing. -She was beside herself with terror. Never again in his gentlest moments, -would the Hon. Member deceive her with his avuncular air. Always, she -would see him as a beast of prey, his eyes flaming, his hands searching -for her. - -Quite unconsciously, she began to pray. - -“Oh, God, please . . . Dear God . . .” - -Mr. Sullivan paused in his advance. He looked at the disordered heap on -the floor. A revulsion of feeling came over him, and he turned away. - -“Bah!” he said, angrily. “_Women!_” and, seizing his hat, he left the -house. - - - CHAPTER 25. - -The Cathedral was palpitant with Fashion. For the moment, its dim -religious light was lost in the flamboyance of smart Society’s glare. -Its serene atmosphere was fractured by cross-currents that blew in from -an impious world. The Flesh and the Devil walked on the feet that -pressed the red carpet to save from pollution the soles of those who -were bidden to the Sloane-Carmichael wedding. And there were many, for -Mona Carmichael was a Minister’s daughter and the moving spirit of the -Naughty Nine. Also, she was a bride extremely good to look upon. She -possessed the slender body of the _jeune fils_, and an age-old wisdom in -the advantageous exhibition of it. When not engaged in devising -spectacular “stunts” for her eight disciples, she was usually enjoying -masculine approbation expressed in terms that described the speaker as -being simply crazy about her. She had reached the point when a modest -man was the most boresome thing on earth. - -No sermon that was ever preached from the pulpit of the sacred fane -would have exposed the mephistophelean cynicism of the present day in -its attitude towards the Solemnization of Matrimony by the Church, as -did this particular wedding. It might have been a deliberate revival of -some medieval mystery play, staged for the purpose of provoking a -recreant world to repentance. Men in youth and age were there, whose -thoughts throughout the ceremony were never lifted above the level of -lubricity. Their presence at any of the matrimonial pageants of that -gallant Defender of the Faith, Henry the Eighth, would have lent a -distinct flavour to the atmosphere. - -The younger married women among the guests recalled their own weddings, -and endeavoured to convey the impression that they had relinquished -themselves to their husbands with protest, if not martyrdom. They wore -an unconvincingly pensive air. - -The spinsters betrayed a touch of malice, although they tried to look as -though feeling that any woman who married was a fool. Bitterly, they -realised the transparency of their attitude, and that here and there, -people were saying, - -“Oh, there’s So-and-so. Isn’t it a pity _she_ never married?” - -Over all the Church, there was a restlessness, a strange suppression, -louder and more definite than the syllabub of broken conversation. - -Ushers, khaki-clad, passed ceaselessly up and down the aisles, wearing a -manner of mixed hauteur and nervousness. They showed the effect of too -much prenuptial and anti-prohibition entertainment. Groups of guests -gathered, argued, accepted the places provided with scantily veiled -distaste, and became part of the general unrest. Few there were who -regarded marriage in the light of a spiritual concept, nor was it easy -to see in these exotic social episodes any striving towards an æsthetic -ideal. On the contrary, two young people came together, drained the -moment of its last dram of pleasure, and separated—if not in a physical -sense, certainly in a spiritual one, seeking amusement elsewhere, and -with hectic sedulousness. - -The family of the bride persistently referred to the spectacle as -“simple”, and endeavoured to preserve the illusion of economy -throughout. This was a War Wedding. - -A jungle of palms crowded the chancel and reared their feathered heads -against the pillars of the Church. Masses of yellow tulips and daffodils -suggested the simplicity of spring. Some twenty pews on either side of -the centre aisle were barricaded against intrusion by plain silken cords -instead of the richer bands of ribbon that ordinarily would have been -used to separate those who had presented gifts in ridiculous excess of -their means and affection, from those who had blessed the happy pair -with sugar spoons and bon-bon dishes. Even the gowns of the -women—according to their own description—harmonised with the note of -rigid simplicity that prevailed. Mrs. Long, securely imprisoned by the -yellow silken cord, smiled as she watched the procession, for she had -seen—by the merest accident—Miss Caplin’s advance copy on the -function. Miss Caplin was the Society editress of The Chronicle. “The -mother of the bride wore a rich but simple creation of dove-grey radium -satin, panelled with bands of solid grey pearls. The sleeves were formed -of wings that fell to the hem of the gown and were made of dyed rose -point. Mrs. Carmichael’s hat was of grey tulle with no trimming save a -simple bird of Paradise.” - -That was the sort of thing she had been instructed to say. - -Mrs. Blaine passed in review. She was gowned in a black crepe meteor, -with bands of rhinestones forming the corsage, and she wore a hat of -uncurled ostrich feathers. - -Mrs. Pratt’s idea of economy was expressed by a royal purple chiffon -velvet, trimmed with ornaments of amethyst and pearl. - -Lady Elton had managed to pick up an imported creation at a figure that -was reduced no more than her own, but she called it a “simple frock” of -Delft georgette over silver cloth. Owing to some unfortunate confusion -in the composing room, a few lines reporting work on the Civic -Playgrounds crept into the account of the wedding, and the following -extraordinary announcement appeared: - - “Lady Elton looked exceptionally charming in a dull blue chiffon - over three lavatories and two swimming baths.” - -A trembling usher, green-white from fatigue and dissipation, bowed Mr. -and Mrs. Hudson into the pew. Mrs. Long’s practised eye noted that the -latter wore a sapphire charmeuse, relieved by old Honiton and showing a -motif of fleur-de-lys done in hand embroidery. - -“I don’t know whether I’m all here or not,” panted Mrs. Hudson. “Such a -scramble at the last minute!” - -“There doesn’t seem to be any of you missing,” murmured Mrs. Long. - -“Oh, how do you do?” she bowed, as Sir Eric and Lady Denby crowded in. - -Commonplaces were exchanged. - -“I haven’t seen you for some time,” observed Lady Denby, leaning across -the Hudsons. - -“I’ve been keeping very quiet,” returned Mrs. Long. “In fact, I’m going -into the hospital to-morrow for rather a beastly operation.” - -Vague expressions of sympathy were dropped into the subdued noise about -them. “I’m so sorry . . . No, you don’t look well . . . Oh, there’s -Mrs. . . . I hope it’s nothing serious . . . What _has_ Eva Leeds got -on?” - -“That’s the dress Haywood made for Lady Elton and she wouldn’t accept,” -volunteered Mrs. Hudson. “They say he gave it to her. . . .” - -Lady Denby interrupted. “What hospital have you chosen?” she asked, -making a mental note of the fact that the event called for floral -recognition. - -“St. Christopher’s.” - -“Oh, how perfect!” breathed Mrs. Hudson, indifferently. “You’ll love it, -there. The nurses are _so_ good to your flowers!” - -The recently-created knight, Sir Enoch Cunningham, lumbered up the aisle -in the wake of his wife. Sir Enoch had established a record for -patriotic service by charging the Government only four times a -reasonable profit on the output of his mill. He was prominently listed -in the Birthday Honours and on this, his first public appearance, was -profoundly self-conscious. - -“There go the Cunninghams,” whispered Lady Elton from the pew behind -Mrs. Long. “Aren’t they sickening?” - -“When Knighthood was in Flour,” murmured Lady Denby, over her shoulder. - -“He always reminds me of a piece of underdone pastry,” said Mrs. Long. - -“Well,” remarked Mrs. Hudson, with a giggle, “they’ll be pie for -everyone now.” - -Across the aisle, Pamela de Latour was agitating herself over the fact -that Major and Mrs. Beverley were sitting amongst the intimate friends -of the groom. - -“Why, in heaven’s name, do you suppose _they_ have been put _there_?” -she demanded of Miss Tyrrell and the Angus-McCallums, who shared her -pew. - -“Didn’t he and Sloane fly together?” suggested one of the latter. “Or -did he save his life . . . or something?” - -“I don’t know. But it seems odd to put them away up there. I heard he’d -lost his job,” said Miss de Latour. - -“I heard that, too,” agreed Miss Mabel Angus-McCallum. - -Miss Tyrrell couldn’t believe it. She urged her companions to recall -everything that looked like corroborative evidence, and even then cried -skeptically, - -“But are you _sure_? May he not have taken on something else?” - -Miss Latour didn’t think so. She had the news on pretty good authority. -She regretted, however, to have caused Miss Tyrrell such acute distress, -and hoped the report might be incorrect. - -“Although I doubt it,” she said. “Colonel Mayhew told me that they were -going back to England.” - -“I had no idea they were such great friends of yours, Lily,” whispered -Miss Mabel Angus-McCallum. “In most quarters they were not very -popular.” - -“Friends?” echoed Miss Tyrrell, indignantly. “They were no friends of -mine, I assure you!” - -“Then why—” began the other three “—why are you so upset by hearing -that he’s lost his job?” - -“Because,” answered Miss Tyrrell. “I was afraid it wasn’t so!” - -Several rows behind them, Azalea Deane sat crushed against the ample -folds of Miss Leila Brant. She had refused to accompany Marjorie -Dilling, despite the latter’s threat that she would stay at home rather -than go alone. - -“I know you are not serious,” returned Azalea, in her gently insistent -way, “for, of course, you should be there. A special seat will be -reserved for you, and you must pretend to enjoy hob-snobbing with the -notables.” - -Miss Brant fidgetted, fretting at her failure to impress Azalea with a -sense of her importance. Like Mr. Sullivan, her activities were -conducted largely and with a certain grandeur that was pleasing even to -those who recognised its intense untruth. She adorned the cheap and -commonplace, and had really a shrewd eye for transforming simple -articles into pieces of expensive and decorative uselessness. -Furthermore, she shared with Dilling a perfect genius for discovering -clever assistants—artisans—whose ideas were better than her own, and -whom she never tried to lead, but was content to follow. Moreover, she -learned long ago to cultivate none but the wealthiest of patrons. Her -shop, her wares, even she, herself, exuded an atmosphere of opulent -exclusiveness. To be a regular patron of the Ancient Chattellarium was -to attain a certain social eminence, to share the air breathed by -Millionaires, Knights and Ladies—by Government House. One never stepped -into the shop without meeting somebody of importance. - -At the moment, however, she was not entirely happy. She had a vast -respect for Azalea, but didn’t like her. Azalea always made her -uncomfortable. She was conscious of secret amusement, perhaps a tinge of -contempt behind the enigmatic expression in her etiolated eyes. Whereas -Dilling, in Azalea’s presence, felt himself the man he wished to be, -Miss Brant recognised a very inferior person hiding behind the arras of -her very superior manner, and she felt that Azalea saw this creature -plainly, penetrating its insincerity, its petty ambitions; in short, -that she perceived all the weaknesses that Miss Brant hoped none would -suspect. - -“There’s So-and-So,” she cried, incessantly. “In strict confidence, I -will tell you that they have just given me rather a nice commission to -do their—Oh, and there’s So-and-So! Where in the world, _do_ you -suppose they will seat all these people?” - -Azalea smiled and shrugged. Miss Brant felt snubbed, as though her -companion had said, “Why bother? It’s not your affair. You always take -such delight in meddling in other people’s business.” - -She took refuge in that too-little used harbour, Silence. But briefly. -She left it to remark, - -“Oh, there go the Prendergasts! How do you do?” she bowed, with extreme -affability, catching Mrs. Prendergast’s eye. Then she flushed. Azalea -was regarding her with a smile that seemed to strip every particle of -cordiality from her salutation and reduce it to a medium of barter -exchanged for the extremely expensive gift Mrs. Prendergast had been -cajoled into buying for the bridal pair. Miss Brant felt somehow that -Azalea was thinking, - -“If she hadn’t made a satisfactory purchase, you wouldn’t even bother to -nod your head. You never used to.” - -“You may not believe it, Azalea,” she said, as though moved to -self-justification, “but Mrs. Prendergast is _really_ rather a dear. It -sounds stupid, but one can’t help seeing that her intentions are good.” - -“Really! Aristotle said that Nature’s intentions were always good. The -trouble was that she couldn’t carry them out.” - -“But they really _are_ getting on,” protested Miss Brant, watching the -ostentatious progress of her patron down the aisle. “Don’t you think -they are acquiring _quite_ an air?” - -“I think the Dawkter is acquiring quite a pragmatic walk. And it’s -especially conspicuous in church.” - -“Yes, isn’t it?” assented Miss Brant, hastily, and wondering if Azalea -referred to some physical disability that had resisted the effects of -Anti-Agony. “There! They’ve been put with the Pratts. Confidentially, -I’ll tell you that _she_ bought rather a good bit, too . . . didn’t want -to be eclipsed by the Prendergasts, you know. _Isn’t_ their rivalry -amusing?” - -“And lucrative, I should say.” - -Miss Brant veered away from the sordid business angle. “Look at them, -now,” she cried. “Mrs. Pratt has the floor. She doesn’t even pause for -breath. Azalea, what _can_ she be saying?” - -“Words—words—words! I’m afraid Mr. Pratt frequently regrets ignoring -Nietzsche’s advice.” - -“Whose?” - -“Nietzsche’s. Don’t you remember, he said, ‘Before marriage this -question should be put—Will you continue to be satisfied with this -woman’s conversation until old age? Everything else in marriage is -transitory’.” - -Miss Brant cast an inward glance upon her own conversational powers, and -wondered if there was anything personal behind Azalea’s remark. Aloud, -she said, - -“How clever of you to remember all those quotations, my dear! I always -wish—Oh, there goes Mrs. Dilling! Heavens, doesn’t she look like a -ghost?” - -Azalea had already noted the haggardness of Marjorie’s appearance, and, -knowing nothing of her encounter with Mr. Sullivan, attributed it solely -to the over-strain of War Work. - -“She doesn’t know how to save herself,” she said. - -“Yes, she really has been rather splendid, hasn’t she?” assented Miss -Brant. “_Everyone_ says so . . . I remember the first time I ever saw -her. She wanted a terrible what-not-thing repaired. Little did I -imagine, then, that some day she would be the wife of a Minister of the -Crown. And have you heard a rumour about the Premiership? It makes me -feel _quite_ weepy. Only—only—I _wish_ she wouldn’t wear such _awful_ -hats!” - -“What do people say?” asked Azalea, ignoring the latter remark. - -“Oh, _you_ know the sort of thing—that she has done so much more than -lend her name to patriotic functions and sit on platforms; that she has -actually worked in the War Gardens, packed boxes, sewed, cooked and -visited the soldiers’ wives. You know, it _is_ rather splendid!” - -Azalea nodded and raised her eyes to the stained glass window -memorialising another Gentle Spirit who found His happiness in -ministering to the needs of the humbler folk. “It _is_ rather splendid,” -she agreed. - -“It must be very late,” said Miss Brant. “I wonder if that little minx, -Mona, has been up to some of her tricks. By the way, have you heard -about the Trevelyans?” - -“Mercy, no! Not already?” - -“Positively!” - -“Why, it seems only last week since we were watching them get married. -Is it a boy or a girl?” - -“Both! And the screaming part of it is that the instant Mona heard the -news, she _had herself insured against twins_!” - -“You’re joking!” - -“It’s a fact. Lloyd’s took her on. I say, Azalea, doesn’t Mrs. Dilling -look ghastly?” - -Marjorie sat next Mrs. Blaine and Lady Fanshawe, feeling more ghastly -than she looked. She had never been ill in her life, save when the -babies came and that, of course, didn’t count. One just naturally had -babies and made no fuss about it. But this was different. She had no -particular pain. She wasn’t quite sure that her head ached. But she felt -strangely weak and uncertain of herself. - -Lady Fanshawe and Mrs. Blaine were complaining of their servants. -Neither would admit the other’s supremacy in having the worst the -Dominion afforded. - -“But you have a very good cook,” Mrs. Blaine protested. - -“My dear, how _can_ you say so?” cried Lady Fanshawe. “Twice, she has -nearly poisoned us!” - -“Well, the dinner I ate last Thursday at your house couldn’t have been -better.” - -“A happy exception, I assure you.” - -“Why don’t you get rid of her?” asked Mrs. Blaine. - -“I shall . . . but not at once—not until I have some one else in view. -However, if you need a cook, dear,” she went on, “why not try Mrs. -Hudson’s Minnie? _She_ is really an excellent woman, and can always be -tempted with higher wages.” - -Mrs. Blaine turned away with a fine assumption of indifference, and -Marjorie ventured a sympathetic word in Lady Fanshawe’s ear. - -“It’s very bothersome, isn’t it?” she murmured, “especially when one -does so much entertaining. You always seem to have such bad luck with -your servants. I believe I could send you a cook.” - -The older woman flung a peculiar look at her, and whispered, “You dear, -simple soul! I’ve a perfect _treasure_! But I don’t dare say so; every -one of my friends would try to take her from me!” - -Outside, the handsome departmental car drew smartly to a standstill, and -the Hon. Peter Carmichael assisted his daughter to alight. She tripped -up the carpeted stairs with no more concern than though she were going -to a Golf Club Tea. - -The trembling, green-white usher came forward to meet her. A group of -bridesmaids stood near the door. - -“Well, old thing,” cried Mona, “how’s the silly show, anyway?” - -“Full house,” returned the usher. “S.R.O. as the theatres say. At five -dollars a head, you’d have quite a tidy nest egg, y’know!” - -“Rotten business—ushing,” cried Mona. “You look all in, young fella me -lad.” - -“I am. A company of duds, I call ’em. Balky as mules. Nobody wants to -sit with anybody else.” - -“Do you blame them?” - -“My God, no! As the poet sang, ‘I’d rather live in vain than live in -Ottawa’!” - -“Come, daughter,” said the Hon. Peter, fussily crooking his elbow. - -“The lovely bride entered the church on the arm of her father,” simpered -Mona, pinching his ear. “Forward, everybody. We’re off!” - -Four little flower girls led the way, four being a simple number, much -less intricate than forty-four or ninety-four and a fraction. Their -costumes were beautifully simple—flesh-coloured tights and a pair of -wings, in cunning imitation of Dan Cupid. They carried bows and a quiver -full of arrows, the latter tipped with yellow daffodils. - -They were followed by the six bridesmaids, who also carried out this -note of extreme simplicity. Their costumes were composed of yellow -tulle, sprinkled with a profusion of brilliants, and were supposed to -suggest early morning dew upon a field of tulips. In place of flowers, -they carried simple parasols of chiffon, and each wore the gift of the -groom—a gold vanity box bearing a simple monogram in platinum. - -The bride was gowned in plainest ivory satin. She had dispensed with the -conventional wreath of orange blossoms, and her brow was crowned with a -simple rose-point cap, whose billowy streamers fell to the tip of her -slender train. She wore no ornaments save the gift of the groom—a -simple bar of platinum supporting thirty-two plain diamonds. - -At the sight of her, a ripple of admiration ran through the crowd. She -felt it and was pleased in her youthfully insolent fashion. She bore -herself with none of the modesty that characterised the bride of fifty -years ago. Rather was she suggestive of the mannequin on parade. - -The bridal party was just turning from the altar to the inspiriting -strains from Mendelssohn, when Hebe Barrington entered the church with -Mr. Sullivan. - -“Oh, Lord, we’re late,” she muttered, pulling him quickly along the -aisle. “We’ll have to find seats somewhere before the parade reaches -us.” - -“Not so far forward,” protested the Hon. Rufus, trying to hang back. - -“Don’t be so bashful,” returned Hebe. “We’re creating quite a sensation -and stealing some of the limelight from the bride. ‘_La vice appuyé sur -la bras de crime_,’” she whispered, enjoying herself enormously. - -“This is a damned awkward mess,” growled Mr. Sullivan, under his breath. -“I can’t see a seat, anywhere.” - -“Nor I, and they’re nearly upon us. We’ll have to stop here.” - -The location selected for the enforced halt was not a happy one for Lady -Denby—nor, indeed, for any of the occupants of that pew. In order to -prevent confusion and a disarrangement of the procession, Mrs. -Barrington and her escort were obliged to disregard the silken cord and -squeeze in beside Sir Eric, and thus cut off quite successfully the view -of the spectacle from his diminutive and enraged wife. - -She accepted their apologies frostily, and made an obvious effort to -escape from the offending pair, but the density of the crowd frustrated -her design. She found herself impinged upon Mrs. Barrington’s scented -shoulder, and absolutely unable to free herself. The colour mounted -hotly to her delicate cheeks. Her eyes sparkled dangerously. - -“You _must_ come to some of my parties, dear Lady Denby,” Hebe said, -sweetly. “You, and Sir Eric . . . just simple affairs, you know, where -we can snatch an hour’s relaxation. A little drink . . . a cigarette, a -game of cards—er—do you dance?” - -“I do not,” said Lady Denby. - -“Ah! What a pity!” - -“Nor do I smoke.” - -“What?” - -“Nor drink, nor gamble.” - -“Perhaps you swear,” suggested Hebe, with elaborate mischievousness. -“One must have some vices.” - -“I don’t agree with you,” snapped Lady Denby, relieved to find that they -had almost reached the door. - -“Well, what _do_ you do, then?” queried Hebe, in a tone that was louder -than was at all necessary. - -Lady Denby stepped into the vestibule. In a space momentarily cleared, -she turned and faced her tormentor. - -“What do I do?” she repeated. “I mind my own business . . . wear -untransparent petticoats, and . . . sleep in my _own_ husband’s bed!” - - - CHAPTER 26. - -Dilling had refused to go to the wedding. Work was his excuse. He -intended to clear up the accumulation of departmental business that lay -massed in an orderly disarray upon his desk. - -But he didn’t work. Each attempt proved to be a failure. He was -conscious of fatigue—or, if not precisely that—of the ennui one feels -when work is universally suspended, as on a rainy, dispiriting holiday. - -The outer office was hushed and empty. That Azalea’s absence could so -utterly bereave the atmosphere, struck him as preposterous, an -incomprehensible thing. He struggled against it, but without success. He -was lapped about by a feeling of isolation, of stark desolation. Staring -at Azalea’s vacant chair, it seemed as if he stood in the midst of a -dead and frozen world. With an effort at pulling himself together, he -closed the door and returned to his position by the window. - -He looked with blind eyes towards the southern sky, where pennons of -smoke followed the locomotive that crossed and re-crossed the little -subway bridge. Winter had been industrious during the past months and -seemed loath, even now, to relinquish her supremacy to Spring. Tall -pyramids of snow still clung to the corners of the Museum where -abutments of the building shut off the warmth of a pale gold sun. The -ground was black and spongy, and in every gutter, rivulets of water -stirred the urge of the sea in the minds of swarms of children. - -But Dilling saw none of these things. He was fighting the oppression of -this curious lassitude and striving to recapture his ardour for work. -The effect was not noticeably successful. He felt tired, stupid, -drugged, as though some vital part of him was imprisoned and inert. He -longed to be free, to abandon himself to a riot of emotion, to feel as -acutely with his body as with his mind. He longed to overcome this -numbness, this nostalgia of the senses, and to taste the fruits that -gave to life its pungent tang and flavour. For the first time he saw -himself emotionally shrivelled, inappetent of joy, and he veered away -from the knowledge, wishing that he could remodel himself to love and -suffer and hunger like other men. - -He forced himself to a perception of the panorama at which he had been -staring, the clumps of bushes heavy with uncurled buds, the gay costumes -of the children playing in the icy gutters opposite, a sharp red tulip -bravely facing the frosty air. He knew now that never had he taken into -account the vital force behind living objects—cattle, flowers, trees, -even the wheat itself, and he began to feel that all these and even -inanimate things, such as the chair and desk in the desolate outer -office, were instinct with life; Azalea’s life! How pitiful his -limitations! - -He loved her. He wanted her. He needed her. Life was without form and -void lacking the stimulation, the inspiration of her presence. She was -his _alter ego_, upon whom his mind and spirit depended as did his frail -body upon food. Thinking upon her made him free of the hitherto remote -pleasance of comradeship between the sexes. - -“What torment,” he muttered, repeatedly. “What torment to know this joy -and be unable to possess it!” - -The telephone rang. He turned impatiently to the instrument. - -“Sullivan?” he echoed. “No—not too busy. I’ll be up there shortly.” - -During the week preceding his conversation with Marjorie, the Hon. -Member for Morroway had busied himself in a cautious testing of the -extent of his influence. He found that a majority of the Western Members -needed no incentive from him to support Raymond Dilling, and from them -he withheld all mention of the proposed change in policy he had -suggested to Dilling’s wife. With the Maritime Members, however, he -employed slightly different tactics, approaching them as one entrusted -with confidential information, and hinting that in exchange for the -premiership, Dilling would be willing to foreswear his platform, betray -his original sponsors, and stand forth as a defender of Eastern -interests, with especial emphasis upon those concerned in the -annihilation of the Freight Bill, the abandonment of the Elevator -project, and the indefinite postponement of the Eastlake and Donahue -railway measures. - -With but an odd exception or two, his self-imposed mission was entirely -successful. He called on Marjorie. He arranged for an interview with -Dilling. - -Five men rose as the youthful Minister entered the room: Howarth, -Turner, young Gilbert, the Radical, the Hon. Gordon Blaine, who -administered his Ministerial office—without portfolio—with unbroken -suavity and bonhomie, and Mr. Sullivan, himself. - -“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” said Dilling. “No, I won’t drink, if you -will excuse me.” - -He accepted the chair that Howarth offered, and waited for some one to -speak. - -What a scene it was, and what an episode for the Muse of History . . . -Over in France, the flower of Canada’s youth—the heirs of the -ages—were freely offering their splendid bodies upon the altar of War -in testimony of the eternal need of human sacrifice for things that -transcend all human values. Over there, the spirit of the young nation -was responding magnificently to a supreme test of its fineness. Here at -home, within the very walls of the buildings dedicated to the purpose of -moulding and directing the welfare of the nation, men of mature years -were not ashamed, by plot and intrigue, to make of Canada a scorn and a -byword. A man of the highest instincts for public service was being -tempted by his political associates to foreswear his ideals by a sordid -bargaining for power. - -The Hon. Member for Morroway was the first to break the silence. - -“Mr. Dilling,” he began, “we are all men of plain speech, here, and -there is nothing to be gained by euphemisms or beating about the bush. -In a word, then, we wish to sound you on this question of the -Premiership, and to offer you an option—let us call it—on the post.” - - * * * * * - -So, and in this wise, the supreme moment of his career had come to -Raymond Dilling. - -The shock was such that his mind refused for a moment to function. The -Premiership! The goal for which he had striven! The pinnacle of his -ambition! And to be reached so soon! - -What would Azalea say? . . . and poor little Marjorie? - -“You—er—take me at a disadvantage, gentlemen,” he said. “I am -unprepared for this . . .” and he turned again to the spokesman. - -Mr. Sullivan felt his way after the manner of a cautious pachyderm, - -“This offer,” he said, “is contingent upon a slight change of policy. -You would, no doubt, be willing to reverse your attitude on what I may -describe as the Wheat and Railway proposals. I need not say,” he -continued, smoothly, “that this can be done without any forfeiture of -your honesty of purpose, or any reflection upon your acumen as a -statesman. Understand that we approach you in the true and best interest -of the Canadian people. Once understand that, Mr. Dilling, and I am -convinced that you will allow no consideration of personal disadvantage -to weigh against your compliance with our wishes.” - -Dilling made no reply, but a pungent French phrase that he had read -somewhere, welled up to him curiously from the subconscious . . . “_Il -faut faire tout le rebours de ce qu’il dit._” This gave him pause, the -instinct for caution was touched. Was this his cue for the answer he -should ultimately give? Did this not warn him to take the very opposite -course to that pointed out to him? He must have no illusions as to the -right of the matter. - -Then temptation gripped him. His soul was in tumult. Principle cried -out, “Abhor that which is evil,” while the Will to Power smote him with -the reminder that “Opportunity knocks but once at the door of kings”. -What could he not accomplish for his beloved country with sovereign -power in his hands and his talents in the very flower of their prime! -How subtle was the lure. - -Must he not recognise in this offer the call of destiny to complete the -work of nation-building begun by those fathers of -Confederation—Macdonald, and Cartier and Tupper? These were names never -to be erased from the scroll of Fame, and why should not he be numbered -of their immortal company? - -The torch of constructive patriotism lighted by them, had burned low. -Let it be his to revive the waning flame. Was this not the vision that -had inspired him, that had drawn him from the Last Great West? - -That Dilling was powerfully moved was patent to those who had come to -tempt him. His frail body quivered with the strain, and Sullivan was too -astute a politician to neglect this fleeting advantage. He pressed for -an answer before sober second-thought could evoke for Dilling a -suspicion of the duplicity underlying the offer. - -“What do you think of the idea, Dilling?” - -This challenge to a swift decision served to impress him with the danger -of the situation, and Dilling’s mind reacted with fine discernment. No -matter how he decided, he would not be swayed by impulse. - -“What do I think of the idea? I think your proposal is most generous in -its implication of my fitness for so tremendous a post. I am overwhelmed -by the honour you would do me, deeply grateful to you and your -influential friends for this frank appreciation of my efforts in public -life. But I fear you estimate them too highly.” - -“Nothing of the kind,” the Hon. Gordon Blaine interrupted, amiably. - -“The only man for the job,” muttered Turner. - -“Be that as it may,” Dilling continued, “I must take time to consider. -For you, as well as for the country and myself, my decision must not be -arrived at on the low plane of personal advantage. But I shall not delay -you longer than to-morrow morning, gentlemen. There is need, I see, for -prompt decision. Meanwhile, accept my assurance of obligation, and allow -me to bid you good afternoon.” - - - CHAPTER 27. - -It was only natural perhaps, that Dilling should suffer the full and -terrible force of Sullivan’s temptation after he thought he had -conquered it, for it was only then that he permitted himself the -dangerous pleasure of examining its possibilities. In his silent office, -surrounded by the hush of a building deserted now save by the Dominion -Police who never relaxed their vigilance, he considered the -might-have-beens, and wrestled with beasts that threatened to rise up -and devour him. - -Sullivan’s implications recurred in their most convincing aspect. -Sullivan was so nearly right. Must not a statesman possess flexibility -of mind as well as rigidity of principle? Must not he be able to adapt -himself to the exigencies of the time? Dilling required none to remind -him that the whole fabric of Canada’s political life was changed, that -the policy in ante-bellum days was, in many cases, inimical to the -public good, to-day. He saw, clearly, that concentration of the -Dominion’s resources upon Returned Soldiers and their re-establishment -was an inevitable consequence of War. He knew that Freight, Elevator and -Railway projects must be postponed. And he was in favour of postponing -them. But Sullivan asked more. He asked that the very principles that -had inspired his support be abandoned in exchange for a post of power. - -Ambition’s seductive voice whispered of compromise. What else is -diplomacy, indeed? Supreme issues have been won by a trick; -statesmanship is permitted greater latitude than is allowed the private -individual. - -He had learned that a sensitive conscience is a disability in political -life. If a man is revolted by the corruptness of his Party, he can not -lead it with spirit, nor can he justify it as a medium for serving the -State. It is sadly true that rather to his imperfections than to the -fineness of his qualities is the success of the statesman due. - -On the other hand, public men of genius, in these days, are not excused -for their _dulcia vitia_ as they used to be. “I would be damned,” he -reflected, “for the frailties that seemed to endear Pitt to the -populace. So long as a leader is chaste and sober, he may be -unscrupulous with impunity.” - -His spirit cried out in anguish, and he was tortured by the whirling orb -of thought that compels great minds to suffer the perturbation of a -common life-time in the space of a moment. He raised his eyes to the -window, unconsciously seeking strength from the glory framed there. -Suddenly, his soul was quickened; he became alive to the wonder of God -in Nature . . . the sun was setting in amber dust . . . pale greenish -streaks stretched overhead and dissolved in a pansy mist. Upon the -horizon, masses of heavy cloud lay banked like a mountain range bathed -in violet rain. - -The words of the psalmist flashed across Dilling’s mind and he murmured, -“‘I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.’ -If God can pour strength into a frail vessel, may He pour it generously -into me.” - -There was a light tap on the door, and Azalea entered the room. - -Dilling stared at her without speaking. He had never attached much -importance to coincidences. They were, he thought, significant only in -the world of fiction. When they occurred in reality, they only -emphasised the incoherency of the substance. But Azalea’s coming was -like an answer to prayer. He could think of nothing to say. - -“Marjorie told me you had not come home,” she began, “and I thought that -perhaps the work—Why, what is it?” Her tone changed. “What is the -matter?” - -Briefly, he told her. “They have given me until to-morrow morning to -make up my mind.” - -“Perhaps I’d better go,” she said. - -“No, no! Stay and help me. I don’t feel as if I could fight this thing -out alone.” - -Heavily, he threw himself into a chair. His thinness, his pallor, his -general air of frailness, made Azalea faint with pity for him. Sitting -in the half-tone of departing daylight, his hair seemed silvered with -frost, his face was drawn, his body sagged like that of an old man. - -“What do you think I should do?” he asked her. - -“What you know is right.” - -“But if I don’t know what is right?” - -“Ah, but you must! None knows it better. Education is only a matter of -knowing what is right and then having the courage to do it.” - -He objected almost petulantly, supposing that he lacked the necessary -courage. Azalea smiled, and there was pride behind the gesture. - -“That, above all others, is the virtue you possess. It is the foundation -upon which all the rest are built. It is that which helps them to endure -. . .” - -Dilling listened to the quiet confident voice with an emotion so -profound that it was like a deep-bosomed bell ringing in his soul. He -was conscious of a curious sensation, as though his spirit had escaped a -crushing weight—(a weight that still cramped his body)—as though it -had been set free. - -In a low voice, and in phrases that were disjointed and but half spoken, -he began to talk about himself, his ambitions, his career; and Azalea -listened feeling that part of him had died, and that she was hearing but -the echo of his voice. - -“It never occurred to me that my life was barren,” she heard him say, -“barren and grim . . . just a brain . . . a machine that, given -direction, could drive on with peculiar force and vanquish those of -different constitution . . . Never felt the need of friends . . . nor -the lack of them . . . Alone and grim . . . But I loved Canada!” A -suggestion of warmth stole into his voice. “I loved the West . . . I -asked for nothing better than to serve my country—it may be that some -men serve women that way . . . I wanted to get into the heart of it, to -feel the throb, the life-waves beating out across the land . . . Then -the Capital . . . so different . . . The men, the administration . . . -Bewildering to find that I could take my place with those upon whom I -had looked as gods . . . Poor Marjorie! This would mean much to her -. . .” - -“When the facts are known, you will go down in history,” Azalea told -him, “as a shining example of political integrity.” - -“I’m not so sure. More likely, I will be held up to illustrate the -failure of Success. My God,” he cried, suddenly, “why can’t I live . . . -why can’t I live?” - -His suffering was terrible for her to bear. Yet, she held herself in -strict control. “Success has become an odious word to me,” she said, “a -juggernaut to which Truth and Justice are too often sacrificed. You have -achieved . . . there is achievement even in failure . . .” - -Her words filled him with bleak despair. He had hoped that she would -argue his decision, try to persuade him to alter it, show him that he -was wrong. For a fleeting second, he was guilty of resentment, doubting -that she divined his pain at relinquishing his career. But he looked -into her face and was ashamed. - -“Azalea!” - -“Raymond!” - -A flame of delight ran through his being. It was as though his whole -body had been transfused with the ultimate beauty of life. “Do you think -I have achieved?” - -“Yes . . . the expression of a great spiritual truth,” she answered. “No -compromise, no diplomacy—another name for deceit. That you have been -misunderstood and defamed was only to have been expected. It is the -price men pay for putting forth the truth. But you, who have been so -fearless—you are not weakening now?” - -“No,” he said. “I cannot weaken with you to help me. I will go back. -There is no other way.” - -“Go back?” she echoed. “Go back to the West?” - -“Life would be intolerable here—especially for Marjorie.” - -“You will leave Ottawa altogether?” The words were scarcely audible. She -had not anticipated this. - -“Not altogether. Part of me will remain. This is my soul’s graveyard, -Azalea . . . They say a soul cannot die, but never was there a more -soothing untruth spread abroad for the peace of the credulous. Mine died -to-day—only a few hours after it was born.” - -“My dear, my dear,” she whispered, trying to keep her voice free from -the coldness of death that lay upon her own spirit. - -They sat in silence a space, while waves of misery welled up about them. -Then Azalea’s control broke. She covered her face with her hands. - -“Don’t!” cried Dilling, sharply. “Don’t! Tell me the truth—do you want -me to stay?” - -“No!” - -Suddenly, he left his chair and knelt beside her, burying his face in -the folds of her dress, and groping for her hand. For a time, he could -not speak, could not tell how much he loved her, could not articulate -the thought that hers was the power to make vocative his life’s stern -purpose. He could only cling to her and suffer. - -“Azalea,” he cried, at last, “how can I go? I can’t live without -you—I’m not even sure that I can die!” - -She felt strangled and heard words falling from her lips without -understanding how she spoke them. “Are you forgetting the needs of the -West—the opportunity for your talents, there? Will you close your ears -to the call of your ambition?” - -He denied the existence of ambition. It had died when life was stricken -from his soul. - -She raised his head between her hands. They trembled and were cold. - -“Raymond, do you love me?” - -“You know it.” - -“Then pick up the standard once more! Carry on! Respond to that inner -voice that presently will cry out to you. Ambition is inspired by -emotion rather than intellect. If you love me, don’t fling down the -torch!” - -“But I need you,” he protested. “You are the fount, the source of all my -power. You are my torch. Without you, the world is plunged in darkness. -I can see to do nothing.” - -“There is an inextinguishable beam of friendship. More . . . When one -achieves an understanding such as ours, one enters into a spiritual -romance.” - -He bowed his head against her breast. Gently, she encircled his body -with her arms. Twilight quivered in the still room. - -Presently, he looked up. - -“And what of you, my dear? Yours is the harder part . . . Will you -suffer very much, Azalea?” - -She closed her eyes to hide from him her agony. “Emotions, even the most -happy ones, are shot with pain,” she said. - -“Yes, I’m learning that, myself, God pity me! But I don’t want you to -suffer through my love. Oh, Azalea . . . woman . . . you have been my -white angel, my guiding star, that I took for granted as naturally as -that one, in the sky! You have been for me the Truth and the Light, the -balm for which I cried in all my agony and strife. You have accepted me -as I am, nor asked a profession of my love in any way that was not _me_. -And I leave you, never having served you. What is there of me that can -hold a place in your life?” - -She thought a moment, then, - -“Listen,” she whispered. “Here is my answer. I wrote it yesterday . . . - - “Sometimes I wake and say, ‘I love him!’ - And sometimes, ‘He loves me!’ - But whichever way it is - The day is filled with a finer purpose.” - -“Azalea, let me kneel at your feet!” - -“No, no! Kiss me . . . Oh, my dear love, kiss me . . .” - -For a time, they clung to one another, and when at last she withdrew -from him, the room was plunged in utter darkness. - - - CHAPTER 28. - -Of the five men who were left in Mr. Sullivan’s office, the Hon. Member -for Morroway was not the least abashed. He had never confronted a moral -quality like this in his whole experience. After all, he thought, -recalling the sheer fineness of the man, men are something more than a -mere merchantable commodity in the market of politics. Possibly, there -are others who, like Dilling, disproved Walpole’s _mot_, that every man -has his price . . . - -It was not, however, on the knees of the gods that Mr. Sullivan should -be diverted from his purpose by considerations such as these. He felt -that Dilling was the only man to play the lead in the interesting drama -he desired to stage, that he must win him beyond all doubt, and soon. -Nothing but a refusal could be expected if so lofty and withal so astute -a mind had time for reflection. - -Dilling had just finished a solitary dinner—Marjorie served in a -canteen every Wednesday evening—when his visitor was announced. The -Hon. Member for Morroway was conscious of a change in him; there was the -rapture of a seer in his eyes, and a bearing of victory—a jocund note -of heroism in him. - -“Why did you follow me, Mr. Sullivan?” were his words of greeting. “I -thought I said I needed time for my decision.” - -“Indeed, you did, Mr. Dilling. But it is important that I should have -your answer at once, and besides, you gave me no chance to persuade you -that you would be right in accepting the Premiership at this juncture in -our history. Will you consent to hear what I would like to say?” - -Dilling led the way into his study and motioned the Hon. Member to a -chair. He stood. - -“Proceed, Mr. Sullivan. I shall need much encouragement if I am to meet -your views.” - -“Hang it all, Dilling, let’s get off our high horses and down to brass -tacks—if you will allow me to mix my metaphors! You left us before I -had a chance to show you, as I had intended, that the interests of -Canada imperatively demand that no more money be spent at this time in -facilitating the marketing of wheat—for that is what your Elevator and -Railway policy means in the last analysis. First and foremost the -Returned Soldiers are to be considered if we are to shut off Bolshevism -from rearing its ugly head here. Are you in accord with me, so far?” - -“Quite,” returned Dilling. “What then?” - -“The inevitable. The Governmental money bags will be kept lean for some -years in meeting the just demands of the returned men, and the sentiment -of the whole community will be behind them. Not only will the bankers of -Eastern Canada put a spoke in your wheel—for they are spiteful over -losing so much money in the West—but you will find it difficult to -borrow money in the States when the people recognise that an extension -of Canadian railroads means hostility to the pet scheme of many of their -financiers.” - -“Financiers are traditionally hostile,” said Dilling. - -“True, but the situation here is particularly acute, for these men to -whom I refer have sought to obtain the sanction of this country to a -greater utilisation of the Great Lakes and St. Lawrence waterways for -transportation. They can scarcely be expected to lend money for a -diverting project . . . and you can wring blood from a turnip as easily -as you can borrow money in England!” - -“I’m afraid your last observation is only too true, Mr. Sullivan.” - -“I’m sure of it. I don’t think I need elaborate the national argument in -favour of your change of front, I’ve said enough on that head. Coming to -the more personal side of things, every statesman from Julius Cæsar to -George Washington has had to compromise. You can’t be stiff in your -adherence to principle even in appointments to government posts! Sir -John Macdonald, Laurier—all of them—have had to appoint incompetent -persons to the Civil Service over the heads of men thoroughly qualified -in ability and character to serve the State in the finest way . . . a -matter of expediency . . . expediency . . .” - -Dilling said nothing, so Sullivan went on. - -“What’s the use of quoting Lincoln as a model of probity in dispensing -offices—Lincoln was the only man in the world who could be prophet, -priest and king in politics at one and the same time—and _he_ couldn’t -save his face, to-day!” - -Somewhere, a door closed, and the treble of childish voices blended in -happy confusion. - -“Think of your wife and children, Dilling . . . Marjorie . . . I use her -Christian name by right of a deep and esteemed friendship . . . Marjorie -has suffered greatly from the snobocracy of Ottawa. She has confided -much to me, that out of respect for your busy life, has been withheld -from—er—her natural confidant, and it is only to be expected that you -should seize the opportunity to furnish her the pleasure of playing a -supreme stellar role in the social life of the nation. Moreover . . .” - -“Stop, Mr. Sullivan! You have said enough . . . more than enough! You -have offended me by the casuistry of your argument on behalf of the -public need for my desertion of the policies I have proclaimed. Your -appeal on the personal side is a gross insult to me. However I may have -seemed to waver until this moment, I now unhesitatingly and absolutely -decline to accept your overtures. More than that, you have persuaded me -that I must leave public life. No, I beg of you, say nothing further! -Let me bid you good night, Mr. Sullivan—but do not leave me without the -conviction that you have done me a real service.” - -Sullivan lowered his head as he left the room. A curious aching had -taken possession of his throat. He had been accustomed to swear after -unsuccessful interviews with politicians . . . Just now, profanity -refused to rise at his command. - - * * * * * - -Marjorie’s tired voice roused him. - -“It’s very late, dearie,” she said. “Won’t you try to get some rest?” - -“Presently. I’ve something to tell you, first. Will you come in and sit -down?” - -With unaccustomed gentleness, he arranged a chair for her. She dropped -into it as though suddenly bereft of the power to stand. Her eyes were -feverishly bright, and fixed upon him with apprehension that amounted -almost to fear. - -Dilling was conscious of intense pity for her. How unequal she was to -the demand he—his life—imposed! How gamely she had borne the strain! - -He hated her appearance to-night. Evidently, she had returned from the -canteen only in time to dress for some more brilliant function. She wore -a peach-coloured satin, covered with a sort of iridescent lace—a -hideously sophisticated dress, too low and too light; it bedizened her, -overlaid all her native simplicity. Dilling was, as a rule, oblivious to -the details of women’s clothes, but to-night his perceptions were -sharpened, and he examined his wife critically. - -As he did so, a horrid thought took possession of his mind. He saw her -dress, her manner—her barricade of behavior—as something degrading, -detestable, utterly foreign to her. A more imaginative man would have -fallen back upon the fancy that the pure gold of her nature was being -covered with the whitewash of social pretense. So deeply did it offend -him. - -“I have been offered the Premiership,” he announced. - -“Oh!” - -That was all she could say. Months ago she had arrived at the point -where she stood on guard over every act and utterance, fearing to -proceed lest she should violate some sacred creed and call forth -criticism and disdain. And now, when she wanted to speak, she could not. -Inarticulate and frightened, she sat, like a person paralysed by -nightmare. - -“Yes, this afternoon,” Dilling continued, and then as he had told -Azalea, “they have given me until to-morrow morning to decide.” - -“It’s splendid,” said Marjorie. “It’s wonderful . . . but then you -deserve it, dearie. You’ve worked so hard!” - -“So have you, Marjorie!” - -“Exactly what will it mean?” she questioned, timidly. “Will we have to -move again, and do more entertaining?” - -“You take it for granted that I’ll accept?” - -“Oh! You _can’t_ refuse?” - -“Why not?” - -“Well—well—” Mr. Sullivan’s promptings eluded her entirely. “The -premiership? . . . Oh, Raymond, you mustn’t refuse!” - -She began to argue, falteringly, but with a desperate earnestness that -betrayed her own lack of conviction. And as he listened, an odious -suspicion crept into Dilling’s mind. - -“Who’s been putting you up to this?” he demanded. “You are voicing -arguments that are not your own. Tell me, Marjorie, who has been putting -words into your mouth?” - -Marjorie refused to meet his eyes, but her lips framed the name -“Sullivan”. - -It was her manner more than her speech that caused the dawn of a slow -horror. Dilling recalled evidences of the man’s frequent visits—books, -flowers, chocolates, games for the children—Yes, he remembered now, -that the children called him “Uncle Rufus” . . . and hadn’t Sullivan, -himself, hinted at an unsuspected intimacy? Had he not boasted of being -Marjorie’s close confidant? - -“How long has this been going on?” he asked, pursuing his own line of -thought. - -“Ever since we first came,” whispered his wife, failing wholly to follow -him. - -“You don’t mean _years_?” - -She bowed her head. - -“Why did I never know?” He put the query more to himself than to her. - -“I never tried to keep it from you, Raymond!” she was stung into making -a defence. “The very first night . . . you were right in the house. No, -not this house—the other one. I should think you would have heard us -coming downstairs . . . Always, I have tried not to bother you!” - -“Coming downstairs?” he echoed. “My God . . . my God!” - -A sudden blackness enshrouded him. He was swallowed up in the wreckage -of a too-long life, lived in too short a span. His career had been swept -away his love was denied him, and now he had lost his wife . . . - -“My God,” he said again—elemental words wrung by elemental anguish. - -A cry, low and terrible, penetrated his misery. Marjorie flung herself -at his feet, and gasped, - -“No—no—not _that_, Raymond . . . Are you listening to me? Not _that_!” - -“What, then?” he muttered. - -“Oh, how could you, Raymond? You couldn’t think I would do a thing like -that?” - -“Then what do you mean?” - -The story of her association with the Hon. Member for Morroway fell in -broken sentences, often misleading, by reason of the very shame she felt -in its avowal. As he listened to the innocent little tale, Dilling’s -heart was torn with pity, and more clearly than before he saw the -futility of attempting to mould their simplicity to the form of conduct -required by their position. He thought of the West—his West—of a -rugged people who were still alive to the practical advancement of -idealism, divorced from stultifying subservience to convention. He felt -an overpowering urge to return, to identify himself once again with -those sturdy people, whom, he believed, would answer the guidance of his -hand. He was theirs. They were his. The West was his kingdom, and there -he would be content to reign. - -A crushing weight seemed lifted from his spirit. Shackles fell away. - -“Would you like to go home,” he asked Marjorie, “to go home for good and -all, I mean?” - -The light in her face answered him. It is abundantly true that -experiences realised, are a glorified incarnation of dead wishes. The -promised return to Pinto Plains was, for Marjorie, a dream that was -coming true. She knew the exquisite pain of seeing the complete -fulfilment of a passionate desire. No words could translate her feeling. - - * * * * * - -And so, with gratulation that was void of all regret, they went back to -happy mediocrity, far from The Land of Afternoon. - - THE END - - TRANSCRIBER NOTES - - Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where - multiple spellings occur, majority use has been employed. - - Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer - errors occur. - - Book name and author have been added to the original book cover. - The resulting cover is placed in the public domain. - - - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAND OF AFTERNOON *** - -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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