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| author | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-03-03 10:21:04 -0800 |
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| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-03-03 10:21:04 -0800 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/75508-0.txt b/75508-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1b764fe --- /dev/null +++ b/75508-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5871 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75508 *** + + LIFE + + THE INTERPRETER + + BY + PHYLLIS BOTTOME + + + + LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. + 91 AND 93 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK + LONDON AND BOMBAY + 1902 + + + + + Copyright, 1902, + BY + LONGMANS, GREEN & CO. + + + ROBERT DRUMMOND, PRINTER, NEW YORK + + + + + LIFE, THE INTERPRETER + + * * * * * + + + + + CHAPTER I + + + “To have what we want is riches; but to be able to do without it + is power.” + +“BUT the extraordinary thing is that it has happened!” The lady who +seemed a victim of this surprise lay back in her luxurious chair and +exhibited a small foot on the fender. + +“Black velvet slippers,” said her companion critically, “on a brass +fender are really, my dear, a poem. Where do you learn these things? +Poor Muriel, her feet were always rather large!” + +“She had everything in her favor,” said Mrs. le Mentier, the first +speaker. “Money, position, a face and figure one could do a good deal +with. She was simply ruined by her earnestness. I have often said to +her, ‘Well, Muriel, why don’t you take up the Church?’ But she never +did; she said it was too comfortable and that it would crush her. I’m +sure she’s not too comfortable now!” + +Mrs. Huntly rose and went to the window. It was raining dismally, with a +constant reiterated drip, drip on the tiles. She turned back, shivering +a little, to the cosey boudoir of her friend with whom she had just been +lunching. + +“I often wonder,” she said thoughtfully, “if it wasn’t Jack Hurstly +after all. You know I had them last summer with me; and though poor +Muriel always managed things very well, there were times—— And then he +went off suddenly, you know; and she said she couldn’t imagine what I +could see in him, though I know for certain she bore with that brutal +bull-terrier of his, and pretended to like it, while all the time she +loathed animals—dogs especially.” + +“Ah!” said Mrs. le Mentier; “and she’s really dropped out—one can’t do +anything! All the time when she isn’t actually at that tiresome Stepney +club of hers she’s contriving things for it—positively it amounts to a +terror! She asked me last week to sing at a smoking concert for some +factory hands. I told her I thought smoking concerts for those kind of +people were simply immoral, and she actually flamed up and cried, ‘You +sing for Captain Hurstly and his do-nothing friends, who can afford to +amuse themselves, and you won’t sing for men whose daily life is a hell, +and whose only amusements are unspeakably degrading!’ Of course I +stopped her at once. I told her she should give them Bible lessons. She +saw how silly she had been then, and laughed in that dear old way of +hers, and said, ‘You always had such a lot of common sense, Edith!’ But +you see she must be dropped. She’ll begin to talk about her soul next!” +Her friend yawned. + +“Well, my dear,” she said, “don’t you get earnest too. That wretched +Madame Veune is coming to fit me at three o’clock, so I must be off. Oh, +by-the-bye, if Muriel should turn up to-morrow you might ask her to come +and see me—I don’t know her slum address—one must do what one can, you +know. Good-bye, dear.” And the two affectionately kissed and parted. + +Mrs. Huntly frowned as she drove home. Muriel Dallerton had been an old +friend of hers, and she really meant to do what she could for her. + + + + + CHAPTER II + + + “The sky is not less blue because the blind man cannot see it.” + +MURIEL DALLERTON knelt on the floor of a small lodging-house room by the +fire. It was with evident difficulty that she could make it burn at all, +for the soot kept rolling down and the chimney threatened to smoke. She +had not yet accustomed herself to black hands every time she touched the +shovel. + +The worst of it was she expected her uncle and guardian to tea, and she +had to confess to herself that the prospect was not pleasing. + +She had lived with her uncle ever since she had been an orphan at six +years of age, and she had been sent to an expensive boarding-school and +been finished in Paris. After three triumphant London seasons, every +moment of which she had lived through with the same earnest delight that +was one of her most striking characteristics, she had come to the +conclusion that in some way or other she was wasting her life. + +She had for a whole year tried every way of doing good that was +compatible with a house full of servants, a stable full of horses, and a +social position. But at every turn she met with opposition—this, that, +the other was “not nice”—not “the proper thing”—the horses couldn’t go +out—what would the servants think—she was upsetting the whole +house—people would begin to talk. She confessed herself lamentably +deficient in the sense of what was the proper thing, and on her own side +she felt she could no longer bear the strain of the double life. + +She was needed all day at the club. She had organized games, classes, +recitations, employments and entertainments for men, women and children, +and all needed her personal supervision. + +It was not that she was not fond of pleasure—she had immense capacities +for enjoyment. She was known by all her acquaintances as that “radiant +Miss Dallerton”—only to _live_ for pleasure that was different, and +little by little she found herself “dropped out.” + +Society is very exacting: it demands the whole heart and constant +attendance at its haunts, so that when Muriel Dallerton finally +announced her intention of going to live in a model tenement next to her +club, society was careful to make plain to her that reluctantly, and +with all due respect for her ten thousand a year, until she returned to +her senses and her west-end house, society must pass her by on the other +side. Her uncle, Sir Arthur Dallerton, felt deeply what was generally +termed her “extraordinary attitude”—it cast a reflection upon him. He +missed her gracious household ways, the little attentions with which she +had surrounded him. He had, it is true, neglected her atrociously; but +up till now she had always, as he framed it, “done her duty by him.” Her +living away from him was a positive slur. + +Sir Arthur Dallerton was coming this afternoon to shake her resolution, +and he had no doubt whatever of his success. + +Muriel tussled with the fire, which finally consented to burn, then she +rose to her feet, brought out some tea-things, and began to toast a +muffin. + +A bunch of daffodils in a cracked vase did much to improve the +appearance of the room; a touch here, and there finished it; and she had +scarcely taken off her outdoor things and washed her hands (very unused +to the work they had been put to) when a dismal slavey announced, “A +genelman to see yer, miss,” and backed almost on to the gentleman in +question, who with an exclamation of disgust pushed past her into the +room. + +“My dear Muriel,” he said, “this is disgraceful!” He paused as she ran +forward to meet and relieve him of his hat and umbrella. She looked up +at him, her face beaming with smiles. + +“Dear,” she laughed, “did the blackbeetle quite crush you? How horrid! +But now you’ll sit down here and have some tea. You needn’t insult that +chair by doubting it. It will bear anything I know—I saw the landlady +sit on it, and nothing happened!” + +Her uncle sat down gingerly. “Were those people,” he said coldly, “down +in what I can only call a yard—a _yard_, Muriel!—the people you +imagine you have a mission amongst?” + +Muriel poured out the tea. “They look as if they needed it, don’t they, +dear?” she said, handing him a cup. “There, you’ve got a _whole_ handle, +and only two chips round the rim! Yes, those were some of my people. I +hope they weren’t in your way?” + +“They are extremely in my way, Muriel—extremely; I may say I am greatly +inconvenienced by them. I suppose you realize that I am alone in the +world; and yet you seem to imagine that your duty is to be among these +unpleasant characters in filthy slums instead of at home looking after +my comfort.” + +Muriel smiled a little to herself as she thought of the array of +servants the great house held, of the friends and cronies at the club, +where he spent the greater part of his time. “His comfort!”—surely +there were enough people in the world already looking after that. + +“Uncle Arthur,” she said, “we’ve talked all this out before, haven’t we? +We don’t see it quite in the same light. I am very sorry you are not +comfortable. If the servants——” + +“Muriel,” he interrupted in a raised voice, “how dare you mention +servants to me! Do you imagine that when I refer to comfort I mean +personal attendance? You have never had any heart! Mine has always been +an essentially affectionate nature. It is domestic companionship that I +desire; and now that you are of an age to be of some comfort to me, you +fly off to—Heaven knows where!—and throw me back on the servants!” + +Muriel sighed gently and laid her hand on his. “Dear uncle, you have +always been so good to me. But you see you weren’t always at home, and a +girl nowadays isn’t satisfied simply in being domestic.” + +“I should scarcely have imagined _you_, my niece Muriel, accusing me of +neglect! You invariably lose your temper upon these subjects, which +proves that you feel yourself to be in the wrong. You know perfectly +well that you can have any woman you want to live with you as lady +companion, but you’re so independent and obstinate——” + +“That no one would live with me if you asked them,” she finished +merrily. “Ah!—but please don’t talk about this any more,” she pleaded +as he strove to begin again. “We shall never agree! I must have my work +to do. I cannot be happy without it, and I cannot do it at home. But I +only ask for nine months of it. It is April now, and in July you shall +have me back for three whole months, and do just what you like, dear. +Isn’t that a splendid bargain?” + +The tea was very nice, and the buttered muffins especially were done to +a turn. + +Sir Arthur Dallerton crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair +(forgetful of its former occupant). “My dear,” he said mildly, “what +will people say? Have you ever thought of that?” + +“Yes, dear uncle,” said Muriel, smiling; “I have thought of it, and I +have come to the conclusion that I had better not think about it any +more. Won’t you have some more muffin?” + +Sir Arthur Dallerton graciously accepted another piece. It did not occur +to him that Muriel had eaten nothing—those sort of things never did +occur to him. If it had done so he would have put it down to +hysteria—the one great refuge for the selfish. + +“Mrs. le Mentier,” he pursued, “who is a very sensible woman, told me +what people were saying, and I think you ought to know of it too.” + +Muriel rose and looked out of the window. It was still raining heavily. + +“Well?” she said a little wearily. + +“They say this is a mere whim of yours to bring Jack Hurstly to book.” + +The girl by the window stood quite still. She did not see the children +in the yard below playing cheerfully in the gutter; she did not even +notice one of her most hopeful cases reel across the court in a +condition which would have filled her soul with pity and disgust two +minutes before. Her uncle thought her cold and indifferent, or possibly +sullen. + +“Yes!” he said bitterly, “that is the sort of thing, Muriel, that your +conduct forces me to put up with.” Muriel faced him suddenly. + +“Mrs. le Mentier,” she said quietly, “is——” she paused, “is very much +mistaken if she thinks such absurd rumors have power to affect me; and I +do not think you need be put out by what she says, for nobody who knows +either Captain Hurstly or myself would believe her.” Her uncle rose to +his feet. + +“You seem to be in a very bad temper, Muriel,” he said. “I knew what +would be the result of your taking up this work. But it’s very +depressing to _me_. I shall go home—when you come to a proper frame of +mind, let me know.” She ran forward and kissed him. + +“But _you_ do love me, don’t you?” she whispered. + +“Of course, Muriel, if you would only give up your absurd whim.” She +drew back a little. + +“Mind the stairs,” she laughed; “and oh, whatever you do, don’t tread on +the blackbeetle.” She watched him cross the yard, and bowl off in a +hansom. Somehow she felt very forlorn and lonely all by herself. She was +startled to feel a tear-drop on her hand. “Nonsense!” she said; “it’s +time for the girls’ cooking class!” She gave herself a little shake and +put on her things. + +She found herself saying as she left the room, “If Jack thinks so I’ll +never, never speak to him again.” She was a little impatient at the +cooking class. + + + + + CHAPTER III + + + “And custom lies upon thee with a weight: heavy as frost, and + deep almost as life.” + +“YOU are quite right in thinking I care for her, Mrs. Huntly, and have +done ever since I knew her,” said Jack Hurstly, looking hard at an +inoffensive poker. “But there’s no doing anything with her. I am not +earnest enough, it seems. She objects to my club, my sport, and all my +set. I believe she even objects to my regiment. At any rate she thinks I +am wasting my time here in England, and ought to be sweating in some +beastly tropics—Heaven knows why!” + +“So you ought, Jack, so you ought,” said Mrs. Huntly soothingly. “Muriel +is quite right. It’s positively shameful the lives our society young men +lead. A horse, a gun, a club and a dress-suit, what a catalogue of +occupations! Can you increase it?” + +“Oh, well,” said her companion rather sheepishly, “I’m no worse than the +other fellows, am I, Mrs. Huntly?” + +“My dear Jack, she’s not going to marry the ‘other fellows,’ is she? You +had better leave them out of the question; and if your ambition is to be +no worse than they are you had better dispense with Muriel. Go off and +hunt somewhere, and then come back and marry a girl of your own sort.” + +The door opened. “Miss Dallerton” the butler announced. Muriel came +forward into the middle of the room. There was such a warm, gracious +dignity about her that people who had little to recommend them but the +external felt thin in her presence. Mrs. Huntly greeted her warmly. Jack +said very little, but as his eyes rested on her Mrs. Huntly thought that +the hunting expedition, if it ever came off, must be a long one. + +“I’m so glad, so glad to see you both,” cried Muriel joyously, +“particularly as you are neither of you going to ask me for soup +tickets! Dearest Mary, are you really well? And what a comfort it is to +see a pretty dress! And won’t you please both tell me all about +everybody, and who has married who, though they ought to have done +better? I feel so ignorant.” She sat down by Mary Huntly, caressing her +hand, and looking with glad eyes from one to the other like a child out +for a holiday. + +“Oh, my dear girl,” cried Mrs. Huntly mournfully, “to think that you are +out of it all! It almost breaks my heart!” + +“Mary, how dare you! I came to be pacified, and if I’m reproached I +shall simply turn tail and run away! You don’t reproach me, do you, +Captain Hurstly?” + +“Perhaps I should like to, if you gave me time,” he said, smiling. + +“Oh, but I won’t, not for any such purpose—you shan’t have a moment of +it. But who is this?” A young girl had entered the room; she was +dangerously pretty (it is the only adjective one can use), and she was +perfectly self-possessed. Mrs. Huntly introduced her to them. She was a +young cousin of hers, Gladys Travers. + +Imperceptibly the atmosphere changed. Mrs. Huntly and Muriel drew apart +from the other two, and Muriel could not help noticing how perfectly +satisfied Captain Hurstly seemed with his companion, and how well they +got on together. + +When she rose to go Gladys crossed over to her. “May I come to see you, +Miss Dallerton?” she asked. “I want so much to know about your work, and +I—I like you so much! Don’t think me frightful. I have lived in the +States, you know, and people say all Americans are forgiven everything! +I do really want so much to know you.” She spoke in quick, low tones, +the expression changing as the shadows on a pool change under a light +wind. She was very appealing. + +“Oh, but it’s dear of you to like me,” said Muriel, smiling. “Please +come _really_, will you? You will always find me somewhere about the +club—Mary has the address.” + +She turned to Captain Hurstly. + +“I am coming with you, if I may,” he said. The two descended to the +street in silence. + +“You’re looking awfully dragged and thin, Miss Muriel,” he said at last. + +“You always were so hopelessly rude,” she laughed. + +“You know what I think about the whole thing?” he said gravely. + +“Ah, it’s _that_ which makes me tired!” she sighed. “All my friends say +just the same. They won’t think how—how hard they make it for +me—no—not even you.” + +“Even me?” he asked quietly. She bit her lips; she was losing her head +it seemed; she must not do that. + +“I take the ’bus at this corner,” she said. + +“I think we’ll go by hansom,” said her escort. She smiled. + +“You always _will_ contradict me, Captain Hurstly.” + +“You will not contradict _me_ if I remind you that you used to call +me—Jack?” he ventured. + +The hansom drove up, and Muriel put out her hand to him. She +unmistakably intended to go alone, even though she had let him choose +her vehicle. + +“I may come and see you?” he asked. She frowned a little. + +“I’m very busy, you know,” she said. + +“Does that mean I’m not to come?” + +“You might come,” she suggested suddenly, “and bring Mary’s little +cousin; she can’t come alone.” + +“I can though,” he persisted. She shook her head and laughed merrily. + +“Mary’s little cousin,” she said as she drove off, “or not at all!” And +he never went. + + + + + CHAPTER IV + + + “What’s the use of crying when the mother that bore ye (Mary, + pity women!) knew it all afore ye?” + +THE club room, large and bare, with a bench or two and one long table, +was full of girls, though at first glance you might not have been +inclined to call them so. They were all so inexpressibly old. As they +stood talking in groups, large and broad, with their frowsy hair and +draggle-tailed dresses, lifting loud, rough voices and breaking from +time to time into hoarse roars of laughter, they could scarcely be +called prepossessing. These were the girls who had warned a +simple-minded lady Bible-reader that “if she didn’t tyke ’erself orf +they’d strip her”—and they would have done it. + +As Muriel Dallerton entered the room the whole gang swarmed towards her +in greeting. They loved her. “She ’adn’t got no nonsense about ’er,” +“She was a real good sort, and no mistake,” and they showed their +appreciation of her by rushing from their ten hours’ work into the club +and paying with treasured pennies the tiny entrance fees she exacted for +the classes. + +To-day was cooking class, and from a great cupboard were drawn two dozen +aprons, which they themselves had helped to buy and make. + +Muriel knew just what wages they had, and never denied them the dignity +of giving a little, if they had that little to give. + +Two long hours’ class followed. To the girls who were accustomed to +factory work it was mere play, and the pleasure and excitement of seeing +how Mary Ann’s scones or Minnie Newlove’s pie turned out was +inexhaustible. + +It was not until it was over and the cooking boards and utensils put +away that Muriel missed one of the number. Lizzie Belk was a girl who +attended most regularly, and Muriel walked over to her mate to inquire +after her. + +“Mary Ann, where is Lizzie this afternoon?” she asked. There was a +titter of laughter from the group of girls with her. + +“Ye will! will ye!” shrieked Mary Ann in a sudden fury. “I’ll bash yer +’ead in for ye, Florrie Stevens!” she cried to a girl whose laughter was +the loudest. “What right ’ave ye to pass it on _my_ mate? I’ll tell ye, +miss.” She appealed to Muriel. “Florrie’s none so straight as she can +blacken poor Liz.” Muriel leaned against the table, feeling sick. + +“Hush, Mary, you must not talk like that,” she said at last. “What is +the matter with Lizzie?” There was an uneasy silence. “The rest of you +can go,” said Muriel. “Good-night, girls, go out quietly, please.” And +the girls nodding to her in rough good-nature went out leaving her alone +with Lizzie’s mate. + +Muriel crossed to her side and took her hand gently. “Poor Lizzie!” she +said softly. “Poor, poor Lizzie!” Mary burst into tears. + +“’E ’adn’t ought to er done it, miss, ’e really ’adn’t!” she sobbed. +“She was alwers a straight ’un, was Liz, an’ ’e promised ’er the lines +an’ all, an’ now——” + +“Where is she, Mary?” said Muriel quietly. + +“She ain’t got nowheres to go to ’cept the ’orspital. They turned ’er +off to-day at the factory; an’ ’er father’s beat ’er somethink hawful, +miss, the blasted, drunken sot!” Muriel still held her hand. + +“I think we had better go and find her,” she said. + +“Ye won’t ’ave nought to do with the likes o’ ’er, will ye?” asked the +girl in blank astonishment. + +“Yes, Mary; don’t you think Lizzie needs help?” + +“She needs it bad, miss.” + +“Then that’s what we’re going to give her,” said Muriel firmly. Mary +still stood where she was. + +“Ye—ye won’t be rough on her, miss?” she begged in shamefaced tones. +“’E treated ’er cruel bad.” + +“No, Mary, I won’t be rough on her. I’m not angry at all, only so _very, +very_ sorry. It’s such a dreadful thing, isn’t it? Poor Lizzie, we must +do all we can for her.” Mary’s big hand tightened over the slender +fingers of their “wonderful lady,” who seemed to understand without +being told, and never said more than she meant to do. + +They went out into the streets together. Lizzie was not hard to find. +She was in a deserted yard near the factory, among heaps of refuse and +mouldered iron. She had cried till she could cry no more, and lay in a +sort of hopeless apathy, with wide, dull eyes staring straight in front +of her. Muriel knelt down by her side, and Mary, with the unobtrusive +delicacy many of the poorest have, turned away for a little. + +“Lizzie,” said Muriel, as if she were speaking to a little child, +“Lizzie, I want you to come with me.” + +“Oh, my God!” said the girl. “Oh, my God!” + +“You will come, won’t you, Lizzie?” She put out her hand. + +“Don’t you dare touch me!” wailed the girl. “Who brought ye ’ere? Ye +don’t know what I am. Oh, my God! my God!” + +“I know all about it, Lizzie, and you must get up now and come with me.” + +“They shan’t tyke me to the ’orspital, I tell yer—no, nor hanywheres. +’Ome? I daren’t show my fice there! D’ye see my harm an’ my ’ead? Father +did that, an’ ’e said ’e’d kill me if I was to come back! Oh, let me +alone! Why don’t ye let me alone?” + +“Get up, Lizzie,” said Muriel, rising briskly to her feet. “Get up at +once. I am not going to take you either home or to the hospital. You are +coming back with Mary and me to the club, and I shall find a room for +you in my lodgings.” + +“Oh, now, Liz, do come, lovey, do come!” Mary urged. Lizzie rose dizzily +to her feet, and between the two they got her back somehow—first to the +club, and when they had fed her they took her to a room next Muriel’s. + +The landlady did not say much. “If the young lydy choose to look hafter +the likes o’ ’er, well an’ good, if not she could not stiy, of course.” +But the young lady did choose to look after her, and to pay double for +the room as well, so there was no more to be said. + +It was a terrible night. Muriel never forgot it. She sat there holding +the girl’s hand and hearing the whole story—the old, old story, told in +all its crude, black reality between gasping sobs. + +“’E said as ’ow I should ’ave my lines,” she groaned; “an’ now ’e says +we’d starve. But I shouldn’t care for that, miss—no, I shouldn’t, if +honly they couldn’t call me——” + +“No, dear, no! they shan’t call you that,” Muriel murmured. “What is his +name, Lizzie?” + +“Oh, ’e ’adn’t er ought to a treated me so—Gawd knows ’ow I loves ’im! +No!—I can’t tell ye ’is name, dear miss—don’t hask it!” + +“But you must tell me, Lizzie.” + +“Not if I was to die for it, miss!” + +“If you tell me I can help you, Lizzie, perhaps to—to get your lines.” + +“Oh, miss, ’e’d never forgive me!” + +“Then I can do nothing, Lizzie.” + +The girl sobbed afresh. Muriel rose and went to the window. Out of the +dark clouds the stars peeped timorously, as if afraid to look down on +the sad, sordid world beneath. A church clock chimed the hour—twelve +o’clock—and from the public-house across the way a burst of brawling +voices broke. It was illegal she thought to close so late. + +The candle on the washstand flickered miserably. She went back to the +bedside, and with careful, tender hands put back the heavy hair and +sponged away the tears. + +“Lizzie,” she said, and it seemed to her as if the whole of London stood +still to listen, “there is some one I love with all my heart—I—I think +I could forgive him anything.” She drew in her breath with a long gasp. +“Now—won’t you tell me his name, Lizzie?” she pleaded. The two women +looked at each other. The girl raised herself on her elbow and stared as +if she were weighing the soul of the other woman (she had forgotten she +was a lady). At last she sank back satisfied. “If she had a man,” Lizzie +thought, “she might understand.” + +“It’s—it’s Hobbs—Dick Hobbs,” she said. “Ye won’t be ’ard on ’im, +miss. They can’t ’elp it, can they? Not as I knows on—an’ hanyway +’twere all my fault, I think.” + +“I—I won’t be hard on him, Lizzie.” The tears were rolling down her +cheeks. “And now I’ll put out this light, and you’ll go to sleep, won’t +you? And to-morrow I’ll see Dick and get a license, and—and +everything.” + +“Oh, miss!” cried the girl—“not my lines?” + +“Yes, Lizzie! If you’re a good girl and go to sleep you shall have your +lines to show.” Muriel left her. When she came back a few minutes later +she found the exhausted girl fast asleep; her face was red and swollen +still with crying, but there was a happy smile on her lips. She was only +seventeen. + +“And there are thousands like this—thousands,” thought Muriel. “God +forgive us our blindness and their pain.” + +Suddenly she felt very faint and dizzy. She remembered she had had +nothing to eat since her tea with Mary Huntly. She covered her face with +her hands, for she realized more overwhelmingly than ever that she could +never marry Jack Hurstly. But though she had cried for the other girl, +no tears came now. + + + + + CHAPTER V + + + “My God, I would not live, save that I think this gross, + hard-seeming world + Is our misshapen vision of the Powers behind the world that make + our griefs our gains.” + +A BROAD-BUILT, hulking fellow with a coarse, brutal face shouldered his +way towards Muriel. It was one of the men’s evenings, and she had +dropped in a moment to speak to the superintendent, and to give one of +the men something to take home to his sick wife. When the man reached +her she led him to a quiet corner of the room. She had never felt afraid +yet, nor did she feel so now; only as she looked at the flushed, +scowling face she felt a little hopeless. + +“They said as ’ow you wanted to speak to me, miss.” + +“Yes, Dick, I do.” She paused, wondering how best to make her appeal to +him—where in fact was that spark of the Divine she so passionately +believed in, so seldom touched, yet trusted that she touched more often +than she knew. “Lizzie is with me, Dick,” she said at last. “Do you +think that you have treated her quite fairly?” The scowl changed to a +senseless, meaning smile. Muriel felt her eyes flash, but she had +herself well in hand. “Do you think it is quite a brave, manly thing to +do,” she asked with slow, quiet intensity, “to ruin a girl’s life—a +girl you pretend to care for—who has trusted in you? Would you not be +ashamed of breaking your word to another man? Yet you seem to think it +no great harm to betray a woman! A woman like Lizzie too, who is only a +child after all, and who kept so straight. She is very ill indeed, Dick, +and when—when the child is born I think she will die. Wouldn’t you call +a man who had behaved so to your sister a—a murderer?” The man’s sullen +eyes were fixed on the floor; he shifted awkwardly from one leg to the +other. + +“I don’t see has ye ’ave hany call to speak to me like that, miss. I +ain’t no worse than the other chaps I knows on. I’d like to do fair by +Liz, but I ain’t earning enough to keep a wife.” + +“You should have thought of that before you made Lizzie a mother,” said +Muriel sternly. “And now you will leave her alone to starve,” she added +with quiet scorn, “after having taken away her only chance of earning +her living, and—and having done the very worst you could.” + +The man said nothing; his face was heavy with inarticulate rage; she +felt that he wanted intensely to knock her down. One of his mates +remarked to a group of men that “’Obbs looked horful hugly.” It did not +occur to him though to walk away. Suddenly her voice softened. + +“Dick,” she said, “you’re not that sort of man at all—you know you are +not. You hadn’t thought of it before—that was all, wasn’t it? You +didn’t mean to harm poor Lizzie so. And she loves you, Dick—she wasn’t +a bit angry with you—she doesn’t blame you at all.” (It had not exactly +occurred to the man that she did. It was a new idea to him that she had +a right to.) + +“And—and so I can tell her that you _want_ to marry her—will marry her +at once, Dick, won’t you, before—before it’s too late? You will let me +tell her that, won’t you?” Still no answer. “I trust you,” she said +softly; “I feel so sure that you have the makings of a good man.” + +His eyes were glued on the floor. He felt more bewildered than angry, +and still obstinately clung to silence, which could not, as he phrased +it, “let him in for anything.” + +Muriel took a rose she was wearing. With a sudden impulse she held it +out to him. “I gave Lizzie one,” she said gently, “one like this. Would +you like to wear it?” It seemed easier to take it than to speak, but +somehow he was impelled to look at her. Her eyes were fastened on him +with a look he never forgot—grave, earnest, truthful—as if she had +weighed his soul and was simply waiting for the proof of her judgment. + +A voice he scarcely recognized for his own growled, “Well, then, what if +I does?” + +“Thank God!” she murmured softly. “Thank God!” He waited for his answer. +She smiled at him so wonderfully that he felt the tears rise to his +eyes. Her own eyes swam in them. “I will help you all I can,” she said. +“Now come with me to Lizzie.” He followed unwillingly. + +The men by the door shouted something after him as he passed. He did not +hear. He followed her clumsily with creaking boots into a room that +resembled nothing he had ever seen before, though it was simply +furnished; and sitting in a large chair by the fire was Lizzie. Her eyes +were fastened on the door with a dumb, questioning look. She moved her +lips as if they were dry. Then she saw him. + +“Oh, my man! my man!” she cried. Muriel shut the door quietly, and left +them alone together. She felt suddenly as if she could never feel +hopeless again. + + + + + CHAPTER VI + + + “The tree of Knowledge is not that of Life.” + + “YOU have not come to see me for some time, Jack, yet we used to + be good friends once, didn’t we? One seems to have one’s seasons + for those kind of things, then they drop out. With sleeves, you + know, one mustn’t keep the fashion on a bit too long. I have + known dressmakers—but I won’t trouble you with my philosophy. I + am going to have dear Mrs. Huntly and a charming cousin of hers + to dinner, and so thought you might, perhaps, care to join us, + though I’m candid enough to admit I hope it will not be merely + for the charming cousin’s sake. + + “EDITH LE MENTIER.” + +Jack Hurstly read the note, written on rich, heavy cream, a tiny, +definite hand between large margins. It all seemed very familiar to him. +Three years ago there used to be a drawer full of them, though he had +burned them of course, he remembered, after the scene in the garden. It +had all been very graceful and harmless, and he had immensely admired +and pitied her with her dense husband, who shattered her dainty little +subtleties with a heavy word or two, and “called things,” as she +plaintively remarked to Jack, “by their proper names, as if things,” she +had added, “should ever be called by names at all, and least of all by +their right ones.” + +Then he had met Muriel. He thought of that first evening, and of her +frank, disarming look, and of how she not only did not say things she +did not mean, but actually went so far as to say the things she did. + +It was a change from a little winding stream now here, now there, to a +free, open lake with its clear reflection from the sky. + +It was natural that after this should come the scene in the garden; what +he could not understand was this little dinner three years afterwards. + +Curiosity and Muriel’s wilful remoteness prompted him to accept the +invitation; but he did so formally. + +Edith, when she read his letter, broke into a little laugh. + +“A joke, my dear?” her husband asked, looking over his newspaper across +the breakfast table. + +“Certainly not, Ted,” said Edith; “I should never dream of laughing at a +joke at breakfast time!” Her husband returned to his sporting +notes—they seemed to him so much easier to understand. + +Mrs. le Mentier prepared to meet her guests by dressing in Jack +Hurstly’s favorite color. It happened to be the one which suited her; +but it is possible she would have worn it if it had not. It takes a +woman longer than three years to forget a man’s favorite colors, and +longer still not to wear them when she remembers. + +Gladys Travers was the first to arrive, with Mary Huntly’s brother, a +deeply earnest young clergyman with thoughtful eyes. “Cyril had to bring +me,” she said, smiling, “because Mary had a headache, one of those +horrid dark-room ones, you know, with tea and toast. I don’t believe he +quite approves though of dinner parties, do you, Cyril?” Mrs. le Mentier +shook hands with him sympathetically. + +“I know quite well what you feel,” she said in her slow, gentle voice. +“It’s the herding together of rich people to eat brilliantly, while all +the great half of the world have no brilliance and no dinner, and I +think it is so good of you to come. I’ve only just _really_ one or two +to-night, so I hope you won’t find us very worldly.” + +Cyril Johnstone had blushed at his cousin’s speech, but now that his +hostess paused he said gently, “Mary was so very sorry she could not +come.” + +“Dear Mary,” Edith murmured as she glided across the room to welcome two +men who had entered at the same time—Jack Hurstly and a young doctor, a +man of good family and even better brains. “How good of you to come, +doctor!” said she, her eyes sparkling their most vivid welcome. “One +feels,” she said, turning to the young clergyman, “with busy men like +you what a debt of gratitude one owes. Now you, Captain Hurstly,” she +added (for the first time addressing Jack), “had, I am sure, nothing to +give up?” + +“Everything to attract, certainly,” said Jack with a smile at Gladys, +who was glancing with laughing, observant eyes from one to the other. + +Dinner was announced, and Edith, taking the young priest’s arm, followed +the rest of the party. She was thinking it extremely stupid of dear Mary +to have a dark-room headache, and she was talking to Mr. Johnstone on +the marvellous utility of Bands of Hope. + +“Yes,” she said, glancing over the flower-decked table, “it’s the name +itself. Hope! What a lot it calls up, doesn’t it? Spring mornings, one +imagines, and skies too blue to deny one anything. There’s something in +the word which makes one think of waves.” + +“Because they break themselves on the rocks?” suggested Gladys, “or +cover quicksands?” + +“It’s a word,” said the doctor, smiling, “with a very expansive meaning, +and a use even more expanded than its meaning.” + +Mr. Johnstone looked across to Mrs. le Mentier. “It’s one of the +cardinal virtues,” he said gently. + +“And they,” said his cousin, looking at Jack, “always close a +conversation, because you see it’s so inconvenient to have to take off +one’s shoes.” + +Mr. Johnstone looked shocked, and Edith started another subject. + +“My husband,” she said, “is away—fishing, I think it is. He has, poor +man, a deadly feud against all animal nature, and he spends his time +trying to exterminate it. I must confess it seems to me rather a +hopeless quest.” + +“Don’t you English say,” asked Gladys of the doctor, “that it’s +strengthening to the character?” + +The doctor smiled. “More to the muscles than to the character, I should +fancy,” he said. + +“But isn’t it one of your tests of a character,” she persisted, “in +England that it should _have_ fine muscles?” The conversation became +international. Edith watched, but took no part; she was listening to +Jack, who was not talking to her. + +He was instead appealing to Cyril Johnstone. “Are you at all +interested,” he asked, “in those slum clubs?” The priest’s face +brightened. + +“Immensely,” he said. “My work is there, you know, and so I have seen a +good deal of them. But of course you refer to those under parochial +guidance?” + +“Captain Hurstly,” Mrs. le Mentier broke in, “is referring, I feel sure, +to the sweetest free-lance in the world, a dear friend of ours who has +thought it her duty to disassociate herself from her home, and even to a +certain extent from the Church, because she thinks she can, as the +phrase goes, ‘reach nearer to the people’s hearts’ that way. You’ll +admit it’s heroically brave of her. People’s hearts give one such shocks +when one _does_ get near them.” + +“A case of hysteria,” murmured the doctor under his breath, “in its most +patent modern form.” + +Gladys glanced lightly at Jack Hurstly; then she said in a sweet, +penetrating voice, “There you are wrong, doctor. Muriel is the most +healthy-minded girl I know.” + +“Her hysteria may be confined to one form,” he ventured. + +“Ah, but you should see her!” said Gladys. Here the voice of Cyril +Johnstone broke in. + +“It seems to me,” he exclaimed, “the saddest thing in the world and the +most useless. There has been too much talk about the people’s hearts, +too many missions of sentimental women. What can they give the people? +Their need, their crying need, is for the cultivation of the soul, and +it is we—set apart as God’s ministers—who are called upon, and to whom +alone rightly belongs the unspeakable privilege and duty of serving the +poor!” + +Mrs. le Mentier looked gravely devotional and stifled a yawn. + +Jack Hurstly looked at Gladys, who again meeting his look broke out into +a defence. + +“And while the Low and the High, the Broad and the Long (if there _are_ +any long, or if they aren’t all long), quarrel as to who shall help the +poor, and how they shall be dressed to do it, what are the poor going to +do? And why shouldn’t a woman, or even a man for that matter, go down +among them and teach them how to live? What kind of souls are you going +to teach in wretchedly uncultivated bodies, cousin Cyril? And if you +believe in clubs, why aren’t you thankful for their work, even if the +clergy are not asked to take Bible classes in them? As for Muriel and +her poor, she’s taught them how to smile, and I actually heard one of +them say ‘Thank you’ the other day. I don’t believe an archbishop could +do as much even with his robes on.” + +Mr. Johnstone opened his mouth to answer her tirade; but Jack Hurstly, +who had been listening delightedly, clapped his hands and laughed, and +he felt that it was impossible to argue against a joke. Mrs. le Mentier +rose to her feet smiling. She felt that her dinner had not helped her +much; and she did not love Gladys. + +“Let us leave the gentlemen alone, dear,” she said, “to discuss our +short-comings and their dominion. It’s an entrancing subject, I +believe—when you can have it all your own way.” + +The two women floated gracefully out of the room. They were rejoined +very shortly by the men, whom it is presumed found their points of view +on “the entrancing subject” too different for prolonged discussion. +Gladys and the doctor stood out on the balcony. + +The balmy June evening filled with the noises of the streets below +seemed very soothing to them, and their talk interested both immensely, +so much so that they did not hear Mrs. le Mentier preparing to sing, and +only ceased when her low, sweet voice rang out, “Life and the world and +mine ownself are changed for a dream’s sake—for a dream’s sake.” + +It was a simple song, but she sung it with a quiet passion and intensity +that entirely captivated her audience. When the song was over they were +not ready with their applause, and even the doctor looked as if he had +met an ideal. Edith sang again, and they went home, all but Jack +Hurstly. “I must speak to you a minute, Jack,” his hostess had murmured +as he turned over the leaves of her music, and for the song’s sake he +stayed. + +She stood in the middle of the room, her hands held loosely in front of +her, like a child’s. “Haven’t you punished me long enough—Jack?” she +asked. + +“My dear Mrs. le Mentier,” he began. + +“Ah!” she murmured, “Mrs. le Mentier! Mrs.—le Mentier—Jack!” + +He had before wished that he had never come; there seemed now nothing +else to do but to wish it more strongly. She looked so young and +piteous, and her eyes were full of a real emotion. The only ways left +were to be weak or brutal. The last alternative would end the scene +quicker. + +“It doesn’t seem much good, does it,” he finally said, “to go over all +this again?” + +She smiled wistfully. “Is it all over then for you?” she asked. “Do you +know, it was silly of me, wasn’t it? I somehow thought you might still +be the same, and the three years’ penance enough for the past mistake?” +She spoke with a kind of strained slowness very pitiful to hear. + +“Things have changed so!” he muttered. + +“Things?” she laughed. “How a man falls back on the inanimate! Things +don’t change, my dear Jack, but women grow older and men grow +wiser—that’s all. Let me congratulate you then on your increase of +wisdom, and you will be a little sorry—for my increasing age?” He +frowned and looked at the door; she winced as if he had struck her. “You +want to go?” she said. “Well, there’s one thing, my dear Jack, for you +to remember. If you should get tired of your sweet firebrand in the +slums, ‘things have not changed,’ you will remember, won’t you? And +women don’t—so the way is still open.” + +He stepped past her to the door, but he turned back to look at her (he +often turned back). She was twisting her fan in her hands and trying to +smile. + +“You can always come back,” she said. + +“Oh! I’m not such a brute as that!” exclaimed the man at the door. + +“Oh, aren’t you?” she laughed. “You have your limits, then? I’m so glad! +And you had better go now, for I have mine too.” + +When the door closed firmly after him limits seemed to dissolve. She put +the fan down carefully on the table, and she looked at her miserable +face in the glass with a vague, ulterior satisfaction, for even if one’s +heart was broken it was something of a comfort that one looked +distinctly pretty in tears. + + + + + CHAPTER VII + + + “So long as we know not what it opens, nothing can be more + beautiful than a key.” + +THE short June days soon came to an end, and Muriel found them none too +short, for warmth can only be enjoyed by the luxurious, and her life at +present was anything but that. + +If one plunged into the work and life of the people it needed strength +both of will and body to carry one through its disillusions. + +There was nothing in the least exciting in the work before her—it was +merely very hard. Occasionally it was true the great opportunity would +arise, as it had done in the case of poor Liz. But next to their +extraordinary infrequency came the swiftness with which all the +greatness evaporated: their very sins were so matter-of-fact, and the +larger elements in life were taken so unpicturesquely that they seemed +shorn of their solemnity, and then strangely robbed of all “the trailing +clouds” of mystery. When a widow spoke of her dead husband as “’E made a +beautiful corpse, ’e did—yer ought to er seen ’im, miss,” the word died +on her lips, and to look at a dead baby as being “one less mouth to +feed,” jarred on all her tender notes of sympathy by the crudity of its +truth. + +Muriel wrote to Gladys, who, strange to say, had come to see her alone, +not once but often, that she had never known “death could be vulgar +before;” and, though she felt very worried at the thought of shutting up +the club for three months, she confessed to herself her heart rose at +the thought of the long, easy luxury of house-parties, country days, and +even a glimpse of the sea. People, too, who said a little more—and +meant a little less—she looked forward to meeting with a positive sense +of rest. Clear black and white were rather glaring she thought, and how +life was mellowed by a little mist! Jack Hurstly had never been to see +her. She had heard of him occasionally from Gladys. + +Sir Arthur wished her to come at once to Blacklands, a house in a +beautiful vicinity, not too far from the conveniences of life; and +towards the end of July, very tired and fagged, Muriel packed up her +things to go. There were many good-byes to be said, but they were all +over now with the exception of Liz—Liz and the baby. She had not seen +either of them lately. As she knocked at the door she heard the long, +fretful wail of a sick child, and then the ungracious tones of a woman’s +voice. + +“Ah, it’s you, is it?” she added shrilly as Muriel entered. “I thought +you had given us the slip. No, I ain’t been comin’ to the club, nor I +don’t mean to—nor Dick neither, we ’ave ’ad enough of it, we ’ave.” + +Muriel showed no surprise. She sat down and looked at the poor little +baby tossing disconsolately on its mother’s lap. + +“Isn’t he well?” she asked. + +“No, ’e ain’t,” said Liz more gently; “’e do take on somethink hawful in +this ’eat. ’E cries all night, and Dick won’t come nigh ’im. I’d a been +a deal better off without ’im, that’s what I’d a been. What’s the use o’ +a ’usband who drinks all ’e earns? ’E don’t do _me_ no good, and I don’t +do ’im no good—we’re better apart.” She looked at Muriel viciously in +her increasing anger and fear, turning on the first object she met. + +“You’re very tired, Lizzie,” she said gently, “and very hot. Have you +been sitting up all night with baby?” + +“I don’t keep no nurse!” + +“Poor little thing,” said Muriel, holding out her arms for it; “poor +little dear.” + +“’E’ll crease your pretty skirt.” Muriel laughed. + +“Now, tell me,” she said, “what do you mean about Dick. Is he really +taking to drink?” + +Lizzie forgot her resentment and poured out her troubles, and so again +the woman in Muriel conquered. Yet she knew that there would be no +gratitude for what she did. Lizzie only envied her—“her pretty frock.” + +She wrote to her uncle promising to go down the next day. Muriel arrived +at Blacklands to be met by the footman and a carriage. The trappings of +a luxury she had spurned seemed at present very grateful to her. They +belonged, she realized, to a class of things one does not actually need, +and yet seems to miss more than even the necessities. As she drove +comfortably through the village she was possessed by a complete set of +new faculties. All her old fund of light-hearted laughter sprang again +within her; her quick, observant eyes (which she had used more lately to +ignore than to observe) found beauties at every turn. She felt a desire +to sketch two cottages half lost in honeysuckle planted with the most +perfect effect of naturalness under the old tower of the ivy-covered +church. The churchyard seemed the most perfectly restful thing she had +ever seen. She longed to pick the hedge flowers; to let the wind blow +about her hair, with no restraining erection to keep it in place; to +walk barefoot across the cool, green fields; to hunt for birds’ nests in +the wood; to climb the hills at sunset time—in short, a passion of +longing to come near to Nature held her; to forget all the many +inventions of the clever, brutal, unscrupulous mind of man; to be once, +for however little time, one with the world as “God has made it.” She +found herself taking off her gloves, and at that moment the carriage +swept up the drive of a large old house, with an exterior too ancient to +be quarrelled with, and an interior too full of the best of modern +“improvements” to be in the least appropriate. + +Gladys was standing on the steps. She held Muriel in her arms. On the +younger girl’s face there was an almost passionate welcome, and she +tried to hide her eagerness in laughter, chatting in graceful snatches +over a thousand little nothings as the two girls went to their rooms. +“Did Muriel know that there was no one there but themselves?—everybody +was coming down to-morrow. Yes, that abominable little flirt, Edith le +Mentier, and her husband with his exquisite stupidity, a cloak which +covered all his other sins—in the eyes of his wife at least. Mary +Huntly, too, not Tom—he couldn’t. These business men really worked; but +Muriel was a business woman, wasn’t she—the dear Muriel.” Muriel +declared she only worked for the sake of enjoying laziness. They went +down to tea. “That doctor, too,” Gladys continued, “with an advanced +sister with red hair, cigarette and a bull-dog—at least I think it’s a +bull-dog.” + +“Of course it is,” laughed Muriel. “You must retain something, however +far you advance, and the bull-dog does that for you.” + +“The doctor overworked, you know; and the sister’s devoted. Then there’s +Captain Hurstly, of course!” + +“Why of course?” said Muriel quietly. + +“Oh, well——” Gladys stopped, “don’t you want him?” + +“No, my dear, I don’t.” + +“Your uncle thought——” + +“Oh, when he thinks,” laughed Muriel, lifting her shoulders. + +“And there’s a friend of his——” + +“My uncle’s?” + +“Silly!—Captain Hurstly’s—a Sir Somebody Bruce.” + +“Alec?” suggested Muriel, quietly selecting some seed-cake. “I know him +well.” + +“Do you?” said Gladys, “I scarcely know him at all. What did you think +of him?” Her little air of indifference was beautiful. Muriel sighed. + +“He’s like the rest,” she said wearily. “Splendid, capable, +broad-shouldered and—useless. I think if I were a man like that I +should use my talent as a good shot for personal purposes; it would seem +to me less wasteful.” + +“Oh, but, Muriel, we girls we’re none of us any better. You, dearest, +you’re different. And in America I was different too. There’s so little +strain in being happy there—so little waste in pleasure. The rush of +life, its width and lack of limits, is a continual occupation; but here +there are too many women. Some of them must be old maids. It’s like the +game of musical chairs. They none of them, you see, want to be left out, +so they take the first place vacant. They have an eye on their +opportunities; they make efforts to attain, and a masterly mamma backs +them. When you come to think of it—their training, their suppression! +You can’t wonder they take their first opening. But for women to be +hunters—forgive the naked, cruel term, darling—is repulsive. Oh, if I +had a daughter I should drown her, or bring her up to something more +worth living for!” + +She walked about the room putting this and that to rights. The housemaid +had done it before her, but the quick, nervous movements delivered her +of the tension she seemed under. + +“Something’s very badly wrong,” thought Muriel, and aloud she suggested +the garden. + +The birds were making twilight magical on the velvet lawn. They sat +breathing in the soft, rich air, heavy with the scent of summer flowers, +too utterly at peace with Nature and the restful spell she can throw at +moments over the most tortured hearts to do more than hush themselves +into silence. + +Muriel was the first to speak. She remembered long afterwards how +startling her voice sounded. + +“You have something to ask me?” + +“Ah!—no, no.” + +“Something to tell me?” + +“It’s hard—oh, Muriel, dearest—dearest, it’s hard!” cried Gladys. + +“Hard things are sometimes better shared,” said Muriel. + +“The hardest and the dearest sometimes can’t be,” Gladys sighed. “What +can I do?” she added miserably. “It’s so old and stale, just the eternal +wrong situations Nature pulls about so, or man gets twisted into! Mary, +my cousin, you know, wants me—wants me to marry. I’m dependent on her, +you see, since father failed in the States. They had me educated in +England, and they ruined that for me—the steady setness that might have +helped me now—by the wildest three years in America. Sixteen!—and +their world without barriers, where everybody wants you to have a good +time! No, I’m not crying—not for that. It lasted three years, and after +the smash they sent me here. Mary doesn’t know what to do with me. I’m +not her sort—I’m always getting into scrapes. I seem to have got into +the nursery again, where there is nothing but corners. I’m in leading +strings to a—maid. There’s only one way out of my nursery, Mary +says—Muriel, it’s open now—but I almost think I’d rather throw myself +out of the window than make use of it.” + +Muriel looked at her. “And is there no other door?” she asked gently. + +“Ah! not mine—somebody else’s, and—they’ve got the key.” + +“Where does it lead to?” Muriel asked. + +“I—I don’t know. The most beautiful place in the world, I fancy; but if +it was a wilderness it would be the only way for me!” Timidly Gladys put +out her hands, and Muriel held them, drawing the girl closer to her. She +asked with wonderful mother-eyes the question no words could draw from +her. + +“Yes,” she said at last, “people made a mistake when they thought the +world was large. It’s very small—one woman’s heart can hold the whole +of it.” + +“Muriel,” the other gasped, “Muriel, do you care for him?” + +“For Alec Bruce, dear child? No!” Suddenly her hands grew cold, a fear +seized her, cutting her breath short and making the silence strangely +empty. “You don’t mean him?” she asked very slowly as if she were just +learning to talk. The girl shook her head. “You mean Jack Hurstly?” +pursued Muriel gently inexorable. The girl caught her hands away and +covered her face. + +“Oh, Muriel! Muriel!” she sobbed. “I don’t—I don’t care for him.” + +“Neither do I,” said Muriel very coldly. + +“Don’t you?—don’t you?” the girl exclaimed, her eyes shining like stars +through a cloud. “Then, oh, dearest—my dearest, give me the key!” + +Muriel stood quite still smiling. She felt as if she were having a +photograph taken; she must not move; she must try to look +pleasant—that’s what they call it. She was still so long that Gladys +looked up in wonder. The elder girl drew her into her arms. + +“It will be sure to come out well,” she murmured. Then aloud: “Little +darling, you have always had the key—mine was only a skeleton one, and, +Gladys, I never could have used it.” The girl clung to her shivering +with joy. + +“Then, after all, you do care for him a little?” Muriel said tenderly. +Gladys lifted up her eyes. They seemed much older—they were so happy +and so sure. + +“I told you there was only the one way—the one way in all God’s earth +for me. I think I should have thrown myself out of the window if you +hadn’t given me the key!” + +“Oh, don’t!” cried Muriel half sobbing. + +Gladys smiled. “Dearest, you don’t understand—you see you don’t care +for him as I do!” she said. + +“No,” repeated Muriel very slowly and carefully, “I don’t quite +understand—you see I don’t—don’t care for him. Do you know, little +dear, it’s getting rather chilly. Hadn’t we better go in and dress for +dinner?” + +“Oh, to think of dinner!” laughed Gladys. “How we do mix things, don’t +we? It’s too terribly material.” + +But of the two she had the better appetite. Muriel had never lied +before, and she found it very tiring. + + + + + CHAPTER VIII + + + “A self-sacrifice that is thorough must never pause.” + +“Sunday,” said Edith le Mentier, lazily swaying her parasol, “does my +religion for me. When I hear the sweet church bells chiming over the +cow-laden fields I say to myself this is a Christian country. Cows and a +church—certainly I, too, must be a Christian.” + +“And your responsibility ends there?” asked Gladys, who with others of +the party was dressed to go to the little church across the fields. + +“My responsibility, my dear, er—Miss Gladys—as you so deliciously call +it, is never at work in that sphere. No! I recognize it at my +dressmaker’s; I am crushed under it in shops; I frequently come face to +face with it in the choice of a cook. Beyond this,” Mrs. le Mentier put +out a dainty foot under a frilled petticoat, “beyond this I am a +rational being—that is, whenever it is possible I persuade some one +else to do my effort-making for me. Captain Hurstly, I want a footstool; +dear, delightful creatures, do go and do my praying for me; Sir Arthur,” +here she put her head graciously towards their slightly embarrassed +host, “is going to stay to keep me company.” + +“Delighted, I am sure,” murmured Sir Arthur, handing Gladys’ prayer-book +which he had been carrying to the doctor, who stood grimly and +uncompromisingly silent. It was natural that after that Gladys and Dr. +Grant should walk together and Muriel find herself with Jack Hurstly. +Cynthia Grant, the doctor’s sister, had not yet returned from a visit to +the stables with Sir Alec. Muriel had not seen Jack for some time. He +was always large and masterful (in the most calmly protective meaning of +the word), but there was to-day a certain alertness and unobtrusive +eagerness in his manner that was new to her. They knew each other well +enough to be able to float off easily into commonplace chatter. It paved +the way for all the important things which lost their stiffness by being +set in a background of familiar banter. + +“I’m having a holiday,” said Jack, smiling down at her oddly. + +“You a holiday! You look terribly as if you needed it!” she laughed. + +“I’ve been working rather hard, really,” he said. + +“Fishing is over?” she asked. + +“Oh, Miss Muriel, but I’ve had a harder job to tackle. I’ve been trying +to get the place at home in decent order—getting cottages built and all +that sort of thing.” + +“You were always so practical,” she murmured. + +“Because, you see, the place has been a little weedy lately, and as I am +to be off again soon I wanted to leave it in order before I went.” + +“Hunting big game?” she suggested indifferently. + +“Well—yes, rather. You see there’s been a little scrapping in India on +the frontier, and—well, I thought it would be rather jolly to have a +shot at the little beggars myself. You see the regiment being at +Aldershot a fellow hasn’t got much to do, and so I have +joined—temporarily, of course—a batch of men who are going out in +September. Do you wish me luck?” + +“Your occupations,” said Muriel coldly, “always seem to me a little +brutal.” Then she glanced more kindly at him. + +He was disconsolately grumbling, “Oh, I say now!” and cutting the heads +off the nettles with his stick. They were nearing the church. + +“Oh, I hope, Jack,” she used the name with her old deliberate frankness, +looking him in the eyes, steadily and kindly, “that you will have the +best of luck. I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you set to work +again, and make something of all that’s in you—all I know that’s in +you.” + +He beamed with pleasure, though he was still a little puzzled at her +former sharpness. “It’s awfully good of you, Miss Muriel,” he said, +opening the gate; “and you—you must know that if I am worth anything at +all it’s all owing to you. And now that you say you believe in me,” he +drew a long breath, “I think I could do anything—anything in the world +to show you you’re not mistaken.” + +Muriel said nothing. When they reached the porch she turned to him, and +not looking at him said slowly, “I am quite sure I am not mistaken, +Jack.” + +The church was cold and dark after the bright sunshine in the fields. In +the church she remembered Gladys, and forgot to listen to the sermon. +She and the doctor walked back together and quarrelled all the way. + +It was that still, impossible hour of Sunday afternoon when the +drowsiness of after lunch and the distance of five-o’clock tea combine +to make inaction of one sort or another absolutely essential. Sir Arthur +Dallerton, however, was uncomfortably wide awake. His protracted +conversation with his charming guest contributed not a little to the +unnatural keenness of his feelings, and with Sir Arthur Dallerton to +feel keenly was to be in more or less of a bad temper. He saw Muriel out +of his smoking-room window, and beckoned to her to come in. + +“What are you doing, Muriel,” he asked severely, “at this time of the +afternoon?” + +“Everybody is going out on the river after tea, so I was seeing about +the boats,” she said. + +“That, Muriel, is the business of the gardener.” + +“I like minding the gardener’s business,” said Muriel smiling. + +“My dear,” said her uncle gravely, “If you would leave the gardener’s +business alone, and attend a little more to your own, I should be better +pleased.” + +“What do you mean, uncle?” the girl asked, sitting down opposite him +with her wide-open, unembarrassed eyes. + +“Of course I know that it makes no difference to you what I wish—that I +take for granted to begin with.” + +She moved her head impatiently; she hated the way he had of opening any +discussion with injured personalities. He waited for a protest, and not +hearing one he continued with increased vehemence. + +“You are now twenty-seven. You have had plenty of opportunities to +settle down in life. I have never attempted to force your hand——” A +look in the girl’s eyes suggested the prudence of this course. “I must +say I have been uncommonly generous in overlooking your extraordinary +schemes, but I never dreamed they excluded marriage. May I ask, +Muriel—I think I have a right to know—if all my hopes are to be in +vain simply through the obstinacy of an untrained, selfish girl? Do you, +Muriel—I insist upon knowing this—intend to marry?” + +“I am sorry you insist, uncle,” said Muriel very quietly, though two +bright spots of angry color burned in her cheeks, “because I am afraid I +can give you no satisfactory answer to your hopes. It is very +improbable—if you really wish to know—that I shall ever marry.” + +“What about Jack Hurstly?” + +“I do not know to what you refer.” + +“I thought your objection to him was that he didn’t stick to his +profession. He’s sticking to it fast enough now.” Muriel winced. “And,” +he continued with more hope of success, “he’ll probably get potted by a +native, and then perhaps you’ll be satisfied. You women who talk the +most about cruelty are always the ones to send us poor devils to our +graves.” + +“I have never had any objection to Jack Hurstly, and I have none now, +but I certainly am not going to marry him. If he gets killed in India, +as you thoughtfully suggested, it will perhaps prove to you that he is +beyond your matrimonial schemes. I do not believe anything else would,” +said Muriel, now thoroughly aroused. She looked lovely when she was +angry: the gray eyes blazed and widened, the firm chin became +inexorable, and her nostrils dilated like a spirited horse. Her uncle, +who had an eye for beauty, appreciated her appearance, but was too vexed +to remark on it. + +“Gad! you have the temper of a devil!” he grumbled in reluctant +admiration; “but if you won’t have Jack Hurstly, you won’t. And on the +whole you might do better. What I want you thoroughly to understand is +I’ll have no monkey business with that young doctor. I didn’t ask him +down here, or you either, for any such purpose. If you had liked Jack +Hurstly, well and good. I wouldn’t have opposed the match. He’s got +blood, and he’s got money, and I have nothing against him. But I have +set my heart on one thing if you won’t have him.” He stopped a moment. +“Muriel,” he said, “you know my heart is weak, and it’s very bad for me +to be opposed.” + +Muriel smiled; the scene lost its strain; the gay voices of idlers on +the lawn came in through the windows with the after-dinner grace of the +“wise thrushes” in the shrubbery. They all sounded so restful and +contented. But she—must she battle till her life’s end? Tears of +self-pity rose to her eyes. Her uncle supposed them to be signs of +softening grace. + +“My child,” he said, “Sir Alec Bruce is a good man, and he loves you.” + +“He has a good income and a good family,” suggested the girl +maliciously. + +Sir Arthur waved them aside grandly. “I have set my heart upon the +match,” said; “my life is risked by a disappointment.” + +Muriel crushed her hands together nervously. “And what about my life?” +she said at last. “But I suppose that doesn’t matter,” and ignoring her +uncle’s wrathful exclamation she stepped out of the French windows and +joined the idlers on the lawn. Sir Arthur waited a few moments for a +heart attack to come on, but as nothing happened he also went into the +garden. But a few moments had dissipated the group, and only Cynthia +Grant remained with a bull-dog and a cigarette. She looked extremely +unsympathetic, and grumbling under his breath something far from +complimentary about advanced young women he returned to the house. A +moment later Dr. Grant joined his sister on the lawn. The bull-dog, +appropriately named “Grip,” looked wistfully from one to the other. He +knew it was impossible to be at the feet of both at the same time, and +so with chivalrous courtesy he curled himself up once more by his +mistress’s side and listened with heavily absorbed eyes to the following +conversation. + +“Do you really mean to do it?” asked Cynthia curtly. + +“If I hadn’t, why should I have come here?” replied her brother, giving +short puffs at his pipe. “You know I feel awfully out of this sort of +thing—an abominably lazy lot.” Grip, who with the magnificent patience +of the strong had long been putting up with an inquisitive and +infuriating fly, now relieved his feelings with a successful snap. + +Cynthia laughed bitterly. “You won’t get her so easily as that,” she +said by way of illustration. “And why should I want you to? Has it never +occurred to you, my dear brother, that I might prefer you better +unmarried. It’s a slackening sort of thing at best for a man, and we’ve +always roughed it together, haven’t we, Geoff? Pretty cosily, too, I +think.” + +“You might get married yourself,” he said gloomily. The girl +suggestively lit a cigarette. + +“I don’t think so, Geoff,” she said with a queer little laugh. “Has it +never occurred to you that I’m thirty, and you’ve never been +particularly keen on it before?” + +“I’m not now—but I think it’s a good thing for a girl.” + +“You mean for a man, don’t you?” He looked at her quietly. + +“You’re not like yourself to-day, Sis,” he said gently. “What’s wrong?” + +“You’re trying to marry Muriel Dallerton. She’s in love with Jack +Hurstly, whom she’s trying to marry to that emotional little Gladys +thing. Meanwhile, unless they are all very careful, Edith le Mentier +means to play her own game with them all.” + +“How do you know Miss Dallerton’s in love with Hurstly?” asked the +doctor, savagely ignoring the rest of the remarks. She turned on him +with mocking eyes. + +“She is interested in his conversation,” she said, and they both burst +out laughing. Grip placed his head massively on her hands and looked +both question and reproach at her. “His business, Grip,” she said, “is +to get perfectly rested, not to tread on lazy people’s corns, and to see +as much as possible of the right young lady. As for me, Grip”—she +dropped some inconveniently heated ashes on his pink nose, which made +him shake his head and blink severely like a shocked old lady—“where do +I come in? Well, I have my own little game to play. And here’s dear +Edith in a fresh pink gown. Let’s go and meet her—she’s so fond of us +both. And you——” she looked back with a whimsical tenderness at her +brother, “just go down to the river and find your young lady, only for +Heaven’s sake don’t glare at her like that!” + + + + + CHAPTER IX + + + “It is sometimes possible to say ‘No,’ but hard to live up to + it.” + +MURIEL had not in the least intended to find herself alone with Jack +Hurstly in a canoe. It all happened so naturally that protests and +excuses were out of the question. She looked rather wistfully at Gladys +in a larger boat, who was talking with nervous gaiety to Alec Bruce, +while Mary Huntly in the stern looked on with serene approval. Gladys +would not look at her friend, and something in the girl’s manner and +carriage seemed to denote an intense displeasure, which, after her +confidence to Muriel, was not on the whole incomprehensible. Muriel +sighed hopelessly. Circumstances, she thought, were against her, and +Jack was with her; she might be stronger than the circumstances, but she +had begun to feel that she was not as strong as Jack. + +“I really have changed my life a bit,” he went on, as if continuing +their last conversation. “Do you know when you went to Stepney, and I +got to know about all you were doing—how you gave those girls such a +good time and helped them in their homes, and all that, you know—it +made me feel what a cheap sort of thing the life of the fellows about +town is, and how, after all, there isn’t so very much in just having a +good time if there’s nothing else besides or beyond it. I hope you won’t +think I’m talking awful rot?” he interrupted himself nervously. She +shook her head; she found it difficult to speak; her hand dipped in the +water seemed to her a sort of illustration of how impossible it was to +grasp her treasure even while it surrounded her. They were singing down +the stream the air of a new opera, and that, and the trailing branches +overhead, would have made a wonder of beauty if she had not loved +Gladys. “Sacrifices lasted too long,” she thought. + +“And so,” he continued, watching her with eager, earnest eyes as he +talked, “while I was waiting for leave to go out to India I started a +sort of club at home—among the tenants, you know. Nothing much of a +place—only games and a room where the men can go and smoke and read +their papers in the mornings. And it struck me that Miss Gladys’ +cousin—am I boring you?” + +“No, Jack—Gladys’ cousin?” + +“That Parson Cyril Johnstone,” he explained, “was really an awfully good +sort, and might help me a bit with the men—on his own line, you know. +And as the vicar wanted a curate, it seemed to fit in rather decently. I +had no idea how awfully interesting that kind of thing could be. Why, +now I know the men, and drop in to play a game of billiards with them, +you couldn’t believe how jolly they are with me; and many of them more +decent, wholesome kind of men than one’s own sort. I should so much like +to show you the place, Muriel, and ask your advice about it. I’m afraid +I’m an awfully poor hand at managing that kind of thing.” + +“Mr. Cyril Johnstone knows more about men’s clubs than I do!” she +replied with half-averted head. Jack smiled. He was not used to Muriel +in this mood; it was more like other women whom he had been used to. + +“You see,” he said, “Cyril Johnstone is all very well in his way, but an +unecclesiastical eye might be able to suggest more.” + +“I feel quite sure,” said Muriel firmly, “that my eyes will be able to +suggest nothing.” + +“They must have changed then a good deal in the last few minutes,” said +Jack coolly; “they have always suggested plenty to me.” Muriel looked up +desperately, and saw Dr. Grant on the bank. + +“Row to the shore, please, Jack,” she said, “there is room for the +doctor.” Jack set his lips together firmly. He had no intention of +rowing to the shore for any such purpose. + +“Sorry,” he said; “I’m afraid it’s impossible.” + +“I must insist,” she replied coldly. + +“Please don’t, for I hate to disobey your wishes,” he pleaded. + +“You overlook the alternative,” cried Muriel. + +“Muriel,” he said, “you don’t really mean it—I know you don’t wish it!” +He knew this would have been fatal with another woman, but he counted on +her sincerity. She looked from him to the shore, and back again to the +softly shaded water. + +“I must ask you to do it just the same,” she said finally. He turned the +boat into mid-stream, and they floated awhile in silence. + +“It is the first time I have ever refused to do what you wanted,” he +said at last, drawing a deep breath. + +“It is the last time I shall ever give you an opportunity,” said Muriel +coldly. But if she had hoped to prevent further words her hope was in +vain. + +“You told me once that you cared for me, Muriel, but that I wasn’t worth +marrying. I have tried to make myself a bit more so, and now you are not +going to tell me, are you, that you have changed your mind?” She faced +him steadily. + +“I can’t marry you,” she said. “Please don’t ask me questions, Jack.” + +“But I must,” he said frowning. “Why can’t you marry me?” She was +silent. “You don’t love me?” + +“Perhaps I never did.” + +“Nonsense, dear, you’re not that sort. Tell me the truth—you do love +me?” Muriel turned in exasperation. + +“Oh, yes, then, if you _will_ have it. I _do_ love you, but I’m not now +or at any other time ever going to marry you!” + +They had forgotten the other boat and the river. A burst of merry +laughter awoke them to the fact that they had drifted on a snag, and +that the rest of the party had been watching them for the last few +minutes from the opposite bank. + +It was the doctor after all who rowed out to their assistance and took +Muriel home after tea across the fields. Muriel was desperate. Jack had +found means to say to her that he did not in the least believe her, and +that he was not going to give her up. Gladys had found means of very +pointedly, though with exquisite intangibility, expressing a state of +mind anything but pleasant to her friend. The constant flow of bright, +good-natured chaff, the utterly superficial, pleasant brightness of the +boating party, gave Muriel a feeling of weariness and age. She felt glad +to be with the doctor. He at least left her alone and seemed contented +to talk or to be silent in an easy, effortless way. Perhaps it was +because in his profession a man “learns to do his watching without its +showing pain.” He talked chiefly about his sister, and when they got +home advised her in an off-hand manner “to go and lie down.” + +“But I am not tired,” she cried, half vexed. + +“No,” he replied soothingly; “still you know it’s a warm afternoon; you +would find it restful.” Muriel smiled submissively. + +“To tell the truth,” she said, “I think perhaps I am a bit tired,” and +she went upstairs. + +An hour afterwards there came a soft knock at the door and Cynthia Grant +came in. + +“They told me you had a headache,” she said apologetically, “and I came +to see if I could do anything for you.” + +“It’s very kind of you,” said Muriel gratefully; “but do come and sit +down. My headache was only an excuse for laziness, and it would do it +good to be talked to.” + +Cynthia sat down near the sofa, and after a little conversation on +general subjects, began in abrupt, curt tones to tell Muriel the story +of her life. + +Why she told it, it would be impossible to tell, except that she wished +to approach nearer to the girl who had won her brother’s love, and that +such a confidence was the most painful sacrifice it was in her power to +make. It was a strange story of how she and her brother had studied +together side by side for their degree; of how she had advanced even +farther than he, till at length, finding she was outstripping him, in +one magnificent burst of sacrifice she had thrown the whole thing up; +but how the fascination of her work proved almost too much for her, till +in desperation she left her brother altogether, and went to the Paris +studios to study art. Here she paused awhile as if reluctant to speak +further. “You don’t know,” she said, “what it was to have lived as I +did, almost as a man among men. It was only we two—my brother and +I—against the world, you know, and it’s a hard world. After I left +him—I’m not going to tell you the whole story—there was a man who was +a very fine fellow, an Englishman and an artist, and he fell in love +with me before he quite knew—well, all the incidents of my life. Paris +is rather a place for incidents, you know. He wanted to marry me. But, +of course, I told him—and, I daresay, it wasn’t an ideal story. At any +rate he told me he could not make me his wife, and I care far too much +for him to be satisfied with anything else. So I went back to my +brother, and I have been with him ever since. I help him with his cases, +and, as his practice is rather large, and contains a good many poor +people, I find enough to do. Are you horribly shocked, Miss Dallerton?” + +“Have you given up your art?” said Muriel. The other girl went to the +window. She laughed nervously. + +“Art?” she said. “I never look at a picture if I can help it.” + +“And does your brother know?” + +“Everything; but it has made no difference.” + +“I wonder why you told me?” said Muriel thoughtfully. Cynthia smiled. + +“You look as if people were in the habit of telling you things. +Besides—I don’t know—it seemed to me as if you ought to know the truth +if we were to be friends.” + +“I hope we shall be,” said Muriel softly—“I hope very much we shall +be.” + +“I think,” said Cynthia as she went to the door, “that if I had known +you, it might have been different.” + +Muriel puzzled thoughtfully awhile over the rather grim pair she had +come into contact with. She had known very little of that great wide +world of professional life. Society and the slums, though they were a +great contrast, were not, she thought, so great a mystery. But though +Muriel was distinctly broad-minded for a woman, it was impossible for +her just at present to absorb herself in abstract problems when her own +life presented such pressing personal ones. Her first misery at Gladys’ +jealousy and misunderstanding seemed gone. To her surprise she had begun +to feel almost a sense of relief. If she didn’t understand, it was plain +there was not so very much to worry about. If one looks for too many +things in one place, the few things one finds lose their significance. +It is not one’s love so much that gets dulled as one’s sense of +importance. The halo of expectation fails; next time one’s eagerness +goes with slower feet, and is positively astonished if it ever gets met +at all. So that now Muriel felt she had simply over-estimated both her +friends’ characters and affection, and that nothing therefore remained +but to clearly make Gladys see she did not intend to marry Jack Hurstly. +Her responsibility ended there she told herself, after that she need not +try to keep up this very unequal friendship any more. As for Cynthia +Grant, she was a woman and old enough to know what to take for granted, +and how not to be exacting. + + + + + CHAPTER X + + + “O Heart! O blood that freezes! blood that burns! + Earth’s returns for whole centuries of folly, noise, and sin: + Shut them in; with their triumphs and the glories and the rest— + Love is best!” + —ROBERT BROWNING. + +VERY firm and self-reliant natures make sometimes the natural mistake of +under-estimating the power of passion. Their full self-control and +constant watchfulness ignore the possibility of the strange touch of +sudden lawlessness—the betrayal of the blood. That one could be one +moment standing reason-bound, content, a soul at peace, and in another +swept over the verge of thought into a sea of feeling, was absurd to +Muriel. Yet the swift flash takes place: the world, like a curtain, +rolls up, and all the conventions, the safeguards, the stationary +landscapes, disappear! It was such a moment which took possession of her +the very night that she had decided to give her lover to another woman. +The evening had passed pleasantly, and the still glory of the summer +night drew the party out into the dusk of the garden. Muriel slipped +away from the rest and wandered into a little wilderness some distance +from the house, wondering how best to carry out her plans, when suddenly +all the blood in her body rushed to her heart, for there beside her +stood the man she loved. It had been possible for her in the calm of +loneliness and heartache to dispose of Jack, but now—the moon’s gold +and silver gliding through the clouds; the thrushes calling heart to +heart their breathless rapture in a liquid continuity of song; all the +passion and the pain rushing into beauty, thrilled and throbbing with +the heart of night—it was difficult to resist now. And the stars, how +they shone down on love, each one a light struck from the royal conquest +of their queen, the moon! They were enwrapped in that dream so boundless +and so limited which for one breathless moment holds all the world can +teach, and then scatters and breaks into the hundred lesser lights of +life. A sigh broke the charm, and Muriel, wondering, withdrew herself +from his arms, abashed and yet elated at her defeat, so much more sweet +than any of the triumphs life had held for her. + +“Now,” said Jack, smiling down at her, “are you going to tell me that +you don’t care?” + +“I am afraid,” said Muriel, “that it would not be very convincing if I +did. It seems to me,” she added breathlessly, “as if before I had been +living only on the outskirts of life. I did not know it was like that!” +She looked at him wistfully, and asked humbly, “Is it quite right, Jack, +do you think?” + +“What, my dearest?” + +“To forget everything; to see nothing but the world a background, and +that one great avowal drowning all the rest?” + +“I think it must be,” said Jack. “Just because it’s so powerful it must +be meant to be good—in itself, you know—only some of us poor chaps +don’t know how to use it.” + +Muriel shivered a little; there was dampness in the air; the trees +seemed to quiver. She remembered Liz and the squalid scenes where the +power which meant heaven to her had meant darkness and life-long misery +to the other woman. Had she gained the world only to lose it? Jack +wrapped her shawl tenderly over her shoulders. + +“You must go in, little woman,” he said practically. “Now you’re mine +you shan’t run any risks, not even summer ones. Shall I speak to your +uncle?” he asked her as they neared the little artificial lights of the +house. + +“Not yet,” she whispered hoarsely, with a terrible fear in her eyes. +Jack followed her glance. It rested on a young girl’s face. Gladys was +standing close at the French window looking out into the +night—desperate, wild, despairing. + +“There’s something wrong with the child,” Muriel said quick to +Jack—“bad news from home, I think,” for even at that moment she knew +she must keep the other woman’s secret. “Let me go to her, +darling—good-night! It’s awful, isn’t it,” she said, “to be so selfish +and so happy!” + +She caught her hand from him, hurrying into the house. “It’s wicked, +it’s wicked,” she murmured, “to be happy at all.” + +Gladys called out over the approaching figure, “There is a letter for +Captain Hurstly!” He came unwillingly forward into the light about the +window. Muriel stood now with her hand in the girl’s looking back at +him. Gladys herself seemed unaware of the touch. She was smiling +painfully; the “On Her Majesty’s Service” seemed to demand attention. + +Jack opened it, read it, glanced for a moment to Muriel, and placed it +in his pocket. + +“What does it say?” said Gladys, and Jack, so absorbed by its purpose +and the strangeness of the scene, never knew till afterwards that it was +not Muriel who had spoken. He tried to make light of it. + +“Oh, I’m called off sooner than I expected.” + +“When?” They both spoke at once this time. Again he only heard Muriel. + +“The fact is—well, to-night,” he owned unsteadily. Gladys stepped +quickly forward; a little quivering light shone in her eyes; she caught +her breath and half unconsciously held out her hands. + +“Oh, I’m so sorry, Captain Hurstly!” she cried; “and I wish you—I wish +you the very best luck in the world.” He looked towards Muriel, but she +was gone. He met the girl’s eyes again. His own felt unaccountably +misty. Muriel was gone, and this little thing was wishing him the very +best luck in the world. He pressed her hands gratefully. + +“Thank you, thank you awfully,” he murmured. “I think I’ve got it +to-night——” + +“Oh, where’s that tiresome Jack Hurstly?” cried a voice from the window. +“I left him my fan to take care of, and——” + +“I’ve got it here, Mrs. le Mentier,” cried Jack hastily, stepping +through the low French window with the missing fan in his hand. + +When he drove off an hour later to catch the midnight train it was Edith +le Mentier who, side by side with Muriel, stood at the door to see him +off. Looking back he saw that it was with her he had left “the very best +luck in the world.” He had quite forgotten all about Gladys. From her +window she watched him go on fire with love and happiness. His last +words rang in her ears. She never doubted that they were meant for her. +He had no time to say more then; but when he came back, not Muriel in +all her beauty, nor any other woman, nor any other thing could ever come +between them again she thought. And he would come back! The moonlight +and the soft fragrance of the dusky night, what were they any of them +but the earth’s pledges to her that her heaven should come again to meet +that other heaven in her heart? + +“I have broken my fan,” said Edith le Mentier to Muriel as they went up +to bed. “So stupid of me, wasn’t it; but at any rate I was not going to +let Captain Hurstly have another one.” Muriel looked straight before +her. + +“Another one, Edith?” she repeated. + +“Yes, stupid, didn’t you know men were in the habit of keeping people’s +fans when they were—well, rather—don’t you know?” + +“I am afraid I’m rather dense—good-night,” said Muriel wearily. She +stopped outside Gladys’ door, but there was no light or sound. “She’s +asleep,” she thought, “I won’t disturb her,” and went on to her own +room. It seemed rather strange to her that anybody could sleep. + + + + + CHAPTER XI + + + “My Faith?— + Which Religion I profess?— + None of which I mention make. + Wherefore so? And can’t you guess?— + For Religion’s sake.” + —GEORGE MACDONALD. + +THE morning brought counsel to Muriel. She would say nothing. Jack would +not return for a year or two, and in the meantime Gladys’ passionate +little heart might have turned elsewhere, or in any case the quick pain +of certainty be less. For herself she turned her eager mind anew to the +work before her. Love acted as a spur upon the discipline of her life; +it made the dark places plainer, and lit up with light and hope the +saddest mysteries. She was one of those few souls in whom experiences +can never conflict or stand in opposition to each other. She knit them +link by link into a chain binding her closer and higher towards her +ideals. She never thought much about her difficulties until she came up +to them, but when she once faced them they helped her afterwards. Edith +le Mentier’s delicate insinuation she had felt a passing disgust at, and +had straightway brushed aside. Jealousy and suspicion need darkness and +a closed-up room; all Muriel’s rooms were open to the sky and bright +with sunshine. Nevertheless when she looked at Edith le Mentier she felt +an uneasiness she could not account for. + +The party broke up the next morning. The doctor and his sister returned +to town, while the others went to various other country houses, Muriel +and her uncle going to Scotland for the remainder of her holiday. She +was impatient to go back to her work, and the month passed in making +arrangements and re-arrangements all involving voluminous +correspondence. She wrote to Cyril Johnstone about Captain Hurstly’s +club work, and as it was under parochial guidance, and various ritual +stipulations of the young man’s were agreed to by the open-minded, +slightly lax old vicar, he was soon settled in deeply earnest and +energetic work such as the slow old parish had never seen before. Yet, +as Muriel soon saw, the example of his stern habits and indefatigable +labor bore much fruit of admiration and respect, though scarcely that +imitation which the zealous young priest expected the doctrines he would +have died for to bring forth. He was not satisfied with Muriel’s +generous explanation. “It’s your doctrines that have made you, and if +the people accept you, surely they are on the way to accept the +doctrines?” She returned a week earlier than her uncle wished her to, to +encourage Jack’s “Parson,” though she wrote to Jack that “your young +priest doesn’t at all approve of me. He considers me a shallow society +woman with a club craze, and shakes his head over my unaccountable +friendship with you. He gave me splendid advice the other day, and I’m +afraid I lost my temper with him, but the gravity with which he regarded +me as he said, ‘My dear young lady, I am not speaking to you as a mere +man, but from my priestly office,’ restored my sense of humor. . . . But +no, Jack, I have a reason for wishing our engagement private. If it were +any feeling of my own I would tell you, as it is you must take it on +trust as you do me. Did you ever know Mrs. le Mentier very well?” + +Muriel wrote the last sentence and then crossed it out. He might +think—— Besides, it was so absurd. She felt angry with herself for +having crossed it out—it was so unimportant. She was surprised that +night by a letter from Cynthia Grant, who had passed out of her mind +with the press of duty and pleasure and life. Now, however, she awoke to +a vigorous interest. + + “You will be surprised at what I am going to ask,” the letter + ran, “but I hope that won’t shake you into the negative attitude + that it does some people. I’m not going to tell you that I have + any ‘religious views’ (and you will excuse me if I say that with + most people they are little more—and distant views at that), + because I haven’t; only it happens to please me to work, and I + like you, consequently if you see any opening for a capable + woman doctor who can give free ‘instruction’ to young women and + practical help as well, let me know and I’ll come to you. My + brother approves of my plan, and is going to get an assistant. + + “Yours, + “CYNTHIA GRANT, M.D. + + “_P.S._—I am particularly anxious for interesting tumors.” + +Muriel thought for a moment, then laughed, and wired back: “Please come, +plenty of interesting tumors.” + +It was the first day of October before the two women settled to work. +Life opened before them full, arduous, engrossing. Around them in +teeming factories and crowded dust-yards lived the people into whose +lives their own brought knowledge, health, horizon. Year after year +these sordid lives go on, working until dead-tired they stumble home and +stand an hour or two in the close streets full of the dangers and +temptations of the city; the holidays’ rough carnivals of over-feeding +and drinking. Death, disease and sin the only breaks in the grim +monotony of passing years, and now slowly and gradually the change was +taking place. From their work the young people streamed into the clubs, +and were taught little by little lessons of life, courtesy, +truthfulness, honesty; and these not by confronting them with strange +virtues, but in developing their own, generosity, kindliness and the +marvellous quality of “straightness,” the shield of so many of the poor. +Men found billiards and other games, even cards, though gambling was not +allowed; they could pass their evenings in social good fellowship +without spending their wages or staggering home drunk. Their wives, too, +in another part were not less well cared for, and their sons and +daughters, kept out of the streets four or five nights out of the seven, +were all the more inclined to stay at home on the other two. More than +all this, living among them and sharing all they suffered was a “lidy,” +who if she had chosen need never have done a stroke of work, or given a +thought to anything but pleasure and ease and beauty. Though some of the +more hardened jeered at her for her sacrifice, the greater part were +drawn in generous animation and gratitude into the work, and even those +who jeered left her alone and would have fought any who tried to do her +an injury. + +“You only touch the fringe,” Cynthia said to her one day. “So what’s the +use? When you die it will all sink back again!” + +“Do you know,” said Muriel smiling, “I believe there is healing in the +very hem of His garment, and that all these children in whom we start a +larger life will in time permeate the apathetic multitude. As for +ourselves, don’t doubt that when we die the work will not go on. Truly I +should be very despairing if I dreamed that such tremendous purposes +rested on my shoulders. We just fit in here, that’s all, and make the +room larger for the next comer!” + +“Humph!” said Cynthia dryly; “after I’d made the room larger, I should +prefer sitting in it myself.” + +“Nonsense,” laughed Muriel; “you would go on to make an addition to the +house!” + +“My brother comes here to-night,” Cynthia stated abruptly. “He’s going +to bring a magic lantern for the men, and show them some of his Chinese +slides.” + +“I’m so glad,” said Muriel gratefully. + +“Do you like him?” Cynthia asked. + +“Like your brother? Of course, very much.” + +“So little as that?” cried Cynthia laughing wistfully. “Oh, Muriel, +Muriel!” Muriel colored and frowned. It was a subject that visibly +annoyed her, and which she tried to ignore. Dr. Grant had been very kind +to the club. She had tried to believe he was interested in the work; it +was a little baffling to find it hinted that it might be the worker. +Cynthia watched her carefully. “Is there nothing besides the work?” she +thought to herself. She introduced the subject of a meal, and Muriel +laughingly discovered she had forgotten her lunch. + +“You were writing letters at lunch time, weren’t you?” suggested +Cynthia. + + + + + CHAPTER XII + + + “Mercy every way + Is infinite—and who can say?” + +THERE was a high west wind, and the dust swirled in clouds at the street +corners. It was the kind of wind that never lets one alone, and is +constantly drawing attention to the inconveniences of one’s clothing. +The clouds were the dull brown of approaching rain, drifting in rags +across the chilly sky. Cynthia Grant, who had been all the night before +and half the day through fighting over the undesirable life of a mother +and child, felt almost aggrieved that she had saved them both. “What did +I want to do it for? The whole system’s rotten! Why should it be +considered mercy to prolong the agony instead of cutting it short? I +don’t care for the woman; I hate the child; and, even if I liked them +both, I don’t think their lives worth living. Why that drunken brute of +a husband, who is always throwing chairs at the poor thing, should say +‘Thank God!’ when I told him she’d live is a puzzle; he could easily +have got some one fresh to throw chairs at, and the brat is only one +mouth more to feed! I feel far more sympathy for that woman with ten +children who told me she had had ‘no churchyard luck’.” She chuckled +grimly to herself, and looked with a tolerant, amused gaze at the narrow +alley, with its children at play in the gutters, wizened and old, with +sharp, cruel, degraded little faces, slatternly women at doors, and +skulking forms, that were scarcely human, lurking in corners and in the +wretched rooms that were called “living,” a phrase more applicable to +the vermin that inhabited them than the half-human creatures that +sprawled there. It was a bad alley, and the tough knotted stick in +Cynthia’s hand did not look out of place. + +“Yes,” she thought to herself, “Muriel must be impelled by some pretty +desperate attraction to give up her life to this sort of thing. It will +make her old before her time. And as for the people here, her influence +will probably cease as most influence does with her presence, and +trickle off them as easily as water off a duck’s back. As for me, I +suppose I might as well be _here_ as anywhere else—now.” + +She looked at the sky and wondered what poets saw in it. It suggested to +her nothing but the need of a broom. She was tired out when she reached +rooms over the club, and glad of the tea Muriel had prepared for her. + +Muriel could not stay, for it was the time when her girls came out of +the factory, and she must be ready to meet them. She was in one of her +merriest and brightest moods. The gloom of the outside world could not +touch her; even the sordid misery of the streets she had visited that +afternoon only seemed to her vistas of future sunshine. She believed in +no sympathy that stopped at sorrow; but it was because she believed so +deeply in the reality of sorrow that she knew the certainty of joy. + +“What makes you so happy?” said Cynthia wistfully; “I see nothing to +cause it.” Muriel wrinkled her eyebrows as she always did when puzzled. +Geoff called it her “frowning for a vision,” and compared it to a +sailor’s whistling for a wind. At last the partial vision came. + +“I don’t see why it should be so difficult to be happy,” she said. “All +that one hasn’t got is bound to come some day; all that one truly _has_ +will never go. And when one is quite sure of that oneself, it is +beautiful to be able to encourage one’s bit of the world to go on +waiting for _their_ bright side. And how good and bright and dear things +really are if we only come to look through them, and don’t make +_culs-de-sac_ of sorrows. If love is the key of the world, joy is the +hand that turns it, I feel sure. To make a creed of joy and a fact of +love is to win half the battles, and be ready to fight the other half. +But you know all this just as well as I do, and practise it far +better—so what’s the use of talking? Simple things become mysteries +directly you try to explain them. Mind you rest and sleep. I’ll be back +for supper,” and she disappeared. It grew dark in the room afterwards. + + + + + CHAPTER XIII + + + “This world’s judgment cries ‘Consequences,’ and leaves it to a + higher court to take account of Aims.” + +IT was decided that one more effort should be made to rescue Muriel +Dallerton. + +Mary Huntly, persuaded by her husband, wrote asking her for two days +early in the season. + +Cynthia peremptorily ordered her to go, and she went. + +The weather in the opening charm of June would to most people have been +better spent in the country; only London lovers felt the greater charm +of the full, bright season set in the green freshness of the Park. + +There was a ball the first night, and Muriel danced in a dream of +delight at the old easy ways, and all the beauties of sight and sound +and sense. Gladys was away on a visit, so the return to civilization was +marked by no jar of severed friendship. + +A day spent on the river with one of those groups, where each one knows +his neighbor well enough for associations to make past pleasures present +ones, and yet not too deeply to be able to play lightly on the surface +of personalities, made Muriel thirsty for more. It is true that there +were strained relationships even there, though hidden with a cultivated +ease; but she refused to see them, and let herself be soothed into a +fairyland of fancies. + +Mary had arranged as a climax a tea-party in the gardens. + +“Of course,” she said apologetically, “one knows they aren’t private, +but it’s the best place in the world to wander, if only on that account. +Wandering I always think the chief charm of tea out-of-doors; it’s a +compensation for one’s hair being blown about and the butter melting.” + +“It all depends on having the right person to wander with,” suggested +her companion. + +“Well, but what are all our social efforts but an attempt to find the +right person—and then wander?” laughed Mrs. Huntly. “It’s the magic +lottery that makes London seasons, and keeps up house-parties——” + +“And finally limits one to a wedding ring,” interrupted one of the +group. + +“Or charms one away from the limits!” ventured a daring young man to +Muriel. She felt vaguely uncomfortable, these children of light played +so near the brink of things. + +“I don’t think I quite know what you mean,” she said gravely. + +“He doesn’t mean anything,” said Mary Huntly shortly. The young man +turned to someone with whom he needn’t explain. Muriel wondered whether +she would enjoy wandering in the gardens. “At any rate I shall not have +the right person,” she thought. + +When the afternoon came the overpowering youthfulness of spring danced +in her veins, and made it easy for the unpleasant to pass from her mind. +She was with a little group who had not yet separated to wander, when +she saw a woman whom she had known crossing the grass at a little +distance from where they sat. + +“Why, there is Sally Covering,” she cried. “It seems years since I have +seen her!” There was a moment’s awkward silence. Muriel looked in +astonishment from one to the other. They all began to talk in the way of +people who wish to ignore an impossible moment. Alec Bruce, who was one +of the party, asked her an irrelevant question, but she brushed it +aside. + +“I am going to speak to her,” she said. + +“I wouldn’t if I were you,” said Alec. They spoke rapidly, and Muriel +felt the color rush to her face. She felt annoyed with herself for +speaking at all; but now that she had spoken she would not be a coward, +so she walked the intervening space, and came up with the woman. + +“Mrs. Covering! you haven’t forgotten me?” she cried. The woman started +at the sound of her name, and turned sharply. She was painted more than +a little, and inartistically. She gave a queer little laugh as she took +Muriel’s outstretched hand. + +“Dear me, no!” she said; “I am not the one who forgets, Miss Dallerton.” +Muriel held her hand and looked into her eyes. + +“I suppose you will think me very rude to stop you like this!” she said; +“but I should like so much to talk to you a few moments, if you are not +engaged.” + +Mrs. Covering withdrew her hand. She was embarrassed, puzzled, and a +trifle defiant. + +“I cannot think what you wish to say to me, Miss Dallerton,” she +answered; “but I am quite at your disposal for the next few minutes.” + +They walked together in silence for a moment, Muriel searching for the +right word. She remembered the woman’s story now. She had left her +husband, and made what the set she lived in called the “dreadful break.” +Muriel could not quite remember with whom; but people did not talk to +her much about that kind of thing, and she had only heard the outlines +of the story. What Muriel finally did say was not in the least what Mrs. +Covering expected. + +“You have never been to see me,” she said, “in my new home.” + +“Oh! I don’t see people now,” said Mrs. Covering, with some bitterness; +“I have got out of the habit.” + +“Mrs. Covering,” said Muriel, “I should like to be able to contradict a +report about you. Will you give me leave?” Mrs. Covering made an attempt +to remain defiant. + +“Really, Miss Dallerton,” she began, “I cannot conceive——” But as she +looked at the girl’s honest, tender eyes her lips quivered. “It’s no +use,” she said. “Please let us say good-bye here. It was very good of +you to speak to me.” + +“But it isn’t true?” said Muriel. Mrs. Covering looked back to where +through the trees her old acquaintances in ostentatious conversation +pretended not to be watching them. + +“Well, anyway,” she said, “I was honest enough to leave my husband; if I +hadn’t I might be over there now with your friends.” Muriel took her +hand. She knew that sometimes the human touch does more than the work of +words. + +“Will you come to me?” she said. “Will you promise to come to me when +you want help? That you will want help I feel sure; for you are sad +already, and you can’t help being more sad. Only don’t get desperate. +Come to me, and we will find some way out of it together!” + +“I’m not sad!” said Mrs. Covering quickly. “I don’t see why you should +think so. I’m happy—absolutely happy! Can’t you see how happy I am?” +She bit her lip to keep it from quivering. “And as for there being an +end—Oh, Miss Dallerton, there isn’t an _end_ for a woman like me, +there’s only—a new beginning!” + +“And that you will try with me?” said Muriel with an insistence that she +herself could scarcely understand. + +“The ten minutes are up,” said Mrs. Covering trying hard to smile, “and +I have an appointment. If it is ever possible I will come to you, Miss +Dallerton—at any rate I shall never forget that you asked me. But I do +not think I shall come.” + +She walked quickly away, and Muriel watched her in silence. She +remembered that people had said Sally Covering was the best-dressed +woman in London. She was still—for it is rarely that the little things +change. We don’t forget to put on gloves because our heart is broken. +Muriel felt a passion to be alone. Alone in this world of green, robbed +for the moment of its fresh beauty; alone to face the problem that rose +in inexorable, dark power in society as well as in the slums—the +problem which seems ever the same unrelenting enemy of joy and health +and the beauty of life, and attacked the vital principles of all she +believed in and hoped for. It was very difficult to go back to the group +of merry idlers, dancing like butterflies over a precipice—butterflies +intent on hiding from the unwary that there _is_ a precipice. + +The buzz of talk increased as she drew near them. One lady put up her +lorgnette and looked at her as if she were some new invention, and then +turning said in a perfectly audible voice: “The paragon of virtue +approaches, but I don’t see the lost sheep!” The group dispersed and +left Muriel for a moment with her hostess. + +“Oh, Muriel, how _could_ you do such a thing?” wailed Mary Huntly. +“People must draw a line somewhere, you know. They may swallow the +slums, but for _you_—before their very eyes——” + +“To speak to an old friend,” said Muriel quietly. “Mary, you can’t blame +me. It’s terrible! terrible! But just because it is, one can’t let it +pass!” Mary shrugged her shoulders. + +“It’s hopeless to argue with you, child,” she said. “Yet even you must +see that if people _will_ do such things, they must be ignored for the +sake of society at large.” + +“Society at large,” said Muriel bitterly, “which has caused the trouble, +must protect itself from its own victims, I understand, Mary.” + +“But what would you have one do?” said Mary Huntly. “What good did your +speaking to her do?” + +“It showed her that one cared,” said Muriel. “Too late, I am afraid, in +her case. But one must give them a chance to come back, or at least see +where they have gone, and wake them up to the horror of it! If you leave +them to wake up too late for themselves, they will only fall into a +deeper horror!” + +“A woman of that sort,” said Mrs. Huntly “is incorrigible—simply +incorrigible, Muriel.” + +“Oh, Mary, you don’t mean that, I know. If it was some one you loved you +would try to help her!” + +Mrs. Huntly turned with relief to welcome Dr. Grant. There was a +positive pleasure in her greeting. It put an end to an unpleasant +situation. The only thing in life that Mrs. Huntly was afraid of was an +unpleasant situation. + +“Here’s your doctor, child,” she said in an undertone; “do go and +wander.” Muriel accepted the proposition almost willingly. + +Geoff looked this afternoon so strong and unconventional—not even a +frock-coat could make a man-about-town out of him. Not that he in the +least answered her problem. He would probably have refused to discuss it +with her, and would certainly have disagreed with her in his +conclusions; and yet there was something in the strong, sound spirit of +the man infinitely refreshing to her after the cruel butterflies. + +It was with a new sense of trust and confidence in him that she wandered +in the gardens. She realized at last that the parting of the ways had +come between her old friends and her new life. Before she had been happy +with them because her eyes were shut, now she saw beneath all that +seemed gay and delightful a horror of selfishness, hardness and wrong. + +Mrs. Covering never came to her; but whenever she felt a longing to +return to the old life the thought of her face and the knowledge of what +the day’s wanderings had shown her came back with the same bitterness. + +She knew that the man with whom Mrs. Covering had made “the dreadful +break” would soon be received back into society again. + +Mothers with marriageable daughters do not ask too many questions if the +woman disappears—and the woman always disappears. + +There were times when Muriel almost envied Mary her faith in the +incorrigible—it relieved her of so much responsibility. + + + + + CHAPTER XIV + + + “Saints to do us good + Must be in heaven, I seem to understand: + We never find them saints before at least.” + +“REALLY, Gladys,” said Mary Huntly firmly, “I think you should give some +reason for the way you are behaving. I don’t want to bother you, but +there was my own brother, Cyril——” + +“What’s the use of fast-days and a cope, Mary? I should give him +beefsteaks on Fridays and sausages for vigils, and he would apply for a +separation. Besides, I don’t care for him.” + +“There is still Alec Bruce,” said Mary Huntly slowly. “He would let you +have your own way in everything, and never remember a fast from one +year’s end to another. Muriel Dallerton was engaged to him once years +ago, before she met Captain Hurstly. It was her fault entirely that it +was broken off, she was so down on him. By the way, what has become of +your friendship for Muriel?” Gladys shrugged her shoulders. + +“Fancy marrying a man who would let you have your own way in everything. +I should be bored to death. No, Mary, I am only twenty, and I really +will marry somebody sometime I promise you.” + +She ignored the question about Muriel and got up idly to look at the +paper. After a few minutes it fell on her lap, and she gazed with +wide-open eyes straight in front of her. In print, so that all the world +could see, ran an announcement of a severe hunting accident to Captain +Hurstly of the ——, with the addition that Miss Dallerton, his +_fiancée_, and her uncle were soon to be on their way out to India to +join him. It was thought probable that in the event of Captain Hurstly’s +recovery the young couple would be married out there. Gladys watched +with fascinated gaze the skilful movements of the footmen removing tea. +She never forgot the delicate traced pattern on the cloth, or the two +muffins and a half. She carefully counted and wondered, with an interest +out of proportion to its subject, what would eventually be their fate. +It did not surprise her that Edith le Mentier should be announced, and +she found herself smiling quite naturally at that lady’s little graceful +poses, when suddenly she heard herself addressed by name. + +“Have you heard of Muriel Dallerton’s great _coup_? My dear child, you +really should go in for slum clubs—they’re so taking. I should do it +myself if I could ever think of anything to say to those kind of +creatures. And then one finds out that she’s been all the time engaged +to Jack Hurstly, and is actually going out to India to nurse him through +an accident and pull him safely into the bonds of matrimony. If I were a +yellow journalist I could make the most touching headlines for +it—‘Death or Marriage?’ ‘If he survives the first accident, will he +survive the second?’ etc.” Gladys laughed. + +“But, Mrs. le Mentier,” she said, “perhaps it’s not so inevitable as all +that. Mary was telling me she had been engaged before.” There was a +moment’s silence. Mrs. Huntly looked sharply across at her friend, and +Edith subdued a smile. She could not resist, however, a little shot. + +“Once upon a time there was a naughty boy,” she said, “so Muriel put him +in the corner, and he ran away. Isn’t that true, Mary?” The door opened +and two maiden ladies, who were very charitable and rather plain, took +up Mrs. Huntly’s attention. Gladys drew Edith to the window. + +“Is Captain Hurstly a good boy?” she said, smiling. Edith looked down at +her caressingly. + +“One’s always good if one isn’t found out,” she said. + +“But if one is found out, one is much worse,” persisted Gladys. + +“I don’t think Muriel ever cared for Alec Bruce,” said Mrs. le Mentier. +“Why, don’t you wish her to marry Jack?” she added, glancing at the girl +tenderly. + +“I’m so sorry for the doctor,” smiled Gladys. + +“If Muriel knew,” Gladys continued, “that he was not such a good boy, +she would be certain to put him in the corner even longer, because she +does care for him.” + +“If she sees him now while he’s ill she’ll give in. We all do when +Nature takes it into her head to punish,” mused Mrs. le Mentier. + +“Then if she knew soon, she wouldn’t go?” asked Gladys. “I’m going to +see her to-morrow,” she added. + +“Dear Muriel,” said Mrs. le Mentier. + +“Shall I take her any message from you?” Gladys questioned. + +“I think,” said Mrs. le Mentier, “that I must go myself to wish her _bon +voyage_.” + +Mrs. le Mentier went home and arranged two little packets of +letters—letters that might have been burned, that ought to have been +burned, only that some women have the fatal habit of holding on to the +wrong things. + +Gladys went upstairs and cried, and hated herself, and bathed her eyes, +and hated Muriel more. + +Meanwhile, quite unconsciously, Muriel packed her trunk and gave last +directions to Cynthia about the club and its management in her absence, +and in her heart she prayed, “O God, let him live—let him live.” + +And Jack Hurstly fought with death and heat and India through long hours +of breathless night. + +The boat did not sail until evening, and as Muriel parted from Cynthia +Grant to go on to her uncle’s on a cold, chilly November morning a +hansom drove to the door, and Gladys, deeply veiled, sprang out. She +greeted Muriel with her old tender affection. In a minute or more they +were rattling away through the dim streets together. + +“I can’t understand,” said Gladys at last, “what it all means. You +cannot be breaking your word to me—you cannot. I have trusted you so. +But I have waited so long for an explanation, and it has never come, and +now you are going to him.” Muriel looked steadily at her companion with +unfaltering, sad eyes. + +“I made a terrible mistake,” she said gently. “For a while I thought it +in my power to give to you that which can’t be transferred. But why +should we talk of this now?—even while we speak he may have passed +beyond it all!” Gladys wrung her hands together desperately. + +“He is mine,” she muttered—“mine—and I shall never see his face +again!” Then suddenly she controlled herself. “You have broken your +word?” she asked. + +“I have,” said Muriel. + +“Do you expect a marriage founded on broken promises to prosper?” + +“Hush! he may be dead,” said Muriel. + +The hansom drove up to the door; the two girls looked at each other; +Gladys did not get out, but as Muriel moved towards the house she leaned +out of the window. “I pray to God he is dead,” she said quietly, then +she gave the address to the cabman. She left a card at Mrs. le Mentier’s +door: “Muriel is with her uncle—they go to-night.” + + + + + CHAPTER XV + + + “Have you no assurance that, earth at end; + Wrong will prove right? Who made shall mend + In that higher sphere to which yearnings tend.” + +“I HOPE, my dear,” said Mrs. le Mentier, “that I am not too frightfully +out of place. But the fog drove me to you—it positively did. Mystery is +so more-ish, and you know how dreadfully curious I am. When were you +first engaged to Jack, dear?” Muriel smiled. + +“I don’t know, truly,” she said, “for it feels now as if it was always.” + +“Then it must have been very recent. Recent things always feel like +that,” said Edith. She sank down before the fire and began to warm her +hands; the rings on them gleamed and glittered with an almost malicious +sparkling. “It is very brave of you to marry Jack,” she murmured, +smiling—“very brave. I hardly think I should have had the pluck to if I +were single again.” + +Muriel looked in front of her. She was counting the minutes; every one +seemed a slow, aching century separating her from the man who might be +dying. It was a refined mode of torture to have to talk of him. She +began to understand the feeling of a caged wild beast. As an expression +it is trite, but as an emotion it possessed her as original. + +“You are not very consistent, are you?” suggested Mrs. le Mentier with a +little hard laugh. “We none of us are, I suppose; only it’s rather +disappointing to us wicked ones when one of the saints back down. Being +so deficient ourselves we expect so much more of them. It’s the shock +that one feels when a really good cook fails in his favorite dish.” + +“I’m afraid I’m not consistent, and I’m sure I’m not one of the saints,” +said Muriel with a little strained smile. “What do you mean, Mrs. le +Mentier?” + +“Once on a time,” replied her companion critically, regarding her dainty +hands, “there was a girl who wouldn’t marry a man—there’s nothing so +very astonishing about that, you’ll say; it’s happened before and it may +happen again. But she wouldn’t marry him because she found out that his +record showed a stumble or two. One may consider her a little +fastidious, but one respects her. The man behaved very nicely; he +respected her too. But then there came another man, and human nature +made her forget all about his record, which, when you come to think of +it, is very natural, and not at all to be blamed. It is a pity to be too +fastidious, but one can’t perhaps respect her as much.” + +“Mrs. le Mentier,” said Muriel, rising to her feet, “will you kindly +tell me what you mean?” Mrs. le Mentier slowly began to draw on her +gloves—they fitted her to perfection—but she remained seated. + +“You might ask Jack when you see him—if he is well enough to be +bothered with such unimportant things—if he remembers four years ago +this last July. You might ask him if he would like you to see his +correspondence at that time. You might laugh with him, when he is +convalescent, over these letters. I have them in this little bag here, +which when I heard of your engagement seemed better in your hands than +mine. You might,” said Edith, holding out her hand to Muriel, and +smiling her sweetest smile, “tell Captain Hurstly that his old friends +have not forgotten him. Good-bye, my dear Muriel; _bon voyage_—my best +respects to your uncle—don’t trouble to come downstairs—do you know +the last good remedy for _mal-de-mer_?—you never suffer from it? That’s +right; a speedy return, my dear, and mind you don’t forget my little +messages to Jack when you see him—good-bye!” + +Muriel waited until the door was closed, then she went and looked at the +letters. She knew the handwriting; she hungered for a sight of any words +from him; and she looked at it now as if she was looking at it for the +last time. Then she sat down where Edith le Mentier had been sitting, +and tore them up one by one and threw them into the fire. Muriel had +scarcely finished when Sir Arthur came into the room. + +“Muriel!” he cried in a tone of justifiable displeasure, “I have told +you before never to put paper into the fire. Do you know you endanger +our lives by your carelessness? Letters should be put into the +waste-paper basket, not made bonfires of! Have you got your trunks +packed, child, and all your arrangements made? We start in another +hour.” + +“Uncle Arthur,” said Muriel quietly, “you will think me very strange, I +know, and very wilful, but I’m not going to start to-day. I’m going back +to the club to-night. I—I don’t think I am feeling very well.” + +Expression for the most part is a distinctly limited faculty, and those +who carry it to its bounds in the ordinary occurrence of life find +nothing left to say when the occasion transcends their experience. Sir +Arthur Dallerton was dumb; he made several efforts to speak—he put his +hand to his heart—he stared at the ceiling—he was almost startled into +a prayer—finally he gasped out:— + +“You wicked girl! Send my man to me,” and closed his eyes. + +Muriel escaped. He had not tried to combat her decision; he was in fact +very much relieved not to have to go. He had only submitted to the +mid-winter journey because it was expected of him—but he was surprised, +horribly surprised. There is something very shocking to an Englishman in +any sudden change: to Sir Arthur Dallerton it amounted to a crime. +Muriel had surprised him, and he could not forgive her. + +It was dark when Muriel drove back to the club that night, but the fog +had lifted and the stars were out. There was something in the street +lights and noises that awoke in her the tremendous emptiness the world +can hold. It was a shadow, a delusion, a mere dim, spectral mist, the +background for an infinite weary pain that made the real pivot of the +universe. She almost killed herself with self-reproaches. What was she +that she should blot out the glory of her lover’s world for the words of +a jealous woman?—for a mistake in the past—a sin if you choose. It +might be a sin. If he had sinned all the sins, if he was sin itself, it +didn’t matter—she loved him—loved him—loved him! And the great +steamer with its iron speed might even now be leaving the docks, and she +had set her face against him like a flint, and there was no turning +back. Life had placed before her the old choice of love and duty, and +though passion justified of reason rose with double power to storm the +fortress of her will, and last, and bitterest of all, the traitor within +called to her to give way for hope’s sake, life’s sake, love’s sake, +when it seemed for another’s good—to release one she would have gladly +died to comfort—to gain that which in all the world she most desired +for his sake, for her own, for the apparent good of them both—(Oh, how +the traitor clamors at the gate, the traitor with those eyes, that +voice!)—all the glowing world of hers, the infinite golden gladness of +love—even with those to oppose and madden her, she shut her hands +tight, and with a wordless, inexpressible prayer lifted up her soul. +With most the struggle comes before decision, with many at the point +itself, but with some few it is after the decision is made and when +there is no turning back. So Muriel struggled now, though at the moment +she had been wrapt as it were apart from all uncertainty in the cloud of +renunciation. + +“Muriel!” Cynthia stood before her, petrified. Had she had news it was +too late? She drew her towards the fire, and Muriel sat down and looked +at her wistfully as a child might. + +“I think I had better tell you all about it now,” she said, “though I +feel sure you will not understand.” + +“You have been doing something foolish, I suppose,” said Cynthia curtly. +“Well, what is it?” But she drew very tenderly the girl’s jacket off, +and smoothed her hair with gentle hands. + +“I have given Jack up,” said Muriel wearily, “because Edith le +Mentier——” she stopped. “Oh, I can’t explain,” she murmured. “The +words don’t mean anything, but—but, Cynthia, I couldn’t marry a man who +had once loved, or thought he loved, that woman. I could not trust a man +whom I felt was weaker than I. If I had children——” she paused again. +“You see I knew a woman who married, and the man was a dear fellow; but +he had been weak, and the strain was in him—and he was weak again. When +I was engaged to Alec Bruce she said to me, ‘It’s not of so much +importance to avoid bad men—they’re danger signals we aren’t blind +to—but for God’s sake never marry a weak one.’” Muriel caught her +breath with a little dry sob. + +“Oh, you little idiot, you little idiot,” cried Cynthia with flashing +eyes. “What’s another woman’s, any woman’s, all other women’s experience +to one’s own heart? Love, and take the consequences—there’s nothing +else; it’s the only thing worth while. Why should you condemn yourself +and Jack to a death in life because of that wretched woman?—besides, +you don’t even know if it’s true! It’s madness, Muriel—madness. He’ll +marry somebody else, and turn out a mere do-nothing, and you’ll wear +your life out in another five years. And it’s all useless, reasonless, +cruel. And then you’ll pray for his soul, and expect me too, perhaps. +But I shan’t! Can’t you see you’re driving him back to her?” + +Muriel dragged herself to her feet. “You forget I believe,” she said +very slowly, “in the life of the world to come.” Then covering her face +with her hands she burst into tears. + +Cynthia Grant wrote that night to her brother: “I don’t know whether +it’s any use, Geoff, but she’s broken the whole business off between +herself and Jack Hurstly. She’s desperate, but determined. It’s all for +a mere nothing. I cannot understand her; but I won’t let her work +herself to death if I can help it. She was a fool ever to have cared for +him, and more of a fool not to have married him. It would be difficult +to know which we do more harm with, we women, our hearts or our +souls—‘Where a soul may be discerned.’” + +But Muriel was on her knees all night praying that he might live and she +might be forgiven. + + + + + CHAPTER XVI + + + “If Winter come, can Spring be far behind!” + +IT was a day when all hope of spring was left behind—withered in a +black northeaster—when every one unfortunate enough to be in England +longs for the south of France, and every one who has been out of England +compares it unfavorably with other climates. + +Cynthia had left Muriel with a frightful cold and the club accounts, and +had gone out to buy her some violets. They had heard that morning from +Mary Huntly that Jack was recovering, though the fever resulting from +the accident had necessitated sick leave. He would probably have got +Muriel’s letter by now. Cynthia looked longingly at some impossibly +expensive roses, when she heard a man’s voice behind her. + +“By Jove! Cynthia!” Her heart leaped from January to June. She turned +her head slightly to face the obtruder—a delicate, fine-looking man +with the eyes of a poet, and a chin which it would do some poets good to +have. It took a moment for them to get over the memory of the last time +they had met. It had begun to rain a little, and people had put up their +umbrellas and pushed on more rapidly than ever. + +“What do you want?” he asked, looking from the girl to the window. + +“What can you afford?” said Cynthia, laughing. She was wondering what +people wanted to hurry for on such a lovely day. + +“I am very rich,” he responded. “Honor bright! I could buy over the +business. I sold my last picture for—I can’t tell you how much, it +might stir up your demon of independence. I’m going to get you the +roses.” In two minutes he came back with them in his hand. “By the way, +you might as well put up your umbrella, mightn’t you, it seems to be +raining?” he said. + +“Oh, so it is,” said Cynthia absently. They stood together +uncomfortably, knowing that if no good excuse arose they would have to +part. + +“Don’t you think a cup of tea would be nice?” he suggested. Cynthia +nodded her head decisively. + +“Yes,” she said, “and muffins.” + +“Do you remember,” said her companion, as they turned towards a possible +restaurant “those dear little French cakes and——” + +“I don’t remember anything,” said Cynthia sternly, “and I’m not going +to.” Leslie Damores laughed. + +“You even forgot,” he said teasingly, “just now that it was raining!” + +“I thought you were in France. I didn’t know you were ever coming back +to England again,” said Cynthia a little doubtfully. She noticed that he +had not asked her what she was doing, and it hurt her. She would +volunteer no information. They sat down by a clean table in a warm inner +room; neat-capped maids fluttered here and there; it was very restful +and very English. To the artist who had not been in England for eight +years it was home, and the girl who held the roses in her lap filled in +the picture. He studied her face carefully. + +“You’re awfully changed,” he said at last. Cynthia laughed. + +“I was twenty-two when I saw you last, and now I am thirty. I was never +one of the dimpling kind that stay young either; as for you—you’re a +man, so it’s different. But”—her voice grew strangely gentle—“you’re +not quite the same, you know, Leslie; fame has come to you, and you look +more of a fighter, and yet not quite so hard.” + +“Strange, isn’t it, that youth should be so exacting—with its +impossible whites and blacks—and that the more one roughs it, and the +harder knocks one gets, the more generously shaded it all becomes,” he +said, watching her with keen, eager eyes. She turned her head away and +played restlessly with the flowers in her lap. “It could never change as +much as that,” she thought. + +The muffins were the nicest she had ever tasted, the white-capped maid +the prettiest, the tea the most refreshing. It all passed so terribly +soon, and through it all they laughed and chaffed each other like two +schoolboys in the slang of the Paris studio. It appeared that Cynthia +had not forgotten quite so sweepingly as she asserted; they were too +afraid of being in earnest to do anything but talk nonsense. They left +the little place reluctantly, Leslie Damores feeing the white-capped +maid beyond the dreams of avarice. She decided that he must be American. +The rain had stopped, and wintry sunset gleams warned Cynthia of the +hour. + +“I’m late,” she said; “you’d better call a hansom.” He hesitated before +he asked where he should tell the cabman to drive. Cynthia set her lips. +“He might have spared me that,” she thought. He was a delicate fellow, +and he shivered slightly in the cold. It was this that settled her. “I +am working with a friend of mine in the slums,” she said hastily. “Here +is my card with the address on it; look us up some day if you can spare +the time—good-bye.” + +He went off whistling like a boy with his hands in his pockets, +wondering when might be the earliest he might go to her, and upbraiding +himself for his wish earlier in the afternoon never to have set foot in +London. + +Cynthia came into the little dark lodging-room like a fire, a whirlwind, +and summer lightning all in one. There were the flowers to arrange, +lamps to be lit, the supper to get. Muriel watched her with surprise. +This magnificent woman, with wide-open, happy eyes, strange, sudden +smiles, that came and went, and air of life and sunshine, was a +transformation from the cold, stern woman with the grim and almost +repellant attitude of hard reserve. She was sweetened, softened, +glorified, and she looked at Muriel as a mother might look at her child. +The evening was full of club-work, and even there Cynthia showed herself +brightly. As a rule she “had no patience with the girls,” and ruled more +by fear than love, mingled with a sort of good-natured contempt. But +to-night there was a new look of friendliness in her eyes, and her voice +grew kind and gentle as she explained some simple medical rules of +health, giving the girls object-lessons in bandaging, showing them how +to check hæmorrhage, so absorbed and interested herself that in spite of +themselves the girls drew near and listened. One of them, a tall, +slender girl of some fifteen years, with already the face of a woman of +thirty, pushed her way to the front. + +“Oy siy, can you do hanythink for a little fellar with a bad back?” +Cynthia nodded shortly. + +“Don’t interrupt the class; you can bring him to me afterwards,” she +said. + +The girl with a coarse laugh pushed through her companions to the door. +It was a strange scene: the large room of the old factory, clean and +bright, with a blazing fire; a work-table on which lay piles of bandages +and splints; groups of rough, strangely garbed, out-of-elbows women, +each with a large curled fringe, under which the tired eyes appealed to +one as strangely unnatural, and, in the midst of them, trim, erect, +commanding Cynthia. Orders, questions, explanations ringing out. She +stood like a disciplined sergeant amongst a throng of raw recruits—and +recruits they were, let into the great army of humanity with no +safeguards, no training, or only the most elementary, all dreary, +purposeless, hacking their way through life. Only now and then into this +rank-and-file of the world dipped their more splendid sisters who knew +the aim of it all, and could teach them the means of attainment. There, +under the flaring gas-jets, in the midst of the strange, teeming life of +Stepney, horrible, oppressive, marvellously primitive, naked of the +veneer of civilization, two women labored to bring light and help. +Cynthia felt strangely uplifted. Her heart was singing the song “The +stars sing in their spheres.” She did not feel the hopelessness of it +all. + +After the class was over she was about to lock up the club and go back +to Muriel, when the girl who had interrupted the class entered again +carrying a bundle in her arms. She placed it very gently on the table. + +“’Ere’s the little fellar,” she said quietly. Cynthia pulled back the +blanket and started with surprise at the picture before her—a baby boy +of three years old, his head a mass of black curls, and underneath great +blue Irish eyes. His face, flushed with recent sleep, looked up at her. +The girl seeing the admiration in her face smiled proudly. “’E’s all I +’ave,” she said. “Mother left ’im to me to see to three years since, for +father ’e went off with another woman, and she took it to ’art, mother +did, so she died. Think likely ’e’ll git better, miss?” + +Cynthia lifted the child into her arms. There was no mistaking the +cruelly twisted spine. He might live two years, or even three, but it +was a bad case—incurable. She looked from the beautiful baby face to +the eager, passionate look in the girl’s eyes, who was hungry for an +answer. Cynthia felt angry with the hopeless tragedy of it. Possibly +Muriel might have known what to say; for herself she raved against the +invincible spirit of maternity, at once the torture and compensation for +all who love the little ones. + +“Does he suffer much?” she asked. + +“’E do cry hawful sometimes, pore little chap. Can you do hanythink, +miss?” + +“Do anything? I daresay I can make him a little easier, but it’s a very +bad case.” + +“Do you mean as ’ow ’e’ll never get any better?” + +“I’m afraid not, Carrie.” + +“Do you mean as ’ow ’e’ll die?” There was an awful intensity in the +question. + +“He may live some time yet.” The girl wrapped the child up in the +blanket; the fierceness in her eyes did not prevent the gentle touches +of her hands. + +“I ’ate God, so there! an’ I ’ate the club! an’ I ’ate you and the other +lidy! I ’ate you all!” she cried hoarsely. Then suddenly the anger died +out of her face; she turned hopelessly to the door, pausing irresolutely +she asked again in dull despair, “Then there isn’t hanythink as you can +do?” + +“Very little, I’m afraid.” She drew the blanket closer round the child +and passed out into the night. + +It was late and Muriel had gone to bed. Cynthia came in and sat down by +her. + +“Do you think a man would ever trust a girl a second time?” she asked. + +“That would depend, wouldn’t it,” said Muriel thoughtfully, “upon the +girl’s character, and the attitude towards the broken trust, and how +long ago it had happened, and what she had done in the meantime?” + +“Do you think it possible if she was different that he would love her +again?” Muriel sighed. + +“I would have married Jack,” she said, “if he had been different, but he +was the same. I suppose it all depends on whether one’s power of +detachment is strong enough.” + +“You’re very tired, dearest,” said Cynthia, “and I shouldn’t bother you; +but—but I suppose you pray, don’t you?” Muriel smiled; she did not say +she had done nothing else since she had forfeited her life’s happiness. + +“Yes, I try to,” she said. + +“Then,” said Cynthia, “perhaps you might as well pray for me. +Good-night!” + + + + + CHAPTER XVII + + + “Our mind receives but what it holds—no more.” + +PEOPLE whom everybody considers tender-hearted and good-natured do not +like to wake up to the fact that they are neither. It takes a good deal +to wake them up to it, and they are apt to be indignant and incredulous +even then. Gladys had always been considered particularly, gracefully +unselfish. People might think her a little astonishing and +unconventional, but this they put down to her American training; as for +being underhand, cruel and grasping, no one would have dreamed it of +her, and she least of all of herself. Love is a teacher of many lessons, +and tears away all screens; there is no room left for anything but the +real. + +Love and pain together are the two world forces for sincerity, and +Gladys’ sincerity was not pleasant to look at. She was possessed with +the one desire—Jack. She wanted him; she hated everything and everybody +else. Right and wrong became two faint, inadequate words; she would have +stopped at nothing to gain her ends. + +Even the dramatic instinct which had carried her through emotional +friendships made her attractive and alluring to those to whom she was +utterly indifferent, devout and regular in her religious attendances, +eager and sympathetic over the miseries of the poor, they were all swept +away. She planned, plotted, schemed and lived to meet and win Jack +Hurstly. + +For the sake of meeting him she made friends to a far greater extent +with Edith le Mentier. She smiled in tender graciousness upon Alec +Bruce, she treated Sir Arthur Dallerton when she met him with the +greatest interest and respect. + +It was through him she learned first that Muriel was not going to India, +second that her engagement with Jack Hurstly was “off,” after that she +ceased to take any interest in him at all. People said it was time she +was married. + +It took Jack a long time to realize that Muriel meant what she said. He +wrote again, and it was not till she stopped answering him that he began +to believe her. The key he held to the woman riddle says that “A woman +who goes on saying no is easier to turn than the woman who says +nothing.” India and the old influences of the regiment had undone a good +deal of her training. + +Jack told himself he was a fool to have loved her, and agreed with the +world’s verdict that she “really went too far.” In fact the world turned +its back on her. She had had two good marriages in her hand and thrown +them away; her society was a strain; she did unheard-of things; she was +really better in the slums. + +Everybody told him he was well out of it, and though he was outwardly +indignant at their judgment it took the edge off his sorrow. He grew +rapidly strong, and hunted more than ever. He was not to be invalided +home, and he had been very badly treated. He looked upon this as virtual +absolution for whatever dissipations he might be led into. Even in the +nineteenth century few men have found a better excuse than “The woman +Thou gavest me.” + +One evening as Jack sat smoking in his quarters, wondering lazily what +sort of a drink it would be most possible to enjoy, a knock at the door +aroused him from his thoughts, and gave entrance to a favorite young +subaltern. + +“Hullo, Musgrave!—come in!” he said with warmth. “Have a drink?” he +added as the young fellow sank into a chair. Musgrave shook his head. +“Anything up?” Jack asked with surprise. + +“Nothing particular,” said Jim Musgrave. “My aunt’s coming out here, +though. I shall have to sit up for her.” + +“Oh! I say that’s bad,” said his friend sympathetically. + +“She’s going to bring a mighty pretty girl out with her, though, to jam +the powder,” said the nephew irreverently. “The fact of the matter is I +believe it’s for the girl’s sake she’s coming. There’s an awful dearth +going on in London—herds of pretty girls and nothing to gain by it, you +know—I don’t know what England’s coming to—we’re so scarce—they say +the returns after the season are something awful!” Jack laughed grimly. + +“I’m one of them,” he said. “I didn’t make myself scarce enough it +seems. Who’s your aunt, by-the-bye? Perhaps I know her.” + +“Mrs. Huntly. Her husband was a fellow of ‘ours,’ you know; but he got +on the shelf, and they gave him some appointment at home to hush him +asleep with. We have an awfully short day, haven’t we? And a beastly hot +one!” The young man’s eyes grew wistful, for he loved his profession; +and he had not been out long enough to grow stale, or to have his +ambitions adjust themselves to lower standards. Jack sighed. + +“It’s a bit too long for some of us,” he said; and he dutifully thought +of Muriel, till the remembrance of a polo match transformed them both +into enthusiasts, and the talk grew unintelligibly technical. + +It was not until Jim Musgrave rose to go back to his own quarters that +Jack remembered to tell him that his aunt was an old friend of his, and +to ask if the pretty girl was her cousin, Miss Travers. + +“By Jove, do you know her?” shouted the surprised Jim. Jack nodded. + +“Good-night!” he said briefly, and Jim took his dismissal, wondering how +well his friend had known Miss Travers. Jack remembered the look in +Gladys’ eyes, and resolutely pretended that it meant nothing; +nevertheless he was not altogether sorry he was going to see her again. +He told himself it was because she was Muriel’s great friend. + +Then he went out to have a final look at the pony; it was necessary that +it should be really fit for to-morrow’s match. + + + + + CHAPTER XVIII + + + “Where will God be absent? In His Face + Is light, but in His Shadow healing too.” + + “MY DEAR MURIEL, + + “You and I have always been good friends, and though I have + never said anything to you about your trouble over Jack Hurstly + it has not been because I have not felt for you. I thought that + you were very foolish to give him up. Still you were never + really suited to each other, and it is better to give a thing up + than to hold on to it too long. I think one of the saddest + things is to realize how well one can get on without some one + who seemed so absolutely necessary. Men always reach it soonest, + for if they can’t attain their ideals they can satisfy their + instincts, while we women have to rub on between the two and + dress nicely. My husband wants to see India again—why, I don’t + know—smells, heat, travel and inferior races, not to mention + being cut off from everything for months, and I’ve promised to + accompany him, principally because it’s easier to accept than + refuse, and Gladys seems so set on it. She has promised to give + Alec Bruce his answer when she returns. It is positively a last + flourish, she declares; and between you and me I think she means + to try once more for the bird in the bush before settling on the + hand one. + + “It’s rather brutal of me to write of it to you, but though she + is clever enough and blinds most people I feel certain she cares + for Jack, and I am a little uncertain as to how he will act when + he finds it out. + + “If pebbles were as rare, we should most of us prefer them to + diamonds, I expect, and only a few would say, ‘Ah, but they + don’t shine!’ How you will shake your head, dear! but, trust me, + proximity and the hat that suits weigh a good deal more than a + fine character with most men, and Gladys always chooses her hats + well. Women of my age are past the time of romance (Edith le + Mentier would scarcely agree with me). Legitimate romance, at + any rate—if there is such a thing—is a little worn out, and + I’m not one of the sort that prefer religion to rouge, yet + to-night I can’t help confessing the game seems not worth the + candle. Not much behind, and not much before, and very little + for the meantime. Still I should marry if I were you. You’ll + have the compensation of saying ‘Well, that’s done,’ and when + everything else seems unsubstantial the solid inevitability of + wife and motherhood keeps one steady. That’s my argument against + free love—it’s not final enough, and the uncertainties are too + great. I had rather myself have a broken heart and a settled + position than a broken heart without one. Perhaps you will + succeed in avoiding both. Don’t think I’m morbid—probably my + dinner has disagreed with me. By-the-bye, the doctor says + there’s something wrong with my lungs—but I don’t believe in + doctors. Good-bye. + + “MARY.” + +Muriel read Mary Huntly’s letter over slowly with sad eyes. There was a +hopeless ring in it, as if the plucky effort to avoid the admission of a +life failure had almost proved too much for her. She had attained most +things that a woman of the world wishes to attain: a good income, a +convenient husband, a boy at Eton, and a fine figure for forty; she was +very popular, even with other women, and she had a most capital cook. + +“Leslie Damores and I are going on a bus top to Kew Gardens this +afternoon,” said Cynthia irrelevantly. “And I shall go to tea with him +in the studios to see his new picture; he has called it ‘The Years of +the Locust.’ I should rather like to see what he has made of it.” Muriel +was still puzzling over Mary Huntly’s letter. + +“She is so fine,” she said. “It must count for something, her pluck and +dash and the way she faces things; it can’t be all shallow, or all +selfish—and yet it does work death. Look at poor Mary. Her age of +primary things has passed. She has run through most of the thrills, as I +suppose we all do by forty, and now what’s left for her? She has been +keeping yesterday’s manna, and she finds that it has gone bad!” Cynthia +looked interested. + +“I think,” she said slowly, “that a great love is the only thing to fill +a woman’s life. I don’t believe that would wear out, would it?” + +“I suppose,” said Muriel thoughtfully, “that depends on how one uses it; +one must carry things on to their farthest extent. I mean—it’s stifling +to be satisfied. If we go on far enough we shall come to a vista, and +it’s not till we get to see that things have no end that we are really +beginning at all. It is what you can’t grasp makes life worth living.” +Cynthia listened reluctantly. + +“But love,” she said again, “you can grasp that; and it won’t go, will +it?” + +“All that’s best and highest in love you can’t grasp, I think,” replied +Muriel. “It’s because one expects to do that that it hurts. The +invincible thrill of things is only meant as a launching into life. +After that friendship, comradeship, a blending of life to life and heart +to heart becomes unconscious development. Paroxysms aren’t love, and +they have their reaction; but love is beyond and through all, and even +in the most sad and sordid moments gleams and throbs an impossible +possibility! A thing always to strive for, never to attain!” Cynthia +rose and paced the room restlessly. + +“Oh, Muriel! Muriel!” she said, “you don’t know——” Then she stopped +short, and went over and kissed her, an unusual demonstration from +Cynthia. “You’re so good,” she said, “and yet somehow so remote from it +all! I think I begin to see now why you didn’t marry Jack. I should have +faced it as you did, but I should have read the letters, talked about +them—and then married him!” + +“And been unhappy ever afterwards,” said Muriel softly. + +“Yes! but that’s nothing to do with it,” cried Cynthia impatiently. “I +acknowledge no afterwards. I would give myself body and soul to the man +I loved, like Browning’s lady, even if he were the greatest rascal +unhung!” + +“That’s a horribly selfish theory!” said Muriel with sudden emphasis, +“and a very dangerous one. You would degrade yourself, hurt the man, and +ruin future generations, simply because of an effervescing passion, +which soon becomes stagnant if you give it time enough. No one can +afford to ignore consequences, least of all a lover. Why is it, do you +suppose, that these girls of mine, living like animals, working like +slaves, suffering like human beings, don’t oftener catch at this +passion-flower of yours, and take the poison of it? Simply because they +are face to face with the consequences. They can’t get away from +themselves, and their life is visible and public. They know what a few +days’ rapture implies—shame, pain, publicity, perhaps starvation. They +know that to cut off your nose spites your face, however you may wish to +make the surrender! You don’t risk a rapid when you see the rocks, only +when the rocks are hidden; the consequences ignored, then the selfish, +hopeless, aimless life gives in to its instincts; and though before the +leap you may have ignored the consequences, it will not prevent the +rocks beneath from grinding your life out after the fall.” She stopped, +her eyes flashing with the intensity of all she meant. + +She had given little by little her life over to a problem; one that she +hated, had avoided, and that even now racked her with its misery—but it +absorbed her. + +Things cease to be bearable only when life is empty, and to Muriel her +own sorrow, her own heart, had been filled and uplifted by full +renunciative hours. Discontent and leisure walk hand in hand, wandering +disconsolate over a world teeming with openings and opportunities for +energy and power. Then it becomes necessary to invent new games, and +religion runs to melancholia—or Christian science. + +“I don’t think Leslie Damores will ever marry me,” said Cynthia slowly. +She looked suddenly older and more careworn. “I—I don’t think I will go +with him this afternoon.” + +Muriel put on her things to go to the club. Before she went she threw +her arms around Cynthia. + +“Dearest,” she said with glistening eyes, “I don’t know what I should do +without you.” + +“Pray more,” said Cynthia shortly. Muriel shook her head. + +“If you knew what strength you give, and how bright this all seems to +come back to!” + +“Don’t! don’t!” said Cynthia sharply. “For God’s sake go to the club and +leave me alone!” + +Muriel went and understood; she knew that it had been necessary to say +those words, and after they were said she could do no more. One can +start a crisis, but one cannot guide it, and it is usually best to get +out of the way. Cynthia sent Leslie Damores away that afternoon, and +faced for the first time in her life the years that the locust had +eaten. Her lover’s picture could not have been more realistic. + + + + + CHAPTER XIX + + + “Only for man; how bitter not to grave + On his Soul’s palms one fair, good, wise thing + Just as he grasped it.” + —ROBERT BROWNING. + +LESLIE went back to the studio bewildered. She had sent him away without +excuses. He wondered blankly what he was being punished for, and why she +was denied him in the present; and as Kew Gardens, unless one is a +naturalist, is not the place one goes to alone, he sat down before his +picture and thought about her in the past. + +He was young and full of ideals when he first met her. He believed in +the possibility of a Galahad, and that all women were exquisitely good, +except a sad few who were picturesquely unfortunate. He had had a good +mother, two beautiful sisters, and he had only seen Paris in a veil. He +met Cynthia in the studios; her glorious red hair and the wonderful way +she looked at him became the key to the universe. After that followed +months of ideal companionship, and on his part at least unprecedented +blindness. Perhaps she loved him for that most of all. Then she told +him. He was horribly startled. He said surprised and terrible things, +and then she looked at him—Oh that wonderful, broken, tragic look!—and +went back to her brother. And he grew older, and wiser, and less +surprised. + +He had not meant to find her in London. When he had, and they met again +and yet again, and in fact even from the moment when she had told him +where and how she lived, he had made the great decision. + +The locusts should eat no more empty years. If she could forget (_could_ +she forget, forgive at least?) that stammering judgment eight years ago, +how happy they would be together! What noble, magnificent work would +they not do—together—and now she had sent him away with no excuse. Had +that self-made barrier of his fallen for another to rise? He smoked hard +and rang the bell. There is always one way of finding out things if a +man has sense and no false pride—to ask. He was going to ask, and he +smiled grimly to himself as he thought of the answer she would give +him—_should_ give him!—if strength and power and purpose went for +anything. The tea-things that were set out for her looked miserable as +only neglected food can look, and the room lost in the gathering +twilight seemed emptily expectant of the guest who had not come. + +Leslie Damores cared nothing at all for omens and less for gloom, and +even the fact that he could not find his matches did not evoke a frown. +He was going to see her, and he _meant_ to see her, and he terribly +over-paid the cabman’s fare. How many sullen looks and surly words do we +not owe to the over-generosity of lovers, who appear to think that by +tipping the universe they will earn the reward of Providence in the +shape they most desire? Alas! we human beings are always misplacing our +tips, and then we wonder when the raps that come to us seem to be +misplaced as well! + + + + + CHAPTER XX + + + “God is in all men, but all men are not in God: that is the + reason why they suffer.” + +IT was hot, with that intense silken quiver in the air which turns the +atmosphere into a living creature. + +That “certain twilight” moment was already beginning to “cut the glory +from the gray,” and across the Indian garden strolled two figures +scarcely conscious of the breathless life, so interested were they in +each other. Gladys Travers, in a well-fitting gown, a cloud of something +soft that sunk into a shower of lovely curves, led the way through the +trees to a seat. + +“I call it a summer-house,” she said. “It sounds so English!” + +“Ah!” Jack Hurstly answered half wistfully, “you’ve already begun to +hunger for home. We all have it, you know, and try to call the most +un-English things by familiar names, just to trick ourselves into +thinking—Heaven knows what—that it isn’t quite so far away, I +suppose.” + +“It seems hardly possible that we have been here two months,” sighed +Gladys. “And it _was_ so strange to find you here!” + +Strange, indeed, Gladys! after the care-succeeding stratagem and +innocent purposeful planning that took you and your good-natured cousin +so straight across India to the station (not so frequently a resort for +English travellers), simply because there this broad-shouldered young +Englishman lived and rode and shot and spoke bitterly of life. + +“It was most lucky for me,” he answered honestly; “and I shall miss you +awfully when you go.” + +“You are very fond of Mary, aren’t you?” she said looking at the ground. + +“Yes, Miss Travers.” Gladys smiled. + +“You’re rather stupid, you know,” she said. + +“I think it’s you who are rather unkind,” he answered. “And what are you +going to do with Jim?” Gladys frowned; the conversation at that moment +was more interesting without Jim. + +“_Do_ with him!” she began indignantly, and then suddenly she laughed +and turned dancing eyes upon her companion. “Do you know,” she cried, “I +haven’t the faintest _idea_ what to do with him! What should you think?” + +“He’s a very nice fellow, Miss Gladys.” + +“Then shall I marry him?” Captain Hurstly drew a long breath; it was +rather like playing with fire. The sun sunk speedily in the west, and +now in a glowing rose veil plunged behind the hills. Gladys looked up at +him from under her long eyelashes. There was something a little wistful +in her glance. + +“Do you _want_ me to marry him, please?” she asked. Jack looked from the +sky to her face; it had caught the glow of the sunset. + +“I don’t want you to marry anybody,” he said simply. + +“Ah!” said Gladys, and there was a silence—dangerous, electric, full of +unspoken things. + +“You knew Muriel?” he said abruptly at last. + +“She was a dear friend of mine,” Gladys replied softly. + +“_Was!_ Isn’t she now, then?” he questioned. She blushed and looked +away. “Won’t you tell me?” he asked gently. + +“I thought she was unjust—very unjust to you!” Gladys murmured. “It +hurt me that she should misunderstand any one.” + +“You’re very generous,” he replied gravely. “But how do you know, Miss +Gladys, that she did misjudge me? Perhaps she was right to have nothing +to do with such a poor sort of chap.” + +Gladys sprang to her feet, her eyes flashed, and she shook a little, her +voice was low and intense, and Jack, who rose to his feet also and stood +opposite to her, was drawn into the circle of her emotions. + +“No! Captain Hurstly. She was wrong—utterly wrong!” the girl cried. +“What are we sheltered, protected darlings, brought up with closed eyes +and within walls, to know of the world and man’s temptations? How dare +we judge who have no standards of comparison? And if we love”—her voice +grew so tender it was like music—“and if we love it is for man’s +redemption, not for the satisfaction of our own, thin, misty ideals! And +it should be the crown of our life to raise the man we love from lower +things, and trust in his love to leave them for ever far behind!” She +moved nervously back to the seat, and turned that she might still half +face him. “I don’t know what I’ve been saying,” she said breathlessly. +“I am afraid it must sound very silly and foolish to you, and +rather—rather uncalled for; but it has always seemed to me that women +like Muriel, who think God’s tools not good enough for them, do a +terrible amount of harm.” Jack took a step forward and looked down at +her. + +“If there were more women like you,” he said huskily, “there would be +fewer men—like me, Miss Gladys.” Gladys smiled a little. It was +difficult for her to be serious for long. + +“Then,” she said, “it’s certainly a good thing that I’m unique.” . . . + +“My dear child! you know perfectly well that this is the most unhealthy +time to be out in. Go in at once and dress for dinner! Really, Jack, I +should have thought you would have known better!”—Mary Huntly shook her +head at him reproachfully. Gladys lifting her eyes up to Jack, with a +mixture of amusement and regret, turned gracefully and passed into the +house. Mary Huntly, for all her sage advice, stayed out in the fast +deepening darkness. + +They walked for a little in silence towards the gate. Mary turned over +in her mind what she should say to him. It was hard—extremely +hard—and, worse, it looked disagreeable. She was used to doing +difficult things, but as a rule they had delightful effects. She very +much doubted as a woman of the world whether what she had to say would +have any effect, but as a woman a little beyond the world she knew she +ought to say it. + +“My dear boy!” she said as they reached the gate, “that girl doesn’t +ring true.” + +“What do you mean, Mrs. Huntly?” Jack asked sternly. “Are you talking +of—Miss Gladys?” He made that fatal half instant’s pause before her +name that marks a lover. + +“You have made one mistake already in falling in love with a woman too +good for you,” she answered quietly, “don’t make the worse one of +falling in love with a woman—not good enough! Good-night! I think you +had better not come in after dinner this evening.” + +Jack would have stayed and insisted on further explanations, for he was +perplexed and angry—there’s nothing that makes a straightforward man so +angry as perplexity—but Jim Musgrave who was going to dine with them +came up, and in a mixture of greetings and farewells he had to go, but +as he went he said very distinctly:— + +“Mrs. Huntly, may I come in to-morrow?” Mrs. Huntly saw in a flash it +had been no use. + +“Oh, yes!” she said. “What a lot of moths you have in this climate of +yours. Good-night!” + +The gorgeous moon, the thin low whisper of the tropic night, the +rustling, murmuring life, which rose from the earth to the low sky +above, seemed something of a new birth to Jack as free from the fetters +of an old love he paused on the brink of a new, and because it was new +imagined there would be no fetters. + + + + + CHAPTER XXI + + + “She crossed his path with her hunting noose, and over him drew + her net.” + +GLADYS was the incarnation of sprightliness; her shimmering green dress +made her look like some beautiful heartless naiad of the woods. + +When dinner was over she sang softly to Jim, letting her eyes rest on +him with a light caressing smile. Her own world had turned to paradise. +She was playing with sunbeams on a golden earth. It was impossible for +her to be anything but charming. + +Mary was very tired. She sat and talked with her husband about the boy +at Eton; for a while at least she washed her hands of Gladys. + +Finally the music stopped. Gladys’ hands sunk into her lap, and Jim +looking at her in an adoring simplicity set about for words which were +not too common to present to his goddess. + +“I say” (the invocation seemed a little modern) “that’s an awfully +ripping dress you’ve got on to-night.” + +“Do _you_ like it, Jim?” It was impossible for her to help the emphasis. +It had been said of her that if she were left alone in a desert she +would flirt with a camel. Jim would have sold his soul for a compliment, +but could only repeat:— + +“Awfully!” + +“Are you fond of being a soldier, Jim?” she asked. She was wondering why +Jack Hurstly did not come. + +“I think it’s the grandest profession in the world!” he said proudly. +“People don’t do us a bit of justice except when there’s a row on, and +then they praise us for the wrong things. They don’t understand that a +man must be a decent sort of chap to win the respect of his men; and +there are fine chances, you know, that a fellow gets on the frontier to +show what he is made of. To hush up a disturbance or keep a district +quiet, are pretty good pieces of work. I hope you don’t think we’re all +of us brutes or blackguards, Miss Gladys?” + +“No, Jim—oh, no!” said Gladys softly. “I think you’re the finest men in +the world, the most chivalrous to women, the strongest and the +gentlest—truest friend and noblest foe!” Jim thought it was too +beautiful for words, also that it was original; but it was not exactly +what he meant, and it put an end to the discussion. + +“How does Captain Hurstly get on with his men?” she asked. It was +evident by her tone that she was not much interested in Captain Hurstly. + +“Oh, well enough,” said Jim doubtfully. “Only you see he had rather a +bad time with a girl at home, and that rather put him off his work, I +think. He doesn’t seem as interested as he used to be.” + +“I don’t believe he cared for her,” said Gladys shortly. If there is +nothing else to do with a clumsy fact, one can ignore it. + +“Oh, yes, he did awfully,” said the unconscious Jim. “I never saw a +fellow so cut up before about a girl. She must have been a jolly +decent-looking girl, too—I’ve seen her photograph.” + +“Really you’re very rude—you contradicted me flatly,” cried Gladys. + +“Oh, but he _did_, you know,” said the over-truthful James. “_I_ didn’t +think she was so awfully fetching, though,” he added hastily, with the +bright hope that jealousy of _him_ might have promoted the frown he saw. +Gladys yawned. + +“You’re very dull to-night,” she said, “doing nothing but talk of the +uninteresting love affairs of your uninteresting friends!” Jim flushed +angrily; he was conscious that he had not introduced the subject, but he +was too loyal to say so. + +“I’m very sorry, Miss Gladys,” he said; “there’s something I’d much +rather talk about.” + +“And that?” said Gladys, lifting unconscious eyelashes with innocent +ease. + +“I think you know,” he said with the dignified gravity of extreme youth +over a compliment. + +“If you mean me,” said Gladys smiling sweetly, “I think you’re very rude +to call me a ‘thing,’ and it’s horrid bad form to talk about a girl, you +know.” The rest of the evening passed in a pleasant, dangerous fashion. + +At parting Jim wore the rose she herself had worn at dinner. It was the +pledge of all dear, impossible things to him; it was the usual +termination of an evening’s episode to her—a gardener would have +accused it of blight. + + + + + CHAPTER XXII + + + “The truth was felt by instinct here— + Process which saves a world of time.” + +DESPERATION, when it does not rave, becomes a calm; and it was with an +almost listless quiet that Cynthia, sitting opposite her brother in his +office, told him she was going away. + +He nodded briefly, and went on writing prescriptions. He had not quite +finished his evening’s work. The boy was to deliver them to his +patients. The room was bare and light, with the usual rows of medical +books, long suggestive chair, and the sturdy boy standing near a +forbidding cupboard. + +Cynthia’s eyes took in the surroundings as if they had been new to her. + +She had argued bitterly with her brother over having no lamp-shades, and +the naked bright skeleton roused in her now a sense of irritation. Would +Geoff never be done, and why was he so little interested in her going +away? + +But he had always been a man of one idea, she thought, and what interest +he had was buried in his prescriptions. Ten minutes later he sent off +the boy with a curt order or two, then he turned and looked at his +sister. + +“Going away, are you?” he said. He might have been drawing out a shy +child, or encouraging a nervous patient. Cynthia shrugged her shoulders. + +“So I told you.” + +“Have you thought why, or where, or when?” + +“I am going to a place in Somerset on the red Bristol Channel, where +they have mud, and sunsets, and one can be alone.” + +“The desire for mud is very modern, and sunsets only happen once a day,” +he replied thoughtfully. “And as for being alone, you couldn’t be in a +better place than London, you know, for that. People can’t stand so much +in the country. However, I daresay a rest would do you good. Mind you +take some books—light ones; and be careful where you go for milk—it’s +disgraceful how they adulterate it in out-of-way places.” He was giving +her time, and observing with keen watching eyes the lines of trouble and +pain marked in Cynthia’s face. + +“Geoff!” she cried with a sudden wail in her voice, “I want you! I want +you!” He knew that she did not mean him; but he took her in his arms and +stroked her hair. Cynthia sobbed a little in a hard choked way; she +could not let herself go completely even in a breakdown. + +“Shall we go to Paris?” he asked gently. “I have always wanted to study +under the professors there.” He looked around his meagre office-room +peopled with his love, his work, his dreams, to stay there another year +till success lay in his grasp, to win life for his cases, each one +meaning to him what a battle means to a soldier; all that went to make +interest, satisfaction, attainment, must go because a woman +wanted—another man. He did not mince matters, he only repeated the +magnificent lie that rang better than most truths, “I have always hoped +for a chance like this!” + +“But you couldn’t leave your practice?” she protested. + +“I could get an assistant for a time to take my place. It’s only for six +months or a year, isn’t it?” + +“There’s Muriel—Geoff!” she reminded him. + +“You told me to get the idea of her out of my head—perhaps six months +or a year will do it,” said Dr. Grant. He was smiling grimly to himself +as he spoke. When a man attempts endurance it makes for something very +fine. When Cynthia looked at him she saw nothing but kind, half-amused +and wholly sympathetic eyes. + +“I think it’s splendid you’re so placid,” she said; “I don’t believe you +feel things at all.” + +“I feel very much being kept away from my supper after working hard all +day!” he laughed mischievously. + +“Oh, you poor, dear thing! I’ll see about it at once!” she cried running +from the room. + +The doctor flung open the window wide and stood watching the streaming +crowd in the dusk. The lights seemed alive against the dark masses of +houses—impenetrable, mysterious, holding life-histories—and showing +nothing but blank strong faces to the passers-by. + +The doctor believed in no God at all; but when he looked above the +house-tops to the sky, peopled by myriad stars, he felt a moment’s +emotion, a thrill of hope, courage and strength. + +God believed in him perhaps, and because he would not draw near with +faith led him by his most unreasonable passion—love of humanity—nearer +than he knew to the divine in humanity. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIII + + + “I am half-sick of shadows.” + +MURIEL read Cynthia’s letter wonderingly. It was short, and merely +contained her reasons for leaving Muriel for six months at least. By the +end of that time Leslie Damores would have given her up, and she would +be more fit to take up her life again. Muriel was not to tell him that +she was ever coming back; she was not to overdo herself or live alone, +and above all she must not give him her address. Geoff was going with +her. Muriel sighed and frowned; the sigh was one of loneliness. She had +got so used to companionship—Cynthia’s, and generally her brother in +the evening. It was something to have a man to discuss things with +sensibly even if she never agreed with him. She frowned because it was a +little strange he had not written to say good-bye. + +He had got over caring for her that was evident. She was glad of +that—of course she was extremely glad of it. Suddenly she felt tired +and discouraged. The girls had been unresponsive and tiresome in the +Bible-class. She loved Paris; she could see its clean, broad streets +filled with brilliant, rapid life, bright and gay and fresh, alive with +incessant laughter. + +It was a damp, foggy evening and the fire smoked. They had such theaters +in Paris, and then the studios! Muriel had studied there for six months +in the pleasantest and easiest fashion. Sometimes the love of her old, +careless radiant life, pleasure and beauty, and the ease of things made +her catch her breath and remember she was twenty-seven, and her eyes +were beautiful, and there was that couple downstairs drunk and +quarrelling again! It was too late for tea, too early for supper, and if +she lit the candle she would have to write letters. + +The door-bell clanged, and she heard a man’s voice. For a moment she +thought it was Dr. Grant coming to say good-bye. Her hands wandered +instinctively to her hair. No!—he asked for Cynthia. He must see +her—but she was out. “Then Miss Dallerton”—the girl “would see.” The +blackbeetle’s heavy footsteps paused outside her door. Muriel lit the +candles and poked the fire. + +“Yes, I will see Mr. Damores,” she said smiling encouragingly at the +girl. + +She felt less depressed because she had already begun to sympathize, and +yet she could not help feeling angry with Leslie Damores. + +He stood before her, tall, handsome, eager; she sat down and waited for +him to speak. One of the most extraordinary things about her was her +willingness to wait for somebody else, even her silence was an +invitation. + +“Cynthia wouldn’t see me,” he began, almost boyishly. “Won’t you tell me +why, and where she is, Miss Muriel?” + +“She has gone away, Mr. Damores, and left us both. It’s a case of double +desertion, isn’t it?” she laughed nervously, for the look in his eyes +was too strongly anxious to make the interview a pleasant one. + +“Has she left you a message for me?” + +“She does not wish to see you again,” said Muriel gravely. He was quite +silent, with his eyes bent on the carpet. + +“Then—and you—do you approve of her decision?” he asked slowly, his +voice so different from his first eager greeting. It was tired and a +little thick. An idea flashed through Muriel’s mind; she leaned forward +suddenly. + +“Mr. Damores, do you care for her?” she asked. He squared his shoulders, +and looked back at her steadily, but a little surprised. + +“Really, Miss Muriel, I thought—I thought it was pretty obvious!” he +replied. + +“Then,” said Muriel, “I think very poorly of you for not wishing to +marry her!” + +“But, good Heavens! Miss Dallerton,” he cried, now really astonished, “I +want nothing so much! I came here, if you must know, simply for that +purpose! and I find her—gone—leaving no traces, and, if you will +excuse my saying so, a great deal of confusion behind her!” + +“I certainly do feel confusion, not to say chaos,” said Muriel smiling; +“and the worst of it is I can’t possibly explain. However one thing’s +evident, if you want her you must look for her, for I have no address +beyond Paris. She hates writing letters, and it will probably be a month +at least before she writes and gives it to me. Will you wait in London?” +Leslie Damores smiled. + +“I might find her in Paris, and I shall not find her here,” he said; +“and when I do find her, I shall bring her back. Good-bye, Miss +Dallerton; I’m glad I didn’t deserve your scolding this time, it looked +as if it was going to be a pretty bad one. Oh, but I was a fool for not +marrying Cynthia eight years ago!” Muriel held out both her hands to +him, her eyes filled with tears. + +“I am glad you are going to her,” she said. “I won’t wish you luck, +because there is something so much better that you have got already; but +I can’t help being a little sorry, for she will never come back to me +again!” + +“Are you all alone?” he asked. + +“There’s my work,” she said; “and the blackbeetle, who is a great friend +of mine, and looks after me very well.” + +“Do you remember ‘The Lady of Shalott?’” he asked abruptly. “I always +liked that last line of it, ‘God in His mercy lend her grace.’ Good-bye, +Miss Dallerton.” He was gone, hopeful and strong once more, with the +possibility of satisfaction within his grasp, and Muriel again alone. + +“It was all very well for Launcelot to say that,” she thought, “but when +she needed him most she had no loyal knight and true, the Lady of +Shalott, and—and not even God’s grace would make her forget that!” And +Muriel put her arms on the table and cried a little about Jack—at least +she thought it was about Jack, but it was really that Cynthia’s hand was +on what she herself had missed. The woman’s lips that bear no kiss of +love seem formed in vain; even the angels must sigh for them—and not +even the angels satisfy. Yet she had held it all once, and remorse and +passion and pity mocked at her for having thrown life’s gift away. + +When the blackbeetle, whose other name was Catherine Mary, appeared +again it was to bring supper, and a message from a poor woman that “She +was taken cruel bad, and would Miss Muriel come to her?” Muriel left her +after a terrible four hours. The fight had given her strength, and the +light in her eyes was wonderful. She had forgotten all about the Lady of +Shalott. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIV + + + “La vie est vaine: + Un peu d’amour, + Un peu de haine, + Et puis—bonjour!” + +“REALLY, Mary, it’s absurd to stay away from the picnic! And I simply +can’t go if you won’t. That odious Mrs. Collins makes the most hateful +chaperon, with her ‘Come here, my dear!’ just at the wrong moments. +_Won’t_ you come, Mary?” Gladys, in the most delicate of Dresden +flowered silks, with a huge hat one mass of pale pink roses and black +velvet, looked imploringly at her companion. + +She was a girl it was impossible to describe without mentioning her +clothes. One felt if she had worn a yachting suit with gilt buttons she +would have looked pathetic. Mary Huntly took one of the little hands in +hers. + +“The truth is, dear—but don’t, please, tell Tom—I had a slight +hæmorrhage this morning. Nothing much, it is true, but these tiresome +lungs will bother me, and I know I ought to keep quiet to-day.” + +“You never used to be so fussy about your health, Mary,” exclaimed the +girl petulantly. There is nothing that so torments a brave woman as a +gibe at nervousness. It was true that Mary had conquered her fear, but +she knew it to be something that comes again, and would never while she +lived cease to give up coming. She winced and let the girl’s hand drop; +she had not voice enough to explain. The persistent cruel healthiness of +the girl before her aroused in her a kind of defiance. + +“Since you are so keen, dear, I will go,” she said, “but I hope they +won’t expect me to talk!” She laughed huskily. + +“Tom is out shooting, isn’t he?” she asked Gladys later as they walked +towards the carriage which was to take them to their destination. + +“How funny you are, Mary! You never used to be so interested in Tom’s +movements,” laughed Gladys; “he won’t be back, I don’t suppose, till +long after we are.” An hour later, by a half-ruined temple, under the +shade of great enshrouding trees, Jack Hurstly sitting beside Gladys +asked her a little sharply if her cousin wasn’t very seedy. + +“Yes, poor dear!” said Gladys with the wistful, pathetic look that had +helped to draw Mary to the picnic; “and she’s so dreadfully plucky and +determined, I couldn’t persuade her to stay at home with me. I can’t +tell you how anxious it makes me feel!” + +Jack’s eyes grew tender over her. Hats of a certain shade cast sincerity +in a becoming glow over an upturned face. He wanted to help her, protect +her, comfort her! His vexation was transferred to Mary. It must be such +a strain to go about with an obstinate, sick woman. Jim Musgrave sat by +his aunt. All the rest had gone off somewhere—a general direction to +which all picnics tend where there is no one to victimize the party with +games. Gladys had promised to go and see an ancient well with Jim, and +she had gone to see it—with Jack Hurstly; only Mrs. Collins and Jim sat +with Mary. Suddenly she put her hand on his arm. + +“Jim—take—me—home,” she cried. It was the end of the picnic. + + + + + CHAPTER XXV + + + “God’s Hand touched her unawares.” + +WHEN Tom Huntly rode home with a big bag of game after a satisfactory +dinner with a crony it was nearly twelve o’clock. Yet to his surprise +the whole house was lit up, and there was an uneasy sense of motion and +confusion. He dismounted and called for a servant. Suddenly he heard a +woman crying. He let the horse go and walked into the house. + +“How can you expect me to go to her? No, I won’t! I won’t! Oh, it’s +horrid! it’s terrible!—just when I was so happy too! No, doctor, go and +sit with her till Tom comes! Oh, my God! . . . Doctor! here he is!” + +“Where is my wife?” said Tom Huntly. The words sounded to his ears like +a quotation; it was absurd to suppose they could be his. He did not look +at Gladys, dissolved in frightened tears over the inappropriateness of +the angel Death. The doctor spoke with the unreal cheerfulness of his +profession. + +“Another hæmorrhage, Major Huntly. It is over now, but you must expect +to find her a little weak.” Then, as Tom Huntly uncomprehendingly +followed him, “It is my duty to tell you that I consider her case +serious—very.” A nurse stood by the bed fanning her. A sudden +remembrance of the boy’s birth (the boy at Eton) swept over him. + +She looked very young, with that old, bright something in her eyes that +the last ten years of the world had managed to dim. She whispered his +name. + +“Tom, come a little nearer.” He knelt beside her, and put his arms +around her. They had wasted a lot of time. “I wanted you so—Tom,” she +whispered. “It’s been such a poor sort of thing, hasn’t it? What we +might have been to each other, I mean? But it’s been all my fault, dear. +I never knew a man that could have made me half—so happy. There are not +many women who could say that of their husbands in our—world—are +there, Tom?” She coughed till the slow breath came back. “So you’ll not +worry, Tom?” she gasped. + +“Mary—Mary, darling—you won’t leave me and the boy?” It was frightful +this want of time. She smiled bravely. + +“I’m so glad you care,” she murmured. “Tell him—Tom—that his mother +says she wants him to be—a gentleman—like his father.” The nurse +stepped forward, but the doctor shook his head. + +“There is no need,” he said, but he meant “There is no hope.” + +“Ah, Mary! Mary!” She opened her eyes again: she was much too tired to +be frightened of death. + +God takes the ignorant, plucky souls who have fought the good fight, not +quite knowing why, very peacefully to Himself. + +“I should like,” she gasped, “more air.” The nurse came towards her bed +with the fan in her hand, but before she could reach her a gust of wind +strangely cool and fresh swung the curtains of the window, and Mary +Huntly was dead, having passed from a life which stifled, limited and +kept back all the highest and noblest in her to beyond the horizon where +“Over all this weary world of ours breathes diviner air.” The room was +very quiet and still. The doctor after a few words to the nurse, +engaging her for another case, went off to his quarters. + +Gladys composed two heart-broken notes to Jack Hurstly in her sleep, and +Tom Huntly left alone with the body of the woman he loved fought the old +fight with the grimness of things. + + + + + CHAPTER XXVI + + + “And Memory fed the Soul of Love with tears.” + +“TOO late!” is a phrase holding the eternal knell of life. It sounds +like a muffled peal even to those who hear it lightly said. To those who +have lived through it, the worst of the battle passes before their eyes +again. Many, perhaps blissfully, miss all that it means. They dare not, +or cannot, face remorse. That they themselves have pulled down their +house about their ears seems to them an infamous impossibility. They +forget all their own cruel words, long neglect and unfair judgment, and +only remember flashes of sunlight which they connect—probably quite +falsely—with themselves. Their “yesterdays look backward with a smile.” + +Gladys never realized even as much as a tinge of shame. She cried a +great deal. Mary knew how to manage things so beautifully, and, better +still how to manage Tom. There was a certain heavy awkwardness about Tom +that Gladys didn’t like. It had the effect of putting her in the wrong, +which was, on the face of it, absurd. Also he wouldn’t do what she +wished without coarsely asking “Why.” Altogether, Mary had taken the +edge off a difficulty; and Gladys hated difficulties almost as much as +she did explanations. + +It was so dreadfully trying, too—Mary’s dying just then! Another week, +perhaps, and it would not have mattered so much. The thought forced her +to look into the glass. The crying had done no great damage; she would +dress entirely in white. Jack would come round soon after breakfast to +find out how Mary was. Oh, poor Mary! + +There was something so bald and primitive and earnest about death; +_whatever_ happened she would not be taken to see the body. She went out +into the dining-room. Suddenly she began to be afraid of meeting Tom. + +Tom had passed the night of a thousand years; it comes once or even +twice in a lifetime. He was looking very old and haggard. When Gladys +came into the room he winced as if he had touched a snake. It was a very +awkward meeting. Tom would have gone out of the room and said nothing, +but there was breakfast—and the servants. By-and-bye there was only +breakfast, and Gladys sitting where Mary used to sit. She was thinking +that at least he might have shaved, and wondering if she dared to speak +to him. It was very hot and still. + +“Did you know that Mary had had a hæmorrhage before?” he asked in the +dangerously level tones of passion curbed. Gladys burst into tears. + +“How can you speak of her in that heartless way, Tom?” she cried. He +gave a queer little sound that might have been a laugh. + +“Answer me,” he said. The question was how much did he know, and what +was the safest lie? He saved her the trouble. “Very well, you did know, +then! Now how long has this been going on?” + +“It was easy enough to keep it from you, Tom!” she said, with the +brutality of a weak thing cornered. “You never took the trouble to find +out. Poor Mary made me promise not to tell you. She told me first in +England that her temperature rose every night, but that she didn’t +intend to make herself an invalid for that. She said you were the sort +of man who hated invalids.” Tom broke a paper-cutter he had been playing +with on the table. “I don’t know how many hæmorrhages she had—not very +many; certainly not one for a long time——” + +“Certainly not one yesterday morning,” he interrupted slowly, a little +pause between each word. “Before you went to the picnic?” Gladys looked +desperately at the paper-cutter. There was something in the psalms about +a green bay-tree that occurred to her, not of course in connection with +herself. + +“No, she never said so. She wanted particularly to go to the picnic; she +said (who was it that said women are no inventors?) that she would be so +dull without you. I tried to persuade her not to go, but she would——” + +“I wonder,” said Tom meditatively, “how many lies you have been telling +me? Don’t get angry, it really isn’t worth while, and it doesn’t matter +in the least, you know, only you had better save some for your old age. +You can pack your things, as we are going home next week.” He rose +drearily from the table and made his way out of the room; he cared so +very little about anything. + +He felt as physically tired as after a forced march. An endless expanse +of days and months and years passed before his eyes—there seemed so +much time now. + +Suddenly he thought of the boy!—Mary’s boy and his. He straightened +himself up; there was still somebody left to do that for. For Mary’s +sake he would devote himself to the boy; it was tremendously worth +while. He sat down and painstakingly wrote a letter that made his own +tears come and the boy’s when he read it, and drew the two together as +nothing but sorrow and loneliness and love can ever do. It followed so +naturally and plainly that if Mary wanted her son to be like his father, +the father must try to be a better sort of chap. Remorse receded, and +took with it the burden of hopelessness. + + + + + CHAPTER XXVII + + + “She was beautiful, and therefore to be wooed: + She was a woman, and therefore to be won.” + +GLADYS went into the garden, where it was coolest and shadiest, and sat, +a lovely and pathetic figure, leaning, it is true, against a cushion +with her listless hands in her lap. + +So Captain Hurstly found her. She had written the little heart-broken +note, and she rose to meet him with quivering lips. + +“Oh, Jack, Jack!” she murmured—in an abandonment of grief Christian +names fall so naturally, and it sounded very sweet to Jack—“how good of +you to come!” + +“Good of me?”—he held both her hands; she had given them to him +unconsciously—“I think it was awfully sweet of you to see me—I’m so +sorry, dear—so sorry!” The tears rolled down her cheeks. She looked +very pretty when she cried, and it was very difficult not to kiss her. + +“Mary was everything I had in the world,” she said withdrawing her hands +with a swift blush, and sinking back on the cushions again—“mother, +sister, friend. And Tom—Tom has been so brutal to me Oh, what shall I +do, what shall I do!” + +“Tom brutal to you?” + +“Yes! he hates me. I’m sure I don’t know why. Perhaps he feels now he +might have done more for Mary. She told me often how terribly lonely she +was before I came to her. We are to go back to England next week, and I +know too well what that means!” + +“What does it mean?” he asked looking at her long and carefully, the +white dress that fell away from the little fair throat, the pathetic +quiver of the dainty mouth, the hopeless, hunted look in the big dark +eyes. + +“Oh, I can’t tell you!” she cried with a sudden gasp. “Don’t—don’t ask +me!” + +“I must know,” he said firmly; “tell me, please.” The color swept over +her cheeks, her eyes faltered and fell before his, her hands trembled in +her lap. + +“Tom wants me to marry,” she said at last, “a man I can never—love.” +She covered her face with her hands. “Go away!” she cried piteously. +“Isn’t it hard enough already without making me tell—you!” She gasped +the word containing her passionate heart. She was in earnest now, that +was why she hid her face; she knew that she would not be so pretty. + +The word that fell in the hot still morning lived ever afterwards in +Jack’s mind with the heavy scent of tropical flowers, the restless +quiver of the air, and the sharp metallic stroke of a coppersmith’s beak +near by. She was unhappy, and pretty, and clinging—and she loved him. +Had he any right to make her love him so, and then leave her to a bitter +and miserable marriage? So pity spoke, and the beauty of the girl’s +lithe form, the curl of hair just escaping the uplifted hand, the +delicate scent she used, the whole scene with its setting of the old hot +Indian garden spoke to passion. And when pity and passion speak at the +same moment, reason, sense, and self-control fade fast away. He took her +hands from her face; she looked at him as a startled child would look; +he felt the beating of her heart; he drew her closer to him, and she +made no resistance. + +“Gladys, Gladys, will you be happy with _me_, darling?” he asked her. + +“Oh, Jack!” she cried, “you never even asked me—if I loved you!” + +An hour later, radiant, triumphant, cruel, Gladys stood before Tom +Huntly. + +“I am not going back to England with you,” she said. “I am going to +marry Jack Hurstly. I shall stay with Mrs. Collins till the wedding, and +come home with Jack, for good.” Tom Huntly looked at her, alive and +young! and upstairs lay the body of his wife, and the girl could be so +happy! + +“Are you quite heartless?” he asked wearily. The insolence of her joy +turned to weak self-pity, and she began to cry again. + +“Oh, poor, poor Mary!” she sobbed. “She _so_ wanted to help me choose my +trousseau!” Tom left the room, shutting the door after him. + +Jack went back to his quarters. He wondered why the scent she wore +seemed so familiar. He remembered at last that Edith le Mentier had used +it too, and he remembered at the same time with equal irrelevancy that +Muriel never used scent. + +That evening he had a long talk with Tom Huntly. His friendship with +Mary had been a deep and real one, and he thought Gladys must have been +mistaken about Tom’s brutality. He was not that sort of man; and he +thought Tom was equally mistaken when he said rather doubtfully, “I hope +you will be happy with Gladys; she’s not half up to the form of that +other girl of yours.” + +Any reference to Muriel was peculiarly irritating to him just now. + +It also seemed that people who knew Gladys very well did not appreciate +her so deeply as people who knew her slightly—a trait which is +certainly a trifle unfortunate in a man’s future wife. But he had burned +his boats, and he remembered how pretty she was, and tried to think it +very natural that the day after his engagement he should find his +_fiancée_ playing love-songs on the piano to her very distant +connection, Jim Musgrave. + + + + + CHAPTER XXVIII + + + “Is she not pure gold, my mistress?” + +JIM looked at his uncle and said nothing. The two men were smoking on +the piazza. It was late evening, the day before Major Huntly was to sail +for England. He had just mentioned Gladys’ engagement, and found that +his nephew knew nothing about it. Jim grew rather white, and the two +puffed steadily at their pipes again. + +“She ought to have told you,” said his uncle at last. “Does it make a +lot of difference?” + +“Yes,” said Jim laconically. + +“I don’t want to bother you, old fellow, but I think I ought to know did +she give you any reason to think——” Jim shook his head. + +“No—I was simply—a fool,” he said shortly; and then he added with a +rather bitter smile “she wasn’t.” + +“But now, you know,” said his uncle, “you’ll shake it off, I hope; +there’s as good fish in the sea, you know, as ever came out of it.” + +“And they can stay there,” said Jim. + +“But you don’t mean you still care for her?” + +“Yes, sir, I always shall—whatever she does!” + +The night was radiant. Full in the starlit sky the moon poured forth a +clear stream of light, bringing out the colors of the world thinly, not +as the sun does, but with a strange, mystic richness all her own. The +two men had not poetic temperaments. Nights and moons and stars were +much alike to them, and they were not thinking just then so much of each +other’s sorrows, chiefly of their own. Yet there was a very warm feeling +of sympathy between them, and they sat for some time longer smoking in +silent fellowship. At last Jim rose to his feet. + +“I shall be on duty to-morrow, sir,” he said, “so I’m afraid I shan’t +see you again. You’ll drop me a line when you’ve reached home, and tell +me how you find the little chap?” + +“Yes, Jim. I say, old fellow, I wish Mary was here to-night, she’d know +what to say to you. I’m afraid I shall only make a mull of it—you’ve +faced your guns pluckily about Gladys—don’t take it too hard; and if I +could do any good at seeing your colonel about getting you some shooting +leave——” + +“Thank you, sir,” Jim interrupted; “it’s awfully good of you. I think +perhaps there’s an opening for me to go to the front again, a fellow of +‘ours’ is taken with enteric out there. I’ll get along all right—and +you know what I feel about aunt Mary. She was too good a woman to make +me lose my faith in them, and it wasn’t Gladys’ fault, sir—it was all +mine. You won’t blame her, will you?” + +“Oh, I won’t blame her,” said his uncle shortly—“good-bye.” + +“Good-bye, sir,” and Jim, sternly setting his shoulders with all an +Englishman’s passionate determination to suppress his emotion, passed +out into the night. + +It was the same beautiful world when earlier in the evening he had +enjoyed a talk with his lady-love, and had said that he thought the +world was really “an awfully jolly place.” + +He would believe no wrong of her now—it is love’s creed for the +young—only the world was a beastly hole—that was all; and it was hard +lines on a chap to have to come into it whether he would or no. His +grief rushed him into metaphysics, an unknown quality to Jim, and he +felt more himself again when he had applied for leave—and got it—to be +sent to one of the most unhealthy parts of India where there was a +little row on. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIX + + + “What matter how little the door, if it only lets you in!” + +PARIS, always in a glitter, struck both Cynthia and Geoffrey as being +almost too emphatically the same. + +They separated after the dear, delicious lightness of the earliest +French meal, one to go to the studios and try to get a skilled but +unpractised hand in again, the other whimsically to the lecture-rooms, +an atmosphere congenial, but thin and uncolored to one fresh from the +active fight. So the first week passed, and quite unconsciously they +began to imbibe the gay French surface, the triumphant shrug at the +disagreeable, the bright intensity of the absorbing present. It was not +that they forgot or felt less, but as if straight from the seriousness +of the downstairs rooms they had strayed into the nursery and were +playing at being children again. It was one morning on her way to the +studio that Cynthia met an old acquaintance of hers, an emphatic +American girl, who exclaimed in the arresting tones of her +countrywomen:— + +“Why, Cynthia Grant, is that you!” Cynthia turned smiling. + +“Millicent!” she said, “in Paris?” + +“Why, certainly,” laughed Millicent gayly; “didn’t you know I was +married. I couldn’t keep it up any longer. You remember Clifton Perval? +He was that set! I _had_ to give in to him! But come right away home +with me, Cynthia; I’ve the most perfectly lovely flat you ever saw!” +Cynthia felt suddenly human. + +“All right,” she said, “I’ll give myself a holiday. So you are actually +_living_ in Paris. You always wanted to, didn’t you?” + +“_Want_ to? I was just crazy. But I let my husband know I’d be planted +_here_ or nowhere! So we just came. Launcelot will be just as pleased to +see us——” + +“Who is Launcelot?” laughed her friend. + +“My little boy. Why, didn’t I tell you?” Her bright, keen face clouded a +little. “Yes, I’ve got a child.” She paused flatly, and then fell back +with ready gush on an easier line. “Don’t you think Launcelot a real +pretty name? I told Clifton I’d take nothing common. No William-George +effects for me! So his name is Launcelot Cummins Perval. Cummins was my +name, you remember, before I married. Oh, here we are. Now isn’t it a +charming location? It’s so sweet and central.” Cynthia nodded. + +They were taken up almost to the top of a high building. The flat was +evidently small and inexpensive. As they entered Cynthia was struck with +the effect of an aggressive effort to conceal. Everything seemed +unnaturally placed so as to hide something else, and to block views. +There were a quantity of unnecessary things, and some very bad pictures. +Millicent had never had much art though she had a great deal of talent, +but the talent had deteriorated and the art vanished. + +Sitting on the floor, his head a mass of dark curls, with wide, blue, +astonished eyes, was a little fellow of about six, in quaint, tight +black velvet trousers. He looked at his mother wistfully. + +“You said he would come back,” he exclaimed sorrowfully; “but he hasn’t +for hours and hours!” + +“Why, Launcelot, how silly you are,” cried his mother; “come here, right +away, and shake hands with this lady. Aren’t you _glad_ to see mother +come home so soon?” + +The child rose obediently and advanced towards Cynthia. His eyes were +heavy with the difficulty to express his thoughts, his eyebrows were +knitted painfully. Cynthia’s eyes grew tender as they met his. + +“What have you lost, sonnie?” she asked gently. + +“Oh, it’s Tony that’s goned away,” he began eagerly. + +“The child’s bird escaped out of the window this morning,” his mother +explained contemptuously; “Marie opened the cage, or something. The +thing squealed awfully; it’s rather a relief. Now, Launcelot, you go +back to your bricks, and mother will give you some candy by-and-bye.” +But Cynthia held the child’s hand. + +“I want to hear about Tony,” she said firmly. The boy’s eyes were full +of tears, but he controlled himself manfully. + +“If God has taken him,” he said, “I think it’s very selfish. God has +birds and birds, and I only had Tony.” + +“Why, Launcelot Perval,” exclaimed his mother in shocked tones, +“whatever do you mean? You’re a very naughty boy to talk so; mother’ll +have to punish you if you say such things.” The boy ignored his mother. +She might have been an intrusive fly. He brushed her away. Cynthia +understood. + +“But perhaps God didn’t take him,” she suggested thoughtfully. The boy’s +face brightened, but clouded again. + +“He lives in the sky,” he said; “and that’s where Tony went. He must +have flown straight to God, and I think God _ought_ to have sent him +back,” his lips quivered again. “I’ve waited hours and hours,” he +repeated mournfully. + +“God has got such a lot of things to do,” she said, “perhaps He will +send him back to-morrow. Don’t you think you could wait till to-morrow, +Launcelot?” + +“Why, really, Cynthia,” laughed her friend, “I can’t let you encourage +the child in such notions. Now, look here, Launcelot, if you will be a +good boy, and not worry any more, I’ll ask papa to buy you another +Tony.” She was a good-natured woman, but she missed the point. + +“Oh, but there isn’t another Tony,” he said looking at his mother +reproachfully; “there aren’t two mes nor two Gods, mama?” + +“Oh, do be quiet, Launcelot,” she cried falling back on the dense weapon +of her authority; “of course there aren’t two Gods. I shall send for +Marie to take you away!” + +This threat closed the discussion. The child went back to the window, +and gazed wistfully at the roofs, still wondering at his unanswered +prayer. + +Millicent showed Cynthia her flat. Cynthia began to understand the +pathetic concealments. They were very poor. + +“We manage to have good times, though,” Millicent explained. “We get +around and see things. Men don’t like women being _too_ economical, and +I don’t believe in it myself. They just spend and spend, and then make a +row over the bills. I don’t see why we shouldn’t spend too; it don’t +make much more of a row, for they put it down to us anyway! But it’s +very unfortunate our having that child!” She cast an impatient glance at +the little fellow in his odd-shaped, out-grown clothes. “Sometimes I +positively don’t know which way to turn. His father and I don’t know +what to make of him—he’s that funny! It doesn’t rightly seem as if he +was our child!” + +“He’s a dear little fellow,” said Cynthia pityingly; “I wish you would +let me take him home for this afternoon, I would bring him back at +bedtime. I shall be all alone.” + +“Why, that’s real sweet of you, Cynthia,” said Mrs. Perval. “Clifton and +I want so much to have a nice afternoon with some French friends of +ours—Monsieur le Comte de Mouselle and his sister. He’s the most +perfectly charming man. Do you know him?” Cynthia shook her head. +Millicent tittered. “He’s just wild about _me_,” she said, “but of +course I know how to deal with him. _They_ can’t take me in, you bet! +but I’ll be real pleased,” she added, seeing Cynthia’s attention wander, +“to let you have Launcelot for this afternoon as soon as Marie can get +him ready.” Ten minutes later the two left the flat. Mrs. Perval, her +hands on her hips, talking to them as they went. + +“Now, Launcelot, be sure you’re a good boy, and mind what you say. +Cynthia, don’t let him worry you—please. I’ll be _real_ pleased to see +your brother again, Cynthia. Give him my love, and tell him——” + +Whatever she was to tell him was lost on the way downstairs. Cynthia and +the boy felt suddenly free, their eyes sparkled, they clasped each +other’s hands tightly—the world lay before them, the great glittering +Paris world, rich with delights. A French-woman with bright, bright eyes +passed them. The boy pressed a little closer to Cynthia. + +“The streets roar so,” he said fearfully. “Do you think it’s at all +likely there’s any lions about?” + +“They are always careful to shut them up,” Cynthia explained, “when boys +go out with friends.” + +They had a wonderful lunch and lots of marvellous French cakes, and if +there were any lions they remembered that “friends” didn’t like them, +and kept within bounds. Cynthia felt for the first time that she could +breathe without it hurting her. To be alive and separate is so terrible +to love. The child’s hand in hers made her look past herself into a +world more beautiful and infinitely higher than her dreams. + + + + + CHAPTER XXX + + + “Oh; the light, light love that has wings to fly!” + +DR. GRANT had not found the wrench of parting much easier than his +sister, but, like many people with deep emotions, he had found room +enough to keep his unhappiness apart from his everyday work and +appearance, and to take a certain amount of placid enjoyment out of his +new mode of living. The difficulty was in completely deceiving Cynthia +by the constant holiday aspect she expected of him. Sometimes the shadow +fell between them, and they would be silent and apart, then both would +bitterly blame themselves, pity each other, and rush back into the +holiday aspect again. They would have been far happier if they had been +less reserved. + +It was about six when Geoff, returning to their apartments, heard the +noise of talk and merry laughter in his sister’s room. He opened the +door hastily to find Cynthia on her knees before the fire roasting +chestnuts with a curly-headed youngster, who laughed the more at his +appearance, as if it were a part of the game. + +“This is the Knight Sir Launcelot,” said Cynthia gravely, waving her +hand towards the boy. “Launcelot—the King!” Launcelot nodded. + +“I always ’spected him,” he said earnestly, “and now God must have sent +him instead of Tony. Do you think kings are nicer than birds?” he added +anxiously to Cynthia. + +“Not most of them,” said Cynthia preparing to shell a hot chestnut; “but +mine’s a very nice king, as nice as any bird I should think.” + +“Things when they’re _very_ nice fly away,” puzzled the thoughtful +knight; “if kings _was_ as nice as birds they might fly too!” He drew +down his brows and gazed at the solid and substantial doctor. “But +you—you don’t look as if you was a very flying person,” he finished +triumphantly. “Would you like a chestnut?” The doctor accepted one with +enthusiasm, and Launcelot, the king and the woman with red hair spent a +charming and exciting evening. + +They only parted at bedtime at his mother’s door on the express +understanding that he was to come again the next day, and that knights +never even under the hardest circumstances cried, and that last, but not +least, the coal-black charger with a stiff neck under the king’s coat +transported thither from a fairy shop must be shown without delay to +Marie, daddy and the cook. These facts being grasped the worst was over, +and the knight, strewing wet kisses in his wake, was borne away to bed, +leaving his volatile mother expressing shrill-voiced thanks to Cynthia +and Geoff. The streets seemed ten times brighter and less chilly to the +doctor and his sister, and they went to a screaming French farce for the +rest of the evening, and felt much the better for it. In fact they even +forgot for a while their determination to enjoy themselves. + +After this it became the custom for Launcelot to go to Cynthia every +afternoon and stay with her till evening. Millicent was always grateful, +but frequently hurried—more hurried even than an American woman in +Paris generally is. She did not refer again to the charming Count and +his sister, but one day she told Cynthia that “Clifton had gone away.” + +“For how long?” asked Cynthia quietly. Millicent stared, then she sat +down and laughed. She laughed for a long while, but not very merrily. +Finally she explained with a blank terseness. + +“He’s just quit; he’s gone! he’s left me. Don’t stand there and stare, +Cynthia. Sit down. We didn’t have a very good time together.” She +continued pacing restlessly up and down the little tawdry room. “He was +always the sort of man that wanted a good time, and we didn’t have much +money. After the child came, you know, it was worse than ever. I wasn’t +going to play the door-mat to Clifton, but I did my best to make it +pretty.” She looked at the little concealments, ragged and thin in the +heartless Paris sunshine, and they looked more pathetic than ever. “And +I dressed real well, but there wasn’t any keeping him. He only told me I +was ruining him with dressmakers’ bills, though he knew I make the most +of my own clothes! Sometimes I wish I hadn’t been so cock-sure about +Paris. In America there’d have been something to keep him back, but +there’s nothing to keep one back in Paris. Things look as innocent and +pretty——” her voice broke; “but they aren’t, Cynthia—they’re real +mean! they’re real mean!” Cynthia sat silently gazing at the carpet. The +nervous, breaking voice, the frightened, restless figure were not lost +upon her. They seemed familiar somehow, quite as if she had seen them +before; and the ring of pain in the most meagre phrase “But they +aren’t—they’re real mean! they’re real mean!” voiced a feeling that had +once been part of her without a voice. She waited for the inevitable +sequel. It came in a burst of hysterical sobs. “He left me a note, +Cynthia—Clifton did—he said I should know where to look for +consolation!” + +“The brute!” cried Cynthia. Millicent laughed. + +“Well! don’t you know they’re all that way when a man is tired. Nothing +will keep him; and then he wants to throw a sop to something, maybe he +thinks it’s his conscience, so he invents another man for the woman he’s +left—if—if there isn’t one already.” + +“Millicent,” Cynthia stood up, and took the pretty, heavily ringed hand +in hers, “do you think the second man will bring you anything better +than the first? He never does—the only difference is he leaves you +worse. Stick to your art and Launcelot!” Millicent tore her hands away. + +“Pshaw! you’re always talking about the child—I hate him!—there!—I +hate him! I hated the pain, I hated being put aside, I hated having to +spend my time on him—maybe if he hadn’t come Clifton would have been +different; maybe other things would have been different too! As for my +art, as you call it, what is art to a woman? Why, it’s nothing! you know +it, Cynthia. If Leslie Damores hadn’t played the fool——” + +“Hush!” Cynthia stammered in a piteous attempt to hide the pain of his +name. + +“Well, then! If a man wanted you, I’d like to know what pictures would +mean? Pictures! I may be weak and silly—I know I am—I loved my +husband. Yes! I did! I know I did. But if I can’t have him, I must have +somebody. And you want me—to paint! Well! I’ll tell you. I wanted to +please Clifton—so I painted. Now the Count doesn’t like the folks I mix +with——” she bridled perceptibly, and Cynthia felt sick, “so I won’t +paint any more.” + +She looked at the clock. Cynthia gazed at her desperately; she heard +Launcelot’s voice in the next room. She had taught him “Sir Galahad,” +and his voice rose in a triumphant shout at the last words, “All arm’d I +ride, whate’er betide, until I find the Holy Grail!” + +“What are you going to do with the child?” she asked wearily. Millicent +flushed. No woman is without the saving grace of feeling, through some +chord, a touch of shame. + +“The Count,” she said, “says he’ll send him to school; he’s very kind.” + +“Very,” said Cynthia dryly. “He will send him to a French school, where +he will grow into a second Count—it’s very kind of him. Millicent, if +you have no other plan, will you give him to me?” + +“To you!” said Millicent—“to you?” She was astonished. She was, after +all, his mother, and even where motherhood brings no love it keeps its +sense of property. “Why, Cynthia, I don’t know as I _can_; you see, +after all, I’m his mother! It’s very kind of you, Cynthia—but——” She +looked again at the clock. + +“Look here!” said Cynthia suddenly, “I’m not going without the boy. You +had better make up your mind to give him to me. You don’t want to ruin +his life as well as your own, and if you don’t let me have him——” +Cynthia’s eyes flashed. “He will be more in your way than ever now. I +shall stay and—explain—to the Count!” she finished grimly. Millicent +turned white. + +“Oh, go!” she said. “For Heaven’s sake go, and take the boy with you. I +suppose you don’t know what people will say! I suppose it doesn’t matter +to you that we all know why Leslie Damores didn’t marry you. I +suppose——” + +“Oh, Lady Beautiful!”—the knight stood looking from one to the other at +the door—“Lady Beautiful, do you know where it is?” + +“Where what is, my darling?” + +“The Holy Grail,” said the knight wrinkling his brows. “I don’t know +where to find it.” Cynthia took his hand. + +“Let’s go and look for it,” she said; “it isn’t here.” + +She hesitated, but Millicent stood at the window with her back to them. +She put her hands to her hair and replaced a pin. Cynthia turned with +the boy, and together they left the little tawdry flat for the last +time; left the strange, sad life with its shattered opportunities and +sordid concealments; left his mother standing by the window waiting for +the Count. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXI + + + “Where He stands,—the Arch Fear + In a visible form.” + + “IT is absolutely necessary you should come to me at once. I am + extremely ill. + + “YOUR UNCLE.” + +This brief but characteristic epistle rung in Muriel’s head as she left +the club for the night. It was a trying time to leave the work. She had +almost a settlement now of new helpers, men and women, all under her +headship, devoted and earnest workers, but needing direction, and a +firm, experienced hand. Cyril Johnstone had volunteered to come to her. +Association with her having convinced him that she was neither +light-minded nor superficial, and that in spite of his exalted office he +still had something to learn from a woman. Captain Hurstly having +withdrawn his liberal subscription, the club-work in his parish had +fallen through, and the old, broad-minded, empty-headed vicar could jog +on in peace to his grave with a sly chuckle or two at the fizzling out +of modern efforts. + +Meanwhile honest hard work and the buffeting experience of the +working-man had opened the young curate’s mind and sobered his heart, +and there is no such worker in any cause as the disciplined enthusiast. + +Muriel was happier about her work than she had ever been. It was only +right, according to her ethics, that as satisfaction dawned the new call +should come. She did not know what her uncle’s illness meant, but she +settled work for the next few weeks, had a final talk with her new +associate, and putting on what she called her society dress drove off in +a hansom to her uncle’s. She found him in the comfortable stage of a +dressing-gown and hot chocolate. He closed his eyes as she entered the +room. + +“Muriel, is that you?” + +“Yes, dear; I came at once.” + +“If you had not come it would have been too late! Muriel shut the door!” +Muriel shut the door. The room was very warm, and the bright winter +sunshine lit up the gold in her hair, and brought out the smile which +was always latent in her eyes. She sat down by him and took his hand. + +“Have they made your chocolate nicely?” she asked. + +“Never! Of course they haven’t. I am infamously neglected. My slightest +wish is thwarted. I am not master in my own house, Muriel! That is why I +sent for you. You at least, before you became so selfish and absorbed in +your own pleasure, knew how to look after my comfort. The doctor says I +must on no account move. I suffer agonies from my foot, and if anything +was to upset me the gout might fly to my heart! Yet though I have spoken +about it again and again, they _will_ leave skin on my hot milk!” + +“Shall I make you some more chocolate, and boil the milk myself?” asked +Muriel smiling. He growled an affirmative. And Muriel, chatting brightly +about his favorite topics, made him fresh chocolate, and lightened the +room by certain little readjustments of flowers, books and cushions that +the eyes of the most diligent of servants always just miss over, as if +to prove that self-help smiles after all. + +Sir Arthur Dallerton had aged terribly. Death’s hand rested upon so much +that was mortal. It is only in such cases that death is dreadful. +Muriel, who had so often seen it, thought she had never seen it more +sadly, for in his eyes was the haunting fear from which there is no +escape. Later on in the evening he called her to him. She had been +singing over some old Scotch airs. She came and sat on a footstool at +his feet, with her head on his knee. He liked to stroke her hair and +hold her hand; it gave him a sense of peace and security. + +“Muriel,” he said, “do you think there is any chance of—anything +happening to me?” The verb “to die” is terrible to some people. Sir +Arthur Dallerton preferred the evasion of something happening. + +“Why, no, dear; what should—happen?” said Muriel smiling. “Things—sad +things might cease to happen for you; but that would be beautiful, +wouldn’t it?” + +“Oh, Muriel, I don’t want to die! I am afraid! afraid!” His voice rose +almost to a scream. She stroked his hand and soothed him as if he were a +frightened child. + +“There, there, dear heart! it won’t hurt you, see; there isn’t any +death, or anything to be afraid of, surely! Only light, peace and rest, +dear uncle, and all the beautiful, lovely things of earth quite free, +and nothing to hurt any more!” + +“Oh, Muriel, child, do you think I shall see people whom I’ve come +across in life? Oh, it’s awful!” The poor, silly, selfish life, held +hopelessly before his eyes by the Inexorable Reality, made him catch his +breath. The girl’s heart sank, but she spoke with firm assurance. + +“We shall meet nothing that we can’t bear—nothing that is too hard for +us—for God is just as strong to save after death as before.” + +“But if there isn’t any God, if there’s only an awful grave? Oh, Muriel, +it’s a dreadful thing to be an old man!” He shivered from head to foot, +and she nestled closer to his side. + +“The body dies, and never feels anything; it’s just a sleep, and it will +never dream, or wake, or fret and trouble any more, and we believe that +the spirit is safer without it, and close to God,” she murmured. + +“I’m not so sure of that,” said her uncle sharply. “Some spirits can’t +help it. They’re no better than they should be, and what do you think +happens to them?” + +The blind cannot see. It is a scientific fact and a living reality; the +nearest they can reach to sight is to feel that they do not see as much +as they might see, and they dim that view by the cry of the eternally +inadequate “I can’t help it.” + +Muriel pressed her lips to the poor human hand. + +“Dear uncle, such spirits must be made as well as they ought to be. We +must trust God for the method, for we can’t know what is best; but I am +quite sure God meant us all for His, and if we hold fast to that we +shall grow like Him in time, and He will give us time, for there is all +eternity for us to go on being good in if we have made the start.” + +“You’ll never leave me, Muriel? Promise you will never leave me!” There +was a moment’s pause, while she looked into the fire and watched the +red-hot coal grow black and drop to ashes in the grate. + +“I’ll never leave you, dear,” she said at last. “And you won’t be afraid +any more?” she questioned. “I shall sleep right in the next room to you +if you want me. You won’t be afraid?” + +“No, child! It’s been very lonely without you, and they’re very +thoughtless about my chocolate. But you don’t think there’s any—hell, +do you?” + +“Oh, no, dear; I am quite sure there’s not. Now don’t you think I’d +better ring for Thomas to carry you to bed, and I’ll see that the cook +does your broth nicely.” + +“You may if you like,” he said grudgingly; “and mind you come to bed +early, and come to me the moment I call you.” + +“Yes, dear, I will,” and she kissed him gently. + +“You’re a good child,” he murmured sleepily. Just as she closed the door +he called her back. “Muriel!” + +“Yes, uncle.” + +“Are you sure about what you just mentioned, you know?” + +“There’s nothing in all the world or out of it but God, be very sure,” +she said with the passionate certainty of her faith. + +He was not quite certain whether he liked that very much better either. +But his broth was just as he wished that evening, and he did not call +her in the night for he passed away peacefully in his sleep. And there +was no dark left but his own soul, and even that with the hope of light +in it passed into the eternal. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXII + + + “This cold, clay clod was man’s heart: + Crumble it, and what comes next?—Is it God?” + +MURIEL woke up to a new poverty and an extra ten thousand a year. The +latter scarcely passed through her mind, but the former made her +terribly lonely. Now there seemed nothing left, and the world a vast +cold place void of personality. + +She repeated three times over during a hurried, lonely breakfast that +she had her work, and the post brought her two letters, one with +Cynthia’s Paris address, the other in a handwriting that drew all the +blood to her heart. She put it aside and read Cynthia’s. It told of her +work and of Launcelot. The tone was softer than usual. Muriel was +scarcely surprised when she read “Launcelot says his prayers every +evening, and always goes to church on Sundays. So I do, too. His soul +wants nourishment as well as his body, and I promised to take care of +him. The other night Geoff took him to bed, and when I went up to look +at them they were kneeling side by side looking out of the window. +Launcelot has an idea that the Holy Grail is in one of the stars, and he +is always looking for it. You have found it, Muriel, dear, and I am +beginning to believe that some day I may find it too.” She did not +mention Leslie Damores; evidently he had not discovered her yet. Muriel +hesitated to send him Cynthia’s address; she believed it better for them +both to wait. + +Finally she took up the second letter. “Will you forgive me for writing +to you? Gladys and I are married. We have left India for good, which +means my profession dropped, you understand; but Gladys says there is no +one to dress for in India. You’ll think it awful cheek on my part, but +she’s very young yet, and you used to have a tremendous influence over +her. I suppose you couldn’t drop in now and then and give her a hint or +two? I should like to see you awfully.—JACK.” + +Muriel carefully put the letter on a table, and sat with her hands on +her lap gazing steadfastly into the fire. She saw three things, and she +saw them plainly. One was that Jack did not love his wife, another that +she, Muriel, had hardly forgiven Gladys, and thirdly that Jack would +like to see her awfully. There was a dim, shadowy fourth, but this she +brushed angrily away; it hinted that there was more sunlight in the room +than before she had read the letter. + +Finally she drifted into a compromise it would do no harm to see Gladys. +She wrote telling her of her loss and inviting her to tea the following +week. She was very nervous when the afternoon came, and paced restlessly +up and down the long reception room in her heavy black dress vexed with +her expectancy, listening to the noises in the street. The sharp jingle +of a hansom passing, hesitating, stopping, brought her to a chair. + +Then came the sound of an electric bell, and a minute later the door +swung open and a footman announced “Captain Hurstly, miss.” + +Muriel looked at him inquiringly. She did not appear in the least +nervous now, for natures that tremble at a hindrance rise triumphantly +to meet a calamity, and in a moment she realized that his presence was +fully that. + +“Gladys couldn’t come at the last minute, and I did want to see you so, +Muriel,” he explained. He pleaded as he had always done, and he was just +as handsome. She let these things have full weight with her before she +spoke. + +“Won’t you sit down, Captain Hurstly; they will bring tea in a minute. I +am sorry your wife could not come.” + +Jack looked at her with eloquent, grieved eyes, but she meeting them saw +the coward in his soul, and her face hardened. He had not cared enough +for her to remain unmarried, merely enough to desire a flirtation after +marriage. She had not slept properly for three nights after she received +his letter. He was the first to find the silence uncomfortable. + +“I am not sorry she could not come,” he said with a tender inflection; +“I wanted to see you alone. It is a long while since I have seen you, +Muriel. To me it seems desperately long, and yet you have not changed at +all.” + +“You are mistaken, Captain Hurstly; I have changed a great deal. You +also have altered considerably.” Muriel’s tone was convincing even to +herself; she was beginning to believe she could after all bear it. + +“It is true I have altered,” he replied. “You alone might know how +terribly, but I suppose it is never wise to follow a wrong by a folly. +Only one can’t help oneself when one’s world, all that one has ever +cared for, tumbles about one’s ears. Oh, Muriel, how could you do it! +how could you do it!” He was intensely in earnest; he could always be +that at the very shortest notice. He stood in front of her looking down +with the same passionate blue eyes which used to stir her heart, and yet +when he met hers it did not seem as if he was looking down. + +“If you have come to open a question forever closed between us, Captain +Hurstly, and which your own honor and good sense should know to be +doubly closed by your marriage, I must ask you to excuse me. I did not +invite your wife to tea as a permission for you to insult me.” + +“You are right,” he said looking at her with frank admiration; “you are +always right, Muriel, without you I have forgotten how to be. Forgive +me, I did not come here to upbraid you for ruining my life——” + +“I should think not, indeed,” Muriel interrupted scornfully. + +“But to ask you to help me about Gladys. Are you my friend enough to +wish to do that—Muriel?” She flushed painfully. + +“I should like to help you,” she said in a low voice. + +“It’s simply that she won’t understand the danger of flirting with other +men—every and any other man apparently,” he explained; “and I don’t +want my wife to be a second Edith le Mentier.” There was a pause; his +illustration was unfortunate. + +“You give her no cause to complain of you by your attention to +the—first Mrs. le Mentier?” she could not forbear to ask. + +“Muriel!” he cried. The protest was too vehement to be convincing. She +rose and held out her hand. + +“I will do all I can for your wife, Captain Hurstly—I am afraid it will +be little enough—on one condition”—he waited anxiously—“that you will +not attempt to see me again.” + +“You really mean it?” He spoke slowly, intensely. She never knew +afterwards how she kept her hands from trembling. + +“You have singularly forgotten the little you knew of me if you think I +do not mean what I say, Captain Hurstly.” She turned wearily to the +door. He compared her in his mind with Edith le Mentier. Muriel was +telling him to go away. She had told him to come back. Gladys was only a +shadow in his life, a chained shadow; he did not even think of her at +this moment. He had never depended on principles or considered +consequences. + +“Good-bye, then, Muriel,” he said. “I suppose I must thank you for your +promise, though its condition is terrible to me. You don’t know what you +may be driving me to!” + +“Oh, I’m not driving you,” cried Muriel desperately, the weakness of his +nature dawning more fully on her; “drive yourself, Captain +Hurstly—drive yourself!” + +So he went, and was driven by some passion of irresponsibility from +Muriel to Edith le Mentier. He found her in. + +For Muriel there was just earth—weak earth—where her ideal had once +made heaven for her. + +It is not often we are brought into such sharp contact with our broken +idols; if it were we should cease to make new ones—and that would be a +loss. + +Muriel stood face to face with the knowledge that she had been a fool—a +girl with a dream—lie—hugged to her heart: and God help women who have +to realize such dreams in the daylight of facts. + +All she could find to say was that he was absolutely dead; she had not +risen yet to see her deliverance. If the world had been empty before, +now it was a blank. Those who die leave a sense of loss, but to know +that one we loved has never lived is the greatest and most tragic +emptiness of all. Muriel saw failure written over her heart. There was +only one thing left: she fell on her knees and offered up her failure. +So love passed away from her, but it left her on her knees. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXIII + + + “The black moments at end, the elements change.” + +IT was early, and the sunlight with sharp shadows had a chilly and +almost stage effect. The sky was dazzling over Notre Dame. Geoffrey +Grant sat in the great church, watching the sunbeams catch up and +glorify the dust. Worshippers and sightseers slipped in and out, and +many candles gleamed. + +The thought of Muriel had driven him there; and now he was alone with +it, he thought half cynically how many had been driven there from the +effects of unhappy love affairs, only they had called it aspiration. He +at least was honest with himself; he knew it was Muriel. + +In his early youth he had been embittered by a girl. It was the usual +story of love and no money, and the girl had chosen not to wait. When +success and good fortune came to him, he was indifferent to it. He +treated all women with a sort of good-natured contempt, thinking them +creatures of diseased nerves and hysterical affections. Necessary evils +distinctly, but of the two perhaps more evil than necessary. His sister +had been the one exception; he almost worshipped her. Then came her +story. A crisis which he had passed through, by an extraordinary power, +but once faced, he had resolutely killed, and hidden all traces of the +past. His sister never knew what agony she had brought into his life. +She believed that his perceptions were blunted, instead they were too +delicate to be obvious; he had encased them in reserve, and bore without +wincing because the worst pain stings into silence. Muriel had been a +revelation to him, her gaiety was so spontaneous, her brightness so +infectious. She had thrown her life, all dusty and human, into the glory +of the sunbeam, and she was strong. He had watched her with Jack +Hurstly, and he watched her afterwards. As a doctor her magnificent +healthiness appealed to him. He could not imagine her having nervous +prostration; as a man he marvelled at her. She knew that he loved her, +yet she could look him straight in the eyes and be frankly friendly. + +It had become the purpose of his life to strengthen their friendship +into something more. For a long while he had struggled against it, but +it was a passion that found grace with his whole nature; and, when he +had come to the conclusion that strength lay in submission, Cynthia +needed him, and he laid down his love and his work to face the Arch Fear +of his life. If Cynthia should fail! + +The last month had worn lines in his face, and his keen eyes in repose +looked sadder than ever. He had fought, and the worst was over; he had +watched and fenced, waited and listened, seized opportunities, avoided +dangers, guided and guarded, and slaved that Cynthia should be safe and +ignorant of his efforts. He had felt happier when Launcelot came, and +this afternoon had left her with a mind at rest. + +The figure of a woman with a child in her arms attracted him. She had +evidently come a long way; she was tired and footsore, and very poorly +dressed. He watched her buy a candle for the Virgin’s shrine and kneel +there till overcome with weariness, she slept, her head against a +pillar, but even though she slept she clasped the child. He felt less +impatience than usual with the wasteful, senseless candle-buying, and +the love, the unconscious love of motherhood, and all things beautiful +touched him closely. After all, he wondered, there was something +strangely more than human in women who could give so much as Muriel and +that mother. No physical passion could explain it all—it was so +selfless, so extraordinary, so unnatural in another mood he might have +called it, but here and now “supernatural” seemed the more fitting word. +The baby stirred in its sleep, and the mother’s eyes opened watchfully. +She changed its position to a more comfortable one in her arms, then she +made the sign of the Cross on its forehead, and crossing herself rose to +her feet and left the church. The doctor rose too, and then, moved by an +emotion he could never account for knelt and prayed. He smiled a little +whimsically to himself. “Why, I believe I am becoming a Christian,” he +thought. But he had not changed; he was only beginning to see what all +along the tremendous struggle of his life had been making him. People +who are so much better than their creeds often wake up to find their +creeds are higher than they dreamed. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXIV + + + “I shall clasp thee again: and with God be the rest!” + +HE had found her! He repeated breathlessly to himself the one great +fact. Leslie Damores had searched all their old haunts in Paris, had +wandered and waited and watched, and now at last found her in a great +class-room of French students. He had come as a special favor to the +master in whose studio they worked, and he could not signal her out for +more than a word, but by a clever clumsiness he knocked over her +drawing-board. As he picked it up and gave it to her all the great +unspoken things passed between them. It proved the mocking inadequacy of +words that all he could say was “When may I see you?” and that she could +only answer “After the class.” The first blessed moment had gone, +general criticisms had to be given, and French and English art +discussed. An hour passed interminably; he could not always stand where +the glint of red gold hair made of the studio a new heaven and a new +earth. Then in a blessed skirmish of conflicting drawing-boards and +parting chatter the class broke up, and somehow the master and the pupil +found themselves once more in the streets of Paris, or the new +Jerusalem. There was at that moment ridiculously little in a name. Their +thoughts were only a happy chaos, and he could do nothing but repeat the +only fact that mattered. + +“I have found you at last,” he said. + +“I don’t believe you ought to have looked for me,” she replied gravely, +for she was afraid. + +“What made you run away, Cynthia?” he asked. She could give him any +reason but the right one. She chose to deny the charge. + +“I didn’t run away,” she said; “I merely wanted to come to Paris.” + +“Then why shouldn’t I look for you?” cried Leslie triumphantly; “I +merely wanted to come too.” + +“I don’t know where we are going to,” said Cynthia, looking at him to +see if he was much altered. + +“I don’t think it in the least matters providing we go there together,” +laughed Damores. “As it happens, here’s a cemetery; shall we go in and +look at the tombstones?” Cynthia laughed as well. It was too absurd to +think of death. There were lines in his face; he must have missed her a +good deal. They went into the cemetery together. A husband who had come +to put some flowers on the grave of his dead wife thought them +heartless. They were not heartless, they were only too happy to remember +they had hearts at all. + +“Now you have come, what are you going to do?” she asked at last. She +could not meet his eyes now; the things they meant cried too loudly for +an answer. + +“I am going to marry you,” he replied smiling, “if you’ll let me. I +don’t think anything else matters just at present.” Cynthia felt the +color in great rebellious waves sweep over her face. She looked with +unseeing eyes at the wreaths of absurdly artificial flowers. + +“Do you fully realize what that means, Leslie?” she asked. “Can you face +everything—everything?” + +“Everything! everything!” said Leslie quietly, “with you; without you I +cannot live my life. You are the best of everything I do. You never came +to see my picture—it would have told you all. Once I made a tremendous +mistake. It seems a crime when I look back. There is only one thing that +can ever wipe it out. Cynthia, is it too late to ask you to be my wife, +and overlook the past?” She could not speak, her heart thundered, and +seemed to shake the ground she stood on. + +God had given her a tremendous reward, a gift unspeakable after she had +renounced what had been to her the very hope of joy, and from the lips +of the man she loved pardon and oblivion swept her sin into the free, +pure waters of love. She lifted up her eyes to him that he might read +there all her heart and soul his eternally and for ever. For a long +while silence came down and covered them. They turned at last, and +slowly and without speaking left the place of tombs—the acre of God’s +sleeping ones. The man who had been stung by their laughter, seeing +their faces again, recalled his injury. “After all,” he thought, “they +had their business here.” And he was right, for love and death live in +no separate houses. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXV + + + “A man’s reach should exceed his grasp.” + —ROBERT BROWNING. + +GLADYS was desperately unhappy. She had got what she wanted, and that, +unfortunately, is frequently what follows. The unscrupulous get much, +but they lose more; and Gladys, who had won her heart’s desire, sitting +in a beautifully furnished room before the photograph of the husband she +adored, was weeping bitterly. From the first day of their marriage jars +had arisen. He was hopelessly selfish about his personal comforts, but +he had a certain tremendous code of honor of the sort that abhors a lie +and connives at a betrayal. Gladys was given to frequent fibbing. He had +been disgusted, and had not hidden it; she had been spiteful and +pointedly malicious. Little bitter unspoken things rose up as their eyes +met. Their honeymoon had not been a success. (An exacting woman and a +selfish man should avoid honeymoons.) + +Their home-coming was scarcely more so. They were both very extravagant +in different directions, and they had no patience for each other’s +extravagances and no self-denial for their own; they were weak and +obstinate over trifles. Gladys was extremely demonstrative and fond of +talking; Jack cared very little for outward expressions of feeling, and +preferred women who could hold their tongues. He was perfectly frank, +and paid all his compliments to other women. Gladys lived on admiration, +and if she could not get it from the man who ought to give it to her, +she would try to draw it from the man who would. She found this very +easy. A good many of her husband’s brother officers admired her, and one +of them, a Major Kennedy, frequently told her so. + +She was crying bitterly now over a note that lay on her lap. It was an +invitation to a dinner from Edith le Mentier to meet Major Kennedy. It +mentioned her husband in a way that brought the angry color to her +cheeks. She was beginning to understand, and the tears dried. She +thought of what Major Kennedy had said of the way to treat husbands: +“Give ’em a little wholesome indifference, and look round you; that’s +the way to whistle ’em back!” + +After all, a woman might have a good deal of fun without any harm coming +from it. Lots of married women did. Look at Edith le Mentier for +instance—hateful thing! Yet no one could doubt that her husband was +devoted to her—and other women’s husbands too! Her eyes flashed as she +thought of Jack. She stamped her foot. “I’ll pay them both out!” she +cried, and she accepted Edith le Mentier’s “delightful invitation.” + +Muriel called on Mrs. Hurstly later in the season. There was a moment’s +silence as the two women met. The room so daintily and beautifully +furnished seemed filled with memories. Their eyes were drawn together to +the photograph of Jack Hurstly in uniform. It was a curious coincidence +that he had given to his wife the very photograph Muriel had returned to +him. It was the only copy. Muriel withdrew her hand and sat down with +her back to the photograph. + +“And are you going to live in London?” she asked Gladys, studying the +girl’s face, the defiant sad eyes and peevish mouth, the fretful +restlessness of the dainty figure. Pity was killing the last traces of +her disappointment in her. Gladys returned her gaze curiously; she was +thinking how becoming black was to Muriel. + +“Oh, yes!” she said; “I suppose we shall practically live here. I hate +the country, you know, except for house-parties, and Jack’s estate is +particularly dreary, I think. I hate ‘estates,’ they’re like +appropriated pews, one always wants to sit somewhere else! Have you +given up your club craze yet? Your uncle’s death must have made a lot of +difference to you?” Muriel smiled. + +“If you mean am I horribly rich? I’ll admit it, but it will make the +‘club craze’ flourish more than ever, I expect. I have bought up three +houses in Stepney and turned them into one for a settlement of workers. +I am making arrangements now to enlarge the club, and in two or three +weeks I shall go back to it.” There was a slight pause. Gladys played +with some violets in a stand. “Are you quite happy?” said Muriel at last +very gently. “I hope, dear, you are quite happy?” It appeared to Gladys +absurd to suppose she could possibly mean it, yet the tone sounded +sincere. + +“Happy?—of course we are! Why we have only been married a few months, +and Jack has discovered I wear my own hair and keep my own complexion, +and I am reassured as to the harmlessness of his habits and the extent +of his income. What more can one ask?” + +“Those in themselves might add to your unhappiness if you were so +already, but they could scarcely succeed in _making_ you happy, I am +afraid,” said Muriel quietly. + +“Wouldn’t _you_ be happy with—Jack?” questioned Gladys. Sorrow, if it +doesn’t increase tenderness, tends to brutality. Muriel met her eyes +calmly. + +“No,” she said slowly, “I do not think I should be quite happy—with +Jack.” She did not refer to their broken engagement. Gladys expected her +to, and was touched. + +“It was horrid of me to say that,” she said, “if you still care for him, +and rude of me if you don’t.” + +“I don’t think you either rude or horrid,” said Muriel quietly, “only +not quite happy. I am very sorry for you, dear, because, though I don’t +care for Jack as I did, he made me very miserable once.” Gladys pulled +two violets to pieces on her lap. Muriel shivered; she hated wanton +destruction of anything, and she loved flowers. + +“I have behaved very badly to you,” said Gladys at last in a low voice. +“It was I that helped Edith le Mentier make trouble between you and +Jack.” + +“You loved him so?” asked Muriel gently. Gladys burst into tears. + +“I don’t know why you should treat me like this,” she sobbed, “for I did +my best to ruin your life, and I would again to get—Jack!” Muriel took +her in her arms; all her old love and pity returned to her. + +“It would make no difference to me if you did,” said Muriel; “I should +only be sorry for you. Tell me what’s the matter?” + +“He doesn’t care! he doesn’t care!” she wailed. “I don’t believe he ever +did, and now he’s gone back to that hateful woman again. Why shouldn’t +_I_ amuse myself if I want to? He doesn’t love me, and—and other people +do!” Muriel’s face grew stern with pain. If she had wished for revenge +it was at her feet, but with all her soul she sorrowed for the wreckage +of two lives. + +“I don’t think you are quite yourself,” she said. “If you love Jack, you +know he is the only other person there is. He must have cared for you as +well, or he wouldn’t have married you, dear. So put the other people +quite away, and smile, and wear your prettiest clothes. You will find +Mrs. le Mentier quite a secondary consideration. Why, she isn’t even +pretty! Jack only goes to see her because you won’t be nice to him. Now +have you been quite nice to him? Given up yourself in all the little +ways, that he might give himself up to you in the great ways? Remember +men are like children: you must put their toys away, and bring them out +again at the right times, and not fret them about unnecessary things. +Now, put on some of the dear violets and come home to tea with me!” +Gladys looked at her suspiciously. Muriel laughed. “There’s nothing I +want to get out of you!” she cried; “and you are no use to me whatever. +_Now_, will you come?” Gladys had the grace to blush; an impulse to +trust the girl she had wronged moved her. She gave her a letter to read +and went out of the room to get her things on. Muriel read the letter +standing, then she went to the window and sat down. + +She felt very tired. It is not so much of a surprise to find the +outwardly barbarous with angel hearts, as to see the delicate and +finished products of a noble civilization inwardly corrupt. The letter +was from Major Kennedy. There are times when conditional immortality +seems the only safeguard of heaven. Muriel felt too miserable almost to +breathe. There come moments in the brightest lives of blank depression. +The greatest effort she ever made was to take Gladys back to tea with +her. That evening Jack Hurstly dined at home, and his wife burned an +unanswered letter. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXVI + + + “There is still sun on the wall.” + +“SO Launcelot is to go to school, and Cynthia is to be married, and you +are to be left all alone?” asked Muriel smiling as she handed Geoff a +cup of tea. She had handed him a good many cups of tea since he had been +back in England. + +“I am to be left all alone,” repeated the doctor, looking at her +steadily. + +“I have been practically alone ever since I can remember,” said Muriel +suddenly, “but I have seldom been lonely. In fact I often think it is +only the people who don’t live alone who _are_ lonely. They are always +trying to be understood, to break through barriers and live on a common +level, and there’s no such chance, for the more one shares the little +things the more pitilessly isolated the big things make us. It is so +dreadfully inadequate that tantalizing partial help one gets from +others.” + +“There I think you are wrong,” he said looking quietly across at her. +“It’s the whole loaf theory you’re defending. You might just as well say +a man had better have no legs than one, or could be as active without a +crutch as with one, simply because he can’t be very active anyway. We +all want what help we can get, and it is not the least necessary for +people to understand us to help us. Children are the greatest help. +People who know that we want the moon may be wise enough to tell us it +is only a worn-out world of rocks, but people who can’t fathom our +desires can still help us by telling us it is beautiful. It is one of +the first lessons doctors learn to help patients to help themselves. In +fact it is the greatest good we or anybody else can do.” + +“Yet you don’t say that the most ignorant doctors are the best?” she +prevaricated. + +“No! because sympathy of that kind without knowledge is sympathy without +a backbone. Physical cases require the definite as a foundation, but +when one deals with the invisible, love comes first, not knowledge. +Ignorant mothers mean more to their children than thoughtful scholars +could—even if they do slap them occasionally. A man or woman without a +home, if they have no jars and frets, must miss the influence of it, and +feel the horrible loneliness of life.” He so intensely meant what he +said that Muriel felt she had been flippant, and yet his seriousness +made her long to be more so. + +“Birds who sit on telegraph wires, and can fly away from the line of +communication whenever they want to, are more to my liking,” she said. + +“You forget that the birds have nests,” suggested the doctor smiling. + +“And you that we don’t have wings,” sighed Muriel. “And we can’t change +our mates every spring; when we choose we choose for life, expecting the +better—and getting the worst!” + +“Not always,” said Geoff quietly. + +Muriel felt angry; she could not tell why. She had never talked in this +strain before; she felt vicious with the universe, and its +representative opposite her made her worse; besides she had just been to +see Gladys. + +“If there was an alternative we would take it,” she said. “But half of +us women are brought up in such a lackadaisical way that there’s no use +for us. When we have brains and opportunity we are generally physically +handicapped. People don’t cut the woman who works now—they shrug their +shoulders at her, and that’s worse! As for resources (they advise +resources, you know, after one’s reached twenty-six), they are an outlet +for wasted powers, a puny outlet, a mere compromise with failure! Oh! +I’ve seen it again and again, dozens of times, capable, efficient girls +brought up to be perfectly, daintily useless! After the schoolroom is +over they get a dress allowance—and practise on the piano. Their heads +must be full of something, so then come the rubbish—heaps of life, +silly curates, silly extravagances, or piteously futile old maidhood! +They keep us from being trained for anything else because they want us +to marry, but all the other trainings help towards that the more one +learns the more fit one is to teach. Self-reliance, good judgment and a +sense of proportion are not out of place in a wife, and motherhood is +only a word without them.” The doctor laughed. + +“Train your enterprising exceptions,” he said; “perhaps in time they’ll +give the average woman a lift, but I don’t go all the way with you by +any means. You over-estimate women because of one or two women you have +met who stand mentally above their race. Average women at present +haven’t brains enough to seize opportunities or to apply sensible +educations. Domesticities or resources, and a silly curate or two, are +just what they can appreciate, and good, solid hard work what they wish +to avoid. I don’t say women lack brains, but as a rule they lack depth +and continuity. They have very little of the mental soundness, even the +clever ones, that the average man has as a matter of course. They don’t +concentrate, and they’re altogether too personal to make much headway in +the professions. You needn’t look as if you wished to annihilate me, +Miss Muriel—I’ve no doubt you could—but I believe it to be a fact that +women as a whole haven’t got physical or intellectual stamina enough for +public life, and all the education and opportunities in the world will +never give it to them!” + +“But we’re only beginning,” cried Muriel. “See how far we’ve got +already.” + +“That’s the worst argument you have got against you,” said the doctor +smiling. “You are _too_ quick to be natural; you work in spurts with +reactions—growth, _real_ growth, is a much slower affair. But even +granting you that you have been kept back, you simply can’t be _more_ +mentally than you have physical strength for, and as long as you are +labelled women, you’ll be labelled _weak_.” Muriel laughed. + +“You sound so horribly sensible,” she said, “and you leave us no power!” + +“Ah! there you’re mistaken,” said the doctor. “All your strength (and +Heaven knows you’ve got enough!) lies in weakness! When we come to the +bottom of it, emotion rules the world, and woman is queen of the +emotions.” + +“Oh, doctor! doctor!” cried Muriel with uplifted hands. “Principles! +principles!” Geoff smiled grimly. + +“Ah! principles,” he said; “they are very good things for theories, and +they act as a drug on the passions—but sometimes they don’t act! +Good-bye, Miss Muriel, my principles warn me of my office hour.” + +Muriel let him go willingly. She felt absurd, snubbed, dissatisfied. She +wanted some one to look at her as Jack had looked, with those adoring, +humble eyes, and to listen to her as Jack had listened passionately +sympathetic, and ready to agree with her that two blacks make the +loveliest white in the world. She hated herself for being so rubbed up +the wrong way; and in one breath accused Dr. Grant of being rude, and +herself of being ridiculous. Finally she decided that neither of these +things had anything to do with it, but that she was upset about Gladys. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXVII + + + “The Devil drove the woman out of Paradise; but not even the + Devil could drive Paradise out of the woman.” + + —GEORGE MACDONALD. + +“THE worst of being unusual,” said Edith le Mentier to Jack as he talked +with her under the cover of loud, unmeaning drawing-room music, +“is—that’s it’s so common. Really you know it’s ridiculous running +away. Everybody does it!” + +“Still you know one can’t come back again—one’s got to count the cost,” +he said looking at her anxiously. + +She had made him think he cared a good deal for her, and she cared +desperately for him. He did not realize how much—it was her greatest +victory that he didn’t. She trembled at even feeling his eyes on her, +his presence near her. + +“I feel such a brute,” he said, “leaving Gladys.” + +“Brutes can’t live with fools,” said Edith le Mentier. “I like—brutes,” +she added under her breath. Then she looked at him. “I don’t see the +necessity for you to leave—Gladys,” she said. + +The music stopped with a crash. The hostess cried, “Oh, how delicious! +Thank you! And _which_ of the dear old masters was that?” The +conversation leaped joyously into freedom. + +Jack felt the room and the plants and the beautiful dresses whirl round +him like a dream. + +“But,” he said, “I’m not that sort of a man.” He had risen to the very +height of his standard. Edith understood instantly. + +“I mean,” she said gently and sadly, “we might never see each other +again.” + +“Edith! Edith!” he said; “not that, my darling!” + +“Remember where you are,” she said in an undertone. “They’re going to +ask me to sing,” she added. “Come to me to-morrow.” + +“I wish you would tell me if you mean to trust me!” he pleaded. + +She shrugged her shoulders; they were very pretty ones; then she sang. +They had nothing there she knew but Gounod’s “There is a green hill far +away.” And so she sang that. She sang it beautifully. + +Gladys was sitting up for him, she had had a headache and could not +accompany him. She always had a headache if there was the chance of her +meeting Edith le Mentier. She had dressed very sweetly to welcome him, +and looked very young and pathetic. It was so late that he scolded her +for sitting up for him, but she told him she had something special to +say, and took him into the library, shutting the door. The fire gleamed +cheerily, and Jack, as he leaned back in a big arm-chair, and looked at +the pretty, eager face opposite him, felt more of a brute than ever. + +“I have had Muriel with me all the afternoon,” she began nervously, “and +she made me promise to talk it all over frankly with you. She’s been so +good to me, Jack!—and I told her that I would——” She hesitated, and +looked at the fire. + +He could see that her lips trembled, and a sudden longing to take her in +his arms and comfort her came over him, as he had done one short year +ago in the Indian garden. But he did not—it was some time since he had +done so. And there was this evening’s terrible barrier in between. + +“Do you know, Jack, we haven’t been married quite a year, and yet we +aren’t very happy, are we? I’m afraid I have been terribly to blame, +Jack. I wanted to tell you so long ago, but you didn’t—didn’t seem to +care a bit. Then you began to see such a lot of that horrible woman, and +I hated that, and I thought I hated you! People told me I ought to amuse +myself, and that there were other men besides neglectful husbands—and +Major Kennedy, he’s a great friend of yours, and he came so often to the +house—and you never seemed to care. Indeed, I don’t believe you ever +took the trouble to find out, and I was very miserable and silly! I +daresay being miserable should have made me wise, but you were the +highest thing I loved, and _still_ love, Jack, and you didn’t care!” She +paused a moment, catching her breath, and he grew white in a sudden +agony of fear and pain. + +He had lived with this woman—she was his wife! He had married her a +young, untried girl, and he had given her the key to all the dangers, +and left her to face them alone. He dared not interrupt her, and so he +waited, fearing each heavy, silent moment as it passed. + +“I wanted love, and he—he said he loved me, Jack! Ah! don’t speak! I +was a fool and worse! but indeed I didn’t understand, and then—Muriel +came,”—he drew in a deep breath, it might have been a sob of +relief,—“and I tried to be different. Do you remember that night, two +weeks ago, when you came in late and I kissed you, and you—laughed at +me? Oh, Jack, how it hurt me! And then the next day he told me he would +sell his soul for a kiss. Perhaps he didn’t mean anything, but you had +gone to tea with Edith le Mentier, and I—let him, Jack!” He started +forward, but she stopped him by a gesture. “Wait till I finish, please,” +she said. “Then I understood, and I sent him away, and cried all the +afternoon. He wanted me to run away with him, and I was weak and +frightened. I don’t know what I should have done if it hadn’t been for +Muriel. You said I wasn’t truthful, so I want to be quite truthful now. +I think if it hadn’t been for Muriel I should have gone. I wanted to +hurt your pride if I couldn’t win your love; but Muriel stood by me, and +wouldn’t let me go. She told me what to say to Major Kennedy. I’m not +sure—but I believe she said something to him herself—anyway he went +off somewhere at once. Oh, Jack, _can’t_ you love me! can you ever be +good to me again?” She lifted up her arms towards him, with the tears +rolling down her cheeks. She was weak and irresolute, vain and foolish, +but he had done nothing to help her, yet she had gone through what had +defeated him, and she was asking him whether he could forgive her! “I +loved you, Jack,” she cried piteously; “I loved you all the time! And +it’s all over now for ever and ever!” The color rushed into her face and +a new look came into her eyes—a look he did not understand. + +“Why do you say it’s all over?” he asked dully. “It may happen again.” + +“It will never come again,” she said, “because—oh, Jack, I—I’m afraid, +but I’m very glad too—it’s always so wonderful, and don’t you +understand?” she covered her face with her hands, “I am going to be—the +mother of your child!” At last it came to him, and for ever killed the +irresponsibility of love’s selfishness. He took her now in his arms, he +dared to do so, because now for him too the other was all over. She was +helpless and clinging, she was his wife, and she was going into the +valley of the shadow of death because she loved him. “Oh, Jack, will you +forgive?” + +“Forgive you!” he cried, and tried to explain to her how sorry he was, +how much to blame, and how glad at last that they both of them +understood, and how now it would all be different—so wonderfully +different! But he did not tell her about Edith le Mentier. + +When she was safe in bed he wrote to the other woman, and hurt her very +bitterly. The other woman, for all her faults, is very often brave, and +Edith le Mentier suffered horribly; but she bore the great defeat, and +was only a very little irritable the next morning. She did not sing +Gounod’s song again; she said it was scarcely suitable. + +She always shrugged her shoulders and smiled when people mentioned +Jack’s wife, and when they spoke of him she said “Poor fellow!” + +Who could tell that those were the figures of the sum called tragedy? +Not the tragedy of the true-hearted who see through pain the vista of +glory, but that inordinate agony which because it is so solely selfish +eats into the heart that bears it, and for the vista substitutes a +_cul-de-sac_. + +Jack and Gladys went to his estate in the country, where they spent some +bad hours, and learned lessons of tolerance. It was, fortunately for +Jack, the hunting season, and he rode hard to hounds. Gladys cultivated +the country people, read a great deal, and took an intelligent interest +in Jack’s “runs.” At the end of the time they could live together quite +comfortably, and avoided the unendurable with the ready forbearance of +quite long married people. The knowing what to avoid is the key to most +things, though it is often difficult to turn. + +A son was born to them, making Jack a proud father, and consequently a +good husband. And Gladys found a life more engrossing than her own. She +wrote and asked Muriel to stand godmother. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXVIII + + + “Life’s business being just the terrible choice.” + +THERE was trouble at Shindies Alley, not that there was anything unusual +in that! For it was a place where trouble was the commonplace, and what +the comfortable call tragedy almost a nursery rule. Only the trouble was +worse than usual, amounting to the prospect of the police and a possible +murder case in the papers. “Rough Tom” being not quite so drunk as usual +had beaten his wife nearly to death, a thing he had done before, but +never quite so effectually. It was better, the neighbors thought, to +send a boy to the doctor’s, he and the lady at the club had been there +before. This time the doctor arrived first. “Rough Tom” was off, no one +of course knew where. All denied any knowledge of him, though exultingly +willing to report any unnecessary and loathsome details of the row. The +doctor dismissed the crowd curtly. They vanished silently into dark +holes and corners. + +It was a cold night. The children sharing the den where their mother lay +cursing and groaning cried dismally. They also cried loudly; it seemed +worth while with both a row and a doctor. Geoff despatched them to a +neighbor’s across the passage, and examined the woman by a guttering +candle. She swore horribly, but she was too much engrossed with pain to +be afraid; she was also anxious to explain that it was not her man’s +fault but another woman’s, whom she called by a variety of names. She +was too ill to be moved, and the doctor began with steady gentleness to +dress the wounds. He needed a nurse, but he had no time to send for one. +The case was urgent. We fight as earnestly for the most apparently +useless lives as for the dearest, yet we cannot believe that God has as +high a respect for the ultimate fate of the crushed soul’s life as we +have to keep breath in a ruined body. + +It was the doctor’s profession, but it was that least of all that made +him fight for her. He looked up and saw Muriel at the door. He felt +intensely angry that she should know such a place existed. + +“I should advise you to go away,” he said coldly. Muriel looked up for a +moment, simply astonished, then she advanced towards him and the heap of +rags. + +“I am going to help you,” she said. + +“You are only in the way,” he replied grimly, not raising his eyes from +the patient. “I want a nurse, not—a young lady.” The last words might +have been an insult. She flushed angrily. + +“I can hold her for you,” she said; “I am not afraid.” It was necessary +to have some help. + +“You will faint?” he questioned incredulously. + +“No, Dr. Grant, I shall not!” said Muriel. He knew by her tone that she +was very angry. + +“Well, then, don’t waste any more time,” was his only reply. + +In another moment she was down on her knees, obeying short, imperious +orders. Dr. Grant never left much to the initiative of his nurses. The +sight was almost more repulsive than she could bear. She wanted to cover +her face with her hands instead of using them on the awful crushed form. +She wanted to scream at the woman’s pain, to rage at the doctor’s +cruelty, to fly from this whole world of constant reiterated woe; but +she was far too angry even to let her hands tremble. At last she felt +that her strength was going; she turned white, cold perspiration stood +on her forehead. The doctor glanced at her sharply, and then—he +laughed. The hot blood rushed to her heart; she grew rigid now, but not +with fear; the noise in her ears ceased. She heard every word he said, +anticipated every need, and had not reached the limit of her strength +when the doctor released her. + +“The morphia will keep her quiet till morning,” he said. “You’d better +go home.” + +“Will she live?” she asked him. + +“Unfortunately—yes,” said Geoff. “Women of that sort generally do—to +be beaten again!” They went in silence to the door. Muriel was quite +certain now that she disliked him. + +Geoff left a few parting directions to a reluctant, but almost entirely +sober, neighbor. When they were in the street Muriel waited for him to +explain; but he did not explain. It was a habit of his not to, possibly +owing to his professional desire to steer clear of the definite. Muriel +was too astonished, hurt and indignant to remain silent for long. She +stopped. + +“Good-night, Dr. Grant,” she said with an icy formality. The doctor’s +eyes twinkled. + +“What’s the matter?” he asked. She looked at him with a searching angry +glance. + +“Your manner has not pleased me to-night,” she replied quietly; “I +should prefer to return alone.” + +“I am sorry if I have displeased you, Miss Dallerton,” said Geoff with +his mouth ominously twitching. Was it imaginable that she couldn’t see +he wanted to kiss her? As she stood there, aggrieved, defiant, serious, +her eyes like two points of light under her heavy hair, the bright color +in her cheeks, the whole daring absurdity of _her_ seriously facing life +there in a horrible alley instead of the delicate luxury of a West-End +drawing-room, he could have laughed at the inappropriateness of it. +“It’s too cold for an apology,” he ventured more gravely. “I will see +you about this later, if I may. Please let me see you home first.” + +She did not want to seem girlishly tempestuous, so she assented to his +last request, but in bitter silence walked with him to the club. She did +not give him her hand as he said “Good-night.” She wanted tremendously +to refuse to allow him to call, to cut short their acquaintance, to +never set eyes on him again. But she felt an absurd desire to cry +brought on by the physical strain of the past two hours, so that she +said nothing. + +Yet when she was in her room she would not cry. She forced the tears +back, and remembered how he had laughed at her! The utter careless +brutality of his whole behavior! And Cynthia could be so foolish as to +imagine he cared for her! She herself had never for an instant dreamed +it—she refused to admit it—it was impossible! It never occurred to her +in the least that Geoff had been trying to rouse her courage through +opposition, and to control his own too tender feelings by a mask of +rudeness. Even if it had occurred to her she would probably have been +just as angry, for what she was really indignant with was his strength +and her weakness, and she could find no excuses for that. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXIX + + + “The best + Impart the gift of seeing to the rest.” + +THE studio lamps made cheerful colors in the right places, and Cynthia +feeling the world as far as she was concerned in her lap, in the shape +of a baby boy, round and fair with undecided features, felt that life +had brought its own rewards, richly, wonderfully. She was almost afraid, +she was so happy, with the fear of those who have gone into the +darkness, and dreamt only of the light. Leslie Damores was painting her +again, but the face was different. It was called “Motherhood,” and it +told of the great need satisfied. Muriel was coming in to see the +picture. The studio door opened and a woman come into the room; she was +little, and French, and beautifully dressed. She advanced towards +Cynthia with a little cry; then she laughed. + +“Why, Cynthia, you’ve got a baby! I told them to let me come right up. I +was an old friend, and I just had to come. Oh, there’s your husband!” +She turned with another rapid laugh towards Leslie. He was looking +bravely at his wife, whose face was strained and anxious; the woman +seemed evidently nervous too. + +“Well, you’re very silent you two,” she cried defiantly. + +“What do you want?” said Cynthia coldly. “I thought you had gone away.” + +“And so I did, and I’ve come back. Clifton died, and I married again. +Did you know it?—an American too—and he didn’t give me any peace till +I promised to get Launcelot. We Americans seem to have such horrid +consciences.” + +“You never had, had you?” said Cynthia quietly. The woman looked angry, +then she laughed. + +“Well, I guess you’re about right—I never had much trouble that way; +but when Sam Hicks wanted Launcelot I felt it would be right sweet to +take him back with us to America, and I had the greatest time finding +your address. You’re fixed up real genteel, Mr. Damores; I should think +you must have made painting pay. And is that Cynthia’s picture? How +perfectly lovely!” + +“Mrs. Hicks,” said Cynthia slowly—“I think I understood you to say that +was your husband’s name—when you let me take Launcelot three years ago +I had no idea you would ever claim him again. He has just gone to school +here in England. He is very happy——” Cynthia’s voice broke. “Oh, why +do you want him again?” she cried—“it’s cruel.” + +“I am going to have my boy,” said Mrs. Hicks raising her voice. “I tell +you——” + +“A moment,” Leslie Damores broke in. “You were last heard of running +away with a French Count. Do you think you are a fit person to take care +of a child?” + +“Why, how dare you?” she cried, facing him with frightened rage; “I +declare I never heard the like! I’ll have you up for libel, Mr. Leslie +Damores; and, as for you, Mrs. Leslie Damores——” + +“I am speaking for my wife, and you may speak to me,” said Leslie, +“otherwise you leave the room.” Mrs. Hicks began to cry. + +“And to think that I am respectably married and everything. But that’s +what it is, a poor woman must always suffer for her mistakes, while as +for you—you can have as many of them as you like, and you’re none the +worse for them!” She stopped again; their silence checked her, she felt +hushed by their quiet contempt; and yet, angrier than ever, “I’m the +boy’s mother,” she said turning to Cynthia; “how would you like to have +your child taken from you?” Cynthia looked helplessly at her husband; +the woman had touched the right plea; she was the boy’s mother. + +“You shall see Launcelot to-morrow, Mrs. Hicks,” said Leslie, “and by +that time I shall have inquired into your case, and if your assertions +are true as to your husband and his means of support we will consider +the matter. Meanwhile there is nothing more to be said, and if you will +allow me I will take you downstairs.” + +Mrs. Hicks looked spitefully at Cynthia, but Leslie’s face checked +her—the baby had begun to cry. She flung up her head and left the room. +The baby had gone, and Cynthia was crying alone in the studio when he +came back. He took her in his arms. + +“Oh, Leslie,” she moaned, “he meant everything to us, dear little +fellow. Do you remember he made me good again, and he found you for me? +Leslie, I can’t let him go back to her. She left him so cruelly. He is +mine, darling—tell me I needn’t let him go—he’s such a delicate little +fellow. Oh, I can’t! I can’t!” He stroked her hair; she had never cried +since her marriage. + +“Dearest, we will leave it to him. She is his mother—we mustn’t forget +that. She has some claim on him, after all.” + +“You could threaten to tell her husband about—about the Count,” she +whispered. + +“Oh, no, no, no,” said Leslie gently. + +“I didn’t mean it, dear—I didn’t mean it,” she sobbed afresh. + +“I will go and bring Launcelot,” he said. + +“Isn’t that baby crying?” It was not baby crying, but she turned and +fled upstairs. + +“After all,” said Leslie thoughtfully, “she’s not Launcelot’s mother.” +Then he went out. + +Muriel came in to find the studio empty of everything but the great +picture of “Motherhood.” The woman holding Paradise in her arms stung +her to the quick with her expression of ineffable content. She was not +looking at the child in her arms. She was holding it too close to need +the reassurance of a glance; she was looking across the child with all +the loves in her eyes, steady and beautiful and bright, eyes too happy +to smile. Muriel knew suddenly that it was the way Cynthia looked at her +husband. She did not wish to see them then, so slowly she let the +curtain down before the picture and crept softly out of the room. But +the woman’s eyes followed her home, and when she was in the club and +back in her room she saw them still. They seemed to have a quiet wonder +in them that any woman could ever dream that there was any other +happiness than that. + +“Something is surely wrong when one begins to count up one’s blessings,” +said Muriel. “My life is full—full of everything I want!” But as she +looked defiantly in the glass she saw she had not got the woman’s look +in her eyes. + +Launcelot and Leslie walked hand in hand very solemnly home through the +streets of London. Leslie had been trying to explain. Launcelot’s little +face was very white, but he would not cry. + +“Do you think—do you think I ought to leave you and Lady Beautiful +and—and baby?” he asked wistfully. + +“She is your mother, dear boy, and she wants you very much,” said Leslie +reproaching himself for the coldness in his voice. + +“And are mothers everything?” + +“Mothers are a very great deal, old fellow. You see you belong to +them—you’re their very own.” + +“Yes, I suppose so,” said the little fellow wearily. “Baby is Lady +Beautiful’s very own, and so are you, but I’m not to be any more.” There +was a quiver in his voice. Leslie pressed his little hand, he felt too +much to speak. “My mother didn’t want me very much for her very own +before, did she? You see she gave me to Lady Beautiful.” + +“She wants you now,” said Damores hoarsely. They were very near home. + +“I—I don’t think I want her very much, you know,” said Launcelot +wistfully. “But they didn’t give me any choice, did they, when they made +me belong to her?” + +“I think they thought she needed you; you see she has no one else but a +new husband,” Leslie explained. + +“Then I must go,” said Launcelot as Leslie opened the door, “because you +see a new husband can’t be much, and a boy who belongs to you must mean +more, I should think.” + +“I am quite sure that a boy who belongs to you means much more,” said +Leslie kissing him. + +So it was all settled before Launcelot ever saw Lady Beautiful. They +looked a little nervously at each other as the door opened and they saw +her sitting by the fire. She sprang up with a little sudden cry and her +arms held out to him. He had been to school and knew that fellows never +cry, but he had only just learnt it—and he forgot. Leslie watched them +for a moment sobbing in each other’s arms. The tenderness and pity from +her new rich store made her seem more wonderful than ever to him. His +heart ached at their grief, but the woman’s assertions were true—the +child must go. The inevitable had to him a consolation. He went and +smoked hard in the studio. To Cynthia it was a cage, and she struggled +in vain against the bars, crying over Launcelot as he slept at last, +with troubled breathing from his late sobs. But when the baby cried she +went to it again. The next morning Mrs. Hicks appeared. She was +nervously anxious to please. She called Launcelot by all the +affectionate names she could think of, but he only looked at her with +half-frightened, wondering eyes. + +“And now Launcelot will come with mother?” she asked at last. He looked +wistfully back at Cynthia and her husband, his heart breaking. Parting +with the baby had been gone through upstairs. He had cried till he could +cry no more, so he only looked at them. + +“I would rather belong to you, Lady Beautiful,” he whispered, as she put +her arms about him, “much, much rather belong to you.” + +She watched him walk with his mother down the street, her face pressed +to the panes. When he reached the corner he turned and waved back to +her. His mother gave his arm a little pull, and he did not turn again. +It was the last time Cynthia ever saw him. He went out of her life as +suddenly and strangely as he had entered it; but in the meantime the +broken thread had been joined together again, the dreams she had +resolutely crushed had blossomed in a garden of reality, and the great +power of love had filled up what had been the emptiness and desolation +of her soul. + + + + + CHAPTER XL + + + “How Love is the only good in the world.” + +“NOW I have come to make my apologies, Miss Dallerton,” said the doctor +in a cheery voice. + +It was a cold day, and he looked aggressively warm and reassuring. He +never needed to be made allowances for, and Muriel could never quite +forgive him that. She had made so many allowances for Jack. + +“I’m afraid you thought me a little short with you the other day—in +fact, you were so displeased you had half a mind to walk through Stepney +by yourself—now, hadn’t you?” he asked smiling. + +“You were very rude to me the other day, Dr. Grant, and though you seem +to take my forgiveness for granted, you have not yet given me any +explanation.” The doctor laughed, but his eyes grew colder. + +“Well!” he said, “so you won’t forgive me without?” Muriel frowned. + +“If you have a reason I should like to hear it,” she suggested. + +The doctor walked once or twice up and down the room. She watched him +unwillingly; he had the most splendid shoulders; she did not think he +could be more than thirty-six. Then he stopped before her chair and +looked at her very gravely. He was so tall that she felt at a +disadvantage; some instinct made her rise too, and they stood there face +to face, their eyes doing battle. She looked away at last. + +“Well?” she questioned. She was conscious that her breath was coming +quickly, and she thanked Heaven she didn’t blush easily. + +“I was short to you,” said the doctor deliberately, “because it seemed +to me the only way of getting help from you. If I hadn’t made you +thoroughly angry you would probably have fainted.” + +“I should not have fainted,” she said, her eyes flashing fiercely. She +knew she was not speaking the truth, but it was too desperately +difficult. If she submitted in one thing, where would they stop? She was +beginning to lose her self-control and her sense of proportion at the +same time. It is dangerous for a man to lose both, but it is fatal to a +woman to lose either. + +“There was another reason,” said the doctor slowly. Muriel was silent. +“Do you want to hear it?” + +“If——” she began icily. “Yes, I may as well hear it,” she finished in +confusion. She did not want him to think she cared enough to be angry. + +“I love you!” he said with the same quiet deliberation and a pause +between each word, “and it was a little difficult to let you help in any +other way.” + +The room grew suddenly tense; each breath was a terrible sword which +shook the universe; there seemed an awful conspiracy in the room to win +some concession; the very chairs and table seemed to wait and listen. A +hand-organ in the street clanged them back into facts again. The doctor, +still looking at her, picked up a paper-knife; Muriel sank back into the +chair. There seemed nothing left in the world to say, but she felt as if +there might be if he would only keep still a moment. + +“I am very sorry,” she said at last, and then she could have bitten her +tongue out, it sounded so commonplace. She noticed that he was looking +suddenly very tired, but he smiled with grave eyes. + +“I knew you would be,” he said, “and I must go and make some calls. But +you do understand now, don’t you?” + +“I suppose I do,” said Muriel; “but are you going away?” He almost +laughed at her thoughtlessness. + +“Well! yes, Miss Dallerton,” he said; “I think I must go now.” + +Muriel rose to her feet, and a great wave of desolation swept over her. +She stood there alone, and before her eyes passed the vision of those +who had left her—Alec—Jack—Cynthia—her uncle. All with their +different lives, their different circles. And now he was going, the +friend who had made life and her work, her youth and her beauty so +excellently well worth while—with whom she had argued, quarrelled and +discussed—and he was leaving her. All of a sudden she knew she could +not bear it—that she, too, needed help and comfort and sympathy—that +though one may give all and prosper, yet it is blessed to receive as +well. And then he looked so tired. He was waiting for her to dismiss +him, and he could not understand why she was keeping him. + +“I don’t want you to go,” said Muriel at last. “I’m sure I need you +more—more than the other patients, only you must learn to ask questions +and not to make assertions only if you want me to be a satisfactory +case!” + +“What made you say that you were sorry?” he asked her after a long, +wonderful pause. + +“I was sorry,” she laughed at him, “that you didn’t tell me so before!” + + * * * * * + +When Jack heard of her marriage he shrugged his shoulders. “I always +thought she would run _amôk_ on some sort of a professional chap, but I +rather thought it would be a parson,” he said, and thought how much +better she might have done for herself if she had only known when she +had a good thing. + +“I thought she was cut out for an old maid,” Edith le Mentier told her +friends; “but those sort of women generally marry and have fourteen +children.” + + * * * * * + +It mattered very little to Muriel what was said. She looked at things +now with the eyes of the woman in Damores’ picture; and she and Geoff +having found so much for themselves were the more anxious to give their +sunshine to the world. They believed that the purposes of love, in human +and material things, were the channels through which the spirit finds +soaring room—never apart from earth, but ever nearer heaven. + +Their one need left was to join the gospel of example, which is simply +loving everything for love’s sake, whether it visibly love back or no. +To acquaintances they seemed to have positively left the world, but they +themselves knew that they had found the true one. + + * * * * * + +Transcriber’s Notes: + +A few obvious punctuation and typesetting errors have been corrected +without note. Where multiple spellings occur, majority use has been +employed. + +A cover has been created for this ebook and is placed in the public +domain. + +[End of _Life, the Interpreter_ by Phyllis Bottome] + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75508 *** diff --git a/75508-h/75508-h.htm b/75508-h/75508-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..776928a --- /dev/null +++ b/75508-h/75508-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8791 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> + <title>Life the Interpreter by Phyllis Bottome</title> + <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg"/> + <meta name="cover" content="images/cover.jpg" /> + <meta name="DC.Title" content="Life, the Interpreter"/> + <meta name="DC.Creator" content="Phyllis Bottome"/> + <meta name="DC.Language" content="en"/> + <meta name="DC.Created" content="1902"/> + <meta name="Pubdate" content="1902"/> + <meta name="DC.Subject" content="fiction"/> + <meta name="Tags" content="fiction, relationships, romance"/> + <meta name="generator" content="fpgen 4.65"/> + <style type="text/css"> + body { margin-left:8%;margin-right:10%; 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} + .hang { padding-left:1.5em; text-indent:-1.5em; } + </style> + <style type="text/css"> + h1 { font-size: 1.5em; font-weight:bold;} + h2 { font-size: 1.3em; font-weight:bold;} + .pindent {margin-top: 0.25em; margin-bottom: 0em;} + hr.pbk { width:50%; visibility:hidden;} + .pageno {visibility:hidden; } + </style> + </head> + <body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75508 ***</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/cover.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0000' style='width:50%;height:auto;'/> +</div> + +<hr class='pbk'/> + +<div class='lgc' style=''> <!-- rend=';' --> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line' style='font-size:2em;font-weight:bold;'>LIFE</p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line' style='font-size:2em;font-weight:bold;'>THE INTERPRETER</p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line'>BY</p> +<p class='line' style='font-size:1.5em;font-weight:bold;'>PHYLLIS BOTTOME</p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line'> </p> +</div> <!-- end rend --> + +<div class='lgc' style=''> <!-- rend=';' --> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line' style='font-size:1.5em;font-weight:bold;'>LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.</p> +<p class='line' style='font-size:1.2em;'>91 <span class='sc'>and</span> 93 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK</p> +<p class='line'>LONDON AND BOMBAY</p> +<p class='line'>1902</p> +</div> <!-- end rend --> + +<hr class='pbk'/> + +<div class='lgc' style=''> <!-- rend=';' --> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line'>Copyright, 1902,</p> +<p class='line'>BY</p> +<p class='line'>LONGMANS, GREEN & CO.</p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line'>ROBERT DRUMMOND, PRINTER, NEW YORK</p> +</div> <!-- end rend --> + +<hr class='pbk'/> + +<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:2em;font-weight:bold;'>LIFE, THE INTERPRETER</p> + +<hr class='tbk100'/> + +<div><h1 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER I</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote20em'> + +<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“To have what we want is riches; but to be able to do without it is power.”</span></p> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'>“<span class='sc'>But</span> the extraordinary thing is that it +has happened!” The lady who seemed a +victim of this surprise lay back in her luxurious +chair and exhibited a small foot on +the fender.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Black velvet slippers,” said her companion +critically, “on a brass fender are +really, my dear, a poem. Where do you +learn these things? Poor Muriel, her feet +were always rather large!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“She had everything in her favor,” said +Mrs. le Mentier, the first speaker. “Money, +position, a face and figure one could do a +good deal with. She was simply ruined by +her earnestness. I have often said to her, +‘Well, Muriel, why don’t you take up the +Church?’ But she never did; she said it +was too comfortable and that it would +crush her. I’m sure she’s not too comfortable +now!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Huntly rose and went to the window. +It was raining dismally, with a constant reiterated +drip, drip on the tiles. She turned +back, shivering a little, to the cosey boudoir +of her friend with whom she had just been +lunching.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I often wonder,” she said thoughtfully, +“if it wasn’t Jack Hurstly after all. You +know I had them last summer with me; and +though poor Muriel always managed things +very well, there were times—— And then +he went off suddenly, you know; and she +said she couldn’t imagine what I could see +in him, though I know for certain she bore +with that brutal bull-terrier of his, and pretended +to like it, while all the time she +loathed animals—dogs especially.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Ah!” said Mrs. le Mentier; “and she’s +really dropped out—one can’t do anything! +All the time when she isn’t actually at that +tiresome Stepney club of hers she’s contriving +things for it—positively it amounts +to a terror! She asked me last week to sing +at a smoking concert for some factory +hands. I told her I thought smoking concerts +for those kind of people were simply +immoral, and she actually flamed up and +cried, ‘You sing for Captain Hurstly and +his do-nothing friends, who can afford to +amuse themselves, and you won’t sing for +men whose daily life is a hell, and whose +only amusements are unspeakably degrading!’ +Of course I stopped her at once. I +told her she should give them Bible lessons. +She saw how silly she had been then, and +laughed in that dear old way of hers, +and said, ‘You always had such a lot +of common sense, Edith!’ But you see +she must be dropped. She’ll begin to +talk about her soul next!” Her friend +yawned.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, my dear,” she said, “don’t you +get earnest too. That wretched Madame +Veune is coming to fit me at three o’clock, +so I must be off. Oh, by-the-bye, if Muriel +should turn up to-morrow you might ask +her to come and see me—I don’t know her +slum address—one must do what one can, +you know. Good-bye, dear.” And the +two affectionately kissed and parted.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Huntly frowned as she drove home. +Muriel Dallerton had been an old friend of +hers, and she really meant to do what she +could for her.</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER II</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote20em'> + +<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“The sky is not less blue because the blind man cannot +see it.”</span></p> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Muriel Dallerton</span> knelt on the floor of a +small lodging-house room by the fire. It +was with evident difficulty that she could +make it burn at all, for the soot kept rolling +down and the chimney threatened to smoke. +She had not yet accustomed herself to black +hands every time she touched the shovel.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The worst of it was she expected her +uncle and guardian to tea, and she had to +confess to herself that the prospect was not +pleasing.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She had lived with her uncle ever since +she had been an orphan at six years of age, +and she had been sent to an expensive +boarding-school and been finished in Paris. +After three triumphant London seasons, +every moment of which she had lived +through with the same earnest delight that +was one of her most striking characteristics, +she had come to the conclusion that in some +way or other she was wasting her life.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She had for a whole year tried every way +of doing good that was compatible with a +house full of servants, a stable full of horses, +and a social position. But at every turn +she met with opposition—this, that, the +other was “not nice”—not “the proper +thing”—the horses couldn’t go out—what +would the servants think—she was upsetting +the whole house—people would begin +to talk. She confessed herself lamentably +deficient in the sense of what was the +proper thing, and on her own side she felt +she could no longer bear the strain of the +double life.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She was needed all day at the club. She +had organized games, classes, recitations, +employments and entertainments for men, +women and children, and all needed her +personal supervision.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was not that she was not fond of +pleasure—she had immense capacities for +enjoyment. She was known by all her acquaintances +as that “radiant Miss Dallerton”—only +to <span class='it'>live</span> for pleasure that was +different, and little by little she found herself +“dropped out.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Society is very exacting: it demands the +whole heart and constant attendance at +its haunts, so that when Muriel Dallerton +finally announced her intention of going to +live in a model tenement next to her club, +society was careful to make plain to her +that reluctantly, and with all due respect +for her ten thousand a year, until she returned +to her senses and her west-end +house, society must pass her by on the +other side. Her uncle, Sir Arthur Dallerton, +felt deeply what was generally termed +her “extraordinary attitude”—it cast a reflection +upon him. He missed her gracious +household ways, the little attentions with +which she had surrounded him. He had, +it is true, neglected her atrociously; but up +till now she had always, as he framed it, +“done her duty by him.” Her living away +from him was a positive slur.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Sir Arthur Dallerton was coming this +afternoon to shake her resolution, and he +had no doubt whatever of his success.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Muriel tussled with the fire, which finally +consented to burn, then she rose to her feet, +brought out some tea-things, and began to +toast a muffin.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>A bunch of daffodils in a cracked vase did +much to improve the appearance of the +room; a touch here, and there finished it; +and she had scarcely taken off her outdoor +things and washed her hands (very unused +to the work they had been put to) when a +dismal slavey announced, “A genelman to +see yer, miss,” and backed almost on to the +gentleman in question, who with an exclamation +of disgust pushed past her into +the room.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“My dear Muriel,” he said, “this is disgraceful!” +He paused as she ran forward +to meet and relieve him of his hat and +umbrella. She looked up at him, her face +beaming with smiles.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Dear,” she laughed, “did the blackbeetle +quite crush you? How horrid! But +now you’ll sit down here and have some +tea. You needn’t insult that chair by +doubting it. It will bear anything I know—I +saw the landlady sit on it, and nothing +happened!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Her uncle sat down gingerly. “Were +those people,” he said coldly, “down in +what I can only call a yard—a <span class='it'>yard</span>, Muriel!—the +people you imagine you have a +mission amongst?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Muriel poured out the tea. “They look +as if they needed it, don’t they, dear?” she +said, handing him a cup. “There, you’ve +got a <span class='it'>whole</span> handle, and only two chips +round the rim! Yes, those were some of +my people. I hope they weren’t in your +way?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“They are extremely in my way, Muriel—extremely; +I may say I am greatly inconvenienced +by them. I suppose you realize +that I am alone in the world; and yet you +seem to imagine that your duty is to be +among these unpleasant characters in filthy +slums instead of at home looking after my +comfort.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Muriel smiled a little to herself as she +thought of the array of servants the great +house held, of the friends and cronies at the +club, where he spent the greater part of his +time. “His comfort!”—surely there were +enough people in the world already looking +after that.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Uncle Arthur,” she said, “we’ve talked +all this out before, haven’t we? We don’t +see it quite in the same light. I am very +sorry you are not comfortable. If the servants——”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Muriel,” he interrupted in a raised +voice, “how dare you mention servants to +me! Do you imagine that when I refer to +comfort I mean personal attendance? You +have never had any heart! Mine has always +been an essentially affectionate nature. It +is domestic companionship that I desire; +and now that you are of an age to be of +some comfort to me, you fly off to—Heaven +knows where!—and throw me back +on the servants!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Muriel sighed gently and laid her hand +on his. “Dear uncle, you have always been +so good to me. But you see you weren’t +always at home, and a girl nowadays isn’t +satisfied simply in being domestic.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I should scarcely have imagined <span class='it'>you</span>, +my niece Muriel, accusing me of neglect! +You invariably lose your temper upon these +subjects, which proves that you feel yourself +to be in the wrong. You know perfectly well +that you can have any woman you want +to live with you as lady companion, but +you’re so independent and obstinate——”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“That no one would live with me if you +asked them,” she finished merrily. “Ah!—but +please don’t talk about this any more,” +she pleaded as he strove to begin again. +“We shall never agree! I must have my +work to do. I cannot be happy without it, +and I cannot do it at home. But I only ask +for nine months of it. It is April now, and +in July you shall have me back for three +whole months, and do just what you like, +dear. Isn’t that a splendid bargain?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The tea was very nice, and the buttered +muffins especially were done to a turn.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Sir Arthur Dallerton crossed his legs and +leaned back in his chair (forgetful of its +former occupant). “My dear,” he said +mildly, “what will people say? Have you +ever thought of that?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes, dear uncle,” said Muriel, smiling; +“I have thought of it, and I have come to +the conclusion that I had better not think +about it any more. Won’t you have some +more muffin?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Sir Arthur Dallerton graciously accepted +another piece. It did not occur to him +that Muriel had eaten nothing—those sort +of things never did occur to him. If it +had done so he would have put it down +to hysteria—the one great refuge for the +selfish.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Mrs. le Mentier,” he pursued, “who is a +very sensible woman, told me what people +were saying, and I think you ought to know +of it too.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Muriel rose and looked out of the window. +It was still raining heavily.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well?” she said a little wearily.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“They say this is a mere whim of yours +to bring Jack Hurstly to book.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The girl by the window stood quite still. +She did not see the children in the yard +below playing cheerfully in the gutter; she +did not even notice one of her most hopeful +cases reel across the court in a condition +which would have filled her soul with pity +and disgust two minutes before. Her uncle +thought her cold and indifferent, or possibly +sullen.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes!” he said bitterly, “that is the sort +of thing, Muriel, that your conduct forces +me to put up with.” Muriel faced him +suddenly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Mrs. le Mentier,” she said quietly, +“is——” she paused, “is very much mistaken +if she thinks such absurd rumors +have power to affect me; and I do not think +you need be put out by what she says, for +nobody who knows either Captain Hurstly +or myself would believe her.” Her uncle +rose to his feet.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You seem to be in a very bad temper, +Muriel,” he said. “I knew what would be +the result of your taking up this work. But +it’s very depressing to <span class='it'>me</span>. I shall go home—when +you come to a proper frame of +mind, let me know.” She ran forward and +kissed him.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“But <span class='it'>you</span> do love me, don’t you?” she +whispered.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Of course, Muriel, if you would only +give up your absurd whim.” She drew +back a little.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Mind the stairs,” she laughed; “and oh, +whatever you do, don’t tread on the blackbeetle.” +She watched him cross the yard, +and bowl off in a hansom. Somehow she +felt very forlorn and lonely all by herself. +She was startled to feel a tear-drop on her +hand. “Nonsense!” she said; “it’s time +for the girls’ cooking class!” She gave herself +a little shake and put on her things.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She found herself saying as she left the +room, “If Jack thinks so I’ll never, never +speak to him again.” She was a little impatient +at the cooking class.</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER III</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote20em'> + +<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“And custom lies upon thee with a weight: heavy as +frost, and deep almost as life.”</span></p> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'>“<span class='sc'>You</span> are quite right in thinking I care +for her, Mrs. Huntly, and have done ever +since I knew her,” said Jack Hurstly, looking +hard at an inoffensive poker. “But +there’s no doing anything with her. I am +not earnest enough, it seems. She objects +to my club, my sport, and all my set. I believe +she even objects to my regiment. At +any rate she thinks I am wasting my time +here in England, and ought to be sweating +in some beastly tropics—Heaven knows +why!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“So you ought, Jack, so you ought,” said +Mrs. Huntly soothingly. “Muriel is quite +right. It’s positively shameful the lives our +society young men lead. A horse, a gun, a +club and a dress-suit, what a catalogue of +occupations! Can you increase it?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, well,” said her companion rather +sheepishly, “I’m no worse than the other +fellows, am I, Mrs. Huntly?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“My dear Jack, she’s not going to marry +the ‘other fellows,’ is she? You had better +leave them out of the question; and if +your ambition is to be no worse than they +are you had better dispense with Muriel. +Go off and hunt somewhere, and then +come back and marry a girl of your own +sort.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The door opened. “Miss Dallerton” the +butler announced. Muriel came forward +into the middle of the room. There was +such a warm, gracious dignity about her +that people who had little to recommend +them but the external felt thin in her presence. +Mrs. Huntly greeted her warmly. +Jack said very little, but as his eyes rested +on her Mrs. Huntly thought that the hunting +expedition, if it ever came off, must be a +long one.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’m so glad, so glad to see you both,” +cried Muriel joyously, “particularly as you +are neither of you going to ask me for soup +tickets! Dearest Mary, are you really well? +And what a comfort it is to see a pretty +dress! And won’t you please both tell me +all about everybody, and who has married +who, though they ought to have done +better? I feel so ignorant.” She sat down +by Mary Huntly, caressing her hand, and +looking with glad eyes from one to the +other like a child out for a holiday.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, my dear girl,” cried Mrs. Huntly +mournfully, “to think that you are out of +it all! It almost breaks my heart!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Mary, how dare you! I came to be +pacified, and if I’m reproached I shall +simply turn tail and run away! You don’t +reproach me, do you, Captain Hurstly?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Perhaps I should like to, if you gave me +time,” he said, smiling.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, but I won’t, not for any such purpose—you +shan’t have a moment of it. But +who is this?” A young girl had entered +the room; she was dangerously pretty (it +is the only adjective one can use), and +she was perfectly self-possessed. Mrs. +Huntly introduced her to them. She +was a young cousin of hers, Gladys +Travers.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Imperceptibly the atmosphere changed. +Mrs. Huntly and Muriel drew apart from +the other two, and Muriel could not help +noticing how perfectly satisfied Captain +Hurstly seemed with his companion, and +how well they got on together.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>When she rose to go Gladys crossed over +to her. “May I come to see you, Miss +Dallerton?” she asked. “I want so much +to know about your work, and I—I like you +so much! Don’t think me frightful. I have +lived in the States, you know, and people +say all Americans are forgiven everything! +I do really want so much to know you.” +She spoke in quick, low tones, the expression +changing as the shadows on a pool +change under a light wind. She was very +appealing.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, but it’s dear of you to like me,” said +Muriel, smiling. “Please come <span class='it'>really</span>, will +you? You will always find me somewhere +about the club—Mary has the address.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She turned to Captain Hurstly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I am coming with you, if I may,” he +said. The two descended to the street in +silence.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You’re looking awfully dragged and +thin, Miss Muriel,” he said at last.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You always were so hopelessly rude,” +she laughed.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You know what I think about the whole +thing?” he said gravely.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Ah, it’s <span class='it'>that</span> which makes me tired!” +she sighed. “All my friends say just +the same. They won’t think how—how +hard they make it for me—no—not even +you.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Even me?” he asked quietly. She bit +her lips; she was losing her head it seemed; +she must not do that.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I take the ’bus at this corner,” she said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I think we’ll go by hansom,” said her +escort. She smiled.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You always <span class='it'>will</span> contradict me, Captain +Hurstly.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You will not contradict <span class='it'>me</span> if I remind +you that you used to call me—Jack?” he +ventured.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The hansom drove up, and Muriel put out +her hand to him. She unmistakably intended +to go alone, even though she had +let him choose her vehicle.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I may come and see you?” he asked. +She frowned a little.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’m very busy, you know,” she said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Does that mean I’m not to come?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You might come,” she suggested suddenly, +“and bring Mary’s little cousin; she +can’t come alone.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I can though,” he persisted. She shook +her head and laughed merrily.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Mary’s little cousin,” she said as she +drove off, “or not at all!” And he never +went.</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER IV</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote20em'> + +<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“What’s the use of crying when the mother that bore ye +(Mary, pity women!) knew it all afore ye?”</span></p> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>The</span> club room, large and bare, with a bench +or two and one long table, was full of girls, +though at first glance you might not have +been inclined to call them so. They were +all so inexpressibly old. As they stood +talking in groups, large and broad, with +their frowsy hair and draggle-tailed dresses, +lifting loud, rough voices and breaking from +time to time into hoarse roars of laughter, +they could scarcely be called prepossessing. +These were the girls who had warned a +simple-minded lady Bible-reader that “if +she didn’t tyke ’erself orf they’d strip her”—and +they would have done it.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>As Muriel Dallerton entered the room +the whole gang swarmed towards her in +greeting. They loved her. “She ’adn’t +got no nonsense about ’er,” “She was a +real good sort, and no mistake,” and they +showed their appreciation of her by rushing +from their ten hours’ work into the club and +paying with treasured pennies the tiny entrance +fees she exacted for the classes.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>To-day was cooking class, and from a +great cupboard were drawn two dozen +aprons, which they themselves had helped +to buy and make.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Muriel knew just what wages they had, +and never denied them the dignity of giving +a little, if they had that little to give.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Two long hours’ class followed. To the +girls who were accustomed to factory work +it was mere play, and the pleasure and excitement +of seeing how Mary Ann’s scones +or Minnie Newlove’s pie turned out was +inexhaustible.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was not until it was over and the cooking +boards and utensils put away that +Muriel missed one of the number. Lizzie +Belk was a girl who attended most regularly, +and Muriel walked over to her mate to +inquire after her.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Mary Ann, where is Lizzie this afternoon?” +she asked. There was a titter of +laughter from the group of girls with her.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Ye will! will ye!” shrieked Mary Ann +in a sudden fury. “I’ll bash yer ’ead in for +ye, Florrie Stevens!” she cried to a girl +whose laughter was the loudest. “What +right ’ave ye to pass it on <span class='it'>my</span> mate? I’ll +tell ye, miss.” She appealed to Muriel. +“Florrie’s none so straight as she can +blacken poor Liz.” Muriel leaned against +the table, feeling sick.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Hush, Mary, you must not talk like +that,” she said at last. “What is the matter +with Lizzie?” There was an uneasy +silence. “The rest of you can go,” said +Muriel. “Good-night, girls, go out quietly, +please.” And the girls nodding to her in +rough good-nature went out leaving her +alone with Lizzie’s mate.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Muriel crossed to her side and took her +hand gently. “Poor Lizzie!” she said +softly. “Poor, poor Lizzie!” Mary burst +into tears.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“ ’E ’adn’t ought to er done it, miss, ’e +really ’adn’t!” she sobbed. “She was +alwers a straight ’un, was Liz, an’ ’e +promised ’er the lines an’ all, an’ now——”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Where is she, Mary?” said Muriel quietly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“She ain’t got nowheres to go to ’cept +the ’orspital. They turned ’er off to-day at +the factory; an’ ’er father’s beat ’er somethink +hawful, miss, the blasted, drunken +sot!” Muriel still held her hand.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I think we had better go and find her,” +she said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Ye won’t ’ave nought to do with the +likes o’ ’er, will ye?” asked the girl in blank +astonishment.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes, Mary; don’t you think Lizzie needs +help?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“She needs it bad, miss.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Then that’s what we’re going to give +her,” said Muriel firmly. Mary still stood +where she was.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Ye—ye won’t be rough on her, miss?” +she begged in shamefaced tones. “ ’E treated +’er cruel bad.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No, Mary, I won’t be rough on her. I’m +not angry at all, only so <span class='it'>very, very</span> sorry. +It’s such a dreadful thing, isn’t it? Poor +Lizzie, we must do all we can for her.” +Mary’s big hand tightened over the slender +fingers of their “wonderful lady,” who +seemed to understand without being told, +and never said more than she meant to do.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They went out into the streets together. +Lizzie was not hard to find. She was in +a deserted yard near the factory, among +heaps of refuse and mouldered iron. She +had cried till she could cry no more, and +lay in a sort of hopeless apathy, with wide, +dull eyes staring straight in front of her. +Muriel knelt down by her side, and Mary, +with the unobtrusive delicacy many of +the poorest have, turned away for a little.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Lizzie,” said Muriel, as if she were speaking +to a little child, “Lizzie, I want you to +come with me.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, my God!” said the girl. “Oh, my +God!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You will come, won’t you, Lizzie?” She +put out her hand.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Don’t you dare touch me!” wailed the +girl. “Who brought ye ’ere? Ye don’t +know what I am. Oh, my God! my God!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I know all about it, Lizzie, and you +must get up now and come with me.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“They shan’t tyke me to the ’orspital, I +tell yer—no, nor hanywheres. ’Ome? I +daren’t show my fice there! D’ye see my +harm an’ my ’ead? Father did that, an’ ’e +said ’e’d kill me if I was to come back! Oh, +let me alone! Why don’t ye let me alone?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Get up, Lizzie,” said Muriel, rising +briskly to her feet. “Get up at once. I +am not going to take you either home or to +the hospital. You are coming back with +Mary and me to the club, and I shall find +a room for you in my lodgings.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, now, Liz, do come, lovey, do come!” +Mary urged. Lizzie rose dizzily to her feet, +and between the two they got her back +somehow—first to the club, and when they +had fed her they took her to a room next +Muriel’s.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The landlady did not say much. “If the +young lydy choose to look hafter the likes +o’ ’er, well an’ good, if not she could not +stiy, of course.” But the young lady did +choose to look after her, and to pay double +for the room as well, so there was no more +to be said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was a terrible night. Muriel never +forgot it. She sat there holding the girl’s +hand and hearing the whole story—the old, +old story, told in all its crude, black reality +between gasping sobs.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“ ’E said as ’ow I should ’ave my lines,” +she groaned; “an’ now ’e says we’d starve. +But I shouldn’t care for that, miss—no, +I shouldn’t, if honly they couldn’t call +me——”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No, dear, no! they shan’t call you +that,” Muriel murmured. “What is his +name, Lizzie?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, ’e ’adn’t er ought to a treated me +so—Gawd knows ’ow I loves ’im! No!—I +can’t tell ye ’is name, dear miss—don’t +hask it!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“But you must tell me, Lizzie.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Not if I was to die for it, miss!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“If you tell me I can help you, Lizzie, +perhaps to—to get your lines.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, miss, ’e’d never forgive me!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Then I can do nothing, Lizzie.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The girl sobbed afresh. Muriel rose and +went to the window. Out of the dark +clouds the stars peeped timorously, as if +afraid to look down on the sad, sordid world +beneath. A church clock chimed the hour—twelve +o’clock—and from the public-house +across the way a burst of brawling +voices broke. It was illegal she thought to +close so late.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The candle on the washstand flickered +miserably. She went back to the bedside, +and with careful, tender hands put back +the heavy hair and sponged away the +tears.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Lizzie,” she said, and it seemed to her +as if the whole of London stood still to +listen, “there is some one I love with all +my heart—I—I think I could forgive him +anything.” She drew in her breath with +a long gasp. “Now—won’t you tell me +his name, Lizzie?” she pleaded. The two +women looked at each other. The girl +raised herself on her elbow and stared as +if she were weighing the soul of the other +woman (she had forgotten she was a lady). +At last she sank back satisfied. “If she had +a man,” Lizzie thought, “she might understand.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It’s—it’s Hobbs—Dick Hobbs,” she +said. “Ye won’t be ’ard on ’im, miss. +They can’t ’elp it, can they? Not as I +knows on—an’ hanyway ’twere all my fault, +I think.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I—I won’t be hard on him, Lizzie.” The +tears were rolling down her cheeks. “And +now I’ll put out this light, and you’ll go to +sleep, won’t you? And to-morrow I’ll see +Dick and get a license, and—and everything.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, miss!” cried the girl—“not my +lines?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes, Lizzie! If you’re a good girl and go +to sleep you shall have your lines to show.” +Muriel left her. When she came back a +few minutes later she found the exhausted +girl fast asleep; her face was red and +swollen still with crying, but there was a +happy smile on her lips. She was only +seventeen.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“And there are thousands like this—thousands,” +thought Muriel. “God forgive +us our blindness and their pain.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Suddenly she felt very faint and dizzy. +She remembered she had had nothing to +eat since her tea with Mary Huntly. She +covered her face with her hands, for she +realized more overwhelmingly than ever +that she could never marry Jack Hurstly. +But though she had cried for the other girl, +no tears came now.</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER V</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote20em'> + + + <div class='poetry-container' style=''> + <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> +<div class='stanza-outer'> +<p class='line0'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“My God, I would not live, save that I think this gross, hard-seeming world</span></p> +<p class='line0'><span style='font-size:smaller'>Is our misshapen vision of the Powers behind the world that make our griefs our gains.”</span></p> +</div> +</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>A broad-built</span>, hulking fellow with a +coarse, brutal face shouldered his way towards +Muriel. It was one of the men’s +evenings, and she had dropped in a moment +to speak to the superintendent, and to give +one of the men something to take home to +his sick wife. When the man reached her +she led him to a quiet corner of the room. +She had never felt afraid yet, nor did she +feel so now; only as she looked at the +flushed, scowling face she felt a little hopeless.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“They said as ’ow you wanted to speak +to me, miss.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes, Dick, I do.” She paused, wondering +how best to make her appeal to him—where +in fact was that spark of the Divine +she so passionately believed in, so seldom +touched, yet trusted that she touched more +often than she knew. “Lizzie is with me, +Dick,” she said at last. “Do you think +that you have treated her quite fairly?” +The scowl changed to a senseless, meaning +smile. Muriel felt her eyes flash, but she had +herself well in hand. “Do you think it is +quite a brave, manly thing to do,” she asked +with slow, quiet intensity, “to ruin a girl’s +life—a girl you pretend to care for—who has +trusted in you? Would you not be ashamed +of breaking your word to another man? Yet +you seem to think it no great harm to betray +a woman! A woman like Lizzie too, who is +only a child after all, and who kept so +straight. She is very ill indeed, Dick, and +when—when the child is born I think she +will die. Wouldn’t you call a man who had +behaved so to your sister a—a murderer?” +The man’s sullen eyes were fixed on the +floor; he shifted awkwardly from one leg +to the other.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I don’t see has ye ’ave hany call to +speak to me like that, miss. I ain’t no +worse than the other chaps I knows on. +I’d like to do fair by Liz, but I ain’t earning +enough to keep a wife.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You should have thought of that before +you made Lizzie a mother,” said Muriel +sternly. “And now you will leave her alone +to starve,” she added with quiet scorn, +“after having taken away her only chance +of earning her living, and—and having done +the very worst you could.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The man said nothing; his face was heavy +with inarticulate rage; she felt that he +wanted intensely to knock her down. One +of his mates remarked to a group of men +that “ ’Obbs looked horful hugly.” It did +not occur to him though to walk away. +Suddenly her voice softened.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Dick,” she said, “you’re not that sort of +man at all—you know you are not. You +hadn’t thought of it before—that was all, +wasn’t it? You didn’t mean to harm poor +Lizzie so. And she loves you, Dick—she +wasn’t a bit angry with you—she doesn’t +blame you at all.” (It had not exactly +occurred to the man that she did. It was +a new idea to him that she had a right to.)</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“And—and so I can tell her that you +<span class='it'>want</span> to marry her—will marry her at once, +Dick, won’t you, before—before it’s too +late? You will let me tell her that, won’t +you?” Still no answer. “I trust you,” +she said softly; “I feel so sure that you +have the makings of a good man.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>His eyes were glued on the floor. He +felt more bewildered than angry, and still +obstinately clung to silence, which could +not, as he phrased it, “let him in for anything.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Muriel took a rose she was wearing. +With a sudden impulse she held it out to +him. “I gave Lizzie one,” she said gently, +“one like this. Would you like to wear +it?” It seemed easier to take it than to +speak, but somehow he was impelled to +look at her. Her eyes were fastened on him +with a look he never forgot—grave, earnest, +truthful—as if she had weighed his soul and +was simply waiting for the proof of her +judgment.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>A voice he scarcely recognized for his +own growled, “Well, then, what if I does?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Thank God!” she murmured softly. +“Thank God!” He waited for his answer. +She smiled at him so wonderfully that he +felt the tears rise to his eyes. Her own eyes +swam in them. “I will help you all I can,” +she said. “Now come with me to Lizzie.” +He followed unwillingly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The men by the door shouted something +after him as he passed. He did not hear. +He followed her clumsily with creaking +boots into a room that resembled nothing +he had ever seen before, though it was +simply furnished; and sitting in a large +chair by the fire was Lizzie. Her eyes +were fastened on the door with a dumb, +questioning look. She moved her lips as if +they were dry. Then she saw him.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, my man! my man!” she cried. +Muriel shut the door quietly, and left them +alone together. She felt suddenly as if she +could never feel hopeless again.</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER VI</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote20em'> + +<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“The tree of Knowledge is not that of Life.”</span></p> + +</div> + +<div class='blockquote'> + +<p class='pindent'>“<span class='sc'>You</span> have not come to see me for some +time, Jack, yet we used to be good friends +once, didn’t we? One seems to have one’s +seasons for those kind of things, then they +drop out. With sleeves, you know, one +mustn’t keep the fashion on a bit too long. +I have known dressmakers—but I won’t +trouble you with my philosophy. I am +going to have dear Mrs. Huntly and a +charming cousin of hers to dinner, and so +thought you might, perhaps, care to join us, +though I’m candid enough to admit I hope +it will not be merely for the charming +cousin’s sake.</p> + +<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:1em;margin-top:0.5em;'>“<span class='sc'>Edith le Mentier.</span>”</p> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'>Jack Hurstly read the note, written on +rich, heavy cream, a tiny, definite hand between +large margins. It all seemed very +familiar to him. Three years ago there used +to be a drawer full of them, though he had +burned them of course, he remembered, after +the scene in the garden. It had all been +very graceful and harmless, and he had +immensely admired and pitied her with her +dense husband, who shattered her dainty +little subtleties with a heavy word or two, +and “called things,” as she plaintively remarked +to Jack, “by their proper names, as +if things,” she had added, “should ever be +called by names at all, and least of all by +their right ones.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then he had met Muriel. He thought +of that first evening, and of her frank, +disarming look, and of how she not only +did not say things she did not mean, but +actually went so far as to say the things +she did.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was a change from a little winding +stream now here, now there, to a free, open +lake with its clear reflection from the sky.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was natural that after this should come +the scene in the garden; what he could not +understand was this little dinner three +years afterwards.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Curiosity and Muriel’s wilful remoteness +prompted him to accept the invitation; but +he did so formally.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Edith, when she read his letter, broke +into a little laugh.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“A joke, my dear?” her husband asked, +looking over his newspaper across the +breakfast table.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Certainly not, Ted,” said Edith; “I +should never dream of laughing at a joke at +breakfast time!” Her husband returned to +his sporting notes—they seemed to him so +much easier to understand.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mrs. le Mentier prepared to meet her +guests by dressing in Jack Hurstly’s favorite +color. It happened to be the one which +suited her; but it is possible she would have +worn it if it had not. It takes a woman +longer than three years to forget a man’s +favorite colors, and longer still not to wear +them when she remembers.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Gladys Travers was the first to arrive, +with Mary Huntly’s brother, a deeply +earnest young clergyman with thoughtful +eyes. “Cyril had to bring me,” she said, +smiling, “because Mary had a headache, +one of those horrid dark-room ones, you +know, with tea and toast. I don’t believe +he quite approves though of dinner parties, +do you, Cyril?” Mrs. le Mentier shook +hands with him sympathetically.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I know quite well what you feel,” she +said in her slow, gentle voice. “It’s the +herding together of rich people to eat +brilliantly, while all the great half of the +world have no brilliance and no dinner, +and I think it is so good of you to +come. I’ve only just <span class='it'>really</span> one or two +to-night, so I hope you won’t find us very +worldly.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Cyril Johnstone had blushed at his +cousin’s speech, but now that his hostess +paused he said gently, “Mary was so very +sorry she could not come.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Dear Mary,” Edith murmured as she +glided across the room to welcome two +men who had entered at the same time—Jack +Hurstly and a young doctor, a man +of good family and even better brains. +“How good of you to come, doctor!” said +she, her eyes sparkling their most vivid +welcome. “One feels,” she said, turning to +the young clergyman, “with busy men like +you what a debt of gratitude one owes. +Now you, Captain Hurstly,” she added (for +the first time addressing Jack), “had, I am +sure, nothing to give up?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Everything to attract, certainly,” said +Jack with a smile at Gladys, who was +glancing with laughing, observant eyes +from one to the other.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Dinner was announced, and Edith, taking +the young priest’s arm, followed the rest +of the party. She was thinking it extremely +stupid of dear Mary to have a dark-room +headache, and she was talking to Mr. Johnstone +on the marvellous utility of Bands of +Hope.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes,” she said, glancing over the flower-decked +table, “it’s the name itself. Hope! +What a lot it calls up, doesn’t it? Spring +mornings, one imagines, and skies too blue +to deny one anything. There’s something +in the word which makes one think of +waves.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Because they break themselves on the +rocks?” suggested Gladys, “or cover quicksands?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It’s a word,” said the doctor, smiling, +“with a very expansive meaning, and a use +even more expanded than its meaning.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mr. Johnstone looked across to Mrs. le +Mentier. “It’s one of the cardinal virtues,” +he said gently.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“And they,” said his cousin, looking at +Jack, “always close a conversation, because +you see it’s so inconvenient to have to take +off one’s shoes.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mr. Johnstone looked shocked, and Edith +started another subject.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“My husband,” she said, “is away—fishing, +I think it is. He has, poor man, a +deadly feud against all animal nature, and +he spends his time trying to exterminate it. +I must confess it seems to me rather a hopeless +quest.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Don’t you English say,” asked Gladys +of the doctor, “that it’s strengthening to +the character?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The doctor smiled. “More to the muscles +than to the character, I should fancy,” he +said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“But isn’t it one of your tests of a character,” +she persisted, “in England that it +should <span class='it'>have</span> fine muscles?” The conversation +became international. Edith watched, +but took no part; she was listening to Jack, +who was not talking to her.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He was instead appealing to Cyril Johnstone. +“Are you at all interested,” he +asked, “in those slum clubs?” The priest’s +face brightened.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Immensely,” he said. “My work is +there, you know, and so I have seen a good +deal of them. But of course you refer to +those under parochial guidance?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Captain Hurstly,” Mrs. le Mentier broke +in, “is referring, I feel sure, to the sweetest +free-lance in the world, a dear friend of ours +who has thought it her duty to disassociate +herself from her home, and even to a certain +extent from the Church, because she thinks +she can, as the phrase goes, ‘reach nearer +to the people’s hearts’ that way. You’ll +admit it’s heroically brave of her. People’s +hearts give one such shocks when one <span class='it'>does</span> +get near them.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“A case of hysteria,” murmured the +doctor under his breath, “in its most patent +modern form.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Gladys glanced lightly at Jack Hurstly; +then she said in a sweet, penetrating voice, +“There you are wrong, doctor. Muriel is +the most healthy-minded girl I know.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Her hysteria may be confined to one +form,” he ventured.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Ah, but you should see her!” said +Gladys. Here the voice of Cyril Johnstone +broke in.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It seems to me,” he exclaimed, “the +saddest thing in the world and the most +useless. There has been too much talk +about the people’s hearts, too many missions +of sentimental women. What can +they give the people? Their need, their +crying need, is for the cultivation of the +soul, and it is we—set apart as God’s ministers—who +are called upon, and to whom +alone rightly belongs the unspeakable privilege +and duty of serving the poor!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mrs. le Mentier looked gravely devotional +and stifled a yawn.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Jack Hurstly looked at Gladys, who again +meeting his look broke out into a defence.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“And while the Low and the High, the +Broad and the Long (if there <span class='it'>are</span> any long, +or if they aren’t all long), quarrel as to who +shall help the poor, and how they shall be +dressed to do it, what are the poor going to +do? And why shouldn’t a woman, or even +a man for that matter, go down among them +and teach them how to live? What kind +of souls are you going to teach in wretchedly +uncultivated bodies, cousin Cyril? And if +you believe in clubs, why aren’t you thankful +for their work, even if the clergy are not +asked to take Bible classes in them? As +for Muriel and her poor, she’s taught them +how to smile, and I actually heard one of +them say ‘Thank you’ the other day. I +don’t believe an archbishop could do as +much even with his robes on.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mr. Johnstone opened his mouth to answer +her tirade; but Jack Hurstly, who had +been listening delightedly, clapped his hands +and laughed, and he felt that it was impossible +to argue against a joke. Mrs. le Mentier +rose to her feet smiling. She felt that +her dinner had not helped her much; and +she did not love Gladys.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Let us leave the gentlemen alone, dear,” +she said, “to discuss our short-comings and +their dominion. It’s an entrancing subject, +I believe—when you can have it all your +own way.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The two women floated gracefully out of +the room. They were rejoined very shortly +by the men, whom it is presumed found +their points of view on “the entrancing +subject” too different for prolonged discussion. +Gladys and the doctor stood out +on the balcony.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The balmy June evening filled with the +noises of the streets below seemed very +soothing to them, and their talk interested +both immensely, so much so that they did +not hear Mrs. le Mentier preparing to sing, +and only ceased when her low, sweet voice +rang out, “Life and the world and mine +ownself are changed for a dream’s sake—for +a dream’s sake.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was a simple song, but she sung it with +a quiet passion and intensity that entirely +captivated her audience. When the song +was over they were not ready with their applause, +and even the doctor looked as if he +had met an ideal. Edith sang again, and +they went home, all but Jack Hurstly. “I +must speak to you a minute, Jack,” his +hostess had murmured as he turned over the +leaves of her music, and for the song’s sake +he stayed.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She stood in the middle of the room, her +hands held loosely in front of her, like a +child’s. “Haven’t you punished me long +enough—Jack?” she asked.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“My dear Mrs. le Mentier,” he began.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Ah!” she murmured, “Mrs. le Mentier! +Mrs.—le Mentier—Jack!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He had before wished that he had never +come; there seemed now nothing else to do +but to wish it more strongly. She looked +so young and piteous, and her eyes were full +of a real emotion. The only ways left were +to be weak or brutal. The last alternative +would end the scene quicker.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It doesn’t seem much good, does it,” he +finally said, “to go over all this again?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She smiled wistfully. “Is it all over +then for you?” she asked. “Do you know, +it was silly of me, wasn’t it? I somehow +thought you might still be the same, and +the three years’ penance enough for the +past mistake?” She spoke with a kind of +strained slowness very pitiful to hear.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Things have changed so!” he muttered.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Things?” she laughed. “How a man +falls back on the inanimate! Things don’t +change, my dear Jack, but women grow +older and men grow wiser—that’s all. Let +me congratulate you then on your increase +of wisdom, and you will be a little sorry—for +my increasing age?” He frowned and +looked at the door; she winced as if he had +struck her. “You want to go?” she said. +“Well, there’s one thing, my dear Jack, for +you to remember. If you should get tired +of your sweet firebrand in the slums, ‘things +have not changed,’ you will remember, +won’t you? And women don’t—so the way +is still open.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He stepped past her to the door, but he +turned back to look at her (he often turned +back). She was twisting her fan in her +hands and trying to smile.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You can always come back,” she said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh! I’m not such a brute as that!” +exclaimed the man at the door.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, aren’t you?” she laughed. “You +have your limits, then? I’m so glad! And +you had better go now, for I have mine +too.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>When the door closed firmly after him +limits seemed to dissolve. She put the +fan down carefully on the table, and she +looked at her miserable face in the glass +with a vague, ulterior satisfaction, for even +if one’s heart was broken it was something +of a comfort that one looked distinctly +pretty in tears.</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER VII</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote20em'> + +<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“So long as we know not what it opens, nothing can +be more beautiful than a key.”</span></p> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>The</span> short June days soon came to an end, +and Muriel found them none too short, for +warmth can only be enjoyed by the luxurious, +and her life at present was anything +but that.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>If one plunged into the work and life of +the people it needed strength both of will +and body to carry one through its disillusions.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>There was nothing in the least exciting +in the work before her—it was merely very +hard. Occasionally it was true the great +opportunity would arise, as it had done in +the case of poor Liz. But next to their +extraordinary infrequency came the swiftness +with which all the greatness evaporated: +their very sins were so matter-of-fact, +and the larger elements in life were +taken so unpicturesquely that they seemed +shorn of their solemnity, and then strangely +robbed of all “the trailing clouds” of mystery. +When a widow spoke of her dead +husband as “ ’E made a beautiful corpse, ’e +did—yer ought to er seen ’im, miss,” the +word died on her lips, and to look at a dead +baby as being “one less mouth to feed,” +jarred on all her tender notes of sympathy +by the crudity of its truth.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Muriel wrote to Gladys, who, strange to +say, had come to see her alone, not once but +often, that she had never known “death +could be vulgar before;” and, though she +felt very worried at the thought of shutting +up the club for three months, she confessed +to herself her heart rose at the thought +of the long, easy luxury of house-parties, +country days, and even a glimpse of the sea. +People, too, who said a little more—and +meant a little less—she looked forward to +meeting with a positive sense of rest. Clear +black and white were rather glaring she +thought, and how life was mellowed by a +little mist! Jack Hurstly had never been to +see her. She had heard of him occasionally +from Gladys.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Sir Arthur wished her to come at once to +Blacklands, a house in a beautiful vicinity, +not too far from the conveniences of life; +and towards the end of July, very tired +and fagged, Muriel packed up her things +to go. There were many good-byes to be +said, but they were all over now with the +exception of Liz—Liz and the baby. She +had not seen either of them lately. As she +knocked at the door she heard the long, +fretful wail of a sick child, and then the +ungracious tones of a woman’s voice.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Ah, it’s you, is it?” she added shrilly as +Muriel entered. “I thought you had given +us the slip. No, I ain’t been comin’ to the +club, nor I don’t mean to—nor Dick neither, +we ’ave ’ad enough of it, we ’ave.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Muriel showed no surprise. She sat down +and looked at the poor little baby tossing +disconsolately on its mother’s lap.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Isn’t he well?” she asked.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No, ’e ain’t,” said Liz more gently; “ ’e +do take on somethink hawful in this ’eat. ’E +cries all night, and Dick won’t come nigh +’im. I’d a been a deal better off without +’im, that’s what I’d a been. What’s the use +o’ a ’usband who drinks all ’e earns? ’E +don’t do <span class='it'>me</span> no good, and I don’t do ’im no +good—we’re better apart.” She looked at +Muriel viciously in her increasing anger and +fear, turning on the first object she met.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You’re very tired, Lizzie,” she said +gently, “and very hot. Have you been +sitting up all night with baby?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I don’t keep no nurse!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Poor little thing,” said Muriel, holding +out her arms for it; “poor little dear.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“ ’E’ll crease your pretty skirt.” Muriel +laughed.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Now, tell me,” she said, “what do you +mean about Dick. Is he really taking to +drink?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Lizzie forgot her resentment and poured +out her troubles, and so again the woman +in Muriel conquered. Yet she knew that +there would be no gratitude for what she +did. Lizzie only envied her—“her pretty +frock.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She wrote to her uncle promising to go +down the next day. Muriel arrived at +Blacklands to be met by the footman and a +carriage. The trappings of a luxury she had +spurned seemed at present very grateful to +her. They belonged, she realized, to a class +of things one does not actually need, and yet +seems to miss more than even the necessities. +As she drove comfortably through +the village she was possessed by a complete +set of new faculties. All her old fund of light-hearted +laughter sprang again within her; +her quick, observant eyes (which she had +used more lately to ignore than to observe) +found beauties at every turn. She felt a desire +to sketch two cottages half lost in honeysuckle +planted with the most perfect effect +of naturalness under the old tower of the +ivy-covered church. The churchyard seemed +the most perfectly restful thing she had ever +seen. She longed to pick the hedge flowers; +to let the wind blow about her hair, with no +restraining erection to keep it in place; to +walk barefoot across the cool, green fields; +to hunt for birds’ nests in the wood; to +climb the hills at sunset time—in short, a +passion of longing to come near to Nature +held her; to forget all the many inventions +of the clever, brutal, unscrupulous mind of +man; to be once, for however little time, +one with the world as “God has made it.” +She found herself taking off her gloves, and +at that moment the carriage swept up the +drive of a large old house, with an exterior +too ancient to be quarrelled with, and an +interior too full of the best of modern +“improvements” to be in the least appropriate.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Gladys was standing on the steps. She +held Muriel in her arms. On the younger +girl’s face there was an almost passionate +welcome, and she tried to hide her eagerness +in laughter, chatting in graceful snatches +over a thousand little nothings as the two +girls went to their rooms. “Did Muriel +know that there was no one there but themselves?—everybody +was coming down to-morrow. +Yes, that abominable little flirt, +Edith le Mentier, and her husband with his +exquisite stupidity, a cloak which covered +all his other sins—in the eyes of his wife +at least. Mary Huntly, too, not Tom—he +couldn’t. These business men really +worked; but Muriel was a business woman, +wasn’t she—the dear Muriel.” Muriel declared +she only worked for the sake of enjoying +laziness. They went down to tea. +“That doctor, too,” Gladys continued, +“with an advanced sister with red hair, +cigarette and a bull-dog—at least I think it’s +a bull-dog.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Of course it is,” laughed Muriel. “You +must retain something, however far you +advance, and the bull-dog does that for +you.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“The doctor overworked, you know; and +the sister’s devoted. Then there’s Captain +Hurstly, of course!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Why of course?” said Muriel quietly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, well——” Gladys stopped, “don’t +you want him?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No, my dear, I don’t.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Your uncle thought——”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, when he thinks,” laughed Muriel, +lifting her shoulders.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“And there’s a friend of his——”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“My uncle’s?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Silly!—Captain Hurstly’s—a Sir Somebody +Bruce.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Alec?” suggested Muriel, quietly selecting +some seed-cake. “I know him well.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Do you?” said Gladys, “I scarcely know +him at all. What did you think of him?” +Her little air of indifference was beautiful. +Muriel sighed.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“He’s like the rest,” she said wearily. +“Splendid, capable, broad-shouldered and—useless. +I think if I were a man like that +I should use my talent as a good shot for +personal purposes; it would seem to me less +wasteful.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, but, Muriel, we girls we’re none of +us any better. You, dearest, you’re different. +And in America I was different too. +There’s so little strain in being happy there—so +little waste in pleasure. The rush of life, +its width and lack of limits, is a continual +occupation; but here there are too many +women. Some of them must be old maids. +It’s like the game of musical chairs. They +none of them, you see, want to be left out, +so they take the first place vacant. They +have an eye on their opportunities; they +make efforts to attain, and a masterly +mamma backs them. When you come to +think of it—their training, their suppression! +You can’t wonder they take their +first opening. But for women to be hunters—forgive +the naked, cruel term, darling—is +repulsive. Oh, if I had a daughter I +should drown her, or bring her up to something +more worth living for!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She walked about the room putting this +and that to rights. The housemaid had +done it before her, but the quick, nervous +movements delivered her of the tension she +seemed under.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Something’s very badly wrong,” thought +Muriel, and aloud she suggested the garden.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The birds were making twilight magical +on the velvet lawn. They sat breathing in +the soft, rich air, heavy with the scent of +summer flowers, too utterly at peace with +Nature and the restful spell she can throw +at moments over the most tortured hearts +to do more than hush themselves into +silence.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Muriel was the first to speak. She remembered +long afterwards how startling +her voice sounded.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You have something to ask me?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Ah!—no, no.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Something to tell me?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It’s hard—oh, Muriel, dearest—dearest, +it’s hard!” cried Gladys.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Hard things are sometimes better +shared,” said Muriel.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“The hardest and the dearest sometimes +can’t be,” Gladys sighed. “What can I +do?” she added miserably. “It’s so old +and stale, just the eternal wrong situations +Nature pulls about so, or man gets twisted +into! Mary, my cousin, you know, wants +me—wants me to marry. I’m dependent on +her, you see, since father failed in the States. +They had me educated in England, and they +ruined that for me—the steady setness that +might have helped me now—by the wildest +three years in America. Sixteen!—and their +world without barriers, where everybody +wants you to have a good time! No, I’m +not crying—not for that. It lasted three +years, and after the smash they sent me +here. Mary doesn’t know what to do with +me. I’m not her sort—I’m always getting +into scrapes. I seem to have got into the +nursery again, where there is nothing but +corners. I’m in leading strings to a—maid. +There’s only one way out of my nursery, +Mary says—Muriel, it’s open now—but I +almost think I’d rather throw myself out of +the window than make use of it.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Muriel looked at her. “And is there no +other door?” she asked gently.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Ah! not mine—somebody else’s, and—they’ve +got the key.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Where does it lead to?” Muriel asked.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I—I don’t know. The most beautiful +place in the world, I fancy; but if it was a +wilderness it would be the only way for +me!” Timidly Gladys put out her hands, +and Muriel held them, drawing the girl +closer to her. She asked with wonderful +mother-eyes the question no words could +draw from her.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes,” she said at last, “people made a +mistake when they thought the world was +large. It’s very small—one woman’s heart +can hold the whole of it.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Muriel,” the other gasped, “Muriel, do +you care for him?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“For Alec Bruce, dear child? No!” +Suddenly her hands grew cold, a fear seized +her, cutting her breath short and making +the silence strangely empty. “You don’t +mean him?” she asked very slowly as if she +were just learning to talk. The girl shook +her head. “You mean Jack Hurstly?” +pursued Muriel gently inexorable. The girl +caught her hands away and covered her +face.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, Muriel! Muriel!” she sobbed. “I +don’t—I don’t care for him.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Neither do I,” said Muriel very coldly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Don’t you?—don’t you?” the girl exclaimed, +her eyes shining like stars through +a cloud. “Then, oh, dearest—my dearest, +give me the key!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Muriel stood quite still smiling. She felt +as if she were having a photograph taken; +she must not move; she must try to look +pleasant—that’s what they call it. She was +still so long that Gladys looked up in wonder. +The elder girl drew her into her arms.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It will be sure to come out well,” she +murmured. Then aloud: “Little darling, +you have always had the key—mine was +only a skeleton one, and, Gladys, I never +could have used it.” The girl clung to her +shivering with joy.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Then, after all, you do care for him a +little?” Muriel said tenderly. Gladys lifted +up her eyes. They seemed much older—they +were so happy and so sure.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I told you there was only the one way—the +one way in all God’s earth for me. I +think I should have thrown myself out of +the window if you hadn’t given me the +key!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, don’t!” cried Muriel half sobbing.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Gladys smiled. “Dearest, you don’t +understand—you see you don’t care for +him as I do!” she said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No,” repeated Muriel very slowly and +carefully, “I don’t quite understand—you +see I don’t—don’t care for him. Do you +know, little dear, it’s getting rather chilly. +Hadn’t we better go in and dress for dinner?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, to think of dinner!” laughed +Gladys. “How we do mix things, don’t +we? It’s too terribly material.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>But of the two she had the better appetite. +Muriel had never lied before, and she +found it very tiring.</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER VIII</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote20em'> + +<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“A self-sacrifice that is thorough must never pause.”</span></p> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'>“Sunday,” said Edith le Mentier, lazily +swaying her parasol, “does my religion for +me. When I hear the sweet church bells +chiming over the cow-laden fields I say to +myself this is a Christian country. Cows +and a church—certainly I, too, must be a +Christian.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“And your responsibility ends there?” +asked Gladys, who with others of the party +was dressed to go to the little church across +the fields.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“My responsibility, my dear, er—Miss +Gladys—as you so deliciously call it, is never +at work in that sphere. No! I recognize +it at my dressmaker’s; I am crushed under +it in shops; I frequently come face to face +with it in the choice of a cook. Beyond +this,” Mrs. le Mentier put out a dainty foot +under a frilled petticoat, “beyond this I am +a rational being—that is, whenever it is +possible I persuade some one else to do my +effort-making for me. Captain Hurstly, I +want a footstool; dear, delightful creatures, +do go and do my praying for me; Sir +Arthur,” here she put her head graciously +towards their slightly embarrassed host, +“is going to stay to keep me company.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Delighted, I am sure,” murmured Sir +Arthur, handing Gladys’ prayer-book which +he had been carrying to the doctor, who +stood grimly and uncompromisingly silent. +It was natural that after that Gladys and +Dr. Grant should walk together and Muriel +find herself with Jack Hurstly. Cynthia +Grant, the doctor’s sister, had not yet returned +from a visit to the stables with Sir +Alec. Muriel had not seen Jack for some +time. He was always large and masterful +(in the most calmly protective meaning of +the word), but there was to-day a certain +alertness and unobtrusive eagerness in his +manner that was new to her. They knew +each other well enough to be able to float +off easily into commonplace chatter. It +paved the way for all the important things +which lost their stiffness by being set in a +background of familiar banter.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’m having a holiday,” said Jack, smiling +down at her oddly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You a holiday! You look terribly as if +you needed it!” she laughed.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’ve been working rather hard, really,” +he said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Fishing is over?” she asked.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, Miss Muriel, but I’ve had a harder +job to tackle. I’ve been trying to get the +place at home in decent order—getting +cottages built and all that sort of thing.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You were always so practical,” she +murmured.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Because, you see, the place has been a +little weedy lately, and as I am to be off +again soon I wanted to leave it in order +before I went.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Hunting big game?” she suggested +indifferently.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well—yes, rather. You see there’s been +a little scrapping in India on the frontier, +and—well, I thought it would be rather +jolly to have a shot at the little beggars myself. +You see the regiment being at Aldershot +a fellow hasn’t got much to do, and so +I have joined—temporarily, of course—a +batch of men who are going out in September. +Do you wish me luck?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Your occupations,” said Muriel coldly, +“always seem to me a little brutal.” Then +she glanced more kindly at him.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He was disconsolately grumbling, “Oh, +I say now!” and cutting the heads off the +nettles with his stick. They were nearing +the church.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, I hope, Jack,” she used the name +with her old deliberate frankness, looking +him in the eyes, steadily and kindly, “that +you will have the best of luck. I can’t +tell you how glad I am to see you set to +work again, and make something of all +that’s in you—all I know that’s in you.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He beamed with pleasure, though he was +still a little puzzled at her former sharpness. +“It’s awfully good of you, Miss Muriel,” +he said, opening the gate; “and you—you +must know that if I am worth anything at +all it’s all owing to you. And now that you +say you believe in me,” he drew a long +breath, “I think I could do anything—anything +in the world to show you you’re not +mistaken.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Muriel said nothing. When they reached +the porch she turned to him, and not looking +at him said slowly, “I am quite sure I am +not mistaken, Jack.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The church was cold and dark after the +bright sunshine in the fields. In the +church she remembered Gladys, and forgot +to listen to the sermon. She and the +doctor walked back together and quarrelled +all the way.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was that still, impossible hour of Sunday +afternoon when the drowsiness of after +lunch and the distance of five-o’clock tea +combine to make inaction of one sort or +another absolutely essential. Sir Arthur +Dallerton, however, was uncomfortably wide +awake. His protracted conversation with +his charming guest contributed not a little +to the unnatural keenness of his feelings, +and with Sir Arthur Dallerton to feel +keenly was to be in more or less of a bad +temper. He saw Muriel out of his smoking-room +window, and beckoned to her to +come in.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What are you doing, Muriel,” he +asked severely, “at this time of the afternoon?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Everybody is going out on the river +after tea, so I was seeing about the boats,” +she said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“That, Muriel, is the business of the +gardener.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I like minding the gardener’s business,” +said Muriel smiling.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“My dear,” said her uncle gravely, “If +you would leave the gardener’s business +alone, and attend a little more to your own, +I should be better pleased.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What do you mean, uncle?” the girl +asked, sitting down opposite him with her +wide-open, unembarrassed eyes.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Of course I know that it makes no +difference to you what I wish—that I take +for granted to begin with.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She moved her head impatiently; she +hated the way he had of opening any discussion +with injured personalities. He waited +for a protest, and not hearing one he continued +with increased vehemence.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You are now twenty-seven. You have +had plenty of opportunities to settle down +in life. I have never attempted to force +your hand——” A look in the girl’s eyes +suggested the prudence of this course. “I +must say I have been uncommonly generous +in overlooking your extraordinary schemes, +but I never dreamed they excluded marriage. +May I ask, Muriel—I think I have +a right to know—if all my hopes are to +be in vain simply through the obstinacy +of an untrained, selfish girl? Do you, +Muriel—I insist upon knowing this—intend +to marry?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I am sorry you insist, uncle,” said Muriel +very quietly, though two bright spots of +angry color burned in her cheeks, “because +I am afraid I can give you no satisfactory +answer to your hopes. It is very improbable—if +you really wish to know—that I +shall ever marry.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What about Jack Hurstly?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I do not know to what you refer.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I thought your objection to him was +that he didn’t stick to his profession. He’s +sticking to it fast enough now.” Muriel +winced. “And,” he continued with more +hope of success, “he’ll probably get potted +by a native, and then perhaps you’ll be satisfied. +You women who talk the most +about cruelty are always the ones to send +us poor devils to our graves.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I have never had any objection to Jack +Hurstly, and I have none now, but I certainly +am not going to marry him. If he +gets killed in India, as you thoughtfully +suggested, it will perhaps prove to you that +he is beyond your matrimonial schemes. +I do not believe anything else would,” +said Muriel, now thoroughly aroused. She +looked lovely when she was angry: the +gray eyes blazed and widened, the firm chin +became inexorable, and her nostrils dilated +like a spirited horse. Her uncle, who had +an eye for beauty, appreciated her appearance, +but was too vexed to remark +on it.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Gad! you have the temper of a devil!” +he grumbled in reluctant admiration; “but +if you won’t have Jack Hurstly, you won’t. +And on the whole you might do better. +What I want you thoroughly to understand +is I’ll have no monkey business with that +young doctor. I didn’t ask him down +here, or you either, for any such purpose. +If you had liked Jack Hurstly, well and +good. I wouldn’t have opposed the match. +He’s got blood, and he’s got money, and I +have nothing against him. But I have +set my heart on one thing if you won’t +have him.” He stopped a moment. +“Muriel,” he said, “you know my heart +is weak, and it’s very bad for me to be +opposed.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Muriel smiled; the scene lost its strain; +the gay voices of idlers on the lawn came +in through the windows with the after-dinner +grace of the “wise thrushes” in the +shrubbery. They all sounded so restful +and contented. But she—must she battle +till her life’s end? Tears of self-pity rose +to her eyes. Her uncle supposed them to +be signs of softening grace.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“My child,” he said, “Sir Alec Bruce is +a good man, and he loves you.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“He has a good income and a good +family,” suggested the girl maliciously.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Sir Arthur waved them aside grandly. +“I have set my heart upon the match,” +said; “my life is risked by a disappointment.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Muriel crushed her hands together nervously. +“And what about my life?” she +said at last. “But I suppose that doesn’t +matter,” and ignoring her uncle’s wrathful +exclamation she stepped out of the French +windows and joined the idlers on the lawn. +Sir Arthur waited a few moments for a +heart attack to come on, but as nothing +happened he also went into the garden. +But a few moments had dissipated the +group, and only Cynthia Grant remained +with a bull-dog and a cigarette. She +looked extremely unsympathetic, and +grumbling under his breath something +far from complimentary about advanced +young women he returned to the house. +A moment later Dr. Grant joined his sister +on the lawn. The bull-dog, appropriately +named “Grip,” looked wistfully from one to +the other. He knew it was impossible to +be at the feet of both at the same time, and +so with chivalrous courtesy he curled himself +up once more by his mistress’s side +and listened with heavily absorbed eyes to +the following conversation.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Do you really mean to do it?” asked +Cynthia curtly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“If I hadn’t, why should I have come +here?” replied her brother, giving short +puffs at his pipe. “You know I feel awfully +out of this sort of thing—an abominably +lazy lot.” Grip, who with the magnificent +patience of the strong had long +been putting up with an inquisitive and +infuriating fly, now relieved his feelings +with a successful snap.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Cynthia laughed bitterly. “You won’t +get her so easily as that,” she said by way of +illustration. “And why should I want you +to? Has it never occurred to you, my +dear brother, that I might prefer you better +unmarried. It’s a slackening sort of thing +at best for a man, and we’ve always +roughed it together, haven’t we, Geoff? +Pretty cosily, too, I think.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You might get married yourself,” he +said gloomily. The girl suggestively lit a +cigarette.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I don’t think so, Geoff,” she said with +a queer little laugh. “Has it never +occurred to you that I’m thirty, and +you’ve never been particularly keen on it +before?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’m not now—but I think it’s a good +thing for a girl.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You mean for a man, don’t you?” He +looked at her quietly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You’re not like yourself to-day, Sis,” +he said gently. “What’s wrong?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You’re trying to marry Muriel Dallerton. +She’s in love with Jack Hurstly, +whom she’s trying to marry to that emotional +little Gladys thing. Meanwhile, unless +they are all very careful, Edith le Mentier +means to play her own game with +them all.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“How do you know Miss Dallerton’s +in love with Hurstly?” asked the doctor, +savagely ignoring the rest of the remarks. +She turned on him with mocking eyes.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“She is interested in his conversation,” +she said, and they both burst out laughing. +Grip placed his head massively on her +hands and looked both question and reproach +at her. “His business, Grip,” she +said, “is to get perfectly rested, not to +tread on lazy people’s corns, and to see as +much as possible of the right young lady. +As for me, Grip”—she dropped some inconveniently +heated ashes on his pink +nose, which made him shake his head and +blink severely like a shocked old lady—“where +do I come in? Well, I have my +own little game to play. And here’s dear +Edith in a fresh pink gown. Let’s go and +meet her—she’s so fond of us both. And +you——” she looked back with a whimsical +tenderness at her brother, “just go down +to the river and find your young lady, +only for Heaven’s sake don’t glare at her +like that!”</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER IX</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote20em'> + +<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“It is sometimes possible to say ‘No,’ but hard to live +up to it.”</span></p> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Muriel</span> had not in the least intended to +find herself alone with Jack Hurstly in a +canoe. It all happened so naturally that +protests and excuses were out of the +question. She looked rather wistfully at +Gladys in a larger boat, who was talking +with nervous gaiety to Alec Bruce, while +Mary Huntly in the stern looked on with +serene approval. Gladys would not look +at her friend, and something in the girl’s +manner and carriage seemed to denote an +intense displeasure, which, after her confidence +to Muriel, was not on the whole incomprehensible. +Muriel sighed hopelessly. +Circumstances, she thought, were against +her, and Jack was with her; she might be +stronger than the circumstances, but she +had begun to feel that she was not as strong +as Jack.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I really have changed my life a bit,” +he went on, as if continuing their last conversation. +“Do you know when you went +to Stepney, and I got to know about all you +were doing—how you gave those girls such +a good time and helped them in their homes, +and all that, you know—it made me feel +what a cheap sort of thing the life of the +fellows about town is, and how, after all, +there isn’t so very much in just having a +good time if there’s nothing else besides or +beyond it. I hope you won’t think I’m +talking awful rot?” he interrupted himself +nervously. She shook her head; she found +it difficult to speak; her hand dipped in the +water seemed to her a sort of illustration +of how impossible it was to grasp her treasure +even while it surrounded her. They +were singing down the stream the air of a +new opera, and that, and the trailing +branches overhead, would have made a +wonder of beauty if she had not loved +Gladys. “Sacrifices lasted too long,” she +thought.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“And so,” he continued, watching her +with eager, earnest eyes as he talked, +“while I was waiting for leave to go out +to India I started a sort of club at home—among +the tenants, you know. Nothing +much of a place—only games and a room +where the men can go and smoke and read +their papers in the mornings. And it struck +me that Miss Gladys’ cousin—am I boring +you?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No, Jack—Gladys’ cousin?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“That Parson Cyril Johnstone,” he explained, +“was really an awfully good sort, +and might help me a bit with the men—on +his own line, you know. And as the vicar +wanted a curate, it seemed to fit in rather +decently. I had no idea how awfully interesting +that kind of thing could be. Why, +now I know the men, and drop in to play a +game of billiards with them, you couldn’t +believe how jolly they are with me; and +many of them more decent, wholesome kind +of men than one’s own sort. I should so +much like to show you the place, Muriel, +and ask your advice about it. I’m afraid +I’m an awfully poor hand at managing that +kind of thing.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Mr. Cyril Johnstone knows more about +men’s clubs than I do!” she replied with +half-averted head. Jack smiled. He was +not used to Muriel in this mood; it was +more like other women whom he had been +used to.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You see,” he said, “Cyril Johnstone is +all very well in his way, but an unecclesiastical +eye might be able to suggest more.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I feel quite sure,” said Muriel firmly, +“that my eyes will be able to suggest +nothing.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“They must have changed then a good +deal in the last few minutes,” said Jack +coolly; “they have always suggested plenty +to me.” Muriel looked up desperately, and +saw Dr. Grant on the bank.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Row to the shore, please, Jack,” she +said, “there is room for the doctor.” Jack +set his lips together firmly. He had no intention +of rowing to the shore for any such +purpose.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Sorry,” he said; “I’m afraid it’s impossible.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I must insist,” she replied coldly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Please don’t, for I hate to disobey your +wishes,” he pleaded.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You overlook the alternative,” cried +Muriel.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Muriel,” he said, “you don’t really mean +it—I know you don’t wish it!” He knew this +would have been fatal with another woman, +but he counted on her sincerity. She looked +from him to the shore, and back again to the +softly shaded water.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I must ask you to do it just the same,” +she said finally. He turned the boat into +mid-stream, and they floated awhile in silence.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It is the first time I have ever refused +to do what you wanted,” he said at last, +drawing a deep breath.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It is the last time I shall ever give you +an opportunity,” said Muriel coldly. But if +she had hoped to prevent further words her +hope was in vain.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You told me once that you cared for +me, Muriel, but that I wasn’t worth marrying. +I have tried to make myself a bit +more so, and now you are not going to tell +me, are you, that you have changed your +mind?” She faced him steadily.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I can’t marry you,” she said. “Please +don’t ask me questions, Jack.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“But I must,” he said frowning. “Why +can’t you marry me?” She was silent. +“You don’t love me?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Perhaps I never did.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Nonsense, dear, you’re not that sort. +Tell me the truth—you do love me?” +Muriel turned in exasperation.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, yes, then, if you <span class='it'>will</span> have it. I <span class='it'>do</span> +love you, but I’m not now or at any other +time ever going to marry you!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They had forgotten the other boat and +the river. A burst of merry laughter +awoke them to the fact that they had drifted +on a snag, and that the rest of the party had +been watching them for the last few minutes +from the opposite bank.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was the doctor after all who rowed out +to their assistance and took Muriel home +after tea across the fields. Muriel was +desperate. Jack had found means to say +to her that he did not in the least believe +her, and that he was not going to give +her up. Gladys had found means of very +pointedly, though with exquisite intangibility, +expressing a state of mind anything +but pleasant to her friend. The constant +flow of bright, good-natured chaff, the +utterly superficial, pleasant brightness of +the boating party, gave Muriel a feeling of +weariness and age. She felt glad to be with +the doctor. He at least left her alone and +seemed contented to talk or to be silent in +an easy, effortless way. Perhaps it was because +in his profession a man “learns to do +his watching without its showing pain.” He +talked chiefly about his sister, and when +they got home advised her in an off-hand +manner “to go and lie down.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“But I am not tired,” she cried, half +vexed.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No,” he replied soothingly; “still you +know it’s a warm afternoon; you would find +it restful.” Muriel smiled submissively.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“To tell the truth,” she said, “I think +perhaps I am a bit tired,” and she went +upstairs.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>An hour afterwards there came a soft +knock at the door and Cynthia Grant came +in.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“They told me you had a headache,” she +said apologetically, “and I came to see if I +could do anything for you.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It’s very kind of you,” said Muriel +gratefully; “but do come and sit down. My +headache was only an excuse for laziness, +and it would do it good to be talked to.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Cynthia sat down near the sofa, and after +a little conversation on general subjects, +began in abrupt, curt tones to tell Muriel the +story of her life.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Why she told it, it would be impossible +to tell, except that she wished to approach +nearer to the girl who had won her brother’s +love, and that such a confidence was the +most painful sacrifice it was in her power to +make. It was a strange story of how she +and her brother had studied together side +by side for their degree; of how she had +advanced even farther than he, till at +length, finding she was outstripping him, in +one magnificent burst of sacrifice she had +thrown the whole thing up; but how the +fascination of her work proved almost too +much for her, till in desperation she left +her brother altogether, and went to the +Paris studios to study art. Here she paused +awhile as if reluctant to speak further. +“You don’t know,” she said, “what it was +to have lived as I did, almost as a man +among men. It was only we two—my +brother and I—against the world, you know, +and it’s a hard world. After I left him—I’m +not going to tell you the whole story—there +was a man who was a very fine fellow, an +Englishman and an artist, and he fell in +love with me before he quite knew—well, +all the incidents of my life. Paris is rather +a place for incidents, you know. He wanted +to marry me. But, of course, I told him—and, +I daresay, it wasn’t an ideal story. At +any rate he told me he could not make me +his wife, and I care far too much for him to +be satisfied with anything else. So I went +back to my brother, and I have been with +him ever since. I help him with his cases, +and, as his practice is rather large, and contains +a good many poor people, I find +enough to do. Are you horribly shocked, +Miss Dallerton?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Have you given up your art?” said +Muriel. The other girl went to the window. +She laughed nervously.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Art?” she said. “I never look at a +picture if I can help it.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“And does your brother know?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Everything; but it has made no difference.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I wonder why you told me?” said Muriel +thoughtfully. Cynthia smiled.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You look as if people were in the habit +of telling you things. Besides—I don’t +know—it seemed to me as if you ought to +know the truth if we were to be friends.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I hope we shall be,” said Muriel softly—“I +hope very much we shall be.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I think,” said Cynthia as she went to +the door, “that if I had known you, it +might have been different.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Muriel puzzled thoughtfully awhile over +the rather grim pair she had come into +contact with. She had known very little +of that great wide world of professional +life. Society and the slums, though they +were a great contrast, were not, she thought, +so great a mystery. But though Muriel was +distinctly broad-minded for a woman, it was +impossible for her just at present to absorb +herself in abstract problems when her own +life presented such pressing personal ones. +Her first misery at Gladys’ jealousy and +misunderstanding seemed gone. To her surprise +she had begun to feel almost a sense +of relief. If she didn’t understand, it was +plain there was not so very much to worry +about. If one looks for too many things +in one place, the few things one finds lose +their significance. It is not one’s love so +much that gets dulled as one’s sense of +importance. The halo of expectation fails; +next time one’s eagerness goes with slower +feet, and is positively astonished if it ever +gets met at all. So that now Muriel felt +she had simply over-estimated both her +friends’ characters and affection, and that +nothing therefore remained but to clearly +make Gladys see she did not intend to +marry Jack Hurstly. Her responsibility +ended there she told herself, after that she +need not try to keep up this very unequal +friendship any more. As for Cynthia Grant, +she was a woman and old enough to know +what to take for granted, and how not to +be exacting.</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER X</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote20em'> + + + <div class='poetry-container' style=''> + <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> +<div class='stanza-outer'> +<div class='stanza-inner'> +<p class='line0'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“O Heart! O blood that freezes! blood that burns!</span></p> +<p class='line0'><span style='font-size:smaller'>Earth’s returns for whole centuries of folly, noise, and sin:</span></p> +<p class='line0'><span style='font-size:smaller'>Shut them in; with their triumphs and the glories and the rest—</span></p> +<p class='line0'><span style='font-size:smaller'>Love is best!”</span></p> +<p class='line0' style='text-align:right;margin-right:0em;'><span style='font-size:smaller'>—<span class='sc'>Robert Browning.</span></span></p> +</div> +</div> +</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Very</span> firm and self-reliant natures make +sometimes the natural mistake of under-estimating +the power of passion. Their full +self-control and constant watchfulness ignore +the possibility of the strange touch of +sudden lawlessness—the betrayal of the +blood. That one could be one moment +standing reason-bound, content, a soul at +peace, and in another swept over the verge +of thought into a sea of feeling, was absurd +to Muriel. Yet the swift flash takes place: +the world, like a curtain, rolls up, and all the +conventions, the safeguards, the stationary +landscapes, disappear! It was such a moment +which took possession of her the very +night that she had decided to give her lover +to another woman. The evening had passed +pleasantly, and the still glory of the summer +night drew the party out into the dusk of +the garden. Muriel slipped away from the +rest and wandered into a little wilderness +some distance from the house, wondering +how best to carry out her plans, when +suddenly all the blood in her body rushed +to her heart, for there beside her stood the +man she loved. It had been possible for +her in the calm of loneliness and heartache +to dispose of Jack, but now—the moon’s +gold and silver gliding through the clouds; +the thrushes calling heart to heart their +breathless rapture in a liquid continuity of +song; all the passion and the pain rushing +into beauty, thrilled and throbbing with the +heart of night—it was difficult to resist now. +And the stars, how they shone down on +love, each one a light struck from the royal +conquest of their queen, the moon! They +were enwrapped in that dream so boundless +and so limited which for one breathless +moment holds all the world can teach, and +then scatters and breaks into the hundred +lesser lights of life. A sigh broke the +charm, and Muriel, wondering, withdrew +herself from his arms, abashed and yet +elated at her defeat, so much more sweet +than any of the triumphs life had held for +her.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Now,” said Jack, smiling down at her, +“are you going to tell me that you don’t +care?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I am afraid,” said Muriel, “that it would +not be very convincing if I did. It seems to +me,” she added breathlessly, “as if before I +had been living only on the outskirts of life. +I did not know it was like that!” She looked +at him wistfully, and asked humbly, “Is it +quite right, Jack, do you think?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What, my dearest?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“To forget everything; to see nothing +but the world a background, and that one +great avowal drowning all the rest?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I think it must be,” said Jack. “Just +because it’s so powerful it must be meant +to be good—in itself, you know—only some +of us poor chaps don’t know how to use +it.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Muriel shivered a little; there was dampness +in the air; the trees seemed to quiver. +She remembered Liz and the squalid scenes +where the power which meant heaven to +her had meant darkness and life-long misery +to the other woman. Had she gained the +world only to lose it? Jack wrapped her +shawl tenderly over her shoulders.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You must go in, little woman,” he said +practically. “Now you’re mine you shan’t +run any risks, not even summer ones. Shall +I speak to your uncle?” he asked her as +they neared the little artificial lights of the +house.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Not yet,” she whispered hoarsely, with +a terrible fear in her eyes. Jack followed +her glance. It rested on a young girl’s face. +Gladys was standing close at the French +window looking out into the night—desperate, +wild, despairing.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“There’s something wrong with the +child,” Muriel said quick to Jack—“bad +news from home, I think,” for even at that +moment she knew she must keep the other +woman’s secret. “Let me go to her, darling—good-night! +It’s awful, isn’t it,” she +said, “to be so selfish and so happy!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She caught her hand from him, hurrying +into the house. “It’s wicked, it’s +wicked,” she murmured, “to be happy at +all.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Gladys called out over the approaching +figure, “There is a letter for Captain +Hurstly!” He came unwillingly forward +into the light about the window. Muriel +stood now with her hand in the girl’s looking +back at him. Gladys herself seemed unaware +of the touch. She was smiling painfully; +the “On Her Majesty’s Service” +seemed to demand attention.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Jack opened it, read it, glanced for a +moment to Muriel, and placed it in his +pocket.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What does it say?” said Gladys, and +Jack, so absorbed by its purpose and the +strangeness of the scene, never knew till +afterwards that it was not Muriel who +had spoken. He tried to make light of +it.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, I’m called off sooner than I expected.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“When?” They both spoke at once this +time. Again he only heard Muriel.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“The fact is—well, to-night,” he owned +unsteadily. Gladys stepped quickly forward; +a little quivering light shone in her +eyes; she caught her breath and half unconsciously +held out her hands.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, I’m so sorry, Captain Hurstly!” she +cried; “and I wish you—I wish you the +very best luck in the world.” He looked +towards Muriel, but she was gone. He +met the girl’s eyes again. His own felt +unaccountably misty. Muriel was gone, and +this little thing was wishing him the very +best luck in the world. He pressed her +hands gratefully.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Thank you, thank you awfully,” he murmured. +“I think I’ve got it to-night——”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, where’s that tiresome Jack Hurstly?” +cried a voice from the window. “I +left him my fan to take care of, and——”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’ve got it here, Mrs. le Mentier,” cried +Jack hastily, stepping through the low +French window with the missing fan in his +hand.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>When he drove off an hour later to catch +the midnight train it was Edith le Mentier +who, side by side with Muriel, stood at the +door to see him off. Looking back he saw +that it was with her he had left “the very +best luck in the world.” He had quite +forgotten all about Gladys. From her +window she watched him go on fire with +love and happiness. His last words rang +in her ears. She never doubted that they +were meant for her. He had no time to say +more then; but when he came back, not +Muriel in all her beauty, nor any other +woman, nor any other thing could ever come +between them again she thought. And he +would come back! The moonlight and the +soft fragrance of the dusky night, what +were they any of them but the earth’s +pledges to her that her heaven should come +again to meet that other heaven in her +heart?</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I have broken my fan,” said Edith le +Mentier to Muriel as they went up to bed. +“So stupid of me, wasn’t it; but at any rate +I was not going to let Captain Hurstly have +another one.” Muriel looked straight before +her.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Another one, Edith?” she repeated.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes, stupid, didn’t you know men +were in the habit of keeping people’s fans +when they were—well, rather—don’t you +know?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I am afraid I’m rather dense—good-night,” +said Muriel wearily. She stopped +outside Gladys’ door, but there was no light +or sound. “She’s asleep,” she thought, “I +won’t disturb her,” and went on to her own +room. It seemed rather strange to her that +anybody could sleep.</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER XI</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote20em'> + + + <div class='poetry-container' style=''> + <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> +<div class='stanza-outer'> +<div class='stanza-inner'> +<p class='line0'>      <span style='font-size:smaller'>“My Faith?—</span></p> +<p class='line0'><span style='font-size:smaller'>Which Religion I profess?—</span></p> +<p class='line0'>  <span style='font-size:smaller'>None of which I mention make.</span></p> +<p class='line0'><span style='font-size:smaller'>Wherefore so? And can’t you guess?—</span></p> +<p class='line0'>  <span style='font-size:smaller'>For Religion’s sake.”</span></p> +<p class='line0' style='text-align:right;margin-right:0em;'><span style='font-size:smaller'>—<span class='sc'>George MacDonald.</span></span></p> +</div> +</div> +</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>The</span> morning brought counsel to Muriel. +She would say nothing. Jack would not return +for a year or two, and in the meantime +Gladys’ passionate little heart might have +turned elsewhere, or in any case the quick +pain of certainty be less. For herself she +turned her eager mind anew to the work +before her. Love acted as a spur upon the +discipline of her life; it made the dark +places plainer, and lit up with light and hope +the saddest mysteries. She was one of those +few souls in whom experiences can never +conflict or stand in opposition to each other. +She knit them link by link into a chain +binding her closer and higher towards her +ideals. She never thought much about her +difficulties until she came up to them, but +when she once faced them they helped her +afterwards. Edith le Mentier’s delicate insinuation +she had felt a passing disgust +at, and had straightway brushed aside. +Jealousy and suspicion need darkness and +a closed-up room; all Muriel’s rooms were +open to the sky and bright with sunshine. +Nevertheless when she looked at Edith le +Mentier she felt an uneasiness she could not +account for.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The party broke up the next morning. +The doctor and his sister returned to town, +while the others went to various other +country houses, Muriel and her uncle going +to Scotland for the remainder of her holiday. +She was impatient to go back to her work, +and the month passed in making arrangements +and re-arrangements all involving +voluminous correspondence. She wrote to +Cyril Johnstone about Captain Hurstly’s +club work, and as it was under parochial +guidance, and various ritual stipulations of +the young man’s were agreed to by the +open-minded, slightly lax old vicar, he was +soon settled in deeply earnest and energetic +work such as the slow old parish had never +seen before. Yet, as Muriel soon saw, the +example of his stern habits and indefatigable +labor bore much fruit of admiration +and respect, though scarcely that imitation +which the zealous young priest expected the +doctrines he would have died for to bring +forth. He was not satisfied with Muriel’s +generous explanation. “It’s your doctrines +that have made you, and if the people +accept you, surely they are on the way to +accept the doctrines?” She returned a +week earlier than her uncle wished her to, +to encourage Jack’s “Parson,” though she +wrote to Jack that “your young priest +doesn’t at all approve of me. He considers +me a shallow society woman with a club +craze, and shakes his head over my unaccountable +friendship with you. He gave +me splendid advice the other day, and I’m +afraid I lost my temper with him, but the +gravity with which he regarded me as he +said, ‘My dear young lady, I am not speaking +to you as a mere man, but from my +priestly office,’ restored my sense of humor. +. . . But no, Jack, I have a reason for wishing +our engagement private. If it were any +feeling of my own I would tell you, as it +is you must take it on trust as you do me. +Did you ever know Mrs. le Mentier very +well?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Muriel wrote the last sentence and then +crossed it out. He might think—— Besides, +it was so absurd. She felt angry with herself +for having crossed it out—it was so unimportant. +She was surprised that night +by a letter from Cynthia Grant, who had +passed out of her mind with the press of +duty and pleasure and life. Now, however, +she awoke to a vigorous interest.</p> + +<div class='blockquote'> + +<p class='pindent'>“You will be surprised at what I am +going to ask,” the letter ran, “but I hope +that won’t shake you into the negative +attitude that it does some people. I’m not +going to tell you that I have any ‘religious +views’ (and you will excuse me if I say +that with most people they are little more—and +distant views at that), because I +haven’t; only it happens to please me to +work, and I like you, consequently if you +see any opening for a capable woman doctor +who can give free ‘instruction’ to young +women and practical help as well, let me +know and I’ll come to you. My brother +approves of my plan, and is going to get an +assistant.</p> + +<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:8em;'>“Yours,</p> +<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:0em;'>“<span class='sc'>Cynthia Grant, M.D.</span></p> + +<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>P.S.</span>—I am particularly anxious for interesting +tumors.”</p> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'>Muriel thought for a moment, then +laughed, and wired back: “Please come, +plenty of interesting tumors.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was the first day of October before the +two women settled to work. Life opened before +them full, arduous, engrossing. Around +them in teeming factories and crowded dust-yards +lived the people into whose lives their +own brought knowledge, health, horizon. +Year after year these sordid lives go on, +working until dead-tired they stumble home +and stand an hour or two in the close streets +full of the dangers and temptations of the +city; the holidays’ rough carnivals of over-feeding +and drinking. Death, disease and +sin the only breaks in the grim monotony +of passing years, and now slowly and gradually +the change was taking place. From +their work the young people streamed into +the clubs, and were taught little by little +lessons of life, courtesy, truthfulness, honesty; +and these not by confronting them +with strange virtues, but in developing their +own, generosity, kindliness and the marvellous +quality of “straightness,” the shield +of so many of the poor. Men found +billiards and other games, even cards, +though gambling was not allowed; they +could pass their evenings in social good +fellowship without spending their wages or +staggering home drunk. Their wives, too, +in another part were not less well cared for, +and their sons and daughters, kept out of +the streets four or five nights out of the +seven, were all the more inclined to stay at +home on the other two. More than all this, +living among them and sharing all they +suffered was a “lidy,” who if she had chosen +need never have done a stroke of work, or +given a thought to anything but pleasure +and ease and beauty. Though some of the +more hardened jeered at her for her sacrifice, +the greater part were drawn in generous +animation and gratitude into the work, and +even those who jeered left her alone and +would have fought any who tried to do her +an injury.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You only touch the fringe,” Cynthia +said to her one day. “So what’s the use? +When you die it will all sink back again!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Do you know,” said Muriel smiling, “I +believe there is healing in the very hem of +His garment, and that all these children in +whom we start a larger life will in time +permeate the apathetic multitude. As for +ourselves, don’t doubt that when we die the +work will not go on. Truly I should be +very despairing if I dreamed that such tremendous +purposes rested on my shoulders. +We just fit in here, that’s all, and make +the room larger for the next comer!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Humph!” said Cynthia dryly; “after +I’d made the room larger, I should prefer +sitting in it myself.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Nonsense,” laughed Muriel; “you would +go on to make an addition to the house!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“My brother comes here to-night,” Cynthia +stated abruptly. “He’s going to bring +a magic lantern for the men, and show them +some of his Chinese slides.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’m so glad,” said Muriel gratefully.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Do you like him?” Cynthia asked.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Like your brother? Of course, very +much.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“So little as that?” cried Cynthia laughing +wistfully. “Oh, Muriel, Muriel!” Muriel +colored and frowned. It was a subject +that visibly annoyed her, and which she +tried to ignore. Dr. Grant had been very +kind to the club. She had tried to believe +he was interested in the work; it was a little +baffling to find it hinted that it might be the +worker. Cynthia watched her carefully. +“Is there nothing besides the work?” she +thought to herself. She introduced the +subject of a meal, and Muriel laughingly +discovered she had forgotten her lunch.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You were writing letters at lunch time, +weren’t you?” suggested Cynthia.</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER XII</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote20em'> + + + <div class='poetry-container' style=''> + <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> +<div class='stanza-outer'> +<p class='line0'>        <span style='font-size:smaller'>“Mercy every way</span></p> +<p class='line0'><span style='font-size:smaller'>Is infinite—and who can say?”</span></p> +</div> +</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>There</span> was a high west wind, and the dust +swirled in clouds at the street corners. It +was the kind of wind that never lets one +alone, and is constantly drawing attention to +the inconveniences of one’s clothing. The +clouds were the dull brown of approaching +rain, drifting in rags across the chilly sky. +Cynthia Grant, who had been all the night +before and half the day through fighting +over the undesirable life of a mother and +child, felt almost aggrieved that she had +saved them both. “What did I want to do +it for? The whole system’s rotten! Why +should it be considered mercy to prolong +the agony instead of cutting it short? I +don’t care for the woman; I hate the child; +and, even if I liked them both, I don’t think +their lives worth living. Why that drunken +brute of a husband, who is always throwing +chairs at the poor thing, should say ‘Thank +God!’ when I told him she’d live is a +puzzle; he could easily have got some one +fresh to throw chairs at, and the brat is +only one mouth more to feed! I feel far +more sympathy for that woman with ten +children who told me she had had ‘no +churchyard luck’.” She chuckled grimly +to herself, and looked with a tolerant, +amused gaze at the narrow alley, with its +children at play in the gutters, wizened and +old, with sharp, cruel, degraded little faces, +slatternly women at doors, and skulking +forms, that were scarcely human, lurking in +corners and in the wretched rooms that +were called “living,” a phrase more applicable +to the vermin that inhabited +them than the half-human creatures that +sprawled there. It was a bad alley, and +the tough knotted stick in Cynthia’s hand +did not look out of place.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes,” she thought to herself, “Muriel +must be impelled by some pretty desperate +attraction to give up her life to this sort of +thing. It will make her old before her time. +And as for the people here, her influence will +probably cease as most influence does with +her presence, and trickle off them as easily +as water off a duck’s back. As for me, I +suppose I might as well be <span class='it'>here</span> as anywhere +else—now.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She looked at the sky and wondered what +poets saw in it. It suggested to her nothing +but the need of a broom. She was tired out +when she reached rooms over the club, and +glad of the tea Muriel had prepared for +her.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Muriel could not stay, for it was the time +when her girls came out of the factory, and +she must be ready to meet them. She was +in one of her merriest and brightest moods. +The gloom of the outside world could not +touch her; even the sordid misery of the +streets she had visited that afternoon only +seemed to her vistas of future sunshine. +She believed in no sympathy that stopped +at sorrow; but it was because she believed +so deeply in the reality of sorrow that she +knew the certainty of joy.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What makes you so happy?” said +Cynthia wistfully; “I see nothing to cause +it.” Muriel wrinkled her eyebrows as she +always did when puzzled. Geoff called it +her “frowning for a vision,” and compared +it to a sailor’s whistling for a wind. At +last the partial vision came.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I don’t see why it should be so difficult +to be happy,” she said. “All that one +hasn’t got is bound to come some day; all +that one truly <span class='it'>has</span> will never go. And when +one is quite sure of that oneself, it is beautiful +to be able to encourage one’s bit of the +world to go on waiting for <span class='it'>their</span> bright side. +And how good and bright and dear things +really are if we only come to look through +them, and don’t make <span class='it'>culs-de-sac</span> of sorrows. +If love is the key of the world, joy +is the hand that turns it, I feel sure. To +make a creed of joy and a fact of love is to +win half the battles, and be ready to fight +the other half. But you know all this just +as well as I do, and practise it far better—so +what’s the use of talking? Simple things +become mysteries directly you try to explain +them. Mind you rest and sleep. +I’ll be back for supper,” and she disappeared. +It grew dark in the room afterwards.</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER XIII</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote20em'> + +<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“This world’s judgment cries ‘Consequences,’ and +leaves it to a higher court to take account of Aims.”</span></p> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>It</span> was decided that one more effort should +be made to rescue Muriel Dallerton.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mary Huntly, persuaded by her husband, +wrote asking her for two days early in the +season.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Cynthia peremptorily ordered her to go, +and she went.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The weather in the opening charm of June +would to most people have been better +spent in the country; only London lovers +felt the greater charm of the full, bright +season set in the green freshness of the +Park.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>There was a ball the first night, and +Muriel danced in a dream of delight at the +old easy ways, and all the beauties of sight +and sound and sense. Gladys was away on +a visit, so the return to civilization was +marked by no jar of severed friendship.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>A day spent on the river with one of +those groups, where each one knows his +neighbor well enough for associations to +make past pleasures present ones, and yet +not too deeply to be able to play lightly on +the surface of personalities, made Muriel +thirsty for more. It is true that there were +strained relationships even there, though +hidden with a cultivated ease; but she refused +to see them, and let herself be soothed +into a fairyland of fancies.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mary had arranged as a climax a tea-party +in the gardens.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Of course,” she said apologetically, “one +knows they aren’t private, but it’s the best +place in the world to wander, if only on that +account. Wandering I always think the +chief charm of tea out-of-doors; it’s a compensation +for one’s hair being blown about +and the butter melting.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It all depends on having the right person +to wander with,” suggested her companion.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, but what are all our social efforts +but an attempt to find the right person—and +then wander?” laughed Mrs. Huntly. +“It’s the magic lottery that makes London +seasons, and keeps up house-parties——”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“And finally limits one to a wedding +ring,” interrupted one of the group.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Or charms one away from the limits!” +ventured a daring young man to Muriel. +She felt vaguely uncomfortable, these children +of light played so near the brink of +things.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I don’t think I quite know what you +mean,” she said gravely.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“He doesn’t mean anything,” said Mary +Huntly shortly. The young man turned to +someone with whom he needn’t explain. +Muriel wondered whether she would enjoy +wandering in the gardens. “At any rate +I shall not have the right person,” she +thought.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>When the afternoon came the overpowering +youthfulness of spring danced in her +veins, and made it easy for the unpleasant +to pass from her mind. She was with a +little group who had not yet separated to +wander, when she saw a woman whom she +had known crossing the grass at a little +distance from where they sat.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Why, there is Sally Covering,” she cried. +“It seems years since I have seen her!” +There was a moment’s awkward silence. +Muriel looked in astonishment from one to +the other. They all began to talk in the +way of people who wish to ignore an impossible +moment. Alec Bruce, who was one of +the party, asked her an irrelevant question, +but she brushed it aside.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I am going to speak to her,” she said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I wouldn’t if I were you,” said Alec. +They spoke rapidly, and Muriel felt the +color rush to her face. She felt annoyed +with herself for speaking at all; but now +that she had spoken she would not be a +coward, so she walked the intervening +space, and came up with the woman.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Mrs. Covering! you haven’t forgotten +me?” she cried. The woman started at the +sound of her name, and turned sharply. She +was painted more than a little, and inartistically. +She gave a queer little laugh as she +took Muriel’s outstretched hand.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Dear me, no!” she said; “I am not the +one who forgets, Miss Dallerton.” Muriel +held her hand and looked into her eyes.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I suppose you will think me very rude +to stop you like this!” she said; “but I +should like so much to talk to you a few +moments, if you are not engaged.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Covering withdrew her hand. She +was embarrassed, puzzled, and a trifle defiant.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I cannot think what you wish to say to +me, Miss Dallerton,” she answered; “but I +am quite at your disposal for the next few +minutes.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They walked together in silence for a +moment, Muriel searching for the right +word. She remembered the woman’s story +now. She had left her husband, and made +what the set she lived in called the “dreadful +break.” Muriel could not quite remember +with whom; but people did not talk +to her much about that kind of thing, and +she had only heard the outlines of the +story. What Muriel finally did say was +not in the least what Mrs. Covering expected.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You have never been to see me,” she +said, “in my new home.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh! I don’t see people now,” said Mrs. +Covering, with some bitterness; “I have +got out of the habit.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Mrs. Covering,” said Muriel, “I should +like to be able to contradict a report about +you. Will you give me leave?” Mrs. +Covering made an attempt to remain defiant.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Really, Miss Dallerton,” she began, “I +cannot conceive——” But as she looked +at the girl’s honest, tender eyes her lips +quivered. “It’s no use,” she said. “Please +let us say good-bye here. It was very +good of you to speak to me.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“But it isn’t true?” said Muriel. Mrs. +Covering looked back to where through the +trees her old acquaintances in ostentatious +conversation pretended not to be watching +them.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, anyway,” she said, “I was honest +enough to leave my husband; if I hadn’t I +might be over there now with your friends.” +Muriel took her hand. She knew that sometimes +the human touch does more than the +work of words.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Will you come to me?” she said. “Will +you promise to come to me when you want +help? That you will want help I feel sure; +for you are sad already, and you can’t help +being more sad. Only don’t get desperate. +Come to me, and we will find some way out +of it together!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’m not sad!” said Mrs. Covering quickly. +“I don’t see why you should think +so. I’m happy—absolutely happy! Can’t +you see how happy I am?” She bit her +lip to keep it from quivering. “And as +for there being an end—Oh, Miss Dallerton, +there isn’t an <span class='it'>end</span> for a woman like me, +there’s only—a new beginning!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“And that you will try with me?” said +Muriel with an insistence that she herself +could scarcely understand.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“The ten minutes are up,” said Mrs. Covering +trying hard to smile, “and I have an +appointment. If it is ever possible I will +come to you, Miss Dallerton—at any rate I +shall never forget that you asked me. But +I do not think I shall come.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She walked quickly away, and Muriel +watched her in silence. She remembered +that people had said Sally Covering was +the best-dressed woman in London. She +was still—for it is rarely that the little +things change. We don’t forget to put on +gloves because our heart is broken. Muriel +felt a passion to be alone. Alone in this +world of green, robbed for the moment of +its fresh beauty; alone to face the problem +that rose in inexorable, dark power in +society as well as in the slums—the problem +which seems ever the same unrelenting +enemy of joy and health and the beauty +of life, and attacked the vital principles of +all she believed in and hoped for. It was +very difficult to go back to the group of +merry idlers, dancing like butterflies over +a precipice—butterflies intent on hiding +from the unwary that there <span class='it'>is</span> a precipice.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The buzz of talk increased as she drew +near them. One lady put up her lorgnette +and looked at her as if she were some +new invention, and then turning said in a +perfectly audible voice: “The paragon of +virtue approaches, but I don’t see the lost +sheep!” The group dispersed and left +Muriel for a moment with her hostess.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, Muriel, how <span class='it'>could</span> you do such a +thing?” wailed Mary Huntly. “People +must draw a line somewhere, you know. +They may swallow the slums, but for <span class='it'>you</span>—before +their very eyes——”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“To speak to an old friend,” said Muriel +quietly. “Mary, you can’t blame me. It’s +terrible! terrible! But just because it is, +one can’t let it pass!” Mary shrugged her +shoulders.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It’s hopeless to argue with you, child,” +she said. “Yet even you must see that if +people <span class='it'>will</span> do such things, they must be +ignored for the sake of society at large.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Society at large,” said Muriel bitterly, +“which has caused the trouble, must protect +itself from its own victims, I understand, +Mary.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“But what would you have one do?” +said Mary Huntly. “What good did your +speaking to her do?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It showed her that one cared,” said +Muriel. “Too late, I am afraid, in her case. +But one must give them a chance to come +back, or at least see where they have gone, +and wake them up to the horror of it! If +you leave them to wake up too late for +themselves, they will only fall into a +deeper horror!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“A woman of that sort,” said Mrs. Huntly +“is incorrigible—simply incorrigible, +Muriel.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, Mary, you don’t mean that, I know. +If it was some one you loved you would try +to help her!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Huntly turned with relief to welcome +Dr. Grant. There was a positive pleasure +in her greeting. It put an end to an unpleasant +situation. The only thing in life +that Mrs. Huntly was afraid of was an unpleasant +situation.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Here’s your doctor, child,” she said in +an undertone; “do go and wander.” Muriel +accepted the proposition almost willingly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Geoff looked this afternoon so strong and +unconventional—not even a frock-coat +could make a man-about-town out of him. +Not that he in the least answered her problem. +He would probably have refused to +discuss it with her, and would certainly +have disagreed with her in his conclusions; +and yet there was something in the strong, +sound spirit of the man infinitely refreshing +to her after the cruel butterflies.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was with a new sense of trust and confidence +in him that she wandered in the +gardens. She realized at last that the +parting of the ways had come between her +old friends and her new life. Before she +had been happy with them because her +eyes were shut, now she saw beneath all +that seemed gay and delightful a horror of +selfishness, hardness and wrong.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Covering never came to her; but +whenever she felt a longing to return to the +old life the thought of her face and the +knowledge of what the day’s wanderings +had shown her came back with the same +bitterness.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She knew that the man with whom Mrs. +Covering had made “the dreadful break” +would soon be received back into society +again.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mothers with marriageable daughters +do not ask too many questions if the woman +disappears—and the woman always disappears.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>There were times when Muriel almost +envied Mary her faith in the incorrigible—it +relieved her of so much responsibility.</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER XIV</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote20em'> + + + <div class='poetry-container' style=''> + <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> +<div class='stanza-outer'> +<p class='line0'>        <span style='font-size:smaller'>“Saints to do us good</span></p> +<p class='line0'><span style='font-size:smaller'>Must be in heaven, I seem to understand:</span></p> +<p class='line0'><span style='font-size:smaller'>We never find them saints before at least.”</span></p> +</div> +</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'>“<span class='sc'>Really</span>, Gladys,” said Mary Huntly +firmly, “I think you should give some reason +for the way you are behaving. I don’t +want to bother you, but there was my own +brother, Cyril——”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What’s the use of fast-days and a cope, +Mary? I should give him beefsteaks on +Fridays and sausages for vigils, and he +would apply for a separation. Besides, I +don’t care for him.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“There is still Alec Bruce,” said Mary +Huntly slowly. “He would let you have +your own way in everything, and never +remember a fast from one year’s end to +another. Muriel Dallerton was engaged to +him once years ago, before she met Captain +Hurstly. It was her fault entirely that it +was broken off, she was so down on +him. By the way, what has become of your +friendship for Muriel?” Gladys shrugged +her shoulders.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Fancy marrying a man who would let +you have your own way in everything. I +should be bored to death. No, Mary, I am +only twenty, and I really will marry somebody +sometime I promise you.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She ignored the question about Muriel +and got up idly to look at the paper. After +a few minutes it fell on her lap, and she +gazed with wide-open eyes straight in front +of her. In print, so that all the world could +see, ran an announcement of a severe hunting +accident to Captain Hurstly of the ——, +with the addition that Miss Dallerton, his +<span class='it'>fiancée</span>, and her uncle were soon to be on +their way out to India to join him. It was +thought probable that in the event of Captain +Hurstly’s recovery the young couple +would be married out there. Gladys +watched with fascinated gaze the skilful +movements of the footmen removing tea. +She never forgot the delicate traced pattern +on the cloth, or the two muffins and a half. +She carefully counted and wondered, with +an interest out of proportion to its subject, +what would eventually be their fate. It +did not surprise her that Edith le Mentier +should be announced, and she found herself +smiling quite naturally at that lady’s little +graceful poses, when suddenly she heard +herself addressed by name.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Have you heard of Muriel Dallerton’s +great <span class='it'>coup</span>? My dear child, you really +should go in for slum clubs—they’re so taking. +I should do it myself if I could ever +think of anything to say to those kind of +creatures. And then one finds out that +she’s been all the time engaged to Jack +Hurstly, and is actually going out to India +to nurse him through an accident and pull +him safely into the bonds of matrimony. +If I were a yellow journalist I could make +the most touching headlines for it—‘Death +or Marriage?’ ‘If he survives the first accident, +will he survive the second?’ etc.” +Gladys laughed.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“But, Mrs. le Mentier,” she said, “perhaps +it’s not so inevitable as all that. Mary +was telling me she had been engaged before.” +There was a moment’s silence. Mrs. +Huntly looked sharply across at her friend, +and Edith subdued a smile. She could +not resist, however, a little shot.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Once upon a time there was a naughty +boy,” she said, “so Muriel put him in the +corner, and he ran away. Isn’t that true, +Mary?” The door opened and two maiden +ladies, who were very charitable and rather +plain, took up Mrs. Huntly’s attention. +Gladys drew Edith to the window.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Is Captain Hurstly a good boy?” she +said, smiling. Edith looked down at her +caressingly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“One’s always good if one isn’t found +out,” she said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“But if one is found out, one is much +worse,” persisted Gladys.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I don’t think Muriel ever cared for +Alec Bruce,” said Mrs. le Mentier. “Why, +don’t you wish her to marry Jack?” she +added, glancing at the girl tenderly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’m so sorry for the doctor,” smiled +Gladys.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“If Muriel knew,” Gladys continued, +“that he was not such a good boy, she +would be certain to put him in the corner +even longer, because she does care for +him.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“If she sees him now while he’s ill she’ll +give in. We all do when Nature takes it +into her head to punish,” mused Mrs. le +Mentier.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Then if she knew soon, she wouldn’t +go?” asked Gladys. “I’m going to see her +to-morrow,” she added.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Dear Muriel,” said Mrs. le Mentier.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Shall I take her any message from +you?” Gladys questioned.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I think,” said Mrs. le Mentier, “that I +must go myself to wish her <span class='it'>bon voyage</span>.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mrs. le Mentier went home and arranged +two little packets of letters—letters that +might have been burned, that ought to +have been burned, only that some women +have the fatal habit of holding on to the +wrong things.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Gladys went upstairs and cried, and hated +herself, and bathed her eyes, and hated +Muriel more.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Meanwhile, quite unconsciously, Muriel +packed her trunk and gave last directions +to Cynthia about the club and its management +in her absence, and in her heart she +prayed, “O God, let him live—let him +live.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>And Jack Hurstly fought with death and +heat and India through long hours of +breathless night.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The boat did not sail until evening, and as +Muriel parted from Cynthia Grant to go on +to her uncle’s on a cold, chilly November +morning a hansom drove to the door, and +Gladys, deeply veiled, sprang out. She +greeted Muriel with her old tender affection. +In a minute or more they were rattling away +through the dim streets together.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I can’t understand,” said Gladys at last, +“what it all means. You cannot be breaking +your word to me—you cannot. I have +trusted you so. But I have waited so long +for an explanation, and it has never come, +and now you are going to him.” Muriel +looked steadily at her companion with unfaltering, +sad eyes.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I made a terrible mistake,” she said +gently. “For a while I thought it in my +power to give to you that which can’t be +transferred. But why should we talk of this +now?—even while we speak he may have +passed beyond it all!” Gladys wrung her +hands together desperately.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“He is mine,” she muttered—“mine—and +I shall never see his face again!” +Then suddenly she controlled herself. +“You have broken your word?” she asked.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I have,” said Muriel.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Do you expect a marriage founded on +broken promises to prosper?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Hush! he may be dead,” said Muriel.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The hansom drove up to the door; the +two girls looked at each other; Gladys did +not get out, but as Muriel moved towards +the house she leaned out of the window. +“I pray to God he is dead,” she said quietly, +then she gave the address to the cabman. +She left a card at Mrs. le Mentier’s door: +“Muriel is with her uncle—they go to-night.”</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER XV</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote20em'> + + + <div class='poetry-container' style=''> + <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> +<div class='stanza-outer'> +<p class='line0'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“Have you no assurance that, earth at end;</span></p> +<p class='line0'><span style='font-size:smaller'>Wrong will prove right? Who made shall mend</span></p> +<p class='line0'><span style='font-size:smaller'>In that higher sphere to which yearnings tend.”</span></p> +</div> +</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'>“<span class='sc'>I hope</span>, my dear,” said Mrs. le Mentier, +“that I am not too frightfully out of place. +But the fog drove me to you—it positively +did. Mystery is so more-ish, and you know +how dreadfully curious I am. When were +you first engaged to Jack, dear?” Muriel +smiled.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I don’t know, truly,” she said, “for it +feels now as if it was always.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Then it must have been very recent. +Recent things always feel like that,” said +Edith. She sank down before the fire and +began to warm her hands; the rings on +them gleamed and glittered with an almost +malicious sparkling. “It is very brave of +you to marry Jack,” she murmured, smiling—“very +brave. I hardly think I should +have had the pluck to if I were single +again.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Muriel looked in front of her. She was +counting the minutes; every one seemed a +slow, aching century separating her from +the man who might be dying. It was a +refined mode of torture to have to talk of +him. She began to understand the feeling +of a caged wild beast. As an expression it +is trite, but as an emotion it possessed her +as original.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You are not very consistent, are you?” +suggested Mrs. le Mentier with a little hard +laugh. “We none of us are, I suppose; +only it’s rather disappointing to us wicked +ones when one of the saints back down. +Being so deficient ourselves we expect so +much more of them. It’s the shock that +one feels when a really good cook fails in his +favorite dish.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’m afraid I’m not consistent, and I’m +sure I’m not one of the saints,” said Muriel +with a little strained smile. “What do you +mean, Mrs. le Mentier?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Once on a time,” replied her companion +critically, regarding her dainty hands, “there +was a girl who wouldn’t marry a man—there’s +nothing so very astonishing about +that, you’ll say; it’s happened before and +it may happen again. But she wouldn’t +marry him because she found out that his +record showed a stumble or two. One may +consider her a little fastidious, but one respects +her. The man behaved very nicely; +he respected her too. But then there came +another man, and human nature made her +forget all about his record, which, when you +come to think of it, is very natural, and not +at all to be blamed. It is a pity to be too +fastidious, but one can’t perhaps respect +her as much.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Mrs. le Mentier,” said Muriel, rising to +her feet, “will you kindly tell me what you +mean?” Mrs. le Mentier slowly began to +draw on her gloves—they fitted her to perfection—but +she remained seated.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You might ask Jack when you see him—if +he is well enough to be bothered with +such unimportant things—if he remembers +four years ago this last July. You might +ask him if he would like you to see his +correspondence at that time. You might +laugh with him, when he is convalescent, +over these letters. I have them in this +little bag here, which when I heard of your +engagement seemed better in your hands +than mine. You might,” said Edith, holding +out her hand to Muriel, and smiling +her sweetest smile, “tell Captain Hurstly +that his old friends have not forgotten him. +Good-bye, my dear Muriel; <span class='it'>bon voyage</span>—my +best respects to your uncle—don’t trouble +to come downstairs—do you know the last +good remedy for <span class='it'>mal-de-mer</span>?—you never +suffer from it? That’s right; a speedy +return, my dear, and mind you don’t forget +my little messages to Jack when you see +him—good-bye!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Muriel waited until the door was closed, +then she went and looked at the letters. +She knew the handwriting; she hungered +for a sight of any words from him; and she +looked at it now as if she was looking at it +for the last time. Then she sat down where +Edith le Mentier had been sitting, and tore +them up one by one and threw them into +the fire. Muriel had scarcely finished when +Sir Arthur came into the room.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Muriel!” he cried in a tone of justifiable +displeasure, “I have told you before never +to put paper into the fire. Do you know +you endanger our lives by your carelessness? +Letters should be put into the waste-paper +basket, not made bonfires of! Have you +got your trunks packed, child, and all your +arrangements made? We start in another +hour.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Uncle Arthur,” said Muriel quietly, “you +will think me very strange, I know, and very +wilful, but I’m not going to start to-day. +I’m going back to the club to-night. I—I +don’t think I am feeling very well.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Expression for the most part is a distinctly +limited faculty, and those who carry +it to its bounds in the ordinary occurrence +of life find nothing left to say when the +occasion transcends their experience. Sir +Arthur Dallerton was dumb; he made +several efforts to speak—he put his hand to +his heart—he stared at the ceiling—he was +almost startled into a prayer—finally he +gasped out:—</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You wicked girl! Send my man to +me,” and closed his eyes.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Muriel escaped. He had not tried to +combat her decision; he was in fact very +much relieved not to have to go. He had +only submitted to the mid-winter journey +because it was expected of him—but he +was surprised, horribly surprised. There +is something very shocking to an Englishman +in any sudden change: to Sir Arthur +Dallerton it amounted to a crime. Muriel +had surprised him, and he could not forgive +her.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was dark when Muriel drove back to +the club that night, but the fog had lifted +and the stars were out. There was something +in the street lights and noises that +awoke in her the tremendous emptiness the +world can hold. It was a shadow, a delusion, +a mere dim, spectral mist, the background +for an infinite weary pain that made the +real pivot of the universe. She almost killed +herself with self-reproaches. What was she +that she should blot out the glory of her +lover’s world for the words of a jealous +woman?—for a mistake in the past—a sin if +you choose. It might be a sin. If he had +sinned all the sins, if he was sin itself, it +didn’t matter—she loved him—loved him—loved +him! And the great steamer with its +iron speed might even now be leaving the +docks, and she had set her face against him +like a flint, and there was no turning back. +Life had placed before her the old choice of +love and duty, and though passion justified +of reason rose with double power to storm +the fortress of her will, and last, and bitterest +of all, the traitor within called to her to +give way for hope’s sake, life’s sake, love’s +sake, when it seemed for another’s good—to +release one she would have gladly died to +comfort—to gain that which in all the +world she most desired for his sake, for her +own, for the apparent good of them both—(Oh, +how the traitor clamors at the gate, the +traitor with those eyes, that voice!)—all the +glowing world of hers, the infinite golden +gladness of love—even with those to oppose +and madden her, she shut her hands tight, +and with a wordless, inexpressible prayer +lifted up her soul. With most the struggle +comes before decision, with many at the +point itself, but with some few it is after +the decision is made and when there is no +turning back. So Muriel struggled now, +though at the moment she had been wrapt +as it were apart from all uncertainty in the +cloud of renunciation.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Muriel!” Cynthia stood before her, +petrified. Had she had news it was too +late? She drew her towards the fire, and +Muriel sat down and looked at her wistfully +as a child might.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I think I had better tell you all about it +now,” she said, “though I feel sure you will +not understand.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You have been doing something foolish, +I suppose,” said Cynthia curtly. “Well, +what is it?” But she drew very tenderly +the girl’s jacket off, and smoothed her hair +with gentle hands.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I have given Jack up,” said Muriel +wearily, “because Edith le Mentier——” +she stopped. “Oh, I can’t explain,” she +murmured. “The words don’t mean anything, +but—but, Cynthia, I couldn’t marry +a man who had once loved, or thought he +loved, that woman. I could not trust a +man whom I felt was weaker than I. If I +had children——” she paused again. “You +see I knew a woman who married, and the +man was a dear fellow; but he had been +weak, and the strain was in him—and he +was weak again. When I was engaged to +Alec Bruce she said to me, ‘It’s not of so +much importance to avoid bad men—they’re +danger signals we aren’t blind to—but +for God’s sake never marry a weak +one.’ ” Muriel caught her breath with a +little dry sob.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, you little idiot, you little idiot,” +cried Cynthia with flashing eyes. “What’s +another woman’s, any woman’s, all other +women’s experience to one’s own heart? +Love, and take the consequences—there’s +nothing else; it’s the only thing worth +while. Why should you condemn yourself +and Jack to a death in life because of that +wretched woman?—besides, you don’t even +know if it’s true! It’s madness, Muriel—madness. +He’ll marry somebody else, and +turn out a mere do-nothing, and you’ll wear +your life out in another five years. And it’s +all useless, reasonless, cruel. And then +you’ll pray for his soul, and expect me too, +perhaps. But I shan’t! Can’t you see +you’re driving him back to her?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Muriel dragged herself to her feet. “You +forget I believe,” she said very slowly, “in +the life of the world to come.” Then covering +her face with her hands she burst into +tears.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Cynthia Grant wrote that night to her +brother: “I don’t know whether it’s any +use, Geoff, but she’s broken the whole +business off between herself and Jack +Hurstly. She’s desperate, but determined. +It’s all for a mere nothing. I cannot understand +her; but I won’t let her work herself +to death if I can help it. She was a fool +ever to have cared for him, and more of a +fool not to have married him. It would be +difficult to know which we do more harm +with, we women, our hearts or our souls—‘Where +a soul may be discerned.’ ”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>But Muriel was on her knees all night +praying that he might live and she might +be forgiven.</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER XVI</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote20em'> + +<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“If Winter come, can Spring be far behind!”</span></p> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>It</span> was a day when all hope of spring was left +behind—withered in a black northeaster—when +every one unfortunate enough to be in +England longs for the south of France, and +every one who has been out of England compares +it unfavorably with other climates.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Cynthia had left Muriel with a frightful +cold and the club accounts, and had gone +out to buy her some violets. They had +heard that morning from Mary Huntly that +Jack was recovering, though the fever resulting +from the accident had necessitated +sick leave. He would probably have got +Muriel’s letter by now. Cynthia looked +longingly at some impossibly expensive +roses, when she heard a man’s voice behind +her.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“By Jove! Cynthia!” Her heart leaped +from January to June. She turned her +head slightly to face the obtruder—a delicate, +fine-looking man with the eyes of a +poet, and a chin which it would do some +poets good to have. It took a moment for +them to get over the memory of the last +time they had met. It had begun to rain a +little, and people had put up their umbrellas +and pushed on more rapidly than ever.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What do you want?” he asked, looking +from the girl to the window.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What can you afford?” said Cynthia, +laughing. She was wondering what people +wanted to hurry for on such a lovely day.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I am very rich,” he responded. “Honor +bright! I could buy over the business. I +sold my last picture for—I can’t tell you +how much, it might stir up your demon of +independence. I’m going to get you the +roses.” In two minutes he came back +with them in his hand. “By the way, +you might as well put up your umbrella, +mightn’t you, it seems to be raining?” he +said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, so it is,” said Cynthia absently. +They stood together uncomfortably, knowing +that if no good excuse arose they would +have to part.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Don’t you think a cup of tea would be +nice?” he suggested. Cynthia nodded her +head decisively.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes,” she said, “and muffins.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Do you remember,” said her companion, +as they turned towards a possible restaurant +“those dear little French cakes and——”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I don’t remember anything,” said Cynthia +sternly, “and I’m not going to.” +Leslie Damores laughed.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You even forgot,” he said teasingly, +“just now that it was raining!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I thought you were in France. I didn’t +know you were ever coming back to England +again,” said Cynthia a little doubtfully. +She noticed that he had not asked her what +she was doing, and it hurt her. She would +volunteer no information. They sat down +by a clean table in a warm inner room; +neat-capped maids fluttered here and there; +it was very restful and very English. To the +artist who had not been in England for +eight years it was home, and the girl who +held the roses in her lap filled in the picture. +He studied her face carefully.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You’re awfully changed,” he said at +last. Cynthia laughed.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I was twenty-two when I saw you last, +and now I am thirty. I was never one of +the dimpling kind that stay young either; +as for you—you’re a man, so it’s different. +But”—her voice grew strangely gentle—“you’re +not quite the same, you know, +Leslie; fame has come to you, and you look +more of a fighter, and yet not quite so +hard.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Strange, isn’t it, that youth should be +so exacting—with its impossible whites and +blacks—and that the more one roughs it, +and the harder knocks one gets, the more +generously shaded it all becomes,” he said, +watching her with keen, eager eyes. She +turned her head away and played restlessly +with the flowers in her lap. “It could +never change as much as that,” she thought.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The muffins were the nicest she had ever +tasted, the white-capped maid the prettiest, +the tea the most refreshing. It all passed +so terribly soon, and through it all they +laughed and chaffed each other like two +schoolboys in the slang of the Paris studio. +It appeared that Cynthia had not forgotten +quite so sweepingly as she asserted; they +were too afraid of being in earnest to do +anything but talk nonsense. They left the +little place reluctantly, Leslie Damores +feeing the white-capped maid beyond the +dreams of avarice. She decided that he +must be American. The rain had stopped, +and wintry sunset gleams warned Cynthia +of the hour.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’m late,” she said; “you’d better call +a hansom.” He hesitated before he asked +where he should tell the cabman to drive. +Cynthia set her lips. “He might have +spared me that,” she thought. He was a +delicate fellow, and he shivered slightly in +the cold. It was this that settled her. “I +am working with a friend of mine in the +slums,” she said hastily. “Here is my card +with the address on it; look us up some day +if you can spare the time—good-bye.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He went off whistling like a boy with his +hands in his pockets, wondering when +might be the earliest he might go to her, +and upbraiding himself for his wish earlier +in the afternoon never to have set foot in +London.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Cynthia came into the little dark lodging-room +like a fire, a whirlwind, and summer +lightning all in one. There were the flowers +to arrange, lamps to be lit, the supper to +get. Muriel watched her with surprise. +This magnificent woman, with wide-open, +happy eyes, strange, sudden smiles, that +came and went, and air of life and sunshine, +was a transformation from the cold, stern +woman with the grim and almost repellant +attitude of hard reserve. She was sweetened, +softened, glorified, and she looked at +Muriel as a mother might look at her child. +The evening was full of club-work, and even +there Cynthia showed herself brightly. As +a rule she “had no patience with the girls,” +and ruled more by fear than love, mingled +with a sort of good-natured contempt. But +to-night there was a new look of friendliness +in her eyes, and her voice grew kind and +gentle as she explained some simple medical +rules of health, giving the girls object-lessons +in bandaging, showing them how to check +hæmorrhage, so absorbed and interested +herself that in spite of themselves the girls +drew near and listened. One of them, a +tall, slender girl of some fifteen years, with +already the face of a woman of thirty, +pushed her way to the front.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oy siy, can you do hanythink for a little +fellar with a bad back?” Cynthia nodded +shortly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Don’t interrupt the class; you can bring +him to me afterwards,” she said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The girl with a coarse laugh pushed +through her companions to the door. It was +a strange scene: the large room of the old +factory, clean and bright, with a blazing +fire; a work-table on which lay piles of +bandages and splints; groups of rough, +strangely garbed, out-of-elbows women, +each with a large curled fringe, under which +the tired eyes appealed to one as strangely +unnatural, and, in the midst of them, trim, +erect, commanding Cynthia. Orders, questions, +explanations ringing out. She stood +like a disciplined sergeant amongst a throng +of raw recruits—and recruits they were, let +into the great army of humanity with no +safeguards, no training, or only the most +elementary, all dreary, purposeless, hacking +their way through life. Only now and then +into this rank-and-file of the world dipped +their more splendid sisters who knew the +aim of it all, and could teach them the +means of attainment. There, under the +flaring gas-jets, in the midst of the strange, +teeming life of Stepney, horrible, oppressive, +marvellously primitive, naked of the veneer +of civilization, two women labored to bring +light and help. Cynthia felt strangely uplifted. +Her heart was singing the song +“The stars sing in their spheres.” She did +not feel the hopelessness of it all.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>After the class was over she was about +to lock up the club and go back to Muriel, +when the girl who had interrupted the +class entered again carrying a bundle in her +arms. She placed it very gently on the +table.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“ ’Ere’s the little fellar,” she said quietly. +Cynthia pulled back the blanket and started +with surprise at the picture before her—a +baby boy of three years old, his head a mass +of black curls, and underneath great blue +Irish eyes. His face, flushed with recent +sleep, looked up at her. The girl seeing +the admiration in her face smiled proudly. +“ ’E’s all I ’ave,” she said. “Mother left ’im +to me to see to three years since, for father +’e went off with another woman, and she +took it to ’art, mother did, so she died. +Think likely ’e’ll git better, miss?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Cynthia lifted the child into her arms. +There was no mistaking the cruelly twisted +spine. He might live two years, or even +three, but it was a bad case—incurable. She +looked from the beautiful baby face to the +eager, passionate look in the girl’s eyes, who +was hungry for an answer. Cynthia felt +angry with the hopeless tragedy of it. Possibly +Muriel might have known what to +say; for herself she raved against the invincible +spirit of maternity, at once the +torture and compensation for all who love +the little ones.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Does he suffer much?” she asked.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“ ’E do cry hawful sometimes, pore little +chap. Can you do hanythink, miss?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Do anything? I daresay I can make +him a little easier, but it’s a very bad case.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Do you mean as ’ow ’e’ll never get any +better?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’m afraid not, Carrie.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Do you mean as ’ow ’e’ll die?” There +was an awful intensity in the question.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“He may live some time yet.” The girl +wrapped the child up in the blanket; the +fierceness in her eyes did not prevent the +gentle touches of her hands.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I ’ate God, so there! an’ I ’ate the club! +an’ I ’ate you and the other lidy! I ’ate you +all!” she cried hoarsely. Then suddenly +the anger died out of her face; she turned +hopelessly to the door, pausing irresolutely +she asked again in dull despair, “Then there +isn’t hanythink as you can do?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Very little, I’m afraid.” She drew the +blanket closer round the child and passed +out into the night.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was late and Muriel had gone to bed. +Cynthia came in and sat down by her.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Do you think a man would ever trust a +girl a second time?” she asked.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“That would depend, wouldn’t it,” said +Muriel thoughtfully, “upon the girl’s character, +and the attitude towards the broken +trust, and how long ago it had happened, +and what she had done in the meantime?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Do you think it possible if she was +different that he would love her again?” +Muriel sighed.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I would have married Jack,” she said, +“if he had been different, but he was the +same. I suppose it all depends on whether +one’s power of detachment is strong +enough.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You’re very tired, dearest,” said Cynthia, +“and I shouldn’t bother you; but—but +I suppose you pray, don’t you?” +Muriel smiled; she did not say she had done +nothing else since she had forfeited her +life’s happiness.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes, I try to,” she said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Then,” said Cynthia, “perhaps you +might as well pray for me. Good-night!”</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER XVII</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote20em'> + +<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“Our mind receives but what it holds—no more.”</span></p> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>People</span> whom everybody considers tender-hearted +and good-natured do not like to +wake up to the fact that they are neither. +It takes a good deal to wake them up to it, +and they are apt to be indignant and incredulous +even then. Gladys had always +been considered particularly, gracefully unselfish. +People might think her a little +astonishing and unconventional, but this +they put down to her American training; +as for being underhand, cruel and grasping, +no one would have dreamed it of her, and +she least of all of herself. Love is a teacher +of many lessons, and tears away all screens; +there is no room left for anything but the +real.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Love and pain together are the two world +forces for sincerity, and Gladys’ sincerity +was not pleasant to look at. She was possessed +with the one desire—Jack. She +wanted him; she hated everything and +everybody else. Right and wrong became +two faint, inadequate words; she would +have stopped at nothing to gain her ends.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Even the dramatic instinct which had +carried her through emotional friendships +made her attractive and alluring to those +to whom she was utterly indifferent, devout +and regular in her religious attendances, +eager and sympathetic over the miseries of +the poor, they were all swept away. She +planned, plotted, schemed and lived to +meet and win Jack Hurstly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>For the sake of meeting him she made +friends to a far greater extent with Edith le +Mentier. She smiled in tender graciousness +upon Alec Bruce, she treated Sir Arthur +Dallerton when she met him with the +greatest interest and respect.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was through him she learned first that +Muriel was not going to India, second that +her engagement with Jack Hurstly was +“off,” after that she ceased to take any +interest in him at all. People said it was +time she was married.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It took Jack a long time to realize that +Muriel meant what she said. He wrote +again, and it was not till she stopped answering +him that he began to believe her. +The key he held to the woman riddle says +that “A woman who goes on saying no is +easier to turn than the woman who says +nothing.” India and the old influences of +the regiment had undone a good deal of +her training.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Jack told himself he was a fool to have +loved her, and agreed with the world’s +verdict that she “really went too far.” In +fact the world turned its back on her. She +had had two good marriages in her hand +and thrown them away; her society was a +strain; she did unheard-of things; she was +really better in the slums.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Everybody told him he was well out of +it, and though he was outwardly indignant +at their judgment it took the edge off his +sorrow. He grew rapidly strong, and +hunted more than ever. He was not to be +invalided home, and he had been very badly +treated. He looked upon this as virtual +absolution for whatever dissipations he +might be led into. Even in the nineteenth +century few men have found a better +excuse than “The woman Thou gavest +me.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>One evening as Jack sat smoking in his +quarters, wondering lazily what sort of a +drink it would be most possible to enjoy, +a knock at the door aroused him from his +thoughts, and gave entrance to a favorite +young subaltern.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Hullo, Musgrave!—come in!” he said +with warmth. “Have a drink?” he added +as the young fellow sank into a chair. +Musgrave shook his head. “Anything +up?” Jack asked with surprise.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Nothing particular,” said Jim Musgrave. +“My aunt’s coming out here, +though. I shall have to sit up for her.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh! I say that’s bad,” said his friend +sympathetically.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“She’s going to bring a mighty pretty girl +out with her, though, to jam the powder,” +said the nephew irreverently. “The fact of +the matter is I believe it’s for the girl’s sake +she’s coming. There’s an awful dearth +going on in London—herds of pretty girls +and nothing to gain by it, you know—I +don’t know what England’s coming to—we’re +so scarce—they say the returns after +the season are something awful!” Jack +laughed grimly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’m one of them,” he said. “I didn’t +make myself scarce enough it seems. Who’s +your aunt, by-the-bye? Perhaps I know +her.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Mrs. Huntly. Her husband was a +fellow of ‘ours,’ you know; but he got on +the shelf, and they gave him some appointment +at home to hush him asleep with. +We have an awfully short day, haven’t we? +And a beastly hot one!” The young man’s +eyes grew wistful, for he loved his profession; +and he had not been out long enough +to grow stale, or to have his ambitions adjust +themselves to lower standards. Jack +sighed.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It’s a bit too long for some of us,” he +said; and he dutifully thought of Muriel, +till the remembrance of a polo match transformed +them both into enthusiasts, and the +talk grew unintelligibly technical.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was not until Jim Musgrave rose to go +back to his own quarters that Jack remembered +to tell him that his aunt was an old +friend of his, and to ask if the pretty girl +was her cousin, Miss Travers.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“By Jove, do you know her?” shouted +the surprised Jim. Jack nodded.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Good-night!” he said briefly, and Jim +took his dismissal, wondering how well his +friend had known Miss Travers. Jack +remembered the look in Gladys’ eyes, and +resolutely pretended that it meant nothing; +nevertheless he was not altogether sorry +he was going to see her again. He told +himself it was because she was Muriel’s +great friend.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then he went out to have a final look at +the pony; it was necessary that it should +be really fit for to-morrow’s match.</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER XVIII</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote20em'> + + + <div class='poetry-container' style=''> + <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> +<div class='stanza-outer'> +<p class='line0'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“Where will God be absent? In His Face</span></p> +<p class='line0'><span style='font-size:smaller'>Is light, but in His Shadow healing too.”</span></p> +</div> +</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> + +</div> + +<div class='blockquote'> + +<p class='noindent'>“<span class='sc'>My dear Muriel</span>,</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You and I have always been +good friends, and though I have never said +anything to you about your trouble over +Jack Hurstly it has not been because I have +not felt for you. I thought that you were +very foolish to give him up. Still you were +never really suited to each other, and it is +better to give a thing up than to hold on +to it too long. I think one of the saddest +things is to realize how well one can get on +without some one who seemed so absolutely +necessary. Men always reach it soonest, +for if they can’t attain their ideals they can +satisfy their instincts, while we women have +to rub on between the two and dress nicely. +My husband wants to see India again—why, +I don’t know—smells, heat, travel and inferior +races, not to mention being cut off from +everything for months, and I’ve promised +to accompany him, principally because it’s +easier to accept than refuse, and Gladys +seems so set on it. She has promised to +give Alec Bruce his answer when she returns. +It is positively a last flourish, she declares; +and between you and me I think she means +to try once more for the bird in the bush +before settling on the hand one.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It’s rather brutal of me to write of it to +you, but though she is clever enough and +blinds most people I feel certain she cares +for Jack, and I am a little uncertain as to +how he will act when he finds it out.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“If pebbles were as rare, we should most +of us prefer them to diamonds, I expect, +and only a few would say, ‘Ah, but they +don’t shine!’ How you will shake your +head, dear! but, trust me, proximity and +the hat that suits weigh a good deal more +than a fine character with most men, and +Gladys always chooses her hats well. +Women of my age are past the time of +romance (Edith le Mentier would scarcely +agree with me). Legitimate romance, at +any rate—if there is such a thing—is a little +worn out, and I’m not one of the sort that +prefer religion to rouge, yet to-night I can’t +help confessing the game seems not worth +the candle. Not much behind, and not +much before, and very little for the meantime. +Still I should marry if I were you. +You’ll have the compensation of saying +‘Well, that’s done,’ and when everything +else seems unsubstantial the solid inevitability +of wife and motherhood keeps one +steady. That’s my argument against free +love—it’s not final enough, and the uncertainties +are too great. I had rather myself +have a broken heart and a settled position +than a broken heart without one. Perhaps +you will succeed in avoiding both. Don’t +think I’m morbid—probably my dinner has +disagreed with me. By-the-bye, the doctor +says there’s something wrong with my +lungs—but I don’t believe in doctors. +Good-bye.</p> + +<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:2em;margin-top:0.5em;'>“<span class='sc'>Mary.</span>”</p> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'>Muriel read Mary Huntly’s letter over +slowly with sad eyes. There was a hopeless +ring in it, as if the plucky effort to avoid the +admission of a life failure had almost proved +too much for her. She had attained most +things that a woman of the world wishes to +attain: a good income, a convenient husband, +a boy at Eton, and a fine figure for +forty; she was very popular, even with +other women, and she had a most capital +cook.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Leslie Damores and I are going on a +bus top to Kew Gardens this afternoon,” +said Cynthia irrelevantly. “And I shall go +to tea with him in the studios to see his new +picture; he has called it ‘The Years of the +Locust.’ I should rather like to see what +he has made of it.” Muriel was still puzzling +over Mary Huntly’s letter.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“She is so fine,” she said. “It must count +for something, her pluck and dash and the +way she faces things; it can’t be all shallow, +or all selfish—and yet it does work death. +Look at poor Mary. Her age of primary +things has passed. She has run through +most of the thrills, as I suppose we all do +by forty, and now what’s left for her? She +has been keeping yesterday’s manna, and +she finds that it has gone bad!” Cynthia +looked interested.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I think,” she said slowly, “that a great +love is the only thing to fill a woman’s life. +I don’t believe that would wear out, would +it?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I suppose,” said Muriel thoughtfully, +“that depends on how one uses it; one +must carry things on to their farthest extent. +I mean—it’s stifling to be satisfied. If we +go on far enough we shall come to a vista, +and it’s not till we get to see that things +have no end that we are really beginning at +all. It is what you can’t grasp makes life +worth living.” Cynthia listened reluctantly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“But love,” she said again, “you can +grasp that; and it won’t go, will it?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“All that’s best and highest in love you +can’t grasp, I think,” replied Muriel. “It’s +because one expects to do that that it hurts. +The invincible thrill of things is only meant +as a launching into life. After that friendship, +comradeship, a blending of life to life +and heart to heart becomes unconscious +development. Paroxysms aren’t love, and +they have their reaction; but love is beyond +and through all, and even in the most sad +and sordid moments gleams and throbs an +impossible possibility! A thing always to +strive for, never to attain!” Cynthia rose +and paced the room restlessly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, Muriel! Muriel!” she said, “you +don’t know——” Then she stopped short, +and went over and kissed her, an unusual +demonstration from Cynthia. “You’re so +good,” she said, “and yet somehow so remote +from it all! I think I begin to see +now why you didn’t marry Jack. I should +have faced it as you did, but I should have +read the letters, talked about them—and +then married him!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“And been unhappy ever afterwards,” +said Muriel softly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes! but that’s nothing to do with it,” +cried Cynthia impatiently. “I acknowledge +no afterwards. I would give myself body +and soul to the man I loved, like Browning’s +lady, even if he were the greatest rascal +unhung!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“That’s a horribly selfish theory!” said +Muriel with sudden emphasis, “and a very +dangerous one. You would degrade yourself, +hurt the man, and ruin future generations, +simply because of an effervescing +passion, which soon becomes stagnant if you +give it time enough. No one can afford to +ignore consequences, least of all a lover. +Why is it, do you suppose, that these girls +of mine, living like animals, working like +slaves, suffering like human beings, don’t +oftener catch at this passion-flower of yours, +and take the poison of it? Simply because +they are face to face with the consequences. +They can’t get away from themselves, and +their life is visible and public. They know +what a few days’ rapture implies—shame, +pain, publicity, perhaps starvation. They +know that to cut off your nose spites your +face, however you may wish to make the +surrender! You don’t risk a rapid when +you see the rocks, only when the rocks are +hidden; the consequences ignored, then the +selfish, hopeless, aimless life gives in to its +instincts; and though before the leap you +may have ignored the consequences, it will +not prevent the rocks beneath from grinding +your life out after the fall.” She stopped, +her eyes flashing with the intensity of all +she meant.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She had given little by little her life over +to a problem; one that she hated, had +avoided, and that even now racked her +with its misery—but it absorbed her.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Things cease to be bearable only when +life is empty, and to Muriel her own sorrow, +her own heart, had been filled and uplifted +by full renunciative hours. Discontent and +leisure walk hand in hand, wandering disconsolate +over a world teeming with openings +and opportunities for energy and power. +Then it becomes necessary to invent new +games, and religion runs to melancholia—or +Christian science.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I don’t think Leslie Damores will ever +marry me,” said Cynthia slowly. She +looked suddenly older and more careworn. +“I—I don’t think I will go with him this +afternoon.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Muriel put on her things to go to the club. +Before she went she threw her arms around +Cynthia.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Dearest,” she said with glistening eyes, +“I don’t know what I should do without +you.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Pray more,” said Cynthia shortly. Muriel +shook her head.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“If you knew what strength you give, +and how bright this all seems to come back +to!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Don’t! don’t!” said Cynthia sharply. +“For God’s sake go to the club and leave +me alone!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Muriel went and understood; she knew +that it had been necessary to say those +words, and after they were said she could +do no more. One can start a crisis, but one +cannot guide it, and it is usually best to +get out of the way. Cynthia sent Leslie +Damores away that afternoon, and faced +for the first time in her life the years that +the locust had eaten. Her lover’s picture +could not have been more realistic.</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER XIX</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote20em'> + + + <div class='poetry-container' style=''> + <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> +<div class='stanza-outer'> +<div class='stanza-inner'> +<p class='line0'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“Only for man; how bitter not to grave</span></p> +<p class='line0'><span style='font-size:smaller'>On his Soul’s palms one fair, good, wise thing</span></p> +<p class='line0'><span style='font-size:smaller'>Just as he grasped it.”</span></p> +<p class='line0' style='text-align:right;margin-right:0em;'><span style='font-size:smaller'>—<span class='sc'>Robert Browning.</span></span></p> +</div> +</div> +</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Leslie</span> went back to the studio bewildered. +She had sent him away without excuses. +He wondered blankly what he was being +punished for, and why she was denied him +in the present; and as Kew Gardens, unless +one is a naturalist, is not the place one goes +to alone, he sat down before his picture and +thought about her in the past.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He was young and full of ideals when he +first met her. He believed in the possibility +of a Galahad, and that all women were +exquisitely good, except a sad few who were +picturesquely unfortunate. He had had a +good mother, two beautiful sisters, and he +had only seen Paris in a veil. He met +Cynthia in the studios; her glorious red hair +and the wonderful way she looked at him +became the key to the universe. After that +followed months of ideal companionship, +and on his part at least unprecedented +blindness. Perhaps she loved him for that +most of all. Then she told him. He was +horribly startled. He said surprised and +terrible things, and then she looked at him—Oh +that wonderful, broken, tragic look!—and +went back to her brother. And he +grew older, and wiser, and less surprised.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He had not meant to find her in London. +When he had, and they met again and yet +again, and in fact even from the moment +when she had told him where and how she +lived, he had made the great decision.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The locusts should eat no more empty +years. If she could forget (<span class='it'>could</span> she forget, +forgive at least?) that stammering judgment +eight years ago, how happy they would +be together! What noble, magnificent work +would they not do—together—and now she +had sent him away with no excuse. Had +that self-made barrier of his fallen for +another to rise? He smoked hard and rang +the bell. There is always one way of finding +out things if a man has sense and no false +pride—to ask. He was going to ask, and +he smiled grimly to himself as he thought of +the answer she would give him—<span class='it'>should</span> give +him!—if strength and power and purpose +went for anything. The tea-things that +were set out for her looked miserable as +only neglected food can look, and the room +lost in the gathering twilight seemed emptily +expectant of the guest who had not +come.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Leslie Damores cared nothing at all for +omens and less for gloom, and even the fact +that he could not find his matches did not +evoke a frown. He was going to see her, and +he <span class='it'>meant</span> to see her, and he terribly over-paid +the cabman’s fare. How many sullen +looks and surly words do we not owe to the +over-generosity of lovers, who appear to +think that by tipping the universe they will +earn the reward of Providence in the shape +they most desire? Alas! we human beings +are always misplacing our tips, and then we +wonder when the raps that come to us seem +to be misplaced as well!</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER XX</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote'> + +<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“God is in all men, but all men are not in God: that is +the reason why they suffer.”</span></p> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>It</span> was hot, with that intense silken quiver +in the air which turns the atmosphere into +a living creature.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>That “certain twilight” moment was +already beginning to “cut the glory from +the gray,” and across the Indian garden +strolled two figures scarcely conscious of +the breathless life, so interested were they +in each other. Gladys Travers, in a well-fitting +gown, a cloud of something soft that +sunk into a shower of lovely curves, led the +way through the trees to a seat.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I call it a summer-house,” she said. “It +sounds so English!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Ah!” Jack Hurstly answered half wistfully, +“you’ve already begun to hunger for +home. We all have it, you know, and try to +call the most un-English things by familiar +names, just to trick ourselves into thinking—Heaven +knows what—that it isn’t quite +so far away, I suppose.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It seems hardly possible that we have +been here two months,” sighed Gladys. +“And it <span class='it'>was</span> so strange to find you +here!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Strange, indeed, Gladys! after the care-succeeding +stratagem and innocent purposeful +planning that took you and your +good-natured cousin so straight across +India to the station (not so frequently a +resort for English travellers), simply because +there this broad-shouldered young +Englishman lived and rode and shot and +spoke bitterly of life.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It was most lucky for me,” he answered +honestly; “and I shall miss you awfully +when you go.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You are very fond of Mary, aren’t +you?” she said looking at the ground.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes, Miss Travers.” Gladys smiled.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You’re rather stupid, you know,” she +said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I think it’s you who are rather unkind,” +he answered. “And what are you going +to do with Jim?” Gladys frowned; the +conversation at that moment was more interesting +without Jim.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>Do</span> with him!” she began indignantly, +and then suddenly she laughed and turned +dancing eyes upon her companion. “Do +you know,” she cried, “I haven’t the faintest +<span class='it'>idea</span> what to do with him! What should +you think?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“He’s a very nice fellow, Miss Gladys.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Then shall I marry him?” Captain +Hurstly drew a long breath; it was rather +like playing with fire. The sun sunk +speedily in the west, and now in a glowing +rose veil plunged behind the hills. Gladys +looked up at him from under her long eyelashes. +There was something a little wistful +in her glance.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Do you <span class='it'>want</span> me to marry him, please?” +she asked. Jack looked from the sky to +her face; it had caught the glow of the +sunset.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I don’t want you to marry anybody,” +he said simply.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Ah!” said Gladys, and there was a +silence—dangerous, electric, full of unspoken +things.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You knew Muriel?” he said abruptly +at last.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“She was a dear friend of mine,” Gladys +replied softly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>Was!</span> Isn’t she now, then?” he questioned. +She blushed and looked away. +“Won’t you tell me?” he asked gently.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I thought she was unjust—very unjust +to you!” Gladys murmured. “It +hurt me that she should misunderstand +any one.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You’re very generous,” he replied +gravely. “But how do you know, Miss +Gladys, that she did misjudge me? Perhaps +she was right to have nothing to do with +such a poor sort of chap.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Gladys sprang to her feet, her eyes +flashed, and she shook a little, her voice +was low and intense, and Jack, who rose +to his feet also and stood opposite to +her, was drawn into the circle of her +emotions.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No! Captain Hurstly. She was wrong—utterly +wrong!” the girl cried. “What are +we sheltered, protected darlings, brought +up with closed eyes and within walls, to +know of the world and man’s temptations? +How dare we judge who have no standards +of comparison? And if we love”—her +voice grew so tender it was like music—“and +if we love it is for man’s redemption, not for +the satisfaction of our own, thin, misty +ideals! And it should be the crown of our +life to raise the man we love from lower +things, and trust in his love to leave them +for ever far behind!” She moved nervously +back to the seat, and turned that she might +still half face him. “I don’t know what +I’ve been saying,” she said breathlessly. “I +am afraid it must sound very silly and foolish +to you, and rather—rather uncalled for; +but it has always seemed to me that women +like Muriel, who think God’s tools not good +enough for them, do a terrible amount of +harm.” Jack took a step forward and +looked down at her.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“If there were more women like you,” he +said huskily, “there would be fewer men—like +me, Miss Gladys.” Gladys smiled a +little. It was difficult for her to be serious +for long.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Then,” she said, “it’s certainly a good +thing that I’m unique.” . . .</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“My dear child! you know perfectly well +that this is the most unhealthy time to +be out in. Go in at once and dress for +dinner! Really, Jack, I should have +thought you would have known better!”—Mary +Huntly shook her head at him +reproachfully. Gladys lifting her eyes up +to Jack, with a mixture of amusement and +regret, turned gracefully and passed into +the house. Mary Huntly, for all her sage +advice, stayed out in the fast deepening +darkness.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They walked for a little in silence towards +the gate. Mary turned over in her mind +what she should say to him. It was hard—extremely +hard—and, worse, it looked disagreeable. +She was used to doing difficult +things, but as a rule they had delightful +effects. She very much doubted as a +woman of the world whether what she had +to say would have any effect, but as a +woman a little beyond the world she knew +she ought to say it.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“My dear boy!” she said as they reached +the gate, “that girl doesn’t ring true.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What do you mean, Mrs. Huntly?” +Jack asked sternly. “Are you talking of—Miss +Gladys?” He made that fatal half +instant’s pause before her name that marks +a lover.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You have made one mistake already in +falling in love with a woman too good for +you,” she answered quietly, “don’t make +the worse one of falling in love with a +woman—not good enough! Good-night! +I think you had better not come in after +dinner this evening.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Jack would have stayed and insisted on +further explanations, for he was perplexed +and angry—there’s nothing that makes a +straightforward man so angry as perplexity—but +Jim Musgrave who was going to dine +with them came up, and in a mixture of +greetings and farewells he had to go, but +as he went he said very distinctly:—</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Mrs. Huntly, may I come in to-morrow?” +Mrs. Huntly saw in a flash it had +been no use.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, yes!” she said. “What a lot of +moths you have in this climate of yours. +Good-night!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The gorgeous moon, the thin low whisper +of the tropic night, the rustling, murmuring +life, which rose from the earth to the low +sky above, seemed something of a new birth +to Jack as free from the fetters of an old +love he paused on the brink of a new, and +because it was new imagined there would be +no fetters.</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER XXI</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote20em'> + +<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“She crossed his path with her hunting noose, and +over him drew her net.”</span></p> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Gladys</span> was the incarnation of sprightliness; +her shimmering green dress made her +look like some beautiful heartless naiad of +the woods.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>When dinner was over she sang softly to +Jim, letting her eyes rest on him with a light +caressing smile. Her own world had turned +to paradise. She was playing with sunbeams +on a golden earth. It was impossible for +her to be anything but charming.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mary was very tired. She sat and talked +with her husband about the boy at Eton; +for a while at least she washed her hands of +Gladys.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Finally the music stopped. Gladys’ +hands sunk into her lap, and Jim looking +at her in an adoring simplicity set about +for words which were not too common to +present to his goddess.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I say” (the invocation seemed a little +modern) “that’s an awfully ripping dress +you’ve got on to-night.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Do <span class='it'>you</span> like it, Jim?” It was impossible +for her to help the emphasis. It had been +said of her that if she were left alone in a +desert she would flirt with a camel. Jim +would have sold his soul for a compliment, +but could only repeat:—</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Awfully!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Are you fond of being a soldier, Jim?” +she asked. She was wondering why Jack +Hurstly did not come.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I think it’s the grandest profession in +the world!” he said proudly. “People +don’t do us a bit of justice except when +there’s a row on, and then they praise us +for the wrong things. They don’t understand +that a man must be a decent sort of +chap to win the respect of his men; and +there are fine chances, you know, that a +fellow gets on the frontier to show what +he is made of. To hush up a disturbance +or keep a district quiet, are pretty good +pieces of work. I hope you don’t think +we’re all of us brutes or blackguards, +Miss Gladys?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No, Jim—oh, no!” said Gladys softly. +“I think you’re the finest men in the world, +the most chivalrous to women, the strongest +and the gentlest—truest friend and noblest +foe!” Jim thought it was too beautiful for +words, also that it was original; but it was +not exactly what he meant, and it put an +end to the discussion.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“How does Captain Hurstly get on with +his men?” she asked. It was evident by +her tone that she was not much interested +in Captain Hurstly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, well enough,” said Jim doubtfully. +“Only you see he had rather a bad time +with a girl at home, and that rather put him +off his work, I think. He doesn’t seem as +interested as he used to be.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I don’t believe he cared for her,” said +Gladys shortly. If there is nothing else to +do with a clumsy fact, one can ignore it.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, yes, he did awfully,” said the unconscious +Jim. “I never saw a fellow so +cut up before about a girl. She must have +been a jolly decent-looking girl, too—I’ve +seen her photograph.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Really you’re very rude—you contradicted +me flatly,” cried Gladys.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, but he <span class='it'>did</span>, you know,” said the +over-truthful James. “<span class='it'>I</span> didn’t think she +was so awfully fetching, though,” he added +hastily, with the bright hope that jealousy +of <span class='it'>him</span> might have promoted the frown he +saw. Gladys yawned.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You’re very dull to-night,” she said, +“doing nothing but talk of the uninteresting +love affairs of your uninteresting +friends!” Jim flushed angrily; he was conscious +that he had not introduced the subject, +but he was too loyal to say so.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’m very sorry, Miss Gladys,” he said; +“there’s something I’d much rather talk +about.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“And that?” said Gladys, lifting unconscious +eyelashes with innocent ease.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I think you know,” he said with the +dignified gravity of extreme youth over a +compliment.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“If you mean me,” said Gladys smiling +sweetly, “I think you’re very rude to call +me a ‘thing,’ and it’s horrid bad form to +talk about a girl, you know.” The rest of +the evening passed in a pleasant, dangerous +fashion.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>At parting Jim wore the rose she herself +had worn at dinner. It was the pledge of +all dear, impossible things to him; it was +the usual termination of an evening’s episode +to her—a gardener would have accused +it of blight.</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER XXII</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote20em'> + + + <div class='poetry-container' style=''> + <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> +<div class='stanza-outer'> +<p class='line0'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“The truth was felt by instinct here—</span></p> +<p class='line0'><span style='font-size:smaller'>Process which saves a world of time.”</span></p> +</div> +</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Desperation</span>, when it does not rave, becomes +a calm; and it was with an almost +listless quiet that Cynthia, sitting opposite +her brother in his office, told him she was +going away.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He nodded briefly, and went on writing +prescriptions. He had not quite finished his +evening’s work. The boy was to deliver +them to his patients. The room was bare +and light, with the usual rows of medical +books, long suggestive chair, and the sturdy +boy standing near a forbidding cupboard.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Cynthia’s eyes took in the surroundings +as if they had been new to her.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She had argued bitterly with her brother +over having no lamp-shades, and the naked +bright skeleton roused in her now a sense of +irritation. Would Geoff never be done, and +why was he so little interested in her going +away?</p> + +<p class='pindent'>But he had always been a man of one idea, +she thought, and what interest he had was +buried in his prescriptions. Ten minutes +later he sent off the boy with a curt order or +two, then he turned and looked at his sister.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Going away, are you?” he said. He +might have been drawing out a shy child, +or encouraging a nervous patient. Cynthia +shrugged her shoulders.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“So I told you.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Have you thought why, or where, or +when?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I am going to a place in Somerset on the +red Bristol Channel, where they have mud, +and sunsets, and one can be alone.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“The desire for mud is very modern, and +sunsets only happen once a day,” he replied +thoughtfully. “And as for being alone, you +couldn’t be in a better place than London, +you know, for that. People can’t stand +so much in the country. However, I daresay +a rest would do you good. Mind you +take some books—light ones; and be careful +where you go for milk—it’s disgraceful +how they adulterate it in out-of-way +places.” He was giving her time, and observing +with keen watching eyes the lines +of trouble and pain marked in Cynthia’s +face.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Geoff!” she cried with a sudden wail +in her voice, “I want you! I want you!” +He knew that she did not mean him; but +he took her in his arms and stroked her hair. +Cynthia sobbed a little in a hard choked +way; she could not let herself go completely +even in a breakdown.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Shall we go to Paris?” he asked gently. +“I have always wanted to study under the +professors there.” He looked around his +meagre office-room peopled with his love, +his work, his dreams, to stay there another +year till success lay in his grasp, to win life +for his cases, each one meaning to him what +a battle means to a soldier; all that went +to make interest, satisfaction, attainment, +must go because a woman wanted—another +man. He did not mince matters, he only +repeated the magnificent lie that rang better +than most truths, “I have always hoped for +a chance like this!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“But you couldn’t leave your practice?” +she protested.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I could get an assistant for a time to +take my place. It’s only for six months or +a year, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“There’s Muriel—Geoff!” she reminded +him.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You told me to get the idea of her out +of my head—perhaps six months or a year +will do it,” said Dr. Grant. He was smiling +grimly to himself as he spoke. When a +man attempts endurance it makes for something +very fine. When Cynthia looked at +him she saw nothing but kind, half-amused +and wholly sympathetic eyes.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I think it’s splendid you’re so placid,” +she said; “I don’t believe you feel things +at all.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I feel very much being kept away from +my supper after working hard all day!” +he laughed mischievously.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, you poor, dear thing! I’ll see about +it at once!” she cried running from the +room.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The doctor flung open the window wide +and stood watching the streaming crowd in +the dusk. The lights seemed alive against +the dark masses of houses—impenetrable, +mysterious, holding life-histories—and +showing nothing but blank strong faces to +the passers-by.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The doctor believed in no God at all; but +when he looked above the house-tops to +the sky, peopled by myriad stars, he felt a +moment’s emotion, a thrill of hope, courage +and strength.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>God believed in him perhaps, and because +he would not draw near with faith led him +by his most unreasonable passion—love of +humanity—nearer than he knew to the +divine in humanity.</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER XXIII</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote20em'> + +<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“I am half-sick of shadows.”</span></p> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Muriel</span> read Cynthia’s letter wonderingly. +It was short, and merely contained her +reasons for leaving Muriel for six months +at least. By the end of that time Leslie +Damores would have given her up, and she +would be more fit to take up her life again. +Muriel was not to tell him that she was +ever coming back; she was not to overdo +herself or live alone, and above all she must +not give him her address. Geoff was going +with her. Muriel sighed and frowned; the +sigh was one of loneliness. She had got so +used to companionship—Cynthia’s, and generally +her brother in the evening. It was +something to have a man to discuss things +with sensibly even if she never agreed with +him. She frowned because it was a little +strange he had not written to say good-bye.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He had got over caring for her that was +evident. She was glad of that—of course +she was extremely glad of it. Suddenly she +felt tired and discouraged. The girls had +been unresponsive and tiresome in the +Bible-class. She loved Paris; she could see +its clean, broad streets filled with brilliant, +rapid life, bright and gay and fresh, alive +with incessant laughter.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was a damp, foggy evening and the fire +smoked. They had such theaters in Paris, +and then the studios! Muriel had studied +there for six months in the pleasantest and +easiest fashion. Sometimes the love of her +old, careless radiant life, pleasure and +beauty, and the ease of things made her +catch her breath and remember she was +twenty-seven, and her eyes were beautiful, +and there was that couple downstairs +drunk and quarrelling again! It was too +late for tea, too early for supper, and if +she lit the candle she would have to write +letters.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The door-bell clanged, and she heard a +man’s voice. For a moment she thought it +was Dr. Grant coming to say good-bye. +Her hands wandered instinctively to her +hair. No!—he asked for Cynthia. He +must see her—but she was out. “Then +Miss Dallerton”—the girl “would see.” +The blackbeetle’s heavy footsteps paused +outside her door. Muriel lit the candles +and poked the fire.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes, I will see Mr. Damores,” she said +smiling encouragingly at the girl.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She felt less depressed because she had already +begun to sympathize, and yet she +could not help feeling angry with Leslie +Damores.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He stood before her, tall, handsome, +eager; she sat down and waited for him to +speak. One of the most extraordinary +things about her was her willingness to wait +for somebody else, even her silence was an +invitation.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Cynthia wouldn’t see me,” he began, +almost boyishly. “Won’t you tell me why, +and where she is, Miss Muriel?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“She has gone away, Mr. Damores, and +left us both. It’s a case of double desertion, +isn’t it?” she laughed nervously, for the +look in his eyes was too strongly anxious to +make the interview a pleasant one.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Has she left you a message for me?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“She does not wish to see you again,” +said Muriel gravely. He was quite silent, +with his eyes bent on the carpet.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Then—and you—do you approve of her +decision?” he asked slowly, his voice so +different from his first eager greeting. It +was tired and a little thick. An idea +flashed through Muriel’s mind; she leaned +forward suddenly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Mr. Damores, do you care for her?” +she asked. He squared his shoulders, and +looked back at her steadily, but a little +surprised.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Really, Miss Muriel, I thought—I +thought it was pretty obvious!” he +replied.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Then,” said Muriel, “I think very +poorly of you for not wishing to marry +her!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“But, good Heavens! Miss Dallerton,” +he cried, now really astonished, “I want +nothing so much! I came here, if you must +know, simply for that purpose! and I find +her—gone—leaving no traces, and, if you +will excuse my saying so, a great deal of +confusion behind her!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I certainly do feel confusion, not to say +chaos,” said Muriel smiling; “and the worst +of it is I can’t possibly explain. However +one thing’s evident, if you want her you +must look for her, for I have no address beyond +Paris. She hates writing letters, and +it will probably be a month at least before +she writes and gives it to me. Will you +wait in London?” Leslie Damores smiled.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I might find her in Paris, and I shall +not find her here,” he said; “and when I +do find her, I shall bring her back. Good-bye, +Miss Dallerton; I’m glad I didn’t deserve +your scolding this time, it looked as if +it was going to be a pretty bad one. Oh, +but I was a fool for not marrying Cynthia +eight years ago!” Muriel held out both +her hands to him, her eyes filled with +tears.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I am glad you are going to her,” she +said. “I won’t wish you luck, because +there is something so much better that you +have got already; but I can’t help being a +little sorry, for she will never come back to +me again!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Are you all alone?” he asked.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“There’s my work,” she said; “and the +blackbeetle, who is a great friend of mine, +and looks after me very well.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Do you remember ‘The Lady of Shalott?’ ” +he asked abruptly. “I always liked +that last line of it, ‘God in His mercy lend +her grace.’ Good-bye, Miss Dallerton.” He +was gone, hopeful and strong once more, +with the possibility of satisfaction within +his grasp, and Muriel again alone.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It was all very well for Launcelot to say +that,” she thought, “but when she needed +him most she had no loyal knight and true, +the Lady of Shalott, and—and not even +God’s grace would make her forget that!” +And Muriel put her arms on the table and +cried a little about Jack—at least she +thought it was about Jack, but it was +really that Cynthia’s hand was on what she +herself had missed. The woman’s lips that +bear no kiss of love seem formed in vain; +even the angels must sigh for them—and +not even the angels satisfy. Yet she had +held it all once, and remorse and passion +and pity mocked at her for having thrown +life’s gift away.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>When the blackbeetle, whose other name +was Catherine Mary, appeared again it was +to bring supper, and a message from a poor +woman that “She was taken cruel bad, and +would Miss Muriel come to her?” Muriel +left her after a terrible four hours. The +fight had given her strength, and the light +in her eyes was wonderful. She had forgotten +all about the Lady of Shalott.</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER XXIV</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote20em'> + + + <div class='poetry-container' style=''> + <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> +<div class='stanza-outer'> +<p class='line0'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“La vie est vaine:</span></p> +<p class='line0'>  <span style='font-size:smaller'>Un peu d’amour,</span></p> +<p class='line0'><span style='font-size:smaller'>Un peu de haine,</span></p> +<p class='line0'>  <span style='font-size:smaller'>Et puis—bonjour!”</span></p> +</div> +</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'>“<span class='sc'>Really</span>, Mary, it’s absurd to stay away +from the picnic! And I simply can’t go if +you won’t. That odious Mrs. Collins makes +the most hateful chaperon, with her ‘Come +here, my dear!’ just at the wrong moments. +<span class='it'>Won’t</span> you come, Mary?” Gladys, in the +most delicate of Dresden flowered silks, with +a huge hat one mass of pale pink roses and +black velvet, looked imploringly at her +companion.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She was a girl it was impossible to describe +without mentioning her clothes. One +felt if she had worn a yachting suit with gilt +buttons she would have looked pathetic. +Mary Huntly took one of the little hands in +hers.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“The truth is, dear—but don’t, please, +tell Tom—I had a slight hæmorrhage this +morning. Nothing much, it is true, but +these tiresome lungs will bother me, and +I know I ought to keep quiet to-day.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You never used to be so fussy about +your health, Mary,” exclaimed the girl +petulantly. There is nothing that so torments +a brave woman as a gibe at nervousness. +It was true that Mary had conquered +her fear, but she knew it to be something +that comes again, and would never while +she lived cease to give up coming. She +winced and let the girl’s hand drop; she +had not voice enough to explain. The persistent +cruel healthiness of the girl before +her aroused in her a kind of defiance.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Since you are so keen, dear, I will go,” +she said, “but I hope they won’t expect me +to talk!” She laughed huskily.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Tom is out shooting, isn’t he?” she +asked Gladys later as they walked towards +the carriage which was to take them to their +destination.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“How funny you are, Mary! You never +used to be so interested in Tom’s movements,” +laughed Gladys; “he won’t be +back, I don’t suppose, till long after we +are.” An hour later, by a half-ruined temple, +under the shade of great enshrouding +trees, Jack Hurstly sitting beside Gladys +asked her a little sharply if her cousin wasn’t +very seedy.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes, poor dear!” said Gladys with the +wistful, pathetic look that had helped to +draw Mary to the picnic; “and she’s +so dreadfully plucky and determined, I +couldn’t persuade her to stay at home with +me. I can’t tell you how anxious it makes +me feel!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Jack’s eyes grew tender over her. Hats +of a certain shade cast sincerity in a becoming +glow over an upturned face. He +wanted to help her, protect her, comfort +her! His vexation was transferred to Mary. +It must be such a strain to go about with +an obstinate, sick woman. Jim Musgrave +sat by his aunt. All the rest had gone off +somewhere—a general direction to which +all picnics tend where there is no one to +victimize the party with games. Gladys +had promised to go and see an ancient well +with Jim, and she had gone to see it—with +Jack Hurstly; only Mrs. Collins and Jim sat +with Mary. Suddenly she put her hand on +his arm.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Jim—take—me—home,” she cried. It +was the end of the picnic.</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER XXV</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote20em'> + +<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“God’s Hand touched her unawares.”</span></p> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>When</span> Tom Huntly rode home with a big +bag of game after a satisfactory dinner with +a crony it was nearly twelve o’clock. Yet +to his surprise the whole house was lit up, +and there was an uneasy sense of motion +and confusion. He dismounted and called +for a servant. Suddenly he heard a woman +crying. He let the horse go and walked +into the house.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“How can you expect me to go to her? +No, I won’t! I won’t! Oh, it’s horrid! it’s +terrible!—just when I was so happy too! +No, doctor, go and sit with her till Tom +comes! Oh, my God! . . . Doctor! here +he is!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Where is my wife?” said Tom Huntly. +The words sounded to his ears like a quotation; +it was absurd to suppose they could +be his. He did not look at Gladys, dissolved +in frightened tears over the inappropriateness +of the angel Death. The doctor spoke +with the unreal cheerfulness of his profession.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Another hæmorrhage, Major Huntly. +It is over now, but you must expect to find +her a little weak.” Then, as Tom Huntly +uncomprehendingly followed him, “It is +my duty to tell you that I consider her case +serious—very.” A nurse stood by the bed +fanning her. A sudden remembrance of +the boy’s birth (the boy at Eton) swept over +him.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She looked very young, with that old, +bright something in her eyes that the last +ten years of the world had managed to dim. +She whispered his name.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Tom, come a little nearer.” He knelt +beside her, and put his arms around her. +They had wasted a lot of time. “I wanted +you so—Tom,” she whispered. “It’s been +such a poor sort of thing, hasn’t it? What +we might have been to each other, I mean? +But it’s been all my fault, dear. I never +knew a man that could have made me half—so +happy. There are not many women +who could say that of their husbands in our—world—are +there, Tom?” She coughed +till the slow breath came back. “So you’ll +not worry, Tom?” she gasped.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Mary—Mary, darling—you won’t leave +me and the boy?” It was frightful this +want of time. She smiled bravely.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’m so glad you care,” she murmured. +“Tell him—Tom—that his mother says she +wants him to be—a gentleman—like his +father.” The nurse stepped forward, but +the doctor shook his head.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“There is no need,” he said, but he meant +“There is no hope.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Ah, Mary! Mary!” She opened her +eyes again: she was much too tired to be +frightened of death.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>God takes the ignorant, plucky souls who +have fought the good fight, not quite knowing +why, very peacefully to Himself.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I should like,” she gasped, “more air.” +The nurse came towards her bed with the +fan in her hand, but before she could reach +her a gust of wind strangely cool and fresh +swung the curtains of the window, and +Mary Huntly was dead, having passed from +a life which stifled, limited and kept back +all the highest and noblest in her to beyond +the horizon where “Over all this weary +world of ours breathes diviner air.” The +room was very quiet and still. The doctor +after a few words to the nurse, engaging her +for another case, went off to his quarters.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Gladys composed two heart-broken notes +to Jack Hurstly in her sleep, and Tom +Huntly left alone with the body of the +woman he loved fought the old fight with +the grimness of things.</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER XXVI</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote'> + +<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“And Memory fed the Soul of Love with tears.”</span></p> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'>“<span class='sc'>Too</span> late!” is a phrase holding the eternal +knell of life. It sounds like a muffled peal +even to those who hear it lightly said. To +those who have lived through it, the worst +of the battle passes before their eyes again. +Many, perhaps blissfully, miss all that it +means. They dare not, or cannot, face remorse. +That they themselves have pulled +down their house about their ears seems to +them an infamous impossibility. They forget +all their own cruel words, long neglect +and unfair judgment, and only remember +flashes of sunlight which they connect—probably +quite falsely—with themselves. +Their “yesterdays look backward with a +smile.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Gladys never realized even as much as +a tinge of shame. She cried a great deal. +Mary knew how to manage things so beautifully, +and, better still how to manage Tom. +There was a certain heavy awkwardness +about Tom that Gladys didn’t like. It +had the effect of putting her in the wrong, +which was, on the face of it, absurd. Also +he wouldn’t do what she wished without +coarsely asking “Why.” Altogether, Mary +had taken the edge off a difficulty; and +Gladys hated difficulties almost as much as +she did explanations.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was so dreadfully trying, too—Mary’s +dying just then! Another week, perhaps, +and it would not have mattered so much. +The thought forced her to look into the +glass. The crying had done no great +damage; she would dress entirely in white. +Jack would come round soon after breakfast +to find out how Mary was. Oh, poor +Mary!</p> + +<p class='pindent'>There was something so bald and primitive +and earnest about death; <span class='it'>whatever</span> +happened she would not be taken to see the +body. She went out into the dining-room. +Suddenly she began to be afraid of meeting +Tom.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Tom had passed the night of a thousand +years; it comes once or even twice in a +lifetime. He was looking very old and +haggard. When Gladys came into the +room he winced as if he had touched a +snake. It was a very awkward meeting. +Tom would have gone out of the room and +said nothing, but there was breakfast—and +the servants. By-and-bye there was only +breakfast, and Gladys sitting where Mary +used to sit. She was thinking that at least +he might have shaved, and wondering if she +dared to speak to him. It was very hot and +still.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Did you know that Mary had had a +hæmorrhage before?” he asked in the dangerously +level tones of passion curbed. +Gladys burst into tears.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“How can you speak of her in that heartless +way, Tom?” she cried. He gave a queer +little sound that might have been a laugh.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Answer me,” he said. The question was +how much did he know, and what was the +safest lie? He saved her the trouble. +“Very well, you did know, then! Now how +long has this been going on?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It was easy enough to keep it from you, +Tom!” she said, with the brutality of a +weak thing cornered. “You never took the +trouble to find out. Poor Mary made me +promise not to tell you. She told me first +in England that her temperature rose every +night, but that she didn’t intend to make +herself an invalid for that. She said you +were the sort of man who hated invalids.” +Tom broke a paper-cutter he had been +playing with on the table. “I don’t know +how many hæmorrhages she had—not very +many; certainly not one for a long +time——”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Certainly not one yesterday morning,” +he interrupted slowly, a little pause between +each word. “Before you went to the +picnic?” Gladys looked desperately at the +paper-cutter. There was something in the +psalms about a green bay-tree that occurred +to her, not of course in connection with herself.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No, she never said so. She wanted +particularly to go to the picnic; she said +(who was it that said women are no inventors?) +that she would be so dull without +you. I tried to persuade her not to go, but +she would——”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I wonder,” said Tom meditatively, +“how many lies you have been telling me? +Don’t get angry, it really isn’t worth while, +and it doesn’t matter in the least, you know, +only you had better save some for your old +age. You can pack your things, as we are +going home next week.” He rose drearily +from the table and made his way out of the +room; he cared so very little about anything.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He felt as physically tired as after a +forced march. An endless expanse of days +and months and years passed before his +eyes—there seemed so much time now.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Suddenly he thought of the boy!—Mary’s +boy and his. He straightened himself up; +there was still somebody left to do that for. +For Mary’s sake he would devote himself to +the boy; it was tremendously worth while. +He sat down and painstakingly wrote a +letter that made his own tears come and the +boy’s when he read it, and drew the two together +as nothing but sorrow and loneliness +and love can ever do. It followed so +naturally and plainly that if Mary wanted +her son to be like his father, the father must +try to be a better sort of chap. Remorse +receded, and took with it the burden of +hopelessness.</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER XXVII</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote20em'> + + + <div class='poetry-container' style=''> + <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> +<div class='stanza-outer'> +<p class='line0'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“She was beautiful, and therefore to be wooed:</span></p> +<p class='line0'><span style='font-size:smaller'>She was a woman, and therefore to be won.”</span></p> +</div> +</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Gladys</span> went into the garden, where it was +coolest and shadiest, and sat, a lovely and +pathetic figure, leaning, it is true, against a +cushion with her listless hands in her lap.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>So Captain Hurstly found her. She had +written the little heart-broken note, and +she rose to meet him with quivering lips.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, Jack, Jack!” she murmured—in +an abandonment of grief Christian names +fall so naturally, and it sounded very sweet +to Jack—“how good of you to come!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Good of me?”—he held both her hands; +she had given them to him unconsciously—“I +think it was awfully sweet of you to see +me—I’m so sorry, dear—so sorry!” The +tears rolled down her cheeks. She looked +very pretty when she cried, and it was very +difficult not to kiss her.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Mary was everything I had in the +world,” she said withdrawing her hands +with a swift blush, and sinking back on the +cushions again—“mother, sister, friend. +And Tom—Tom has been so brutal to me +Oh, what shall I do, what shall I do!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Tom brutal to you?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes! he hates me. I’m sure I don’t +know why. Perhaps he feels now he might +have done more for Mary. She told me +often how terribly lonely she was before I +came to her. We are to go back to England +next week, and I know too well what +that means!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What does it mean?” he asked looking +at her long and carefully, the white dress +that fell away from the little fair throat, +the pathetic quiver of the dainty mouth, +the hopeless, hunted look in the big dark +eyes.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, I can’t tell you!” she cried with a +sudden gasp. “Don’t—don’t ask me!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I must know,” he said firmly; “tell me, +please.” The color swept over her cheeks, +her eyes faltered and fell before his, her +hands trembled in her lap.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Tom wants me to marry,” she said at +last, “a man I can never—love.” She +covered her face with her hands. “Go +away!” she cried piteously. “Isn’t it hard +enough already without making me tell—you!” +She gasped the word containing her +passionate heart. She was in earnest now, +that was why she hid her face; she knew +that she would not be so pretty.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The word that fell in the hot still morning +lived ever afterwards in Jack’s mind with +the heavy scent of tropical flowers, the restless +quiver of the air, and the sharp metallic +stroke of a coppersmith’s beak near by. +She was unhappy, and pretty, and clinging—and +she loved him. Had he any right to +make her love him so, and then leave her to +a bitter and miserable marriage? So pity +spoke, and the beauty of the girl’s lithe +form, the curl of hair just escaping the uplifted +hand, the delicate scent she used, the +whole scene with its setting of the old hot +Indian garden spoke to passion. And when +pity and passion speak at the same moment, +reason, sense, and self-control fade fast +away. He took her hands from her face; +she looked at him as a startled child would +look; he felt the beating of her heart; he +drew her closer to him, and she made no resistance.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Gladys, Gladys, will you be happy with +<span class='it'>me</span>, darling?” he asked her.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, Jack!” she cried, “you never even +asked me—if I loved you!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>An hour later, radiant, triumphant, cruel, +Gladys stood before Tom Huntly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I am not going back to England with +you,” she said. “I am going to marry Jack +Hurstly. I shall stay with Mrs. Collins till +the wedding, and come home with Jack, for +good.” Tom Huntly looked at her, alive +and young! and upstairs lay the body of +his wife, and the girl could be so happy!</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Are you quite heartless?” he asked +wearily. The insolence of her joy turned +to weak self-pity, and she began to cry +again.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, poor, poor Mary!” she sobbed. +“She <span class='it'>so</span> wanted to help me choose my +trousseau!” Tom left the room, shutting +the door after him.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Jack went back to his quarters. He +wondered why the scent she wore seemed +so familiar. He remembered at last that +Edith le Mentier had used it too, and he +remembered at the same time with equal +irrelevancy that Muriel never used scent.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>That evening he had a long talk with Tom +Huntly. His friendship with Mary had +been a deep and real one, and he thought +Gladys must have been mistaken about +Tom’s brutality. He was not that sort of +man; and he thought Tom was equally mistaken +when he said rather doubtfully, “I +hope you will be happy with Gladys; she’s +not half up to the form of that other girl of +yours.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Any reference to Muriel was peculiarly +irritating to him just now.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It also seemed that people who knew +Gladys very well did not appreciate her so +deeply as people who knew her slightly—a +trait which is certainly a trifle unfortunate +in a man’s future wife. But he had burned +his boats, and he remembered how pretty +she was, and tried to think it very natural +that the day after his engagement he should +find his <span class='it'>fiancée</span> playing love-songs on the +piano to her very distant connection, Jim +Musgrave.</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER XXVIII</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote20em'> + +<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“Is she not pure gold, my mistress?”</span></p> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Jim</span> looked at his uncle and said nothing. +The two men were smoking on the piazza. +It was late evening, the day before Major +Huntly was to sail for England. He had +just mentioned Gladys’ engagement, and +found that his nephew knew nothing about +it. Jim grew rather white, and the two +puffed steadily at their pipes again.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“She ought to have told you,” said his +uncle at last. “Does it make a lot of difference?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes,” said Jim laconically.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I don’t want to bother you, old fellow, +but I think I ought to know did she give +you any reason to think——” Jim shook +his head.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No—I was simply—a fool,” he said +shortly; and then he added with a rather +bitter smile “she wasn’t.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“But now, you know,” said his uncle, +“you’ll shake it off, I hope; there’s as good +fish in the sea, you know, as ever came out +of it.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“And they can stay there,” said Jim.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“But you don’t mean you still care for +her?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes, sir, I always shall—whatever she +does!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The night was radiant. Full in the starlit +sky the moon poured forth a clear stream of +light, bringing out the colors of the world +thinly, not as the sun does, but with a +strange, mystic richness all her own. The +two men had not poetic temperaments. +Nights and moons and stars were much +alike to them, and they were not thinking +just then so much of each other’s sorrows, +chiefly of their own. Yet there was a very +warm feeling of sympathy between them, +and they sat for some time longer smoking +in silent fellowship. At last Jim rose to his +feet.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I shall be on duty to-morrow, sir,” he +said, “so I’m afraid I shan’t see you again. +You’ll drop me a line when you’ve reached +home, and tell me how you find the little +chap?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes, Jim. I say, old fellow, I wish +Mary was here to-night, she’d know what +to say to you. I’m afraid I shall only make +a mull of it—you’ve faced your guns pluckily +about Gladys—don’t take it too hard; +and if I could do any good at seeing your +colonel about getting you some shooting +leave——”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Thank you, sir,” Jim interrupted; “it’s +awfully good of you. I think perhaps +there’s an opening for me to go to the front +again, a fellow of ‘ours’ is taken with enteric +out there. I’ll get along all right—and you +know what I feel about aunt Mary. She +was too good a woman to make me lose my +faith in them, and it wasn’t Gladys’ fault, +sir—it was all mine. You won’t blame her, +will you?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, I won’t blame her,” said his uncle +shortly—“good-bye.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Good-bye, sir,” and Jim, sternly setting +his shoulders with all an Englishman’s passionate +determination to suppress his emotion, +passed out into the night.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was the same beautiful world when +earlier in the evening he had enjoyed a talk +with his lady-love, and had said that he +thought the world was really “an awfully +jolly place.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He would believe no wrong of her now—it +is love’s creed for the young—only the +world was a beastly hole—that was all; and +it was hard lines on a chap to have to come +into it whether he would or no. His grief +rushed him into metaphysics, an unknown +quality to Jim, and he felt more himself +again when he had applied for leave—and +got it—to be sent to one of the most unhealthy +parts of India where there was a +little row on.</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER XXIX</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote20em'> + +<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“What matter how little the door, if it only lets you +in!”</span></p> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Paris</span>, always in a glitter, struck both Cynthia +and Geoffrey as being almost too emphatically +the same.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They separated after the dear, delicious +lightness of the earliest French meal, one +to go to the studios and try to get a skilled +but unpractised hand in again, the other +whimsically to the lecture-rooms, an atmosphere +congenial, but thin and uncolored +to one fresh from the active fight. So the +first week passed, and quite unconsciously +they began to imbibe the gay French surface, +the triumphant shrug at the disagreeable, +the bright intensity of the absorbing +present. It was not that they forgot or felt +less, but as if straight from the seriousness +of the downstairs rooms they had strayed +into the nursery and were playing at being +children again. It was one morning on her +way to the studio that Cynthia met an old +acquaintance of hers, an emphatic American +girl, who exclaimed in the arresting +tones of her countrywomen:—</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Why, Cynthia Grant, is that you!” +Cynthia turned smiling.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Millicent!” she said, “in Paris?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Why, certainly,” laughed Millicent +gayly; “didn’t you know I was married. I +couldn’t keep it up any longer. You remember +Clifton Perval? He was that set! +I <span class='it'>had</span> to give in to him! But come right +away home with me, Cynthia; I’ve the most +perfectly lovely flat you ever saw!” Cynthia +felt suddenly human.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“All right,” she said, “I’ll give myself +a holiday. So you are actually <span class='it'>living</span> in +Paris. You always wanted to, didn’t you?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>Want</span> to? I was just crazy. But I let +my husband know I’d be planted <span class='it'>here</span> or +nowhere! So we just came. Launcelot +will be just as pleased to see us——”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Who is Launcelot?” laughed her friend.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“My little boy. Why, didn’t I tell you?” +Her bright, keen face clouded a little. “Yes, +I’ve got a child.” She paused flatly, and +then fell back with ready gush on an easier +line. “Don’t you think Launcelot a real +pretty name? I told Clifton I’d take +nothing common. No William-George effects +for me! So his name is Launcelot +Cummins Perval. Cummins was my name, +you remember, before I married. Oh, here +we are. Now isn’t it a charming location? +It’s so sweet and central.” Cynthia nodded.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They were taken up almost to the top of +a high building. The flat was evidently +small and inexpensive. As they entered +Cynthia was struck with the effect of an +aggressive effort to conceal. Everything +seemed unnaturally placed so as to hide +something else, and to block views. There +were a quantity of unnecessary things, and +some very bad pictures. Millicent had +never had much art though she had a great +deal of talent, but the talent had deteriorated +and the art vanished.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Sitting on the floor, his head a mass of +dark curls, with wide, blue, astonished eyes, +was a little fellow of about six, in quaint, +tight black velvet trousers. He looked at +his mother wistfully.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You said he would come back,” he +exclaimed sorrowfully; “but he hasn’t for +hours and hours!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Why, Launcelot, how silly you are,” +cried his mother; “come here, right away, +and shake hands with this lady. Aren’t +you <span class='it'>glad</span> to see mother come home so +soon?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The child rose obediently and advanced +towards Cynthia. His eyes were heavy +with the difficulty to express his thoughts, +his eyebrows were knitted painfully. Cynthia’s +eyes grew tender as they met his.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What have you lost, sonnie?” she asked +gently.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, it’s Tony that’s goned away,” he +began eagerly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“The child’s bird escaped out of the +window this morning,” his mother explained +contemptuously; “Marie opened +the cage, or something. The thing squealed +awfully; it’s rather a relief. Now, Launcelot, +you go back to your bricks, and mother +will give you some candy by-and-bye.” +But Cynthia held the child’s hand.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I want to hear about Tony,” she said +firmly. The boy’s eyes were full of tears, +but he controlled himself manfully.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“If God has taken him,” he said, “I +think it’s very selfish. God has birds and +birds, and I only had Tony.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Why, Launcelot Perval,” exclaimed his +mother in shocked tones, “whatever do you +mean? You’re a very naughty boy to talk +so; mother’ll have to punish you if you say +such things.” The boy ignored his mother. +She might have been an intrusive fly. He +brushed her away. Cynthia understood.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“But perhaps God didn’t take him,” she +suggested thoughtfully. The boy’s face +brightened, but clouded again.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“He lives in the sky,” he said; “and that’s +where Tony went. He must have flown +straight to God, and I think God <span class='it'>ought</span> to +have sent him back,” his lips quivered +again. “I’ve waited hours and hours,” he +repeated mournfully.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“God has got such a lot of things to do,” +she said, “perhaps He will send him back +to-morrow. Don’t you think you could +wait till to-morrow, Launcelot?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Why, really, Cynthia,” laughed her +friend, “I can’t let you encourage the child +in such notions. Now, look here, Launcelot, +if you will be a good boy, and not worry +any more, I’ll ask papa to buy you another +Tony.” She was a good-natured woman, +but she missed the point.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, but there isn’t another Tony,” he +said looking at his mother reproachfully; +“there aren’t two mes nor two Gods, +mama?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, do be quiet, Launcelot,” she cried +falling back on the dense weapon of her +authority; “of course there aren’t two Gods. +I shall send for Marie to take you away!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>This threat closed the discussion. The +child went back to the window, and gazed +wistfully at the roofs, still wondering at his +unanswered prayer.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Millicent showed Cynthia her flat. Cynthia +began to understand the pathetic +concealments. They were very poor.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“We manage to have good times, +though,” Millicent explained. “We get +around and see things. Men don’t like +women being <span class='it'>too</span> economical, and I don’t +believe in it myself. They just spend and +spend, and then make a row over the bills. +I don’t see why we shouldn’t spend too; it +don’t make much more of a row, for they +put it down to us anyway! But it’s very +unfortunate our having that child!” She +cast an impatient glance at the little fellow +in his odd-shaped, out-grown clothes. +“Sometimes I positively don’t know which +way to turn. His father and I don’t know +what to make of him—he’s that funny! +It doesn’t rightly seem as if he was our +child!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“He’s a dear little fellow,” said Cynthia +pityingly; “I wish you would let me take +him home for this afternoon, I would bring +him back at bedtime. I shall be all alone.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Why, that’s real sweet of you, Cynthia,” +said Mrs. Perval. “Clifton and I want so +much to have a nice afternoon with some +French friends of ours—Monsieur le Comte +de Mouselle and his sister. He’s the most +perfectly charming man. Do you know +him?” Cynthia shook her head. Millicent +tittered. “He’s just wild about <span class='it'>me</span>,” she +said, “but of course I know how to deal with +him. <span class='it'>They</span> can’t take me in, you bet! but +I’ll be real pleased,” she added, seeing +Cynthia’s attention wander, “to let you +have Launcelot for this afternoon as soon +as Marie can get him ready.” Ten minutes +later the two left the flat. Mrs. Perval, her +hands on her hips, talking to them as they +went.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Now, Launcelot, be sure you’re a good +boy, and mind what you say. Cynthia, +don’t let him worry you—please. I’ll be +<span class='it'>real</span> pleased to see your brother again, +Cynthia. Give him my love, and tell +him——”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Whatever she was to tell him was lost on +the way downstairs. Cynthia and the boy +felt suddenly free, their eyes sparkled, they +clasped each other’s hands tightly—the +world lay before them, the great glittering +Paris world, rich with delights. A French-woman +with bright, bright eyes passed +them. The boy pressed a little closer to +Cynthia.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“The streets roar so,” he said fearfully. +“Do you think it’s at all likely there’s any +lions about?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“They are always careful to shut them +up,” Cynthia explained, “when boys go out +with friends.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They had a wonderful lunch and lots of +marvellous French cakes, and if there were +any lions they remembered that “friends” +didn’t like them, and kept within bounds. +Cynthia felt for the first time that she could +breathe without it hurting her. To be alive +and separate is so terrible to love. The +child’s hand in hers made her look past +herself into a world more beautiful and infinitely +higher than her dreams.</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER XXX</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote20em'> + +<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“Oh; the light, light love that has wings to fly!”</span></p> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Dr. Grant</span> had not found the wrench of +parting much easier than his sister, but, like +many people with deep emotions, he had +found room enough to keep his unhappiness +apart from his everyday work and appearance, +and to take a certain amount of placid +enjoyment out of his new mode of living. +The difficulty was in completely deceiving +Cynthia by the constant holiday aspect she +expected of him. Sometimes the shadow +fell between them, and they would be silent +and apart, then both would bitterly blame +themselves, pity each other, and rush back +into the holiday aspect again. They would +have been far happier if they had been less +reserved.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was about six when Geoff, returning +to their apartments, heard the noise of talk +and merry laughter in his sister’s room. He +opened the door hastily to find Cynthia on +her knees before the fire roasting chestnuts +with a curly-headed youngster, who laughed +the more at his appearance, as if it were a +part of the game.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“This is the Knight Sir Launcelot,” said +Cynthia gravely, waving her hand towards +the boy. “Launcelot—the King!” Launcelot +nodded.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I always ’spected him,” he said earnestly, +“and now God must have sent him +instead of Tony. Do you think kings are +nicer than birds?” he added anxiously to +Cynthia.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Not most of them,” said Cynthia preparing +to shell a hot chestnut; “but mine’s +a very nice king, as nice as any bird I should +think.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Things when they’re <span class='it'>very</span> nice fly away,” +puzzled the thoughtful knight; “if kings +<span class='it'>was</span> as nice as birds they might fly too!” +He drew down his brows and gazed at the +solid and substantial doctor. “But you—you +don’t look as if you was a very flying +person,” he finished triumphantly. “Would +you like a chestnut?” The doctor accepted +one with enthusiasm, and Launcelot, the +king and the woman with red hair spent a +charming and exciting evening.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They only parted at bedtime at his +mother’s door on the express understanding +that he was to come again the next day, and +that knights never even under the hardest +circumstances cried, and that last, but not +least, the coal-black charger with a stiff neck +under the king’s coat transported thither +from a fairy shop must be shown without +delay to Marie, daddy and the cook. These +facts being grasped the worst was over, and +the knight, strewing wet kisses in his wake, +was borne away to bed, leaving his volatile +mother expressing shrill-voiced thanks to +Cynthia and Geoff. The streets seemed ten +times brighter and less chilly to the doctor +and his sister, and they went to a screaming +French farce for the rest of the evening, and +felt much the better for it. In fact they +even forgot for a while their determination +to enjoy themselves.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>After this it became the custom for +Launcelot to go to Cynthia every afternoon +and stay with her till evening. Millicent +was always grateful, but frequently hurried—more +hurried even than an American +woman in Paris generally is. She did not +refer again to the charming Count and his +sister, but one day she told Cynthia that +“Clifton had gone away.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“For how long?” asked Cynthia quietly. +Millicent stared, then she sat down and +laughed. She laughed for a long while, but +not very merrily. Finally she explained +with a blank terseness.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“He’s just quit; he’s gone! he’s left me. +Don’t stand there and stare, Cynthia. Sit +down. We didn’t have a very good time +together.” She continued pacing restlessly +up and down the little tawdry room. “He +was always the sort of man that wanted a +good time, and we didn’t have much money. +After the child came, you know, it was +worse than ever. I wasn’t going to play +the door-mat to Clifton, but I did my best +to make it pretty.” She looked at the little +concealments, ragged and thin in the heartless +Paris sunshine, and they looked more +pathetic than ever. “And I dressed real +well, but there wasn’t any keeping him. +He only told me I was ruining him with +dressmakers’ bills, though he knew I make +the most of my own clothes! Sometimes I +wish I hadn’t been so cock-sure about Paris. +In America there’d have been something to +keep him back, but there’s nothing to keep +one back in Paris. Things look as innocent +and pretty——” her voice broke; “but they +aren’t, Cynthia—they’re real mean! they’re +real mean!” Cynthia sat silently gazing at +the carpet. The nervous, breaking voice, +the frightened, restless figure were not lost +upon her. They seemed familiar somehow, +quite as if she had seen them before; and +the ring of pain in the most meagre phrase +“But they aren’t—they’re real mean! +they’re real mean!” voiced a feeling that +had once been part of her without a voice. +She waited for the inevitable sequel. It +came in a burst of hysterical sobs. “He +left me a note, Cynthia—Clifton did—he +said I should know where to look for consolation!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“The brute!” cried Cynthia. Millicent +laughed.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well! don’t you know they’re all that +way when a man is tired. Nothing will +keep him; and then he wants to throw a +sop to something, maybe he thinks it’s his +conscience, so he invents another man for +the woman he’s left—if—if there isn’t one +already.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Millicent,” Cynthia stood up, and took +the pretty, heavily ringed hand in hers, +“do you think the second man will bring +you anything better than the first? He +never does—the only difference is he leaves +you worse. Stick to your art and Launcelot!” +Millicent tore her hands away.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Pshaw! you’re always talking about the +child—I hate him!—there!—I hate him! +I hated the pain, I hated being put aside, +I hated having to spend my time on him—maybe +if he hadn’t come Clifton would have +been different; maybe other things would +have been different too! As for my art, as +you call it, what is art to a woman? Why, +it’s nothing! you know it, Cynthia. If +Leslie Damores hadn’t played the fool——”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Hush!” Cynthia stammered in a piteous +attempt to hide the pain of his name.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, then! If a man wanted you, I’d +like to know what pictures would mean? +Pictures! I may be weak and silly—I +know I am—I loved my husband. Yes! I +did! I know I did. But if I can’t have +him, I must have somebody. And you +want me—to paint! Well! I’ll tell you. I +wanted to please Clifton—so I painted. +Now the Count doesn’t like the folks I mix +with——” she bridled perceptibly, and +Cynthia felt sick, “so I won’t paint any +more.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She looked at the clock. Cynthia gazed +at her desperately; she heard Launcelot’s +voice in the next room. She had taught +him “Sir Galahad,” and his voice rose in a +triumphant shout at the last words, “All +arm’d I ride, whate’er betide, until I find +the Holy Grail!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What are you going to do with the +child?” she asked wearily. Millicent flushed. +No woman is without the saving grace of +feeling, through some chord, a touch of +shame.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“The Count,” she said, “says he’ll send +him to school; he’s very kind.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Very,” said Cynthia dryly. “He will +send him to a French school, where he will +grow into a second Count—it’s very kind of +him. Millicent, if you have no other plan, +will you give him to me?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“To you!” said Millicent—“to you?” +She was astonished. She was, after all, +his mother, and even where motherhood +brings no love it keeps its sense of property. +“Why, Cynthia, I don’t know as I <span class='it'>can</span>; +you see, after all, I’m his mother! It’s +very kind of you, Cynthia—but——” She +looked again at the clock.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Look here!” said Cynthia suddenly, +“I’m not going without the boy. You had +better make up your mind to give him to +me. You don’t want to ruin his life as well +as your own, and if you don’t let me have +him——” Cynthia’s eyes flashed. “He +will be more in your way than ever now. +I shall stay and—explain—to the Count!” +she finished grimly. Millicent turned +white.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, go!” she said. “For Heaven’s +sake go, and take the boy with you. I +suppose you don’t know what people will +say! I suppose it doesn’t matter to you +that we all know why Leslie Damores didn’t +marry you. I suppose——”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, Lady Beautiful!”—the knight +stood looking from one to the other at the +door—“Lady Beautiful, do you know where +it is?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Where what is, my darling?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“The Holy Grail,” said the knight +wrinkling his brows. “I don’t know where +to find it.” Cynthia took his hand.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Let’s go and look for it,” she said; “it +isn’t here.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She hesitated, but Millicent stood at the +window with her back to them. She put +her hands to her hair and replaced a pin. +Cynthia turned with the boy, and together +they left the little tawdry flat for the last +time; left the strange, sad life with its +shattered opportunities and sordid concealments; +left his mother standing by the +window waiting for the Count.</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER XXXI</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote20em'> + + + <div class='poetry-container' style=''> + <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> +<div class='stanza-outer'> +<p class='line0'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“Where He stands,—the Arch Fear</span></p> +<p class='line0'><span style='font-size:smaller'>In a visible form.”</span></p> +</div> +</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> + +</div> + +<div class='blockquote'> + +<p class='pindent'>“<span class='sc'>It</span> is absolutely necessary you should +come to me at once. I am extremely ill.</p> + +<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:1em;'>“<span class='sc'>Your Uncle.</span>”</p> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'>This brief but characteristic epistle rung +in Muriel’s head as she left the club for the +night. It was a trying time to leave the +work. She had almost a settlement now of +new helpers, men and women, all under her +headship, devoted and earnest workers, but +needing direction, and a firm, experienced +hand. Cyril Johnstone had volunteered to +come to her. Association with her having +convinced him that she was neither light-minded +nor superficial, and that in spite of +his exalted office he still had something to +learn from a woman. Captain Hurstly having +withdrawn his liberal subscription, the +club-work in his parish had fallen through, +and the old, broad-minded, empty-headed +vicar could jog on in peace to his grave with +a sly chuckle or two at the fizzling out of +modern efforts.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Meanwhile honest hard work and the +buffeting experience of the working-man +had opened the young curate’s mind and +sobered his heart, and there is no such +worker in any cause as the disciplined +enthusiast.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Muriel was happier about her work than +she had ever been. It was only right, +according to her ethics, that as satisfaction +dawned the new call should come. She did +not know what her uncle’s illness meant, +but she settled work for the next few weeks, +had a final talk with her new associate, and +putting on what she called her society dress +drove off in a hansom to her uncle’s. She +found him in the comfortable stage of a +dressing-gown and hot chocolate. He closed +his eyes as she entered the room.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Muriel, is that you?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes, dear; I came at once.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“If you had not come it would have been +too late! Muriel shut the door!” Muriel +shut the door. The room was very warm, +and the bright winter sunshine lit up the +gold in her hair, and brought out the smile +which was always latent in her eyes. She +sat down by him and took his hand.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Have they made your chocolate nicely?” +she asked.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Never! Of course they haven’t. I am +infamously neglected. My slightest wish is +thwarted. I am not master in my own +house, Muriel! That is why I sent for you. +You at least, before you became so selfish +and absorbed in your own pleasure, knew +how to look after my comfort. The doctor +says I must on no account move. I suffer +agonies from my foot, and if anything was +to upset me the gout might fly to my heart! +Yet though I have spoken about it again +and again, they <span class='it'>will</span> leave skin on my hot +milk!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Shall I make you some more chocolate, +and boil the milk myself?” asked Muriel +smiling. He growled an affirmative. And +Muriel, chatting brightly about his favorite +topics, made him fresh chocolate, and +lightened the room by certain little readjustments +of flowers, books and cushions +that the eyes of the most diligent of servants +always just miss over, as if to prove that +self-help smiles after all.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Sir Arthur Dallerton had aged terribly. +Death’s hand rested upon so much that was +mortal. It is only in such cases that death +is dreadful. Muriel, who had so often seen +it, thought she had never seen it more sadly, +for in his eyes was the haunting fear from +which there is no escape. Later on in the +evening he called her to him. She had been +singing over some old Scotch airs. She came +and sat on a footstool at his feet, with her +head on his knee. He liked to stroke her +hair and hold her hand; it gave him a sense +of peace and security.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Muriel,” he said, “do you think there is +any chance of—anything happening to +me?” The verb “to die” is terrible to some +people. Sir Arthur Dallerton preferred the +evasion of something happening.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Why, no, dear; what should—happen?” +said Muriel smiling. “Things—sad things +might cease to happen for you; but that +would be beautiful, wouldn’t it?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, Muriel, I don’t want to die! I am +afraid! afraid!” His voice rose almost to +a scream. She stroked his hand and +soothed him as if he were a frightened +child.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“There, there, dear heart! it won’t hurt +you, see; there isn’t any death, or anything +to be afraid of, surely! Only light, peace +and rest, dear uncle, and all the beautiful, +lovely things of earth quite free, and nothing +to hurt any more!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, Muriel, child, do you think I shall +see people whom I’ve come across in life? +Oh, it’s awful!” The poor, silly, selfish life, +held hopelessly before his eyes by the Inexorable +Reality, made him catch his breath. +The girl’s heart sank, but she spoke with +firm assurance.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“We shall meet nothing that we can’t +bear—nothing that is too hard for us—for +God is just as strong to save after death as +before.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“But if there isn’t any God, if there’s only +an awful grave? Oh, Muriel, it’s a dreadful +thing to be an old man!” He shivered +from head to foot, and she nestled closer to +his side.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“The body dies, and never feels anything; +it’s just a sleep, and it will never dream, or +wake, or fret and trouble any more, and we +believe that the spirit is safer without it, +and close to God,” she murmured.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’m not so sure of that,” said her +uncle sharply. “Some spirits can’t help +it. They’re no better than they should be, +and what do you think happens to them?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The blind cannot see. It is a scientific +fact and a living reality; the nearest they +can reach to sight is to feel that they do not +see as much as they might see, and they dim +that view by the cry of the eternally inadequate +“I can’t help it.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Muriel pressed her lips to the poor human +hand.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Dear uncle, such spirits must be made +as well as they ought to be. We must trust +God for the method, for we can’t know what +is best; but I am quite sure God meant us +all for His, and if we hold fast to that we +shall grow like Him in time, and He will +give us time, for there is all eternity for us +to go on being good in if we have made the +start.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You’ll never leave me, Muriel? Promise +you will never leave me!” There was a +moment’s pause, while she looked into the +fire and watched the red-hot coal grow black +and drop to ashes in the grate.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’ll never leave you, dear,” she said at +last. “And you won’t be afraid any more?” +she questioned. “I shall sleep right in the +next room to you if you want me. You +won’t be afraid?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No, child! It’s been very lonely without +you, and they’re very thoughtless about my +chocolate. But you don’t think there’s any—hell, +do you?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, no, dear; I am quite sure there’s +not. Now don’t you think I’d better ring +for Thomas to carry you to bed, and I’ll see +that the cook does your broth nicely.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You may if you like,” he said grudgingly; +“and mind you come to bed early, +and come to me the moment I call you.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes, dear, I will,” and she kissed him +gently.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You’re a good child,” he murmured +sleepily. Just as she closed the door he +called her back. “Muriel!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes, uncle.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Are you sure about what you just +mentioned, you know?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“There’s nothing in all the world or out +of it but God, be very sure,” she said with +the passionate certainty of her faith.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He was not quite certain whether he liked +that very much better either. But his +broth was just as he wished that evening, +and he did not call her in the night for he +passed away peacefully in his sleep. And +there was no dark left but his own soul, and +even that with the hope of light in it passed +into the eternal.</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER XXXII</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote20em'> + + + <div class='poetry-container' style=''> + <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> +<div class='stanza-outer'> +<p class='line0'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“This cold, clay clod was man’s heart:</span></p> +<p class='line0'><span style='font-size:smaller'>Crumble it, and what comes next?—Is it God?”</span></p> +</div> +</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Muriel</span> woke up to a new poverty and +an extra ten thousand a year. The latter +scarcely passed through her mind, but the +former made her terribly lonely. Now there +seemed nothing left, and the world a vast +cold place void of personality.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She repeated three times over during a +hurried, lonely breakfast that she had her +work, and the post brought her two letters, +one with Cynthia’s Paris address, the other +in a handwriting that drew all the blood to +her heart. She put it aside and read +Cynthia’s. It told of her work and of +Launcelot. The tone was softer than usual. +Muriel was scarcely surprised when she read +“Launcelot says his prayers every evening, +and always goes to church on Sundays. So +I do, too. His soul wants nourishment as +well as his body, and I promised to take +care of him. The other night Geoff took +him to bed, and when I went up to look at +them they were kneeling side by side looking +out of the window. Launcelot has an +idea that the Holy Grail is in one of the +stars, and he is always looking for it. You +have found it, Muriel, dear, and I am beginning +to believe that some day I may find it +too.” She did not mention Leslie Damores; +evidently he had not discovered her yet. +Muriel hesitated to send him Cynthia’s +address; she believed it better for them +both to wait.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Finally she took up the second letter. +“Will you forgive me for writing to you? +Gladys and I are married. We have left +India for good, which means my profession +dropped, you understand; but Gladys says +there is no one to dress for in India. You’ll +think it awful cheek on my part, but she’s +very young yet, and you used to have a +tremendous influence over her. I suppose +you couldn’t drop in now and then and give +her a hint or two? I should like to see you +awfully.—<span class='sc'>Jack.</span>”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Muriel carefully put the letter on a table, +and sat with her hands on her lap gazing +steadfastly into the fire. She saw three +things, and she saw them plainly. One was +that Jack did not love his wife, another +that she, Muriel, had hardly forgiven +Gladys, and thirdly that Jack would like to +see her awfully. There was a dim, shadowy +fourth, but this she brushed angrily away; +it hinted that there was more sunlight +in the room than before she had read the +letter.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Finally she drifted into a compromise it +would do no harm to see Gladys. She wrote +telling her of her loss and inviting her to +tea the following week. She was very +nervous when the afternoon came, and +paced restlessly up and down the long reception +room in her heavy black dress vexed +with her expectancy, listening to the noises +in the street. The sharp jingle of a hansom +passing, hesitating, stopping, brought her +to a chair.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then came the sound of an electric bell, +and a minute later the door swung open and +a footman announced “Captain Hurstly, +miss.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Muriel looked at him inquiringly. She +did not appear in the least nervous now, for +natures that tremble at a hindrance rise +triumphantly to meet a calamity, and in a +moment she realized that his presence was +fully that.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Gladys couldn’t come at the last minute, +and I did want to see you so, Muriel,” he +explained. He pleaded as he had always +done, and he was just as handsome. She +let these things have full weight with her +before she spoke.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Won’t you sit down, Captain Hurstly; +they will bring tea in a minute. I am sorry +your wife could not come.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Jack looked at her with eloquent, grieved +eyes, but she meeting them saw the coward +in his soul, and her face hardened. He had +not cared enough for her to remain unmarried, +merely enough to desire a flirtation +after marriage. She had not slept properly +for three nights after she received his letter. +He was the first to find the silence uncomfortable.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I am not sorry she could not come,” he +said with a tender inflection; “I wanted to +see you alone. It is a long while since I +have seen you, Muriel. To me it seems +desperately long, and yet you have not +changed at all.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You are mistaken, Captain Hurstly; I +have changed a great deal. You also +have altered considerably.” Muriel’s tone +was convincing even to herself; she was +beginning to believe she could after all +bear it.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It is true I have altered,” he replied. +“You alone might know how terribly, but +I suppose it is never wise to follow a wrong +by a folly. Only one can’t help oneself when +one’s world, all that one has ever cared for, +tumbles about one’s ears. Oh, Muriel, how +could you do it! how could you do it!” He +was intensely in earnest; he could always +be that at the very shortest notice. He +stood in front of her looking down with +the same passionate blue eyes which used +to stir her heart, and yet when he met +hers it did not seem as if he was looking +down.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“If you have come to open a question +forever closed between us, Captain Hurstly, +and which your own honor and good sense +should know to be doubly closed by your +marriage, I must ask you to excuse me. I +did not invite your wife to tea as a permission +for you to insult me.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You are right,” he said looking at her +with frank admiration; “you are always +right, Muriel, without you I have forgotten +how to be. Forgive me, I did not +come here to upbraid you for ruining my +life——”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I should think not, indeed,” Muriel +interrupted scornfully.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“But to ask you to help me about Gladys. +Are you my friend enough to wish to do that—Muriel?” +She flushed painfully.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I should like to help you,” she said in a +low voice.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It’s simply that she won’t understand +the danger of flirting with other men—every +and any other man apparently,” he explained; +“and I don’t want my wife to +be a second Edith le Mentier.” There +was a pause; his illustration was unfortunate.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You give her no cause to complain of +you by your attention to the—first Mrs. +le Mentier?” she could not forbear to +ask.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Muriel!” he cried. The protest was too +vehement to be convincing. She rose and +held out her hand.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I will do all I can for your wife, Captain +Hurstly—I am afraid it will be little enough—on +one condition”—he waited anxiously—“that +you will not attempt to see me +again.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You really mean it?” He spoke slowly, +intensely. She never knew afterwards how +she kept her hands from trembling.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You have singularly forgotten the little +you knew of me if you think I do not mean +what I say, Captain Hurstly.” She turned +wearily to the door. He compared her in +his mind with Edith le Mentier. Muriel +was telling him to go away. She had told +him to come back. Gladys was only a +shadow in his life, a chained shadow; he +did not even think of her at this moment. +He had never depended on principles or +considered consequences.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Good-bye, then, Muriel,” he said. “I +suppose I must thank you for your promise, +though its condition is terrible to me. You +don’t know what you may be driving me +to!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, I’m not driving you,” cried Muriel +desperately, the weakness of his nature +dawning more fully on her; “drive +yourself, Captain Hurstly—drive yourself!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>So he went, and was driven by some +passion of irresponsibility from Muriel to +Edith le Mentier. He found her in.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>For Muriel there was just earth—weak +earth—where her ideal had once made +heaven for her.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It is not often we are brought into such +sharp contact with our broken idols; if it +were we should cease to make new ones—and +that would be a loss.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Muriel stood face to face with the knowledge +that she had been a fool—a girl with +a dream—lie—hugged to her heart: and +God help women who have to realize such +dreams in the daylight of facts.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>All she could find to say was that he was +absolutely dead; she had not risen yet to +see her deliverance. If the world had been +empty before, now it was a blank. Those +who die leave a sense of loss, but to know +that one we loved has never lived is the +greatest and most tragic emptiness of all. +Muriel saw failure written over her heart. +There was only one thing left: she fell on +her knees and offered up her failure. So +love passed away from her, but it left her +on her knees.</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER XXXIII</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote20em'> + +<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“The black moments at end, the elements change.”</span></p> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>It</span> was early, and the sunlight with sharp +shadows had a chilly and almost stage +effect. The sky was dazzling over Notre +Dame. Geoffrey Grant sat in the great +church, watching the sunbeams catch up +and glorify the dust. Worshippers and +sightseers slipped in and out, and many +candles gleamed.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The thought of Muriel had driven him +there; and now he was alone with it, he +thought half cynically how many had been +driven there from the effects of unhappy +love affairs, only they had called it aspiration. +He at least was honest with himself; +he knew it was Muriel.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>In his early youth he had been embittered +by a girl. It was the usual story of love +and no money, and the girl had chosen not +to wait. When success and good fortune +came to him, he was indifferent to it. He +treated all women with a sort of good-natured +contempt, thinking them creatures +of diseased nerves and hysterical affections. +Necessary evils distinctly, but of the two +perhaps more evil than necessary. His +sister had been the one exception; he almost +worshipped her. Then came her story. +A crisis which he had passed through, by +an extraordinary power, but once faced, he +had resolutely killed, and hidden all traces +of the past. His sister never knew what +agony she had brought into his life. She +believed that his perceptions were blunted, +instead they were too delicate to be obvious; +he had encased them in reserve, and bore +without wincing because the worst pain +stings into silence. Muriel had been a revelation +to him, her gaiety was so spontaneous, +her brightness so infectious. She had +thrown her life, all dusty and human, into +the glory of the sunbeam, and she was +strong. He had watched her with Jack +Hurstly, and he watched her afterwards. +As a doctor her magnificent healthiness appealed +to him. He could not imagine her +having nervous prostration; as a man he +marvelled at her. She knew that he loved +her, yet she could look him straight in the +eyes and be frankly friendly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It had become the purpose of his life to +strengthen their friendship into something +more. For a long while he had struggled +against it, but it was a passion that found +grace with his whole nature; and, when he +had come to the conclusion that strength lay +in submission, Cynthia needed him, and he +laid down his love and his work to face the +Arch Fear of his life. If Cynthia should +fail!</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The last month had worn lines in his face, +and his keen eyes in repose looked sadder +than ever. He had fought, and the worst +was over; he had watched and fenced, +waited and listened, seized opportunities, +avoided dangers, guided and guarded, and +slaved that Cynthia should be safe and ignorant +of his efforts. He had felt happier +when Launcelot came, and this afternoon +had left her with a mind at rest.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The figure of a woman with a child in +her arms attracted him. She had evidently +come a long way; she was tired and footsore, +and very poorly dressed. He watched her +buy a candle for the Virgin’s shrine and +kneel there till overcome with weariness, +she slept, her head against a pillar, but even +though she slept she clasped the child. He +felt less impatience than usual with the +wasteful, senseless candle-buying, and the +love, the unconscious love of motherhood, +and all things beautiful touched him closely. +After all, he wondered, there was something +strangely more than human in women who +could give so much as Muriel and that +mother. No physical passion could explain +it all—it was so selfless, so extraordinary, so +unnatural in another mood he might have +called it, but here and now “supernatural” +seemed the more fitting word. The baby +stirred in its sleep, and the mother’s eyes +opened watchfully. She changed its position +to a more comfortable one in her arms, +then she made the sign of the Cross on its +forehead, and crossing herself rose to her +feet and left the church. The doctor rose +too, and then, moved by an emotion he +could never account for knelt and prayed. +He smiled a little whimsically to himself. +“Why, I believe I am becoming a Christian,” +he thought. But he had not changed; he +was only beginning to see what all along +the tremendous struggle of his life had been +making him. People who are so much +better than their creeds often wake up to +find their creeds are higher than they +dreamed.</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER XXXIV</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote20em'> + +<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“I shall clasp thee again: and with God be the rest!”</span></p> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>He</span> had found her! He repeated breathlessly +to himself the one great fact. Leslie +Damores had searched all their old haunts +in Paris, had wandered and waited and +watched, and now at last found her in a +great class-room of French students. He +had come as a special favor to the master +in whose studio they worked, and he could +not signal her out for more than a word, but +by a clever clumsiness he knocked over her +drawing-board. As he picked it up and +gave it to her all the great unspoken things +passed between them. It proved the +mocking inadequacy of words that all he +could say was “When may I see you?” and +that she could only answer “After the +class.” The first blessed moment had gone, +general criticisms had to be given, and +French and English art discussed. An +hour passed interminably; he could not always +stand where the glint of red gold hair +made of the studio a new heaven and a new +earth. Then in a blessed skirmish of conflicting +drawing-boards and parting chatter +the class broke up, and somehow the master +and the pupil found themselves once more +in the streets of Paris, or the new Jerusalem. +There was at that moment ridiculously +little in a name. Their thoughts +were only a happy chaos, and he could do +nothing but repeat the only fact that +mattered.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I have found you at last,” he said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I don’t believe you ought to have looked +for me,” she replied gravely, for she was +afraid.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What made you run away, Cynthia?” +he asked. She could give him any reason +but the right one. She chose to deny +the charge.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I didn’t run away,” she said; “I merely +wanted to come to Paris.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Then why shouldn’t I look for you?” +cried Leslie triumphantly; “I merely +wanted to come too.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I don’t know where we are going to,” +said Cynthia, looking at him to see if he was +much altered.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I don’t think it in the least matters +providing we go there together,” laughed +Damores. “As it happens, here’s a cemetery; +shall we go in and look at the tombstones?” +Cynthia laughed as well. It was +too absurd to think of death. There were +lines in his face; he must have missed her a +good deal. They went into the cemetery +together. A husband who had come to put +some flowers on the grave of his dead wife +thought them heartless. They were not +heartless, they were only too happy to remember +they had hearts at all.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Now you have come, what are you going +to do?” she asked at last. She could not +meet his eyes now; the things they meant +cried too loudly for an answer.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I am going to marry you,” he replied +smiling, “if you’ll let me. I don’t think anything +else matters just at present.” Cynthia +felt the color in great rebellious waves sweep +over her face. She looked with unseeing +eyes at the wreaths of absurdly artificial +flowers.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Do you fully realize what that means, +Leslie?” she asked. “Can you face everything—everything?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Everything! everything!” said Leslie +quietly, “with you; without you I cannot +live my life. You are the best of everything +I do. You never came to see my picture—it +would have told you all. Once I made a +tremendous mistake. It seems a crime +when I look back. There is only one thing +that can ever wipe it out. Cynthia, is it too +late to ask you to be my wife, and overlook +the past?” She could not speak, her heart +thundered, and seemed to shake the ground +she stood on.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>God had given her a tremendous reward, +a gift unspeakable after she had renounced +what had been to her the very hope of joy, +and from the lips of the man she loved +pardon and oblivion swept her sin into the +free, pure waters of love. She lifted up her +eyes to him that he might read there all her +heart and soul his eternally and for ever. +For a long while silence came down and +covered them. They turned at last, and +slowly and without speaking left the place +of tombs—the acre of God’s sleeping ones. +The man who had been stung by their +laughter, seeing their faces again, recalled +his injury. “After all,” he thought, “they +had their business here.” And he was +right, for love and death live in no separate +houses.</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER XXXV</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote20em'> + + + <div class='poetry-container' style=''> + <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> +<div class='stanza-outer'> +<div class='stanza-inner'> +<p class='line0'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“A man’s reach should exceed his grasp.”</span></p> +<p class='line0' style='text-align:right;margin-right:0em;'>—<span class='sc'><span style='font-size:smaller'>Robert Browning.</span></span></p> +</div> +</div> +</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Gladys</span> was desperately unhappy. She +had got what she wanted, and that, unfortunately, +is frequently what follows. +The unscrupulous get much, but they lose +more; and Gladys, who had won her heart’s +desire, sitting in a beautifully furnished +room before the photograph of the husband +she adored, was weeping bitterly. +From the first day of their marriage jars +had arisen. He was hopelessly selfish +about his personal comforts, but he had a +certain tremendous code of honor of the +sort that abhors a lie and connives at a +betrayal. Gladys was given to frequent +fibbing. He had been disgusted, and +had not hidden it; she had been spiteful +and pointedly malicious. Little bitter unspoken +things rose up as their eyes met. +Their honeymoon had not been a success. +(An exacting woman and a selfish man +should avoid honeymoons.)</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Their home-coming was scarcely more so. +They were both very extravagant in different +directions, and they had no patience for +each other’s extravagances and no self-denial +for their own; they were weak and +obstinate over trifles. Gladys was extremely +demonstrative and fond of talking; +Jack cared very little for outward expressions +of feeling, and preferred women who +could hold their tongues. He was perfectly +frank, and paid all his compliments to other +women. Gladys lived on admiration, and +if she could not get it from the man who +ought to give it to her, she would try to +draw it from the man who would. She +found this very easy. A good many of her +husband’s brother officers admired her, and +one of them, a Major Kennedy, frequently +told her so.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She was crying bitterly now over a note +that lay on her lap. It was an invitation to +a dinner from Edith le Mentier to meet +Major Kennedy. It mentioned her husband +in a way that brought the angry color to +her cheeks. She was beginning to understand, +and the tears dried. She thought +of what Major Kennedy had said of the +way to treat husbands: “Give ’em a little +wholesome indifference, and look round +you; that’s the way to whistle ’em back!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>After all, a woman might have a good deal +of fun without any harm coming from it. +Lots of married women did. Look at Edith +le Mentier for instance—hateful thing! Yet +no one could doubt that her husband was +devoted to her—and other women’s husbands +too! Her eyes flashed as she thought +of Jack. She stamped her foot. “I’ll pay +them both out!” she cried, and she accepted +Edith le Mentier’s “delightful invitation.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Muriel called on Mrs. Hurstly later in the +season. There was a moment’s silence as +the two women met. The room so daintily +and beautifully furnished seemed filled with +memories. Their eyes were drawn together +to the photograph of Jack Hurstly in uniform. +It was a curious coincidence that he +had given to his wife the very photograph +Muriel had returned to him. It was the +only copy. Muriel withdrew her hand and +sat down with her back to the photograph.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“And are you going to live in London?” +she asked Gladys, studying the girl’s face, +the defiant sad eyes and peevish mouth, the +fretful restlessness of the dainty figure. +Pity was killing the last traces of her disappointment +in her. Gladys returned her +gaze curiously; she was thinking how becoming +black was to Muriel.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, yes!” she said; “I suppose we shall +practically live here. I hate the country, +you know, except for house-parties, and +Jack’s estate is particularly dreary, I think. +I hate ‘estates,’ they’re like appropriated +pews, one always wants to sit somewhere +else! Have you given up your club craze +yet? Your uncle’s death must have made a +lot of difference to you?” Muriel smiled.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“If you mean am I horribly rich? I’ll +admit it, but it will make the ‘club craze’ +flourish more than ever, I expect. I have +bought up three houses in Stepney and +turned them into one for a settlement of +workers. I am making arrangements now +to enlarge the club, and in two or three +weeks I shall go back to it.” There was a +slight pause. Gladys played with some +violets in a stand. “Are you quite happy?” +said Muriel at last very gently. “I hope, +dear, you are quite happy?” It appeared +to Gladys absurd to suppose she could +possibly mean it, yet the tone sounded +sincere.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Happy?—of course we are! Why we +have only been married a few months, and +Jack has discovered I wear my own hair +and keep my own complexion, and I am +reassured as to the harmlessness of his +habits and the extent of his income. What +more can one ask?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Those in themselves might add to your +unhappiness if you were so already, but +they could scarcely succeed in <span class='it'>making</span> you +happy, I am afraid,” said Muriel quietly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Wouldn’t <span class='it'>you</span> be happy with—Jack?” +questioned Gladys. Sorrow, if it doesn’t +increase tenderness, tends to brutality. +Muriel met her eyes calmly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No,” she said slowly, “I do not think I +should be quite happy—with Jack.” She +did not refer to their broken engagement. +Gladys expected her to, and was touched.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It was horrid of me to say that,” she +said, “if you still care for him, and rude of +me if you don’t.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I don’t think you either rude or horrid,” +said Muriel quietly, “only not quite happy. +I am very sorry for you, dear, because, +though I don’t care for Jack as I did, he +made me very miserable once.” Gladys +pulled two violets to pieces on her lap. +Muriel shivered; she hated wanton destruction +of anything, and she loved flowers.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I have behaved very badly to you,” said +Gladys at last in a low voice. “It was I +that helped Edith le Mentier make trouble +between you and Jack.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You loved him so?” asked Muriel gently. +Gladys burst into tears.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I don’t know why you should treat me +like this,” she sobbed, “for I did my best to +ruin your life, and I would again to get—Jack!” +Muriel took her in her arms; all +her old love and pity returned to her.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It would make no difference to me if +you did,” said Muriel; “I should only be +sorry for you. Tell me what’s the matter?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“He doesn’t care! he doesn’t care!” she +wailed. “I don’t believe he ever did, and +now he’s gone back to that hateful woman +again. Why shouldn’t <span class='it'>I</span> amuse myself if I +want to? He doesn’t love me, and—and +other people do!” Muriel’s face grew stern +with pain. If she had wished for revenge +it was at her feet, but with all her soul she +sorrowed for the wreckage of two lives.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I don’t think you are quite yourself,” +she said. “If you love Jack, you know he +is the only other person there is. He must +have cared for you as well, or he wouldn’t +have married you, dear. So put the other +people quite away, and smile, and wear your +prettiest clothes. You will find Mrs. le +Mentier quite a secondary consideration. +Why, she isn’t even pretty! Jack only +goes to see her because you won’t be nice +to him. Now have you been quite nice to +him? Given up yourself in all the little +ways, that he might give himself up to +you in the great ways? Remember men +are like children: you must put their toys +away, and bring them out again at the right +times, and not fret them about unnecessary +things. Now, put on some of the dear violets +and come home to tea with me!” Gladys +looked at her suspiciously. Muriel laughed. +“There’s nothing I want to get out of you!” +she cried; “and you are no use to me whatever. +<span class='it'>Now</span>, will you come?” Gladys had +the grace to blush; an impulse to trust the +girl she had wronged moved her. She gave +her a letter to read and went out of the +room to get her things on. Muriel read +the letter standing, then she went to the +window and sat down.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She felt very tired. It is not so much of +a surprise to find the outwardly barbarous +with angel hearts, as to see the delicate and +finished products of a noble civilization +inwardly corrupt. The letter was from +Major Kennedy. There are times when +conditional immortality seems the only safeguard +of heaven. Muriel felt too miserable +almost to breathe. There come moments +in the brightest lives of blank depression. +The greatest effort she ever made was to +take Gladys back to tea with her. That +evening Jack Hurstly dined at home, and +his wife burned an unanswered letter.</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER XXXVI</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote20em'> + +<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“There is still sun on the wall.”</span></p> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'>“<span class='sc'>So</span> Launcelot is to go to school, and +Cynthia is to be married, and you are to be +left all alone?” asked Muriel smiling as she +handed Geoff a cup of tea. She had handed +him a good many cups of tea since he had +been back in England.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I am to be left all alone,” repeated the +doctor, looking at her steadily.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I have been practically alone ever since +I can remember,” said Muriel suddenly, +“but I have seldom been lonely. In fact +I often think it is only the people who +don’t live alone who <span class='it'>are</span> lonely. They are +always trying to be understood, to break +through barriers and live on a common +level, and there’s no such chance, for the +more one shares the little things the more +pitilessly isolated the big things make us. +It is so dreadfully inadequate that tantalizing +partial help one gets from others.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“There I think you are wrong,” he said +looking quietly across at her. “It’s the +whole loaf theory you’re defending. You +might just as well say a man had better +have no legs than one, or could be as active +without a crutch as with one, simply because +he can’t be very active anyway. +We all want what help we can get, and it +is not the least necessary for people to +understand us to help us. Children are the +greatest help. People who know that we +want the moon may be wise enough to tell +us it is only a worn-out world of rocks, but +people who can’t fathom our desires can +still help us by telling us it is beautiful. +It is one of the first lessons doctors learn +to help patients to help themselves. In +fact it is the greatest good we or anybody +else can do.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yet you don’t say that the most ignorant +doctors are the best?” she prevaricated.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No! because sympathy of that kind +without knowledge is sympathy without +a backbone. Physical cases require the +definite as a foundation, but when one deals +with the invisible, love comes first, not +knowledge. Ignorant mothers mean more +to their children than thoughtful scholars +could—even if they do slap them occasionally. +A man or woman without a home, +if they have no jars and frets, must miss +the influence of it, and feel the horrible +loneliness of life.” He so intensely meant +what he said that Muriel felt she had been +flippant, and yet his seriousness made her +long to be more so.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Birds who sit on telegraph wires, and +can fly away from the line of communication +whenever they want to, are more to +my liking,” she said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You forget that the birds have nests,” +suggested the doctor smiling.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“And you that we don’t have wings,” +sighed Muriel. “And we can’t change our +mates every spring; when we choose we +choose for life, expecting the better—and +getting the worst!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Not always,” said Geoff quietly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Muriel felt angry; she could not tell +why. She had never talked in this strain +before; she felt vicious with the universe, +and its representative opposite her made +her worse; besides she had just been to +see Gladys.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“If there was an alternative we would +take it,” she said. “But half of us women +are brought up in such a lackadaisical way +that there’s no use for us. When we have +brains and opportunity we are generally +physically handicapped. People don’t cut +the woman who works now—they shrug +their shoulders at her, and that’s worse! As +for resources (they advise resources, you +know, after one’s reached twenty-six), they +are an outlet for wasted powers, a puny outlet, +a mere compromise with failure! Oh! +I’ve seen it again and again, dozens of times, +capable, efficient girls brought up to be perfectly, +daintily useless! After the schoolroom +is over they get a dress allowance—and +practise on the piano. Their heads +must be full of something, so then come the +rubbish—heaps of life, silly curates, silly +extravagances, or piteously futile old maidhood! +They keep us from being trained +for anything else because they want us to +marry, but all the other trainings help +towards that the more one learns the more +fit one is to teach. Self-reliance, good judgment +and a sense of proportion are not out +of place in a wife, and motherhood is only a +word without them.” The doctor laughed.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Train your enterprising exceptions,” he +said; “perhaps in time they’ll give the +average woman a lift, but I don’t go all the +way with you by any means. You over-estimate +women because of one or two +women you have met who stand mentally +above their race. Average women at present +haven’t brains enough to seize opportunities +or to apply sensible educations. Domesticities +or resources, and a silly curate or +two, are just what they can appreciate, and +good, solid hard work what they wish to +avoid. I don’t say women lack brains, but +as a rule they lack depth and continuity. +They have very little of the mental soundness, +even the clever ones, that the average +man has as a matter of course. They don’t +concentrate, and they’re altogether too +personal to make much headway in the +professions. You needn’t look as if you +wished to annihilate me, Miss Muriel—I’ve +no doubt you could—but I believe it to be +a fact that women as a whole haven’t got +physical or intellectual stamina enough for +public life, and all the education and +opportunities in the world will never give +it to them!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“But we’re only beginning,” cried Muriel. +“See how far we’ve got already.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“That’s the worst argument you have +got against you,” said the doctor smiling. +“You are <span class='it'>too</span> quick to be natural; you +work in spurts with reactions—growth, <span class='it'>real</span> +growth, is a much slower affair. But even +granting you that you have been kept back, +you simply can’t be <span class='it'>more</span> mentally than you +have physical strength for, and as long as +you are labelled women, you’ll be labelled +<span class='it'>weak</span>.” Muriel laughed.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You sound so horribly sensible,” she +said, “and you leave us no power!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Ah! there you’re mistaken,” said the +doctor. “All your strength (and Heaven +knows you’ve got enough!) lies in weakness! +When we come to the bottom of it, emotion +rules the world, and woman is queen of the +emotions.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, doctor! doctor!” cried Muriel with +uplifted hands. “Principles! principles!” +Geoff smiled grimly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Ah! principles,” he said; “they are very +good things for theories, and they act as a +drug on the passions—but sometimes they +don’t act! Good-bye, Miss Muriel, my principles +warn me of my office hour.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Muriel let him go willingly. She felt +absurd, snubbed, dissatisfied. She wanted +some one to look at her as Jack had looked, +with those adoring, humble eyes, and to +listen to her as Jack had listened passionately +sympathetic, and ready to agree with +her that two blacks make the loveliest white +in the world. She hated herself for being +so rubbed up the wrong way; and in one +breath accused Dr. Grant of being rude, and +herself of being ridiculous. Finally she decided +that neither of these things had anything +to do with it, but that she was upset +about Gladys.</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER XXXVII</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote20em'> + +<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“The Devil drove the woman out of Paradise; but not +even the Devil could drive Paradise out of the woman.”</span></p> + +<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:1em;margin-top:0.2em;'><span style='font-size:smaller'>—<span class='sc'>George Macdonald.</span></span></p> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'>“<span class='sc'>The</span> worst of being unusual,” said Edith +le Mentier to Jack as he talked with her +under the cover of loud, unmeaning drawing-room +music, “is—that’s it’s so common. +Really you know it’s ridiculous running +away. Everybody does it!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Still you know one can’t come back +again—one’s got to count the cost,” he said +looking at her anxiously.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She had made him think he cared a good +deal for her, and she cared desperately for +him. He did not realize how much—it was +her greatest victory that he didn’t. She +trembled at even feeling his eyes on her, his +presence near her.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I feel such a brute,” he said, “leaving +Gladys.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Brutes can’t live with fools,” said Edith +le Mentier. “I like—brutes,” she added +under her breath. Then she looked at him. +“I don’t see the necessity for you to leave—Gladys,” +she said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The music stopped with a crash. The +hostess cried, “Oh, how delicious! Thank +you! And <span class='it'>which</span> of the dear old masters +was that?” The conversation leaped joyously +into freedom.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Jack felt the room and the plants and the +beautiful dresses whirl round him like a +dream.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“But,” he said, “I’m not that sort of a +man.” He had risen to the very height +of his standard. Edith understood instantly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I mean,” she said gently and sadly, “we +might never see each other again.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Edith! Edith!” he said; “not that, my +darling!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Remember where you are,” she said in +an undertone. “They’re going to ask me +to sing,” she added. “Come to me to-morrow.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I wish you would tell me if you mean to +trust me!” he pleaded.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She shrugged her shoulders; they were +very pretty ones; then she sang. They had +nothing there she knew but Gounod’s +“There is a green hill far away.” And so +she sang that. She sang it beautifully.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Gladys was sitting up for him, she had had +a headache and could not accompany him. +She always had a headache if there was the +chance of her meeting Edith le Mentier. She +had dressed very sweetly to welcome him, +and looked very young and pathetic. It +was so late that he scolded her for sitting up +for him, but she told him she had something +special to say, and took him into the library, +shutting the door. The fire gleamed cheerily, +and Jack, as he leaned back in a big +arm-chair, and looked at the pretty, eager +face opposite him, felt more of a brute than +ever.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I have had Muriel with me all the afternoon,” +she began nervously, “and she made +me promise to talk it all over frankly with +you. She’s been so good to me, Jack!—and +I told her that I would——” She hesitated, +and looked at the fire.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He could see that her lips trembled, and +a sudden longing to take her in his arms +and comfort her came over him, as he had +done one short year ago in the Indian garden. +But he did not—it was some time +since he had done so. And there was this +evening’s terrible barrier in between.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Do you know, Jack, we haven’t been +married quite a year, and yet we aren’t very +happy, are we? I’m afraid I have been +terribly to blame, Jack. I wanted to tell +you so long ago, but you didn’t—didn’t +seem to care a bit. Then you began to see +such a lot of that horrible woman, and I +hated that, and I thought I hated you! +People told me I ought to amuse myself, and +that there were other men besides neglectful +husbands—and Major Kennedy, he’s a great +friend of yours, and he came so often to the +house—and you never seemed to care. Indeed, +I don’t believe you ever took the +trouble to find out, and I was very miserable +and silly! I daresay being miserable should +have made me wise, but you were the highest +thing I loved, and <span class='it'>still</span> love, Jack, and +you didn’t care!” She paused a moment, +catching her breath, and he grew white in a +sudden agony of fear and pain.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He had lived with this woman—she was +his wife! He had married her a young, +untried girl, and he had given her the key +to all the dangers, and left her to face them +alone. He dared not interrupt her, and so +he waited, fearing each heavy, silent moment +as it passed.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I wanted love, and he—he said he loved +me, Jack! Ah! don’t speak! I was a fool +and worse! but indeed I didn’t understand, +and then—Muriel came,”—he drew +in a deep breath, it might have been a +sob of relief,—“and I tried to be different. +Do you remember that night, two weeks +ago, when you came in late and I kissed +you, and you—laughed at me? Oh, Jack, +how it hurt me! And then the next day +he told me he would sell his soul for a kiss. +Perhaps he didn’t mean anything, but you +had gone to tea with Edith le Mentier, and +I—let him, Jack!” He started forward, +but she stopped him by a gesture. “Wait +till I finish, please,” she said. “Then I +understood, and I sent him away, and cried +all the afternoon. He wanted me to run +away with him, and I was weak and +frightened. I don’t know what I should +have done if it hadn’t been for Muriel. +You said I wasn’t truthful, so I want to be +quite truthful now. I think if it hadn’t +been for Muriel I should have gone. I +wanted to hurt your pride if I couldn’t win +your love; but Muriel stood by me, and +wouldn’t let me go. She told me what to +say to Major Kennedy. I’m not sure—but +I believe she said something to him herself—anyway +he went off somewhere at once. +Oh, Jack, <span class='it'>can’t</span> you love me! can you ever +be good to me again?” She lifted up her +arms towards him, with the tears rolling +down her cheeks. She was weak and irresolute, +vain and foolish, but he had done +nothing to help her, yet she had gone +through what had defeated him, and she +was asking him whether he could forgive +her! “I loved you, Jack,” she cried piteously; +“I loved you all the time! And it’s +all over now for ever and ever!” The color +rushed into her face and a new look came +into her eyes—a look he did not understand.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Why do you say it’s all over?” he asked +dully. “It may happen again.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“It will never come again,” she said, “because—oh, +Jack, I—I’m afraid, but I’m +very glad too—it’s always so wonderful, and +don’t you understand?” she covered her +face with her hands, “I am going to be—the +mother of your child!” At last it +came to him, and for ever killed the irresponsibility +of love’s selfishness. He took +her now in his arms, he dared to do so, +because now for him too the other was all +over. She was helpless and clinging, she +was his wife, and she was going into the +valley of the shadow of death because +she loved him. “Oh, Jack, will you forgive?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Forgive you!” he cried, and tried to explain +to her how sorry he was, how much to +blame, and how glad at last that they both +of them understood, and how now it would +all be different—so wonderfully different! +But he did not tell her about Edith le +Mentier.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>When she was safe in bed he wrote to the +other woman, and hurt her very bitterly. +The other woman, for all her faults, is very +often brave, and Edith le Mentier suffered +horribly; but she bore the great defeat, and +was only a very little irritable the next +morning. She did not sing Gounod’s +song again; she said it was scarcely +suitable.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She always shrugged her shoulders and +smiled when people mentioned Jack’s wife, +and when they spoke of him she said “Poor +fellow!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Who could tell that those were the figures +of the sum called tragedy? Not the tragedy +of the true-hearted who see through pain +the vista of glory, but that inordinate agony +which because it is so solely selfish eats into +the heart that bears it, and for the vista +substitutes a <span class='it'>cul-de-sac</span>.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Jack and Gladys went to his estate in the +country, where they spent some bad hours, +and learned lessons of tolerance. It was, +fortunately for Jack, the hunting season, +and he rode hard to hounds. Gladys cultivated +the country people, read a great deal, +and took an intelligent interest in Jack’s +“runs.” At the end of the time they could +live together quite comfortably, and avoided +the unendurable with the ready forbearance +of quite long married people. The knowing +what to avoid is the key to most things, +though it is often difficult to turn.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>A son was born to them, making Jack +a proud father, and consequently a good +husband. And Gladys found a life more +engrossing than her own. She wrote and +asked Muriel to stand godmother.</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER XXXVIII</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote20em'> + +<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“Life’s business being just the terrible choice.”</span></p> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>There</span> was trouble at Shindies Alley, not +that there was anything unusual in that! +For it was a place where trouble was the +commonplace, and what the comfortable +call tragedy almost a nursery rule. Only +the trouble was worse than usual, amounting +to the prospect of the police and a possible +murder case in the papers. “Rough +Tom” being not quite so drunk as usual had +beaten his wife nearly to death, a thing he +had done before, but never quite so effectually. +It was better, the neighbors thought, +to send a boy to the doctor’s, he and the +lady at the club had been there before. +This time the doctor arrived first. “Rough +Tom” was off, no one of course knew where. +All denied any knowledge of him, though +exultingly willing to report any unnecessary +and loathsome details of the row. +The doctor dismissed the crowd curtly. +They vanished silently into dark holes and +corners.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was a cold night. The children sharing +the den where their mother lay cursing and +groaning cried dismally. They also cried +loudly; it seemed worth while with both a +row and a doctor. Geoff despatched them +to a neighbor’s across the passage, and +examined the woman by a guttering candle. +She swore horribly, but she was too much +engrossed with pain to be afraid; she was +also anxious to explain that it was not her +man’s fault but another woman’s, whom she +called by a variety of names. She was too +ill to be moved, and the doctor began with +steady gentleness to dress the wounds. He +needed a nurse, but he had no time to send +for one. The case was urgent. We fight +as earnestly for the most apparently useless +lives as for the dearest, yet we cannot +believe that God has as high a respect +for the ultimate fate of the crushed soul’s +life as we have to keep breath in a ruined +body.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was the doctor’s profession, but it was +that least of all that made him fight for her. +He looked up and saw Muriel at the door. +He felt intensely angry that she should +know such a place existed.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I should advise you to go away,” he said +coldly. Muriel looked up for a moment, +simply astonished, then she advanced towards +him and the heap of rags.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I am going to help you,” she said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You are only in the way,” he replied +grimly, not raising his eyes from the patient. +“I want a nurse, not—a young lady.” The +last words might have been an insult. She +flushed angrily.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I can hold her for you,” she said; “I +am not afraid.” It was necessary to have +some help.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You will faint?” he questioned incredulously.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“No, Dr. Grant, I shall not!” said Muriel. +He knew by her tone that she was very +angry.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, then, don’t waste any more time,” +was his only reply.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>In another moment she was down on her +knees, obeying short, imperious orders. Dr. +Grant never left much to the initiative of his +nurses. The sight was almost more repulsive +than she could bear. She wanted to +cover her face with her hands instead of using +them on the awful crushed form. She +wanted to scream at the woman’s pain, to +rage at the doctor’s cruelty, to fly from this +whole world of constant reiterated woe; but +she was far too angry even to let her hands +tremble. At last she felt that her strength +was going; she turned white, cold perspiration +stood on her forehead. The doctor +glanced at her sharply, and then—he +laughed. The hot blood rushed to her +heart; she grew rigid now, but not with fear; +the noise in her ears ceased. She heard +every word he said, anticipated every need, +and had not reached the limit of her strength +when the doctor released her.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“The morphia will keep her quiet till +morning,” he said. “You’d better go +home.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Will she live?” she asked him.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Unfortunately—yes,” said Geoff. “Women +of that sort generally do—to be beaten +again!” They went in silence to the door. +Muriel was quite certain now that she disliked +him.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Geoff left a few parting directions to a +reluctant, but almost entirely sober, neighbor. +When they were in the street Muriel +waited for him to explain; but he did not +explain. It was a habit of his not to, +possibly owing to his professional desire to +steer clear of the definite. Muriel was too +astonished, hurt and indignant to remain +silent for long. She stopped.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Good-night, Dr. Grant,” she said with +an icy formality. The doctor’s eyes twinkled.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What’s the matter?” he asked. She +looked at him with a searching angry glance.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Your manner has not pleased me to-night,” +she replied quietly; “I should prefer +to return alone.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I am sorry if I have displeased you, +Miss Dallerton,” said Geoff with his mouth +ominously twitching. Was it imaginable +that she couldn’t see he wanted to kiss +her? As she stood there, aggrieved, defiant, +serious, her eyes like two points of light +under her heavy hair, the bright color in her +cheeks, the whole daring absurdity of <span class='it'>her</span> +seriously facing life there in a horrible alley +instead of the delicate luxury of a West-End +drawing-room, he could have laughed at the +inappropriateness of it. “It’s too cold for +an apology,” he ventured more gravely. “I +will see you about this later, if I may. +Please let me see you home first.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She did not want to seem girlishly tempestuous, +so she assented to his last request, +but in bitter silence walked with him to the +club. She did not give him her hand as he +said “Good-night.” She wanted tremendously +to refuse to allow him to call, to cut +short their acquaintance, to never set eyes +on him again. But she felt an absurd desire +to cry brought on by the physical strain of +the past two hours, so that she said nothing.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Yet when she was in her room she would +not cry. She forced the tears back, and +remembered how he had laughed at her! +The utter careless brutality of his whole +behavior! And Cynthia could be so foolish +as to imagine he cared for her! She herself +had never for an instant dreamed it—she +refused to admit it—it was impossible! It +never occurred to her in the least that Geoff +had been trying to rouse her courage +through opposition, and to control his own +too tender feelings by a mask of rudeness. +Even if it had occurred to her she would +probably have been just as angry, for what +she was really indignant with was his +strength and her weakness, and she could +find no excuses for that.</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER XXXIX</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote20em'> + + + <div class='poetry-container' style=''> + <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> +<div class='stanza-outer'> +<p class='line0'>                 <span style='font-size:smaller'>“The best</span></p> +<p class='line0'><span style='font-size:smaller'>Impart the gift of seeing to the rest.”</span></p> +</div> +</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>The</span> studio lamps made cheerful colors in +the right places, and Cynthia feeling the +world as far as she was concerned in her +lap, in the shape of a baby boy, round and +fair with undecided features, felt that life +had brought its own rewards, richly, wonderfully. +She was almost afraid, she was so +happy, with the fear of those who have gone +into the darkness, and dreamt only of the +light. Leslie Damores was painting her +again, but the face was different. It was +called “Motherhood,” and it told of the +great need satisfied. Muriel was coming in +to see the picture. The studio door opened +and a woman come into the room; she was +little, and French, and beautifully dressed. +She advanced towards Cynthia with a little +cry; then she laughed.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Why, Cynthia, you’ve got a baby! I +told them to let me come right up. I was +an old friend, and I just had to come. Oh, +there’s your husband!” She turned with +another rapid laugh towards Leslie. He was +looking bravely at his wife, whose face was +strained and anxious; the woman seemed +evidently nervous too.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, you’re very silent you two,” she +cried defiantly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What do you want?” said Cynthia +coldly. “I thought you had gone away.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“And so I did, and I’ve come back. +Clifton died, and I married again. Did you +know it?—an American too—and he didn’t +give me any peace till I promised to get +Launcelot. We Americans seem to have +such horrid consciences.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You never had, had you?” said Cynthia +quietly. The woman looked angry, then +she laughed.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well, I guess you’re about right—I +never had much trouble that way; but +when Sam Hicks wanted Launcelot I felt it +would be right sweet to take him back with +us to America, and I had the greatest time +finding your address. You’re fixed up real +genteel, Mr. Damores; I should think you +must have made painting pay. And is +that Cynthia’s picture? How perfectly +lovely!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Mrs. Hicks,” said Cynthia slowly—“I +think I understood you to say that was +your husband’s name—when you let me +take Launcelot three years ago I had no +idea you would ever claim him again. He +has just gone to school here in England. He +is very happy——” Cynthia’s voice broke. +“Oh, why do you want him again?” she +cried—“it’s cruel.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I am going to have my boy,” said Mrs. +Hicks raising her voice. “I tell you——”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“A moment,” Leslie Damores broke in. +“You were last heard of running away with +a French Count. Do you think you are a +fit person to take care of a child?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Why, how dare you?” she cried, facing +him with frightened rage; “I declare I +never heard the like! I’ll have you up for +libel, Mr. Leslie Damores; and, as for you, +Mrs. Leslie Damores——”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I am speaking for my wife, and you may +speak to me,” said Leslie, “otherwise you +leave the room.” Mrs. Hicks began to cry.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“And to think that I am respectably +married and everything. But that’s what +it is, a poor woman must always suffer +for her mistakes, while as for you—you can +have as many of them as you like, and +you’re none the worse for them!” She +stopped again; their silence checked her, +she felt hushed by their quiet contempt; and +yet, angrier than ever, “I’m the boy’s +mother,” she said turning to Cynthia; “how +would you like to have your child taken +from you?” Cynthia looked helplessly at +her husband; the woman had touched the +right plea; she was the boy’s mother.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You shall see Launcelot to-morrow, Mrs. +Hicks,” said Leslie, “and by that time I +shall have inquired into your case, and if +your assertions are true as to your husband +and his means of support we will consider +the matter. Meanwhile there is nothing +more to be said, and if you will allow me +I will take you downstairs.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Hicks looked spitefully at Cynthia, +but Leslie’s face checked her—the baby had +begun to cry. She flung up her head and +left the room. The baby had gone, and +Cynthia was crying alone in the studio +when he came back. He took her in his +arms.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, Leslie,” she moaned, “he meant +everything to us, dear little fellow. Do you +remember he made me good again, and he +found you for me? Leslie, I can’t let him +go back to her. She left him so cruelly. +He is mine, darling—tell me I needn’t let +him go—he’s such a delicate little fellow. +Oh, I can’t! I can’t!” He stroked her hair; +she had never cried since her marriage.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Dearest, we will leave it to him. She +is his mother—we mustn’t forget that. She +has some claim on him, after all.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You could threaten to tell her husband +about—about the Count,” she whispered.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Oh, no, no, no,” said Leslie gently.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I didn’t mean it, dear—I didn’t mean +it,” she sobbed afresh.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I will go and bring Launcelot,” he said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Isn’t that baby crying?” It was not +baby crying, but she turned and fled upstairs.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“After all,” said Leslie thoughtfully, +“she’s not Launcelot’s mother.” Then he +went out.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Muriel came in to find the studio empty +of everything but the great picture of +“Motherhood.” The woman holding Paradise +in her arms stung her to the quick with +her expression of ineffable content. She +was not looking at the child in her arms. +She was holding it too close to need the +reassurance of a glance; she was looking +across the child with all the loves in her +eyes, steady and beautiful and bright, eyes +too happy to smile. Muriel knew suddenly +that it was the way Cynthia looked at her +husband. She did not wish to see them +then, so slowly she let the curtain down +before the picture and crept softly out of +the room. But the woman’s eyes followed +her home, and when she was in the club and +back in her room she saw them still. They +seemed to have a quiet wonder in them that +any woman could ever dream that there was +any other happiness than that.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Something is surely wrong when one +begins to count up one’s blessings,” said +Muriel. “My life is full—full of everything +I want!” But as she looked defiantly in +the glass she saw she had not got the +woman’s look in her eyes.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Launcelot and Leslie walked hand in hand +very solemnly home through the streets of +London. Leslie had been trying to explain. +Launcelot’s little face was very white, but +he would not cry.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Do you think—do you think I ought to +leave you and Lady Beautiful and—and +baby?” he asked wistfully.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“She is your mother, dear boy, and she +wants you very much,” said Leslie reproaching +himself for the coldness in his voice.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“And are mothers everything?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Mothers are a very great deal, old +fellow. You see you belong to them—you’re +their very own.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Yes, I suppose so,” said the little fellow +wearily. “Baby is Lady Beautiful’s very +own, and so are you, but I’m not to be any +more.” There was a quiver in his voice. +Leslie pressed his little hand, he felt too +much to speak. “My mother didn’t want +me very much for her very own before, did +she? You see she gave me to Lady +Beautiful.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“She wants you now,” said Damores +hoarsely. They were very near home.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I—I don’t think I want her very much, +you know,” said Launcelot wistfully. “But +they didn’t give me any choice, did they, +when they made me belong to her?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I think they thought she needed you; +you see she has no one else but a new +husband,” Leslie explained.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Then I must go,” said Launcelot as +Leslie opened the door, “because you see a +new husband can’t be much, and a boy who +belongs to you must mean more, I should +think.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I am quite sure that a boy who belongs +to you means much more,” said Leslie kissing +him.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>So it was all settled before Launcelot +ever saw Lady Beautiful. They looked a +little nervously at each other as the door +opened and they saw her sitting by the fire. +She sprang up with a little sudden cry and +her arms held out to him. He had been to +school and knew that fellows never cry, but +he had only just learnt it—and he forgot. +Leslie watched them for a moment sobbing +in each other’s arms. The tenderness and +pity from her new rich store made her seem +more wonderful than ever to him. His +heart ached at their grief, but the woman’s +assertions were true—the child must go. +The inevitable had to him a consolation. He +went and smoked hard in the studio. To +Cynthia it was a cage, and she struggled in +vain against the bars, crying over Launcelot +as he slept at last, with troubled +breathing from his late sobs. But when +the baby cried she went to it again. The +next morning Mrs. Hicks appeared. She was +nervously anxious to please. She called +Launcelot by all the affectionate names +she could think of, but he only looked at +her with half-frightened, wondering eyes.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“And now Launcelot will come with +mother?” she asked at last. He looked +wistfully back at Cynthia and her husband, +his heart breaking. Parting with the baby +had been gone through upstairs. He had +cried till he could cry no more, so he only +looked at them.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I would rather belong to you, Lady +Beautiful,” he whispered, as she put her +arms about him, “much, much rather belong +to you.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She watched him walk with his mother +down the street, her face pressed to the +panes. When he reached the corner he +turned and waved back to her. His +mother gave his arm a little pull, and he +did not turn again. It was the last time +Cynthia ever saw him. He went out of +her life as suddenly and strangely as he +had entered it; but in the meantime the +broken thread had been joined together +again, the dreams she had resolutely crushed +had blossomed in a garden of reality, and +the great power of love had filled up what +had been the emptiness and desolation of +her soul.</p> + +<div><h1>CHAPTER XL</h1></div> + +<div class='blockquote20em'> + +<p class='pindent'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“How Love is the only good in the world.”</span></p> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'>“<span class='sc'>Now</span> I have come to make my apologies, +Miss Dallerton,” said the doctor in a cheery +voice.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was a cold day, and he looked aggressively +warm and reassuring. He never +needed to be made allowances for, and +Muriel could never quite forgive him that. +She had made so many allowances for Jack.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I’m afraid you thought me a little short +with you the other day—in fact, you were +so displeased you had half a mind to walk +through Stepney by yourself—now, hadn’t +you?” he asked smiling.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“You were very rude to me the other +day, Dr. Grant, and though you seem to +take my forgiveness for granted, you have +not yet given me any explanation.” The +doctor laughed, but his eyes grew colder.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well!” he said, “so you won’t forgive +me without?” Muriel frowned.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“If you have a reason I should like to +hear it,” she suggested.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The doctor walked once or twice up and +down the room. She watched him unwillingly; +he had the most splendid shoulders; +she did not think he could be more than +thirty-six. Then he stopped before her chair +and looked at her very gravely. He was so +tall that she felt at a disadvantage; some +instinct made her rise too, and they stood +there face to face, their eyes doing battle. +She looked away at last.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well?” she questioned. She was conscious +that her breath was coming quickly, +and she thanked Heaven she didn’t blush +easily.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I was short to you,” said the doctor +deliberately, “because it seemed to me the +only way of getting help from you. If I +hadn’t made you thoroughly angry you +would probably have fainted.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I should not have fainted,” she said, +her eyes flashing fiercely. She knew she +was not speaking the truth, but it was too +desperately difficult. If she submitted in +one thing, where would they stop? She +was beginning to lose her self-control and +her sense of proportion at the same time. +It is dangerous for a man to lose both, +but it is fatal to a woman to lose +either.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“There was another reason,” said the +doctor slowly. Muriel was silent. “Do +you want to hear it?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“If——” she began icily. “Yes, I may +as well hear it,” she finished in confusion. +She did not want him to think she cared +enough to be angry.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I love you!” he said with the same +quiet deliberation and a pause between +each word, “and it was a little difficult to +let you help in any other way.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The room grew suddenly tense; each +breath was a terrible sword which shook the +universe; there seemed an awful conspiracy +in the room to win some concession; the +very chairs and table seemed to wait and +listen. A hand-organ in the street clanged +them back into facts again. The doctor, +still looking at her, picked up a paper-knife; +Muriel sank back into the chair. There +seemed nothing left in the world to say, +but she felt as if there might be if he would +only keep still a moment.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I am very sorry,” she said at last, and +then she could have bitten her tongue out, +it sounded so commonplace. She noticed +that he was looking suddenly very tired, but +he smiled with grave eyes.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I knew you would be,” he said, “and I +must go and make some calls. But you do +understand now, don’t you?”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I suppose I do,” said Muriel; “but are +you going away?” He almost laughed at +her thoughtlessness.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“Well! yes, Miss Dallerton,” he said; “I +think I must go now.”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Muriel rose to her feet, and a great wave +of desolation swept over her. She stood +there alone, and before her eyes passed +the vision of those who had left her—Alec—Jack—Cynthia—her +uncle. All with +their different lives, their different circles. +And now he was going, the friend who +had made life and her work, her youth +and her beauty so excellently well worth +while—with whom she had argued, quarrelled +and discussed—and he was leaving +her. All of a sudden she knew she could +not bear it—that she, too, needed help and +comfort and sympathy—that though one +may give all and prosper, yet it is blessed to +receive as well. And then he looked so +tired. He was waiting for her to dismiss +him, and he could not understand why she +was keeping him.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I don’t want you to go,” said Muriel at +last. “I’m sure I need you more—more +than the other patients, only you must +learn to ask questions and not to make +assertions only if you want me to be a satisfactory +case!”</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“What made you say that you were +sorry?” he asked her after a long, wonderful +pause.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I was sorry,” she laughed at him, “that +you didn’t tell me so before!”</p> + +<hr class='tbk101'/> + +<p class='pindent'>When Jack heard of her marriage he +shrugged his shoulders. “I always thought +she would run <span class='it'>amôk</span> on some sort of a professional +chap, but I rather thought it +would be a parson,” he said, and thought +how much better she might have done for +herself if she had only known when she had +a good thing.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>“I thought she was cut out for an old +maid,” Edith le Mentier told her friends; +“but those sort of women generally marry +and have fourteen children.”</p> + +<hr class='tbk102'/> + +<p class='pindent'>It mattered very little to Muriel what was +said. She looked at things now with the +eyes of the woman in Damores’ picture; and +she and Geoff having found so much for +themselves were the more anxious to give +their sunshine to the world. They believed +that the purposes of love, in human and +material things, were the channels through +which the spirit finds soaring room—never +apart from earth, but ever nearer heaven.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Their one need left was to join the gospel +of example, which is simply loving everything +for love’s sake, whether it visibly love +back or no. To acquaintances they seemed +to have positively left the world, but they +themselves knew that they had found the +true one.</p> + +<hr class='tbk103'/> + +<p class='line' style='margin-top:2em;font-size:1.1em;font-weight:bold;'>Transcriber’s Notes:</p> + +<p class='noindent'>A few obvious punctuation and typesetting errors have been corrected +without note. Where multiple spellings occur, majority use has been employed.</p> + +<p class='line'> </p> + +<p class='noindent'>A cover has been created for this ebook +and is placed in the public domain.</p> + +<p class='line'> </p> + +<p class='noindent'>[End of <span class='it'>Life, the Interpreter</span> by Phyllis Bottome]</p> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75508 ***</div> + </body> + <!-- created with fpgen.py 4.65 on 2025-03-03 16:29:20 GMT --> +</html> + diff --git a/75508-h/images/cover.jpg b/75508-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3104afe --- /dev/null +++ b/75508-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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