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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78262 ***
+
+
+
+
+                             GIANTS' BREAD
+
+                  A NOVEL OF ROMANCE AND SUSPENSE BY
+                            MARY WESTMACOTT
+                              ALSO KNOWN
+                                  AS
+                            AGATHA CHRISTIE
+
+             Copyright 1930 by Doubleday, Doran & Company
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+                      _Books by Mary Westmacott_
+
+                             GIANTS' BREAD
+                          UNFINISHED PORTRAIT
+                         ABSENT IN THE SPRING
+                       THE ROSE AND THE YEW TREE
+                        A DAUGHTER'S A DAUGHTER
+                              THE BURDEN
+
+
+
+
+                               CONTENTS
+
+
+                               PROLOGUE
+
+                               Book I ABBOTS PUISSANTS
+
+                               Book II NELL
+
+                               Book III JANE
+
+                               Book IV WAR
+
+                               Book V GEORGE GREEN
+
+
+
+
+                             GIANTS' BREAD
+
+
+
+
+                               Prologue
+
+
+It was the opening night of London's new National Opera House and
+consequently an occasion. Royalty was there. The Press were there. The
+fashionable were there in large quantities. Even the musical, by hook
+and by crook, had managed to be there--mostly very high up in the final
+tier of seats under the roof.
+
+The musical composition given was _The Giant_, a new work by a
+hitherto unknown composer, Boris Groen. In the interval after the first
+part of the performance a listener might have collected the following
+scraps of conversation:
+
+"Quite divine, darling." "They say it's simply the--the--_the_
+latest!! Everything out of tune on purpose ... and you have to read
+Einstein in order to understand it...." "Yes, dear, I shall tell
+everyone it's too marvellous. But, privately, it does make one's head
+ache!"
+
+"Why can't they open a British opera house with a decent British
+composer? All this Russian tomfoolery!" Thus a peppery colonel.
+
+"Quite so," drawled his companion. "But, you see, there are no British
+composers. Sad, but there it is!"
+
+"Nonsense--don't tell me, sir. They just won't give them a
+chance--that's what it is. Who is this fellow Levinne? A dirty foreign
+Jew. That's all he is!"
+
+A man near by, leaning against the wall half concealed by a curtain,
+permitted himself to smile--for he was Sebastian Levinne, sole owner of
+the National Opera House, familiarly known by the title of the World's
+Greatest Showman.
+
+He was a big man, rather too well covered with flesh. His face was
+yellow and impassive, his eyes beady and black, two enormous ears stood
+out from his head and were the joy of caricaturists.
+
+The surge of talk eddied past him.
+
+"Decadent ... morbid ... neurotic ... childish...."
+
+Those were critics.
+
+"Devastating ... too divine ... marvellous, my dear...."
+
+Those were women.
+
+"The thing's nothing but a glorified revue." "Amazing effects in the
+second part, I believe. Machinery, you know. This first part, 'Stone,'
+is only a kind of introduction. They say old Levinne has simply gone
+all out over this. Never been anything like it." "Music's pretty weird,
+isn't it?" "Bolshy idea, I believe. Noise orchestras, don't they call
+them?"
+
+Those were young men, more intelligent than the women, less prejudiced
+than the critics.
+
+"It won't catch on. A stunt, thath all. Yet, I don't know--there's a
+feeling for this cubist thtuff." "Levinne's shrewd." "Dropths money
+deliberately thometimes--but getth it back." "Cost...?" The voices
+dropped, hushed themselves mysteriously as sums of money were mentioned.
+
+Those were members of his own race. Sebastian Levinne smiled.
+
+A bell rang--slowly the crowd drifted and eddied back to their seats.
+
+There was a wait, filled with chattering and laughter--then the lights
+wavered and sank. The conductor mounted to his place. In front of him
+was an orchestra just six times as large as any Covent Garden orchestra
+and quite unlike an ordinary orchestra. There were strange instruments
+in it of shining metal like misshapen monsters, and in one corner an
+unaccustomed glitter of crystal. The conductor's baton was stretched
+out, then fell, and immediately there was a low rhythmic beating as of
+hammers on anvils. Every now and then a beat was missed--lost--and then
+came floating back taking its place out of turn, jostling the others.
+
+The curtain rose....
+
+At the back of a box on the second tier Sebastian Levinne stood and
+watched.
+
+This was no opera, as commonly understood. It told no story, featured
+no individuals. Rather was it on the scale of a gigantic Russian
+ballet. It contained spectacular effects. Strange and weird effects
+of lighting--effects that were Levinne's own inventions. His revues
+had for long been proclaimed as the last word in sheer spectacular
+sensation. Into this, more artist than producer, he had put the whole
+force of his imagination and experience.
+
+The prologue had represented Stone--Man's infancy.
+
+This--the body of the work--was a supreme pageant of
+machinery--fantastic, almost awful. Power houses, dynamos, factory
+chimneys, cranes, all merging and flowing. And men--armies of men--with
+cubist robot faces--defiling in patterns.
+
+The music swelled and eddied--a deep sonorous clamour came from the new
+strangely shaped metal instruments. A queer high sweet note sounded
+above it all, like the ringing of innumerable glasses.
+
+There was an Episode of Skyscrapers--New York seen upside down as from
+a circling aëroplane in the early dawn of morning. And the strange
+inharmonious rhythm beat ever more insistently, with increasing
+menacing monotony. It drew on through other episodes to its climax:
+a giant-seeming steel erection--thousands of steel faced men welded
+together into a Giant Collective Man.
+
+The Epilogue followed immediately. There was no interval, the lights
+did not go up.
+
+Only one side of the orchestra spoke. What was called in the new modern
+phrase "the Glass."
+
+Clarion ringing notes.
+
+The curtain dissolved into mist ... the mist parted ... the sudden
+glare made one wish to shield one's eyes.
+
+Ice--nothing but ice ... great bergs and glaciers ... shining.
+
+And on the top immense pinnacle a little figure--facing away from the
+audience toward the insufferable glare that represented the rising of
+the sun....
+
+The ridiculous puny figure of a man.
+
+The glare increased--to the whiteness of magnesium. Hands went
+instinctively to eyes with a cry of pain.
+
+The glass rang out--high and sweet--then crashed--and broke--literally
+broke--into tinkling fragments.
+
+The curtain dropped and the lights rose.
+
+Sebastian Levinne with an impassive face received various
+congratulations and side hits.
+
+"Well, you've done it this time, Levinne. No half measures, eh?"
+
+"A damned fine show, old man. Blessed if I know what it's all about,
+though."
+
+"The Giant, eh? That's true, we live in an age of machinery all right."
+
+"Oh! Mr. Levinne, it's simply too frightening for words! I shall dream
+of that horrid steel Giant."
+
+"Machinery as the Giant that devours, eh? Not far wrong, Levinne. We
+want to get back to Nature. Who's Groen? A Russian?"
+
+"Yes, who's Groen? He's a genius, whoever he is. The Bolshevists can
+boast they've produced one composer at last."
+
+"Too bad, Levinne, you've gone Bolshy. Collective Man. Collective
+Music, too."
+
+"Well, Levinne, good luck to you. Can't say I like this damned
+caterwauling they call music nowadays, but it's a good show."
+
+Almost last came a little old man, slightly bent, with one shoulder
+higher than the other. He said with a very distinct utterance:
+
+"Like to give me a drink, Sebastian?"
+
+Levinne nodded. This little old man was Carl Bowerman, the most
+distinguished of English musical critics. They went together to
+Levinne's own sanctum.
+
+In Levinne's room they settled down in two armchairs. Levinne provided
+his guest with a whisky and soda. Then he looked across at him
+inquiringly. He was anxious for this man's verdict.
+
+"Well?"
+
+Bowerman did not reply for a minute or two. At last he said slowly:
+
+"I am an old man. There are things in which I take pleasure; there
+are other things--such as the music of to-day--which do not give me
+pleasure. But all the same I know genius when I meet it. There are a
+hundred charlatans--a hundred breakers down of tradition who think
+that by doing so they have accomplished something wonderful. And there
+is the hundred and first--a creator, a man who steps boldly into the
+future."
+
+He paused, then went on:
+
+"Yes, I know genius when I meet it. I may not like it--but I
+recognize it. Groen, whoever he is, has genius.... _The music of
+to-morrow...._"
+
+Again he paused, and again Levinne did not interrupt, but waited.
+
+"I don't know whether your venture will succeed or fail. I think
+succeed--but that will be mainly because of your personality. You have
+the art of forcing the public to accept what you want them to accept.
+You have a talent for success. You've made a mystery about Groen--part
+of your press campaign, I suppose."
+
+He looked at Sebastian keenly.
+
+"I don't want to interfere with your press campaign, but tell me one
+thing--Groen's an Englishman, isn't he?"
+
+"Yes. How did you know, Bowerman?"
+
+"Nationality in music is unmistakable. He has studied in the Russian
+revolutionary school, yes--but--well, as I said nationality is
+unmistakable. There have been pioneers before him--people who have
+tried tentatively the things he has accomplished. We've had our English
+school--Holst, Vaughan Williams, Arnold Bax. All over the world
+musicians have been drawing nearer to the new ideal--the Absolute in
+Music. This man is the direct successor of that boy who was killed in
+the war. What was his name? Deyre--Vernon Deyre. He had promise." He
+sighed. "I wonder, Levinne, how much we lost through the war."
+
+"It's difficult to say, sir."
+
+"It doesn't bear thinking of. No, it doesn't bear thinking of." He
+rose. "I mustn't keep you. You've a lot to do, I know." A faint smile
+showed on his face. "_The Giant!_ You and Groen have your little
+joke all to yourselves, I fancy. Everyone takes it for granted the
+Giant is the Moloch of Machinery. They don't see that the real Giant
+is that pigmy figure--man. The individualist who endures through Stone
+and Iron and who, though civilization crumble and die, fights his way
+through yet another Glacial Age to rise in a new civilization of which
+we do not dream."
+
+His smile broadened.
+
+"As I grow older I am more and more convinced that there is nothing so
+pathetic, so ridiculous, so absurd, and so absolutely wonderful as Man."
+
+He paused by the doorway, his hand on the knob.
+
+"One wonders," he said, "what has gone to the making of a thing like
+the Giant? What produces it? What feeds it? Heredity shapes the
+instrument--environment polishes and rounds it off--sex wakens it....
+But there's more than that. There's its food.
+
+    "_Fee, fie, fo, fum,
+    I smell the blood of mortal Man.
+    Be he alive or be he dead,
+    I'll grind his bones to make my bread._
+
+"A cruel giant, genius, Levinne! A monster feeding on flesh and blood.
+I know nothing about Groen, yet I'd swear that he's fed his Giant with
+his own flesh and blood and perhaps the flesh and blood of others
+too.... Their bones ground to make the Giant's bread....
+
+"I'm an old man, Levinne. I have my fancies. We've seen the end
+to-night--I'd like to know the beginning."
+
+"Heredity--environment--sex," said Levinne slowly.
+
+"Yes. Just that. Not that I have any hopes of your telling me."
+
+"You think I--know?"
+
+"I'm sure you know."
+
+There was a silence.
+
+"Yes," said Levinne at last, "I do know. I would tell you the whole
+story if I could ... but I cannot. There are reasons."
+
+He repeated slowly: "There are reasons."
+
+"A pity. It would have been interesting."
+
+"I wonder...."
+
+
+
+
+                                Book I
+
+                           ABBOTS PUISSANTS
+
+
+
+
+                               chapter 1
+
+
+There were only three people of real importance in Vernon's world:
+Nurse, God, and Mr. Green.
+
+There were, of course, the nursemaids. Winnie, the present one, and
+behind her Jane and Annie and Sarah and Gladys. Those were all the ones
+that Vernon could remember, but there were lots more. Nursery maids
+never stayed long because they couldn't get on with Nurse. They hardly
+counted in Vernon's world.
+
+There was also a kind of twin deity called Mummy-Daddy mentioned by
+Vernon in his prayers and also connected with going down to dessert.
+They were shadowy figures, rather beautiful and wonderful--especially
+Mummy--but they again did not belong to the real world--Vernon's world.
+
+The things in Vernon's world were very real indeed. There was the
+drugget on the nursery floor, for instance. It was of green and white
+stripes and rather scrubbly to bare knees, and in one corner of it was
+a hole which Vernon used surreptitiously to make bigger by working
+his fingers round in it. There were the nursery walls where mauve
+irises twined themselves interminably upward round a pattern that was
+sometimes diamonds and sometimes, if you looked at it long enough,
+crosses. That seemed very interesting to Vernon and rather magical.
+
+There was a rocking horse against one wall, but Vernon seldom rode on
+it. There was a basket-work engine and some basket-work trucks which he
+played with a good deal. There was a low cupboard full of more or less
+dilapidated toys. On an upper shelf were the more delectable contents
+that you played with on a wet day or when Nurse was in an unusually
+good temper. The Paint Box was there and the Real Camel Hair Brushes
+and a heap of illustrated papers for Cutting Out. In fact, all the
+things that Nurse said were "that messy she couldn't abear them about."
+In other words, the best things.
+
+And in the centre of this realistic nursery universe, dominating
+everything, was Nurse herself. Person No. 1 of Vernon's Trinity. Very
+big and broad, very starched and crackling. Omniscient and omnipotent.
+You couldn't get the better of Nurse. She knew better than little boys.
+She frequently said so. Her whole lifetime had been spent looking after
+little boys (and incidentally little girls, too, but Vernon was not
+interested in them) and one and all they had grown up to be a Credit
+to her. She said so and Vernon believed her. He had no doubt that he
+also would grow up to be a Credit to her, though sometimes it didn't
+seem likely. There was something awe-inspiring about Nurse, but at the
+same time infinitely comfortable. She knew the answer to everything.
+For instance, Vernon propounded the riddle about the diamonds and the
+crosses on the wall paper.
+
+"Ah! well," said Nurse, "there's two ways of looking at everything. You
+must have heard that."
+
+And as Vernon had heard her say much the same to Winnie one day, he was
+soothed and satisfied. On the occasion in question Nurse had gone on to
+say that there were always two sides to a question and in future Vernon
+always visualized a question as something like a letter A with crosses
+creeping up one side of it and diamonds going down the other.
+
+After Nurse, there was God. God was also very real to Vernon, mainly
+because he bulked so largely in Nurse's conversation. Nurse knew most
+things that you did, but God knew _everything_, and God was, if
+anything, more particular than Nurse. You couldn't see God, which,
+Vernon always felt, gave him rather an unfair advantage over you,
+because he could see you. Even in the dark he could see you. Sometimes,
+when Vernon was in bed at night, the thought of God looking down at him
+through the darkness used to give him a creepy feeling down the spine.
+
+But on the whole, God was an intangible person compared with Nurse.
+You could conveniently forget about him most of the time. That was,
+until Nurse lugged him deliberately into the conversation.
+
+Once Vernon essayed revolt.
+
+"Nurse, do you know what I shall do when I'm dead?"
+
+Nurse, who was knitting stockings, said: "One, two, three, four--there
+now, I've dropped a stitch. No, Master Vernon, I'm sure I don't."
+
+"I shall go to Heaven--I shall go to Heaven--and I shall go right up to
+God--right up to him I shall go, and I shall say: 'You're an 'orrible
+man and I 'ate you!'"
+
+Silence. It was done. He had said it. Unbelievable, unparalleled
+audacity! What would happen? What awful punishment terrestrial or
+celestial would descend upon him? He waited--breathless.
+
+Nurse had picked up the stitch. She looked at Vernon over the top of
+her spectacles. She was serene--unruffled.
+
+"It's not likely," she remarked, "that the Almighty will take any
+notice of what a naughty little boy says. Winnie, give me those
+scissors, if you please."
+
+Vernon retired crestfallen. It was no good. You couldn't down Nurse. He
+might have known.
+
+
+                                  _2_
+
+And then there was Mr. Green. Mr. Green was like God in that you
+couldn't see him, but to Vernon he was very real. He knew, for
+instance, exactly what Mr. Green looked like--of middle height, rather
+stout, a faint resemblance to the village grocer who sang an uncertain
+baritone in the village choir, bright-red cheeks and mutton-chop
+whiskers. His eyes were blue, a very bright blue. The great thing about
+Mr. Green was that he played--he loved playing. Whatever game Vernon
+thought of, that was just the game that Mr. Green loved to play. There
+were other points about him. He had, for instance, a hundred children.
+And three others. The hundred, in Vernon's mind, were kept intact, a
+joyous mob that raced down the yew alleys behind Vernon and Mr. Green.
+But the three others were different. They were called by the three most
+beautiful names that Vernon knew: Poodle, Squirrel and Tree.
+
+Vernon was, perhaps, a lonely little boy, but he never knew it.
+Because, you see, he had Mr. Green and Poodle, Squirrel, and Tree to
+play with.
+
+
+                                  _3_
+
+For a long time Vernon was undecided as to where Mr. Green's home was.
+It came to him quite suddenly that of course Mr. Green lived in the
+Forest. The Forest had always been fascinating to Vernon. One side of
+the Park bordered on it. There were high green palings and Vernon used
+to creep along them hoping for a crack that would let him see through.
+There were whisperings and sighings and rustlings all along, as though
+the trees were speaking to each other. Halfway down there was a door,
+but alas, it was always locked, so that Vernon could never see what it
+was really like inside the Forest.
+
+Nurse, of course, would never take him there. She was like all nurses
+and preferred a good steady walk along the road, and no messing your
+feet up with them nasty damp leaves. So Vernon was never allowed to go
+in the Forest. It made him think of it all the more. Some day he would
+take tea there with Mr. Green. Poodle and Squirrel and Tree were to
+have new suits for the occasion.
+
+
+                                  _4_
+
+The nursery palled on Vernon. It was too small. He knew all there
+was to know about it. The garden was different. It was really a very
+exciting garden. There were so many different bits of it. The long
+walks between the clipped yew hedges with their ornamental birds, the
+water garden with the fat goldfish, the walled fruit garden, the wild
+garden with its almond trees in springtime and the copse of silver
+birch trees with bluebells growing underneath, and best of all the
+railed-off bit where the ruins of the old Abbey were. That was the
+place where Vernon would have liked to be left to his own devices--to
+climb and explore. But he never was. The rest of the garden he did
+much as he liked in. Winnie was always sent out with him, but since by
+a remarkable coincidence they always seemed to encounter the second
+gardener, he could play his own games unhindered by too much kind
+attention on Winnie's part.
+
+
+                                  _5_
+
+Gradually Vernon's world widened. The twin star, Mummy-Daddy,
+separated, became two distinct people. Daddy remained nebulous, but
+Mummy became quite a personage. She often paid visits to the nursery to
+"play with my darling little boy." Vernon bore her visits with grave
+politeness, though it usually meant giving up the game that he himself
+was engaged upon and accepting one which was not, in his opinion,
+nearly so good. Lady visitors would sometimes come with her, and then
+she would squeeze Vernon tightly (which he hated) and cry.
+
+"It's so wonderful to be a mother! I never get used to it! To have a
+darling baby boy of one's very own!"
+
+Very red, Vernon would extricate himself from her embrace. Because he
+wasn't a baby boy at all. He was three years old.
+
+Looking across the room one day, just after a scene like the above,
+he saw his father standing by the nursery door with sardonic eyes,
+watching him. Their eyes met. Something seemed to pass between them:
+comprehension--a sense of kinship.
+
+His mother's friends were talking.
+
+"Such a pity, Myra, that he doesn't take after you. Your hair would be
+too lovely on a child."
+
+But Vernon had a sudden feeling of pride. He was like his father.
+
+
+                                  _6_
+
+Vernon always remembered the day that the American lady came to lunch.
+To begin with, because of Nurse's explanations about America which, as
+he realized later, she confused with Australia.
+
+He went down to dessert in an awe-stricken state. If this lady had been
+at home in her own country she would be walking about upside down with
+her head hanging down. Quite enough, this, to make him stare. And then,
+too, she used odd words for the simplest things.
+
+"Isn't he too cute? See here, honey, I've gotten a box of candy for
+you. Won't you come and fetch it?"
+
+Vernon came gingerly; accepted the present. The lady clearly didn't
+know what she was talking about. It wasn't candy, but good Edinburgh
+Rock.
+
+There were two gentlemen there also, one the husband of the American
+lady. This one said:
+
+"Do you know half a crown, my boy, when you see it?"
+
+And it presently turned out that the half crown was to be for his very
+own to keep. Altogether it was a wonderful day.
+
+Vernon had never thought very much about his home. He knew that it was
+bigger than the Vicarage where he sometimes went to tea, but he seldom
+played with any other children or went to their homes. So it came to
+him with a shock of wonder that day. The visitors were taken all over
+the house, and the American lady's voice rose ceaselessly.
+
+"My, if that isn't too wonderful! Did you ever see such a thing? Five
+hundred years, you say? Frank, listen to that. Henry the Eighth--if
+it isn't just like listening to English history. And the Abbey older
+still, you say?"
+
+They went everywhere, through the long picture gallery where faces
+strangely like Vernon's, with dark eyes set close together and narrow
+heads, looked out from the painted canvas arrogantly or with cold
+tolerance. There were meek women there in ruffs or with pearls twisted
+in their hair--the Deyre women had done best to be meek, married to
+wild lords who knew neither fear nor pity--who looked appraisingly at
+Myra Deyre, the last of their number, as she walked beneath them. From
+the picture gallery they went to the square hall, and from there to the
+Priest's Chamber.
+
+Vernon had been removed by Nurse long since. They found him again in
+the garden feeding the goldfish. Vernon's father had gone into the
+house to get the keys of the Abbey ruins. The visitors were alone.
+
+"My, Frank," said the American lady, "isn't it _too_ wonderful?
+All these years. Handed down from father to son. Romantic, that's what
+I call it, just too romantic for anything. All these years. Just fancy!
+How is it done?"
+
+It was then that the other gentleman spoke. He was not much of a
+talker, so far Vernon had not heard him speak at all. But he now
+unclosed his lips and uttered one word--a word so enchanting, so
+mysterious, so delightful that Vernon never forgot it.
+
+"Brumagem," said the other gentleman.
+
+And before Vernon could ask him (as he meant to do) what that marvelous
+word meant, another diversion occurred.
+
+His mother came out of the house. There was a sunset behind her--a
+scene painter's sunset of crude gold and red. Against that background
+Vernon saw his mother--saw her for the first time--a magnificent woman
+with white skin and red-gold hair--a being like the pictures in his
+fairy book; saw her suddenly as something wonderful, wonderful and
+beautiful.
+
+He was never to forget that strange moment. She was his mother and
+she was beautiful and he loved her. Something hurt him inside, like a
+pain--only it wasn't a pain. And there was a queer booming noise inside
+his head--a thundering noise that ended up high and sweet like a bird's
+note. Altogether a very wonderful moment.
+
+And mixed up with it was that magic word _Brumagem_.
+
+
+
+
+                               chapter 2
+
+
+Winnie the nursemaid was going away. It all happened very suddenly. The
+other servants whispered together. Winnie cried. She cried and cried.
+Nurse gave her what she called a Talking To and after that Winnie cried
+more than ever. There was something terrible about Nurse; she seemed
+larger than usual and she crackled more. Winnie, Vernon knew, was going
+away because of Father. He accepted that fact without any particular
+interest or curiosity. Nursemaids did sometimes go away because of
+Father.
+
+His mother was shut in her room. She too was crying. Vernon could hear
+her through the door. She did not send for him and it did not occur to
+him to go to her. Indeed he was vaguely relieved. He hated the noise
+of crying, the gulping sound, the long-drawn sniffs, and it always
+happened so close to your ears. People who were crying always hugged
+you. Vernon hated those kinds of noises close to his ears. There was
+nothing in the world he hated more than the wrong sort of noise. It
+made you feel all curled up like a leaf in your middle. That was the
+jolly part about Mr. Green. He never made the wrong kind of noise.
+
+Winnie was packing her boxes. Nurse was in with her--a less awful Nurse
+now--almost a human Nurse.
+
+"Now you let this be a warning to you, my girl," said Nurse. "No
+carryings on in your next place."
+
+Winnie sniffed something about no real harm.
+
+"And no more there wouldn't be, I should hope, with Me in charge,"
+said Nurse. "A lot comes, I dare say of having red hair. Red-haired
+girls are always flighty, so my dear mother used to say. I'm not saying
+you're a bad girl. But what you've done is Unbecoming. Unbecoming--I
+can't say more than that."
+
+And, as Vernon had often noticed after using this particular phrase,
+she proceeded to say a good deal more. But he did not listen, for he
+was pondering on the word "unbecoming." Becoming, he knew, was a thing
+you said about a hat. Where did a hat come in?
+
+"What's unbecoming, Nurse?" he asked later in the day.
+
+Nurse, with her mouth full of pins, for she was cutting out a linen
+suit for Vernon, replied:
+
+"Unsuitable."
+
+"What's unsuitable?"
+
+"Little boys going on asking foolish questions," said Nurse with the
+deftness of a long professional career behind her.
+
+
+                                  _2_
+
+That afternoon Vernon's father came into the nursery. There was a queer
+furtive look about him--unhappy and defiant. He winced slightly before
+Vernon's round interested gaze.
+
+"Hullo, Vernon."
+
+"Hullo, Father."
+
+"I'm going to London. Good-bye, old chap."
+
+"Are you going to London because you kissed Winnie?" inquired Vernon
+with interest.
+
+His father uttered the kind of word that Vernon knew he was not suppose
+to hear--much less ever repeat. It was, he knew, a word that gentlemen
+used but little boys didn't. So great a fascination did that fact
+lend it that Vernon was in the habit of sending himself to sleep by
+repeating it over to himself in company with another forbidden word.
+The other word was Corsets.
+
+"Who the devil told you that?"
+
+"Nobody told me," said Vernon, after reflecting a minute.
+
+"Then how did you know?"
+
+"Didn't you, then?" inquired Vernon.
+
+His father crossed the room without answering.
+
+"Winnie kisses me sometimes," remarked Vernon. "But I don't like it
+much. I have to kiss her, too. The gardener kisses her a lot. He seems
+to like it. I think kissing's silly. Should I like kissing Winnie
+better if I was grown up, Father?"
+
+"Yes," his father said deliberately, "I think you would. Sons, you
+know, sometimes grow up very like their fathers."
+
+"I'd like to be like you," said Vernon. "You're a jolly good rider.
+Sam said so. He said there wasn't your equal in the county and that a
+better judge of horse flesh never lived." Vernon brought out the latter
+words rapidly. "I'd rather be like you than Mummy. Mummy gives a horse
+a sore back. Sam said so."
+
+There was a further pause.
+
+"Mummy's gotaheadacheanlyingdown," proceeded Vernon.
+
+"I know."
+
+"Have you said good-bye to her?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Are you going to? Because you'll have to be quick. That's the dogcart
+coming round now."
+
+"I expect I shan't have time."
+
+Vernon nodded wisely.
+
+"I dare say that would be a good plan. I don't like having to kiss
+people when they're crying. I don't like Mummy kissing me much anyway.
+She squeezes too hard and she talks in your ear. I think I'd almost
+rather kiss Winnie. Which would you, Father?"
+
+He was disconcerted by his father's abrupt withdrawal from the room.
+Nurse had come in a moment before. She stood respectfully aside to let
+the Master pass, and Vernon had a vague idea that she had managed to
+make his father uncomfortable.
+
+Katie, the under-housemaid, came in to lay tea. Vernon built bricks in
+the corner. The old peaceful nursery atmosphere closed round him again.
+
+
+                                  _3_
+
+There was a sudden interruption. His mother stood in the doorway. Her
+eyes were swollen with crying. She dabbed them with a handkerchief. She
+stood there theatrically miserable.
+
+"He's gone," she cried. "Without a word to me. Without a word. Oh! my
+little son. My little son."
+
+She swept across the floor and gathered Vernon in her arms. The tower,
+at least one story higher than any he had ever built before, crashed
+into ruins. His mother's voice, loud and distraught, burrowed into his
+ear.
+
+"My child--my little son--swear that you'll never forsake me. Swear
+it--swear it."
+
+Nurse came across to them.
+
+"There, ma'am, there, ma'am, don't take on so. You'd better get back to
+bed. Edith shall bring you a nice cup of hot tea."
+
+Her tone was authoritative--severe.
+
+His mother still sobbed and clasped him closer. Vernon's whole body
+began to stiffen in resistance. He could bear it a little while
+longer--a very little while longer--and he'd do anything Mummy wanted
+if only she'd let go of him.
+
+"You must make up to me, Vernon--make up to me for the suffering your
+father has caused me. Oh! my God, what shall I do?"
+
+Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Vernon was aware of Katie, silent,
+ecstatic, enjoying the scene.
+
+"Come along, ma'am," said Nurse. "You'll only upset the child."
+
+The authority in her voice was so marked this time that Vernon's mother
+succumbed to it. Leaning weakly on Nurse's arm, she allowed herself to
+be led from the room.
+
+Nurse returned a few minutes later very red in the face.
+
+"My," said Katie, "didn't she take on? Regular hysterics--that's what
+they call it! Well, this has been a to-do! You don't think she'll do
+a mischief to herself, do you? Those nasty ponds in the garden. The
+Master is a one--not that he hasn't a lot to put up with from Her. All
+them scenes and tantrums----"
+
+"That'll do, my girl," said Nurse. "You can get back to your work, and
+under-servants discussing a matter of this kind with their betters is
+a thing that I've never known take place in a gentleman's house. Your
+mother ought to have trained you better."
+
+With a toss of her head, Katie withdrew. Nurse moved round the nursery
+table, shifting cups and plates with unwonted sharpness. Her lips
+moved, muttering to herself.
+
+"Putting ideas into the child's head. I've no patience with it...."
+
+
+
+
+                               chapter 3
+
+
+A new nursemaid came, a thin white girl with protruding eyes. Her name
+was Isabel, but she was called Susan as being More Suitable. This
+puzzled Vernon very much. He asked Nurse for an explanation.
+
+"There are names that are suitable to the gentry, Master Vernon, and
+names that are suitable for servants. That's all there is to it."
+
+"Then why is her real name Isabel?"
+
+"There are people who when they christen their children set themselves
+up to ape their betters."
+
+The word "ape" had a distracting influence on Vernon. Apes were
+monkeys. Did people christen their children at the Zoo?
+
+"I thought people were christened in church."
+
+"So they are, Master Vernon."
+
+Very puzzling. Why was everything so puzzling? Why were things more
+puzzling than they used to be? Why did one person tell you one thing
+and another person something quite different?
+
+"Nurse, how do babies come?"
+
+"You've asked me that before, Master Vernon. The little angels bring
+them in the night through the window."
+
+"That Am-am-am----"
+
+"Don't stammer, Master Vernon."
+
+"Amenkun lady who came--she said I was found under a gooseberry bush."
+
+"That's the way they do with American babies," said Nurse serenely.
+
+Vernon heaved a sigh of relief. Of course! He felt a throb of gratitude
+to Nurse. She always knew. She made the unsteady swaying universe stand
+still again. And she never laughed. His mother did. He had heard her
+say to other ladies: "He asks me the quaintest questions. Just listen
+to this.... Aren't children funny and adorable."
+
+But Vernon couldn't see that he was funny or adorable at all. He just
+wanted to know. You'd got to _know_. That was part of growing up.
+When you were grown up you knew everything and had gold sovereigns in
+your purse.
+
+
+                                  _2_
+
+The world went on widening.
+
+There were, for instance, uncles and aunts.
+
+Uncle Sydney was Mummy's brother. He was short and stout and had rather
+a red face. He had a habit of humming tunes and of rattling the money
+in his trouser pockets. He was fond of making jokes, but Vernon did
+not always think his jokes very funny.
+
+"Supposing," Uncle Sydney would say, "I were to put on your hat. Hey?
+What should I look like, do you think?"
+
+Curious, the questions grown-up people asked! Curious--and also
+difficult, because if there was one thing that Nurse was always
+impressing upon Vernon, it was that little boys must never make
+personal remarks.
+
+"Come now," said Uncle Sydney perseveringly. "What should I look like?
+There--" he snatched up the linen affair in question and balanced it on
+top of his head--"what do I look like, eh?"
+
+Well, if one must answer, one must. Vernon said politely and a little
+wearily:
+
+"I think you look rather silly."
+
+"That boy of yours has no sense of humour, Myra," said Uncle Sydney to
+his mother. "No sense of humour at all. A pity."
+
+Aunt Nina, Father's sister, was quite different.
+
+She smelt nice, like the garden on a summer's day, and she had a soft
+voice that Vernon liked. She had other virtues--she didn't kiss you
+when you didn't want to be kissed, and she didn't insist on making
+jokes. But she didn't come very often to Abbots Puissants.
+
+She must be, Vernon thought, very brave, because it was she who first
+made him realize that one could master the Beast.
+
+The Beast lived in the big drawing room. It had four legs and a shiny
+brown body. And it had a long row of what Vernon had thought, when
+he was very small, to be teeth. Great yellow shining teeth. From
+his earliest memory Vernon had been fascinated and terrified by the
+Beast. For if you irritated the Beast it made strange noises, an angry
+growling or a shrill angry wail--and somehow those noises hurt you more
+than anything in the world could. They hurt you right down in your
+inside. They made you shiver and feel sick, and they made your eyes
+sting and burn, and yet by some strange enchantment you couldn't go
+away.
+
+When Vernon had stories read to him about dragons he always thought of
+them as like the Beast. And some of the best games with Mr. Green were
+where they killed the Beast--Vernon plunging a sword into his brown
+shining body whilst the hundred children whooped and sang behind.
+
+Now that he was a big boy he knew better, of course. He knew that the
+Beast's name was Grand Piano, and that when you deliberately attacked
+its teeth, that was called "playingthepiano"! and that ladies did
+it after dinner to gentlemen. But in his inmost heart he was still
+afraid and dreamed sometimes of the Beast pursuing him up the nursery
+stairs--and he would wake up screaming.
+
+In his dreams the Beast lived in the Forest, and was wild and savage,
+and the noises it made were too terrible to be borne.
+
+Mummy sometimes did "playingthepiano," and that Vernon could just bear
+with difficulty. The Beast, he felt, would not really be waked up by
+what she was doing to it. But the day Aunt Nina played was different.
+
+Vernon had been conducting one of his imaginary games in a corner. He
+and Squirrel and Poodle were having a picnic and eating lobsters and
+chocolate éclairs.
+
+His Aunt Nina had not even noticed that he was in the room. She had sat
+down on the music stool and was playing idly.
+
+Fascinated, Vernon crept nearer and nearer. Nina looked up at last to
+see him staring at her, the tears running down his face and great sobs
+shaking his small body. She stopped.
+
+"What's the matter, Vernon?"
+
+"I 'ate it," sobbed Vernon. "I 'ate it. I 'ate it. It hurts me
+_here_." His hands clasped his stomach.
+
+Myra came into the room at that minute. She laughed.
+
+"Isn't it odd? That child simply hates music. So very queer."
+
+"Why doesn't he go away if he hates it?" said Nina.
+
+"I can't," sobbed Vernon.
+
+"Isn't it ridiculous?" said Myra.
+
+"I think it's rather interesting."
+
+"Most children are always wanting to strum on the piano. I tried to
+show Vernon chopsticks the other day, but he wasn't a bit amused."
+
+Nina remained staring at her small nephew thoughtfully.
+
+"I can hardly believe a child of mine can be unmusical," said Myra in
+an aggrieved voice. "I played quite difficult pieces when I was eight
+years old."
+
+"Oh! well," said Nina vaguely. "There are different ways of being
+musical."
+
+Which, Myra thought, was so like the silly sort of thing the Deyre
+family would say. Either one was musical and played pieces, or one was
+not. Vernon clearly was not.
+
+
+                                  _3_
+
+Nurse's mother was ill. Strange unparalleled nursery catastrophe.
+Nurse, very red-faced and grim, was packing with the assistance of
+Susan Isabel. Vernon, troubled, sympathetic, but above all interested,
+stood near by, and out of his interest asked questions.
+
+"Is your mother very old, Nurse? Is she a hundred?"
+
+"Of course not, Master Vernon! A hundred indeed!"
+
+"Do you think she is going to die?" continued Vernon, longing to be
+kind and understand.
+
+Cook's mother had been ill and died. Nurse did not answer. Instead she
+said sharply:
+
+"The boot bags out of the bottom drawer, Susan. Step lively now, my
+girl."
+
+"Nurse, will your mother----"
+
+"I haven't time to be answering questions, Master Vernon."
+
+Vernon sat down on the corner of a chintz-covered ottoman and gave
+himself up to reflection. Nurse had said that her mother wasn't a
+hundred, but she must, for all that, be very old. Nurse herself he
+had always regarded as terribly old. To think that there was a being
+of superior age and wisdom to Nurse was positively staggering. In a
+strange way it reduced Nurse herself to the proportions of a mere human
+being. She was no longer a figure secondary only to God himself.
+
+The universe shifted--values were readjusted. Nurse, God, and Mr.
+Green--all three receded, becoming vaguer and more blurred. Mummy, his
+father, even Aunt Nina--they seemed to matter more. Especially Mummy.
+Mummy was like the princesses with long beautiful golden hair. He
+would like to fight a dragon for Mummy--a brown shiny dragon like the
+Beast.
+
+What was the word--the magic word? Brumagem--that was it--Brumagem.
+An enchanting word! The Princess Brumagem! A word to be repeated over
+to himself softly and secretly at night at the same time as Damn and
+Corsets.
+
+But never, never, never must Mummy hear it, because he knew only too
+well that she would laugh--she always laughed, the kind of laugh that
+made you shrivel up inside and want to wriggle. And she would say
+things--she always said things, just the kind of things you hated.
+"Aren't children too _funny_?"
+
+And Vernon knew that he wasn't funny. He didn't like funny
+things--Uncle Sydney had said so. If only Mummy wouldn't....
+
+Sitting on the slippery chintz he frowned perplexedly. He had a sudden
+imperfect glimpse of two Mummies. One, the princess, the beautiful
+Mummy that he dreamed about, who was mixed up for him with sunsets and
+magic and killing dragons--and the other, the one who laughed and who
+said, "Aren't children too _funny_?" Only, of course, they were
+the same....
+
+He fidgeted and sighed. Nurse, flushed from the effort of snapping to
+her trunk, turned to him kindly.
+
+"What's the matter, Master Vernon?"
+
+"Nothing," said Vernon.
+
+You must always say, "Nothing." You could never tell. Because, if you
+did, no one ever knew what you meant....
+
+
+                                  _4_
+
+Under the reign of Susan Isabel the nursery was quite different. You
+could be, and quite frequently were, naughty. Susan told you not to do
+things and you did them just the same! Susan would say: "I'll tell your
+mother." But she never did.
+
+Susan had at first enjoyed the position and authority she had in
+Nurse's absence. Indeed, but for Vernon, she would have continued
+to enjoy it. She used to exchange confidences with Katie, the
+under-housemaid.
+
+"Don't know what's come over him, I'm sure. He's like a little demon
+sometimes. And him so good and well behaved with Mrs. Pascal."
+
+To which Kate replied:
+
+"Ah! she's a oner, she is! Takes you up sharp, doesn't she?"
+
+And then they would whisper and giggle.
+
+"Who's Mrs. Pascal?" Vernon asked one day.
+
+"Well, I never, Master Vernon! Don't you know your own nurse's name?"
+
+So Nurse was Mrs. Pascal. Another shock. She had always been just
+Nurse. It was rather as though you had been told that God's name was
+Mr. Robinson.
+
+Mrs. Pascal! Nurse! The more you thought of it, the more extraordinary
+it seemed. Mrs. Pascal--just like Mummy was Mrs. Deyre and Father was
+Mr. Deyre. Strangely enough, Vernon never cogitated on the possibility
+of a Mr. Pascal. (Not that there was any such person. The Mrs. was a
+tacit recognition of Nurse's position and authority.) Nurse stood alone
+in the same magnificence as Mr. Green, who in spite of the hundred
+children (and Poodle, Squirrel, and Tree) was never thought of by
+Vernon as having a Mrs. Green attached to him!
+
+Vernon's inquiring mind wandered in another direction.
+
+"Susan, do you like being called Susan? Wouldn't you like being called
+Isabel better?"
+
+Susan (or Isabel) gave her customary giggle.
+
+"It doesn't matter what I like, Master Vernon."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"People have got to do what they're told in this world."
+
+Vernon was silent. He had thought the same until a few days ago. But he
+was beginning to perceive that it was not true. You needn't do as you
+were told. It all depended on who told you.
+
+It was not a question of punishment. He was continually being sat on
+chairs, stood in the corner, and deprived of sweets by Susan. Nurse, on
+the other hand, had only to look at him severely through her spectacles
+with a certain expression on her face, and anything but immediate
+capitulation was out of the question.
+
+Susan had no authority in her nature, and Vernon knew it. He had
+discovered the thrill of successful disobedience. Also, he liked
+tormenting Susan. The more worried and flustered and unhappy Susan got,
+the more Vernon liked it. He was, as was proper to his years, still in
+the Stone Age. He savoured the full pleasure of cruelty.
+
+Susan formed the habit of letting Vernon go out to play in the garden
+alone. Being an unattractive girl, she had not Winnie's reasons for
+liking the garden. And besides, what harm could possibly come to him?
+
+"You won't go near the ponds, will you, Master Vernon?"
+
+"No," said Vernon, instantly forming the intention to do so.
+
+"You'll play with your hoop like a good boy?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+The nursery was left in peace. Susan heaved a sigh of relief. She
+took from a drawer a paper-covered book entitled _The Duke and the
+Dairymaid_.
+
+Beating his hoop, Vernon made the tour of the walled fruit garden.
+Escaping from his control, the hoop leaped upon a small patch of earth
+which was at the moment receiving the meticulous attentions of Hopkins,
+the head gardener. Hopkins firmly and authoritatively ordered Vernon
+from the spot, and Vernon went. He respected Hopkins.
+
+Abandoning the hoop, Vernon climbed a tree or two. That is to say, he
+reached a height of perhaps six feet from the ground, employing all due
+precautions. Tiring of this perilous sport, he sat astride a branch and
+cogitated as to what to do next.
+
+On the whole, he thought the ponds. Susan having forbidden them, they
+had a distinct fascination. Yes, he would go to the ponds. He rose, and
+as he did so another idea came into his head, suggested by an unusual
+sight.
+
+_The door into the Forest was open!_
+
+
+                                  _5_
+
+Such a thing had never happened before in Vernon's experience. Again
+and again he had secretly tried that door. Always it was locked.
+
+He crept up to it cautiously. The Forest! It stood a few steps away
+outside the door. You could plunge straightway into its cool green
+depths. Vernon's heart beat faster.
+
+He had always wanted to go into the Forest. Here was his chance. Once
+Nurse came back, any such thing would be out of the question.
+
+And still he hesitated. It was not any feeling of disobedience that
+held him back. Strictly speaking, he had never been forbidden to go
+into the Forest. His childish cunning was all ready with that excuse.
+
+No, it was something else. Fear of the unknown--of those dark leafy
+depths. Ancestral memories held him back.
+
+He wanted to go--but he didn't want to go. There might be Things
+there--Things like the Beast. Things that came up behind you--that
+chased you screaming....
+
+He moved uneasily from one foot to the other.
+
+But Things didn't chase you in the daytime. And Mr. Green lived in
+the Forest. Not that Mr. Green was as real as he used to be. Still,
+it would be rather jolly to explore and find a place where you would
+pretend Mr. Green did live. Poodle, Squirrel, and Tree would each have
+a house of his own--small leafy houses.
+
+"Come on, Poodle," said Vernon to an invisible companion. "Have you got
+your bow and arrow? That's right. We'll meet Squirrel inside."
+
+He stepped out jauntily. Beside him, plain to Vernon's inner eye, went
+Poodle dressed like the picture of Robinson Crusoe in his picture book.
+
+It was wonderful in the Forest--dim and dark and green. Birds sang and
+flew from branch to branch. Vernon continued to talk to his friend--a
+luxury he did not dare to permit himself often, since someone might
+overhear and say, "Isn't he too _funny_? He's pretending he's got
+another little boy with him." You had to be so very careful at home.
+
+"We'll get to the Castle by lunch time, Poodle. There are going to be
+roasted leopards. Oh! Hullo, here's Squirrel. How are you, Squirrel?
+Where's Tree?
+
+"I tell you what. I think it's rather tiring walking. I think we'll
+ride."
+
+Steeds were tethered to an adjacent tree. Vernon's was milk white,
+Poodle's was coal black--the colour of Squirrel's he couldn't quite
+decide.
+
+They galloped forward through the trees. There were deadly dangerous
+places, morasses. Snakes hissed at them and lions charged them. But the
+faithful steeds did all their riders required of them.
+
+How silly it was playing in the garden--or playing anywhere but
+_here_! He'd forgotten what it was like, playing with Mr. Green
+and Poodle, Squirrel, and Tree. How could you help forgetting things
+when people were always reminding you that you were a funny little boy
+playing make-believe?
+
+On strutted Vernon, now capering, now marching with solemn dignity. He
+was great, he was wonderful! What he needed, though he did not know it
+himself, was a tom-tom to beat whilst he sang his own praises.
+
+The Forest! He had always known it would be like this, and it was! In
+front of him suddenly appeared a crumbling moss covered wall. The wall
+of the Castle! Could anything be more perfect? He began to climb it.
+
+The ascent was easy enough really, though fraught with the most
+agreeable and thrilling possibilities of danger. Whether this was Mr.
+Green's Castle, or whether it was inhabited by an Ogre who ate human
+flesh, Vernon had not yet made up his mind. Either was an entrancing
+proposition. On the whole, he inclined to the latter, being at the
+moment in a warlike frame of mind. With a flushed face he reached the
+summit of the wall and looked over the other side.
+
+And here there enters into the story, for one brief paragraph, Mrs.
+Somers West, who was fond of romantic solitude (for short periods)
+and had bought Woods Cottage as being "delightfully remote from
+anywhere and really, if you know what I mean, in the very heart of the
+Forest--at one with Nature!" And since Mrs. Somers West, as well as
+being artistic, was musical, she had pulled down a wall, making two
+rooms into one, and had thus provided herself with sufficient space to
+house a grand piano.
+
+And at the identical moment that Vernon reached the top of the
+wall, several perspiring and staggering men were slowly propelling
+the aforesaid grand piano toward the window, since it wouldn't go
+in by the door. The garden of Woods Cottage was a mere tangle of
+undergrowth--wild Nature, as Mrs. Somers West called it. So that all
+Vernon saw was the Beast! The Beast, alive and purposeful, slowly
+crawling toward him, malign and vengeful....
+
+For a moment he stayed rooted to the spot. Then, with a wild cry, he
+fled. Fled along the top of the narrow crumbling wall. The Beast was
+behind him, pursuing him.... It was coming, he knew it. He ran--ran
+faster than ever. His foot caught in a tangle of ivy. He crashed
+downward--falling--falling....
+
+
+
+
+                               chapter 4
+
+
+Vernon woke, after a long time, to find himself in bed. It was, of
+course, the natural place to be when you woke up, but what wasn't
+natural was to have a great hump sticking up in front of you in the
+bed. It was whilst he was staring at this that someone spoke to him.
+That someone was Dr. Coles, whom Vernon knew quite well.
+
+"Well, well," said Dr. Coles, "and how are we feeling?"
+
+Vernon didn't know how Dr. Coles was feeling. He himself was feeling
+rather sick and said so.
+
+"I dare say, I dare say," said Dr. Coles.
+
+"And I think I hurt somewhere," said Vernon. "I think I hurt very much."
+
+"I dare say, I dare say," said Dr. Coles again--not very helpfully,
+Vernon thought.
+
+"Perhaps I'd feel better if I got up," said Vernon. "Can I get up?"
+
+"Not just now, I'm afraid," said the doctor. "You see, you've had a
+fall."
+
+"Yes," said Vernon. "The Beast came after me."
+
+"Eh? What's that? The Beast? What Beast?"
+
+"Nothing," said Vernon.
+
+"A dog, I expect," said the doctor. "Jumped at the wall and barked. You
+mustn't be afraid of dogs, my boy."
+
+"I'm not," said Vernon.
+
+"And what were you doing so far from home, eh? No business to be where
+you were."
+
+"Nobody told me not to," said Vernon.
+
+"Hum, hum, I wonder. Well, I'm afraid you've got to take your
+punishment. Do you know, you've broken your leg, my boy?"
+
+"Have I?" Vernon was gratified--enchanted. He had broken his leg. He
+felt very important.
+
+"Yes, you'll have to lie here for a bit, and then it will mean crutches
+for a while. Do you know what crutches are?"
+
+Yes, Vernon knew. Mr. Jobber, the blacksmith's father, had crutches.
+And he was to have crutches! How wonderful!
+
+"Can I try them now?"
+
+Dr. Coles laughed.
+
+"So you like the idea? No. I'm afraid you'll have to wait a bit. And
+you must try and be a brave boy, you know. And then you'll get well
+quicker."
+
+"Thank you," said Vernon politely. "I don't think I do feel very well.
+Can you take this funny thing out of my bed? I think it would be more
+comfortable then."
+
+But it seemed that the funny thing was called a cradle, and that it
+couldn't be taken away. And it seemed, too, that Vernon would not be
+able to move about in bed because his leg was all tied up to a long
+piece of wood. And suddenly it didn't seem a very nice thing to have a
+broken leg after all.
+
+Vernon's underlip trembled a little. He was not going to cry--no, he
+was a big boy and big boys didn't cry. Nurse said so. And then he
+knew that he wanted Nurse--wanted her badly. He wanted her reassuring
+presence, her omniscience, her creaking rustling majesty.
+
+"She'll be coming back soon," said Dr. Coles. "Yes, soon. In the
+meantime, this nurse is going to look after you--Nurse Frances."
+
+Nurse Frances moved into Vernon's range of vision and Vernon studied
+her in silence. She too was starched and crackling; that was all to the
+good. But she wasn't big like Nurse. She was thinner than Mummy--as
+thin as Aunt Nina. He wasn't sure....
+
+And then he met her eyes--steady eyes, more green than gray, and he
+felt, as most people felt, that with Nurse Frances things would be "all
+right."
+
+She smiled at him--but not in the way that visitors smiled. It was a
+grave smile, friendly but reserved.
+
+"I'm sorry you feel sick," she said. "Would you like some orange juice?"
+
+Vernon considered the matter and said he thought he would. Dr. Coles
+went out of the room and Nurse Frances brought him the orange juice
+in a most curious-looking cup with a long spout. And it appeared that
+Vernon was to drink from the spout.
+
+It made him laugh, but laughing hurt him, and so he stopped. Nurse
+Frances suggested he should go to sleep again, but he said he didn't
+want to go to sleep.
+
+"Then I shouldn't go to sleep," said Nurse Frances. "I wonder if you
+can count how many irises there are on that wall? You start on the
+right side, and I'll start on the left side. You can count, can't you?"
+
+Vernon said proudly that he could count up to a hundred.
+
+"That is a lot," said Nurse Frances. "There aren't nearly as many
+irises as a hundred. I guess there are seventy-five. Now what do you
+guess?"
+
+Vernon guessed that there were fifty. There couldn't, he felt sure,
+possibly be more than that. He began to count, but somehow, without
+knowing it, his eyelids closed and he slept....
+
+
+                                  _2_
+
+Noise ... noise and pain. He woke with a start. He felt hot, very
+hot, and there was a pain all down one side. And the noise was coming
+nearer. It was the noise that one always connected with Mummy.
+
+She came into the room like a whirlwind, a kind of cloak affair
+she wore swinging out behind her. She was like a bird--a great big
+bird--and like a bird, she swooped down upon him.
+
+"Vernon--my darling--Mummy's own darling! What have they done to you?
+How awful! How terrible! My child!"
+
+She was crying. Vernon began to cry too. He was suddenly frightened.
+Myra was moaning and weeping.
+
+"My little child. All I have in the world. God, don't take him from me.
+Don't take him from me! If he dies I shall die too!"
+
+"Mrs. Deyre----"
+
+"Vernon--Vernon--my baby----"
+
+"Mrs. Deyre--please!"
+
+There was crisp command in the voice rather than appeal.
+
+"Please don't touch him. You will hurt him."
+
+"Hurt him? I? His mother?"
+
+"You don't seem to realize, Mrs. Deyre, that his leg is broken, I must
+ask you, please, to leave the room."
+
+"You're hiding something from me. Tell me--tell me--will the leg have
+to be amputated?"
+
+A wail came from Vernon. He had not the least idea what "amputated"
+meant, but it sounded painful--and more than painful, terrifying. His
+wail broke into a scream.
+
+"He's dying!" cried Myra. "He's dying--and they won't tell me. But he
+shall die in my arms."
+
+"Mrs. Deyre----"
+
+Somehow Nurse Frances had got between his mother and the bed. She was
+holding his mother by the shoulder. Her voice had the tone that Nurse's
+had had when speaking to Katie, the under-housemaid.
+
+"Mrs. Deyre, listen to me. You must control yourself. You _must_!"
+Then she looked up. Vernon's father was standing in the doorway. "Mr.
+Deyre, please take your wife away. I cannot have my patient excited and
+upset."
+
+His father nodded--a quiet understanding nod. He just looked at Vernon
+once and said: "Bad luck, old chap. I broke an arm once."
+
+The world became suddenly less terrifying. Other people broke legs and
+arms. His father had hold of his mother's shoulder, he was leading her
+toward the door, speaking to her in a low voice. She was protesting,
+arguing, her voice high and shrill with emotion.
+
+"How can you understand? You've never cared for the child like I have.
+It takes a mother. How can I leave my child to be looked after by a
+stranger? He needs his mother.... You don't understand. I _love_
+him. There's nothing like a mother's care--everyone says so."
+
+"Vernon darling"--she broke from her husband's clasp, came back toward
+the bed--"you want me, don't you? You want Mummy?"
+
+"I want Nurse," sobbed Vernon. "I want Nurse."
+
+He meant his own Nurse, not Nurse Frances.
+
+"Oh!" said Myra. She stood there quivering.
+
+"Come, my dear," said Vernon's father gently. "Come away."
+
+She leaned against him, and together they passed from the room. Faint
+words floated back into the room.
+
+"My own child, to turn from me to a stranger."
+
+Nurse Frances smoothed the sheet and suggested a drink of water.
+
+"Nurse is coming back very soon," she said. "We'll write to her to-day,
+shall we? You shall tell me what to say."
+
+A queer new feeling surged over Vernon--a sort of odd gratitude.
+Somebody had actually understood....
+
+
+                                  _3_
+
+When Vernon, later, was to look back upon his childhood, this one
+period was to stand out quite clearly from the rest. "The time I broke
+my leg" marked a distinct era.
+
+He was to appreciate, too, various small incidents that were accepted
+by him at the time as a matter of course. For instance, a rather stormy
+interview that took place between Dr. Coles and his mother. Naturally
+this did not take place in Vernon's sick room, but Myra's raised voice
+penetrated closed doors. Vernon heard indignant exclamations of "I
+don't know what you mean by upsetting him.... I consider I ought to
+nurse my own child.... Naturally I was distressed--I'm not one of these
+people who simply have no heart--no heart at all. Look at Walter--never
+turned a hair!"
+
+There were many skirmishes too, not to say pitched battles, fought
+between Myra and Nurse Frances. In these cases Nurse Frances always
+won, but at a certain cost. Myra Deyre was wildly and furiously jealous
+of what she called "the paid nurse." She was forced to submit to Dr.
+Coles's dictums, but she did so with a bad grace and with an overt
+rudeness that Nurse Frances never seemed to notice.
+
+In after years Vernon remembered nothing of the pain and tedium that
+there must have been. He remembered only happy days of playing and
+talking as he had never played and talked before. For in Nurse Frances
+he found a grown-up who didn't think things "funny" or "quaint."
+Somebody who listened sensibly and who made serious and sensible
+suggestions. To Nurse Frances he was able to speak of Poodle, Squirrel,
+and Tree, and of Mr. Green and the hundred children. And instead of
+saying "What a _funny_ game!" Nurse Frances merely inquired
+whether the hundred children were girls or boys--an aspect of the
+matter which Vernon had never thought of before. But he and Nurse
+Frances decided that there were fifty of each, which seemed a very fair
+arrangement.
+
+If sometimes, off his guard, he played his make-believe games aloud,
+Nurse Frances never seemed to notice or to think it unusual. She had
+the same calm comfortableness of old Nurse about her, but she had
+something that mattered far more to Vernon: the gift of answering
+questions--and he knew, instinctively, that the answers were always
+true. Sometimes she would say, "I don't know that myself," or, "You
+must ask someone else. I'm not clever enough to tell you that." There
+was no pretense of omniscience about her.
+
+Sometimes, after tea, she would tell Vernon stories. The stories were
+never the same two days running--one day they would be about naughty
+little boys and girls, and the next day they would be about enchanted
+princesses. Vernon liked the latter kind best. There was one in
+particular that he loved, about a princess in a tower with golden hair
+and a vagabond prince in a ragged green hat. The story ended up in a
+forest, and it was possibly for that reason that Vernon liked it so
+much.
+
+Sometimes there would be an extra listener. Myra used to come in and
+be with Vernon during the early afternoon when Nurse Frances had her
+time off, but Vernon's father used sometimes to come in after tea when
+the stories were going on. Little by little it became a habit. Walter
+Deyre would sit in the shadows just behind Nurse Frances's chair, and
+from there he would watch, not his child, but the story-teller. One
+day Vernon saw his father's hand steal out and close gently over Nurse
+Frances's wrist.
+
+And then something happened which surprised him very much. Nurse
+Frances got up from her chair.
+
+"I'm afraid we must turn you out for this evening, Mr. Deyre," she said
+quietly. "Vernon and I have things to do."
+
+This astonished Vernon very much, because he couldn't think what those
+things were. He was still more puzzled when his father got up also and
+said in a low voice:
+
+"I beg your pardon."
+
+Nurse Frances bent her head a little, but remained standing. Her eyes
+met Walter Deyre's steadily. He said quietly:
+
+"Will you believe that I am really sorry, and let me come to-morrow?"
+
+After that, in some way that Vernon could not have defined, his
+father's manner was different. He no longer sat so near Nurse Frances.
+He talked more to Vernon and occasionally they all three played a
+game--usually Old Maid, for which Vernon had a wild passion. They were
+happy evenings enjoyed by all three.
+
+One day, when Nurse Frances was out of the room, Walter Deyre said
+abruptly:
+
+"Do you like that nurse of yours, Vernon?"
+
+"Nurse Frances? I like her lots. Don't you, Father?"
+
+"Yes," said Walter Deyre, "I do."
+
+There was a sadness in his voice which Vernon felt.
+
+"Is anything the matter, Father?"
+
+"Nothing that can be put right. The horse that gets left at the post
+never has much chance of making good--and the fact that it's the
+horse's own fault doesn't make matters any better. But that's double
+Dutch to you, old man. Anyway, enjoy your Nurse Frances while you've
+got her. There aren't many of her sort knocking about."
+
+And then Nurse Frances came back and they played Animal Grab.
+
+But Walter Deyre's words had set Vernon's mind to work. He tackled
+Nurse Frances next morning.
+
+"Aren't you going to be here always?"
+
+"No. Only till you get well--or nearly well."
+
+"Won't you stay always? I'd like you to."
+
+"But, you see, that's not my work. My work is to look after people who
+are ill."
+
+"Do you like doing that?"
+
+"Yes, very much."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Well, you see, everyone has some particular kind of work that they
+like doing and that suits them."
+
+"Mummy hasn't."
+
+"Oh, yes, she has. Her work is to look after this big house and see
+that everything goes right, and to take care of you and your father."
+
+"Father was a soldier once. He told me that if ever there was a war
+he'd go and be a soldier again."
+
+"Are you very fond of your father, Vernon?"
+
+"I love Mummy best, of course. Mummy says little boys always love their
+mothers best. I like _being_ with Father, of course, but that's
+different. I expect it's because he's a man. What shall I be when I
+grow up, do you think? I want to be a sailor."
+
+"Perhaps you'll write books."
+
+"What about?"
+
+Nurse Frances smiled a little.
+
+"Perhaps about Mr. Green, and Poodle and Squirrel and Tree."
+
+"But everyone would say that that was silly."
+
+"Little boys wouldn't think so. And besides, when you grow up you will
+have different people in your head--like Mr. Green and the children,
+only grown-up people. And then you could write about them."
+
+Vernon thought for a long time, then he shook his head.
+
+"I think I'll be a soldier like Father. Most of the Deyres have been
+soldiers, Mummy says. Of course you have to be very brave to be a
+soldier, but I think I would be brave enough."
+
+Nurse Frances was silent a moment. She was thinking of what Walter
+Deyre had said of his small son:
+
+"He's a plucky little chap--absolutely fearless. Doesn't know what fear
+is! You should see him on his pony."
+
+Yes, Vernon was fearless enough in one sense. He had the power of
+endurance, too. He had borne the pain and discomfort of his broken leg
+unusually well for so young a child.
+
+But there was another kind of fear. She said slowly after a minute or
+two:
+
+"Tell me again how you fell off the wall that day."
+
+She knew all about the Beast, and had been careful to display no
+ridicule. She listened now to Vernon, and as he finished she said
+gently:
+
+"But you've known for quite a long time, haven't you, that it isn't a
+real Beast? That it's only a thing made of wood and wires."
+
+"I do _know_," said Vernon. "But I don't dream it like that. And
+when I saw it in the garden coming at me----"
+
+"You ran away--which was rather a pity, wasn't it? It would have been
+much better to have stayed and _looked_. Then you'd have seen the
+men, and would have known just what it was. It's always a good thing to
+_look_. Then you can run away afterward if you still want to--but
+you usually don't. And Vernon, I'll tell you something else."
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"Things are never so frightening in front of you as they are behind
+you. Remember that. Anything seems frightening when it's behind your
+back and you can't see it. That's why it's always better to turn and
+face things--and then very often you find they are nothing at all."
+
+Vernon said thoughtfully: "If I'd turned round I wouldn't have broken
+my leg, would I?"
+
+"No."
+
+Vernon sighed.
+
+"I don't mind having broken my leg very much. It has been very nice
+having you to play with."
+
+He thought Nurse Frances murmured "Poor child" under her breath, but
+that, of course, was absurd. She said smiling:
+
+"I've enjoyed it too. Some of my ill people don't like to play."
+
+"You really do like playing, don't you?" said Vernon. "So does Mr.
+Green."
+
+He added rather stiffly, for he felt shy:
+
+"Please don't go away very soon, will you?"
+
+
+                                  _4_
+
+But as it happened, Nurse Frances went away much sooner than she
+might have done. It all happened very suddenly, as things in Vernon's
+experience always did.
+
+It started very simply--something that Myra offered to do for Vernon
+and that he said he would rather have done by Nurse Frances.
+
+He was on crutches now for a short and painful time every day, enjoying
+the novelty of it very much. He soon got tired, however, and was ready
+to go back to bed. To-day his mother had suggested his doing so, saying
+she would help him. But Vernon had been helped by her before. Those big
+white hands of hers were strangely clumsy. They hurt where they meant
+to help. He shrank from her well-meant efforts. He said he would wait
+for Nurse Frances, who never hurt.
+
+The words came out with the tactless honesty of children, and in a
+minute Myra Deyre was at white heat.
+
+Nurse Frances came in two or three minutes later to be received with a
+flood of reproach.
+
+Turning the boy against his own mother--cruel--wicked. They were all
+alike--everyone was against her. She had nothing in the world but
+Vernon and now he was being turned against her too.
+
+So it went on--a ceaseless stream. Nurse Frances bore it patiently
+enough, without surprise or rancour. Mrs. Deyre, she knew, was that
+kind of woman. Scenes were a relief to her. And hard words, Nurse
+Frances reflected with grim humour, can only harm if the utterer is
+dear to you. She was sorry for Myra Deyre for she realized how much
+real unhappiness and misery lay behind these hysterical outbursts.
+
+It was an unfortunate moment for Walter Deyre to choose to enter
+the nursery. For a moment or two he stood surprised, then he flushed
+angrily.
+
+"Really, Myra, I'm ashamed of you. You don't know what you're saying."
+
+She turned on him furiously.
+
+"I know what I'm saying well enough. And I know what you've been doing.
+Slinking in here every day--I've seen you. Always making love to some
+woman or other. Nursemaids, hospital nurses--it's all one to you."
+
+"Myra--be quiet!"
+
+He was really angry now. Myra Deyre felt a throb of fear. But she
+hurled her last piece of invective.
+
+"You're all alike, you hospital nurses. Flirting with other women's
+husbands. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Before the innocent
+child too--putting all sorts of things into his head. But you'll go out
+of my house. Yes, you'll go right out--and I shall tell Dr. Coles what
+I think of you."
+
+"Would you mind continuing this edifying scene elsewhere?" Her
+husband's voice was as she hated it most--cold and sneering. "Hardly
+judicious in front of your innocent child, is it? I apologize, Nurse,
+for what my wife has been saying. Come, Myra."
+
+She went--beginning to cry--weakly frightened at what she had done. As
+usual, she had said more than she meant.
+
+"You're cruel," she sobbed. "Cruel. You'd like me to be dead. You hate
+me."
+
+She followed him out of the room. Nurse Frances put Vernon to bed. He
+wanted to ask questions but she talked of a dog, a big St. Bernard that
+she had had when she was a little girl, and he was so much interested
+that he forgot everything else.
+
+Much later that evening Vernon's father came to the nursery. He looked
+white and ill. Nurse Frances rose and came to where he stood in the
+doorway.
+
+"I don't know what to say. How can I apologize--the things my wife
+said----"
+
+Nurse Frances replied in a quiet matter-of-fact voice:
+
+"Oh! it's quite all right. I understand. I think, though, that I had
+better go as soon as it can be arranged. My being here makes Mrs.
+Deyre unhappy, and then she works herself up."
+
+"If she knew how wide of the mark her wild accusations are. That she
+should insult _you_----"
+
+Nurse Frances laughed--not, perhaps, very convincingly.
+
+"I always think it's absurd when people complain about being insulted,"
+she said cheerfully. "Such a pompous word, isn't it? Please don't worry
+or think I mind. You know, Mr. Deyre, your wife is----"
+
+"Yes?"
+
+Her voice changed. It was grave and sad.
+
+"A very unhappy and lonely woman."
+
+"Do you think that is entirely my fault?"
+
+There was a pause. She lifted her eyes--those steady green eyes.
+
+"Yes," she said, "I do."
+
+He drew a long breath.
+
+"No one else but you would have said that to me. You----I suppose
+it's courage in you that I admire so much----your absolutely fearless
+honesty. I'm sorry for Vernon that he should lose you before he need."
+
+She said gravely: "Don't blame yourself for things you needn't. This
+has not been your fault."
+
+"Nurse Frances." It was Vernon, eagerly from bed. "I don't want you to
+go away. Don't go away, please--not to-night."
+
+"Of course not," said Nurse Frances. "We've got to talk to Dr. Coles
+about it."
+
+Nurse Frances left three days later. Vernon wept bitterly. He had lost
+the first real friend he had ever had.
+
+
+
+
+                               chapter 5
+
+
+The years from five to nine remained somewhat dim in Vernon's memory.
+Things changed--but so gradually as not to matter. Nurse did not
+return to her reign over the nursery. Her mother had had a stroke and
+was quite helpless and she was obliged to remain and look after her.
+
+Instead, a Miss Robbins was installed as nursery governess. A creature
+so extraordinarily colourless that Vernon could never afterward even
+recall what she looked like. He must have become somewhat out of hand
+under her régime for he was sent to school just after his eighth
+birthday. On his first holidays he found his cousin Josephine installed.
+
+On her few visits to Abbots Puissants, Nina had never brought her
+small daughter with her. Indeed her visits had become rarer and rarer.
+Vernon, knowing things without thinking about them, as children do, was
+perfectly well aware of two facts. One, that his father did not like
+Uncle Sydney but was always exceedingly polite to him. Two, that his
+mother did not like Aunt Nina and did not mind showing it. Sometimes,
+when Nina was sitting talking to Walter in the garden, Myra would join
+them, and in the momentary pause that nearly always followed she would
+say:
+
+"I suppose I'd better go away again. I see I'm in the way. No, thank
+you, Walter [this in answer to a protest, gently murmured], I can see
+plainly enough when I'm not wanted."
+
+She would move away, biting her lip, nervously clasping and unclasping
+her hands, tears in her brown eyes. And, very quietly, Walter Deyre
+would raise his eyebrows.
+
+One day Nina broke out: "She's impossible! I can't speak to you for
+ten minutes without an absurd scene. Walter, why did you do it? Why
+_did_ you do it?"
+
+Vernon remembered how his father had looked round, gazing up at the
+house, then letting his eyes sweep far afield to where the ruins of the
+old Abbey just showed.
+
+"I cared for the place," he said slowly. "In the blood, I suppose. I
+didn't want to let it go."
+
+There had been a brief silence and then Nina had laughed--a queer short
+laugh.
+
+"We're not a very satisfactory family," she said. "We've made a pretty
+good mess of things, you and I."
+
+There was another pause and then his father had said: "Is it as bad as
+that?"
+
+Nina had drawn in her breath with a sharp hiss. She nodded.
+
+"Pretty well. I don't think, Walter, that I can go on much longer. Fred
+hates the sight of me. Oh! we behave very prettily in public--no one
+would guess--but my God, when we're alone!"
+
+"Yes, but my dear girl...."
+
+And then, for a while, Vernon heard no more. Their voices were lowered,
+his father seemed to be arguing with his aunt. Finally his voice rose
+again.
+
+"You can't take a mad step like that. It's not even as though you cared
+for Anstey. You don't."
+
+"I suppose not--but he's crazy about me."
+
+His father said something that sounded like Social Ostriches. Nina
+laughed again.
+
+"That? We'd neither of us care."
+
+"Anstey would in the end."
+
+"Fred would divorce me--only too glad of the chance. Then we could
+marry."
+
+"Even then----"
+
+"Walter on the social conventions! It has its humorous side!"
+
+"Women and men are very different," said Vernon's father dryly.
+
+"Oh! I know--I know. But anything's better than this everlasting
+misery. Of course, at the bottom of it all is that I still care for
+Fred--I always did. And he never cared for me."
+
+"There's the kid," said Walter Deyre. "You can't go off and leave her?"
+
+"Can't I? I'm not much of a mother, you know. As a matter of fact, I'd
+take her with me. Fred wouldn't care. He hates her as much as he hates
+me."
+
+There was another pause, a long one this time. Then Nina said slowly:
+
+"What a ghastly tangle human beings can get themselves into. And in
+your case and mine, Walter, it's all our own fault. We're a nice
+family! We bring bad luck to ourselves and to anyone we have anything
+to do with."
+
+Walter Deyre got up. He filled a pipe abstractedly, then moved slowly
+away. For the first time Nina noticed Vernon.
+
+"Hullo, child," she said. "I didn't see you were there. How much did
+you understand of all that, I wonder?"
+
+"I don't know," said Vernon vaguely, shifting from foot to foot.
+
+Nina opened a chain bag, took out a tortoise-shell case, and extracted
+a cigarette which she proceeded to light. Vernon watched her,
+fascinated. He had never seen a woman smoke.
+
+"What's the matter?" said Nina.
+
+"Mummy says," said Vernon, "that no nice woman would ever smoke. She
+said so to Miss Robbins."
+
+"Oh! well," said Nina. She puffed out a cloud of smoke. "I expect she
+was quite right. I'm not a nice woman, you see, Vernon."
+
+Vernon looked at her, vaguely distressed.
+
+"I think you're very pretty," he said rather shyly.
+
+"That's not the same thing." Nina's smile widened. "Come here, Vernon."
+
+He came obediently. Nina put her hands on his shoulders and looked him
+over quizzically. He submitted patiently. He never minded being touched
+by Aunt Nina. Her hands were light--not clutching like his mother's.
+
+"Yes," said Nina, "you're a Deyre--very much so. Rough luck on Myra,
+but there it is."
+
+"What does that mean?" said Vernon.
+
+"It means that you're like your father's family and not like your
+mother's--worse luck for you."
+
+"Why worse luck for me?"
+
+"Because the Deyres, Vernon, are neither happy nor successful. And they
+can't make good."
+
+What funny things Aunt Nina said! She said them half laughingly, so
+perhaps she didn't mean them. And yet, somehow, there was something in
+them that, though he didn't understand, made him afraid.
+
+"Would it be better," he said suddenly, "to be like Uncle Sydney?"
+
+"Much better. Much much better."
+
+Vernon considered.
+
+"But then," he said slowly, "if I was like Uncle Sydney----"
+
+He stopped, trying to get his thoughts into words.
+
+"Yes, well?"
+
+"If I was Uncle Sydney I should have to live at Larch Hurst--and not
+here."
+
+Larch Hurst was a stoutly built red brick villa near Birmingham where
+Vernon had once been taken to stay with Uncle Sydney and Aunt Carrie.
+It had three acres of superb pleasure grounds, a rose garden, a
+pergola, a goldfish tank, and two excellently fitted bathrooms.
+
+"And wouldn't you like that?" asked Nina, still watching him.
+
+"No!" said Vernon. A great sigh broke from him, heaving his small
+chest. "I want to live _here_--always, always, always!"
+
+
+                                  _2_
+
+Soon after this something queer happened about Aunt Nina. His mother
+began to speak of her and his father managed to hush her down with a
+sideways glance at himself. He carried away only a couple of phrases:
+"It's that poor child I'm so sorry for. You've only got to look at Nina
+to see she's a Bad Lot and always will be."
+
+The poor child, Vernon knew, was his cousin Josephine, whom he had
+never seen, but to whom he sent presents at Christmas and duly
+received others in return. He wondered why Josephine was "poor" and
+why his mother was sorry for her, and also why Aunt Nina was a Bad
+Lot--whatever that meant. He asked Miss Robbins, who got very pink and
+told him he mustn't talk about "things like that." Things like what?
+Vernon wondered.
+
+However, he didn't think much more about it till four months later,
+when the matter was mentioned once more. This time no one noticed
+Vernon's presence--feelings were running too high for that. His mother
+and father were in the middle of a vehement discussion. His mother, as
+usual, was vociferous, excited. His father was very quiet.
+
+"Disgraceful!" Myra was saying. "Within three months of running away
+with one man to go off with another. It shows her up in her true light.
+I always knew what she was like. Men, men, men, nothing but men!"
+
+"You're welcome to any opinion you choose, Myra. That's not the point.
+I knew perfectly how it would strike you."
+
+"And anyone else too, I should think! I can't understand you, Walter.
+You call yourself an old family and all that----"
+
+"We are an old family," he put in quietly.
+
+"I should have thought you'd have minded a bit about the honour of your
+name. She's disgraced it--and if you were a real man you'd cast her off
+utterly as she deserves."
+
+"Traditional scene from the melodrama, in fact."
+
+"You always sneer and laugh! Morals mean nothing to you--absolutely
+nothing."
+
+"At the minute, as I've been trying to make you understand, it's not
+a question of morals. It's a question of my sister being destitute.
+I must go out to Monte Carlo and see what can be done. I should have
+thought anyone in their senses would see that."
+
+"Thank you. You're not very polite, are you? And whose fault is it
+she's destitute, I should like to know? She had a good husband----"
+
+"No--not that."
+
+"At any rate, he married her."
+
+It was his father who flushed this time. He said, in a very low voice:
+
+"I can't understand you, Myra. You're a good woman--a kind honourable
+upright woman--and yet you can demean yourself to make a nasty mean
+taunt like that."
+
+"That's right! Abuse me! I'm used to it! You don't mind what you say to
+me."
+
+"That's not true. I try to be as courteous as I can."
+
+"Yes. And that's partly why I hate you--you never do say right out.
+Always polite and sneering--your tongue in your cheek. All this keeping
+up appearances--why should one, I should like to know? Why should I
+care if everyone in the house knows what I feel?"
+
+"I've no doubt they do--thanks to the carrying power of your voice."
+
+"There you are--sneering again. At any rate I've enjoyed telling you
+what I think of your precious sister. Running away with one man, going
+off with a second--and why can't the second man keep her, I should like
+to know? Or is he tired of her already?"
+
+"I've already told you, but you didn't listen. He's threatened with
+galloping consumption--has had to throw up his job. He's no private
+means."
+
+"Ah! Nina brought her pigs to a bad market that time."
+
+"There's one thing about Nina--she's never been actuated by motives of
+gain. She's a fool, a damned fool, or she wouldn't have got herself
+into this mess. But it's always her affections that run away with her
+common sense. It's the deuce of a tangle. She won't touch a penny from
+Fred. Anstey wants to make her an allowance--she won't hear of it. And,
+mind you, I agree with her. There are things one can't do. But I've
+certainly got to go and see to things. I'm sorry if it annoys you, but
+there it is."
+
+"You never do anything I want! You hate me! You do this on purpose to
+make me miserable. But there's one thing. You don't bring this precious
+sister of yours under this roof while I'm here. I'm not accustomed to
+meeting that kind of woman. You understand?"
+
+"You make your meaning almost offensively clear."
+
+"If you bring her here, I go back to Birmingham."
+
+There was a faint flicker in Walter Deyre's eyes, and suddenly Vernon
+realized something that his mother did not. He had understood very
+little of the actual words of the conversation though he had grasped
+the essentials. Aunt Nina was ill or unhappy somewhere and Mummy was
+angry about it. She had said that if Aunt Nina came to Abbots Puissants
+she would go back to Uncle Sydney at Birmingham. She had meant that
+as a threat--but Vernon knew that his father would be very pleased
+if she did go back to Birmingham. He knew it quite certainly and
+uncomprehendingly. It was like some of Miss Robbins's punishments, like
+not speaking for half an hour. She thought you minded that as much as
+not having jam for tea, and fortunately she had never discovered that
+you didn't really mind it at all--in fact rather enjoyed it.
+
+Walter Deyre walked up and down the room. Vernon watched him, puzzled.
+That his father was fighting out a battle in his own mind, he knew. But
+he couldn't understand what it was all about.
+
+"Well?" said Myra.
+
+She was rather beautiful just at that moment--a great big woman,
+magnificently proportioned, her head thrown back and the sunlight
+streaming in on her golden-red hair. A fit mate for some Viking
+seafarer.
+
+"I made you the mistress of this house, Myra," said Walter Deyre. "If
+you object to my sister coming to it, naturally she will not come."
+
+He moved toward the door. There he paused and looked back at her.
+"If Llewellyn dies--which seems almost certain--Nina must try to get
+some kind of a job. Then there will be the child to think of. Do your
+objections apply to her?"
+
+"Do you think I want a girl in my home who will turn out like her
+mother?"
+
+His father said quietly: "Yes or No would have been quite sufficient
+answer."
+
+He went out. Myra stood staring after him. Tears stood in her eyes and
+began to fall. Vernon did not like tears. He edged toward the door--but
+not in time.
+
+"Darling, come to me."
+
+He had to come. He was enfolded--hugged. Fragments of phrases
+reiterated in his ears:
+
+"You'll make up to me--you, my own boy. You shan't be like
+them--horrid, sneering. You won't fail me--you'll never fail me--will
+you? Swear it--my boy, my own boy!"
+
+He knew it all so well. He said what was wanted of him--Yes and No in
+the right places. How he hated the whole business! It always happened
+so close to your ears.
+
+That evening after tea Myra was in quite another mood. She was writing
+a letter at her writing table and looked up gaily as Vernon entered.
+
+"I'm writing to Daddy. Perhaps, very soon, your Aunt Nina and your
+cousin Josephine will come to stay. Won't that be lovely?"
+
+But they didn't come. Myra said to herself that really Walter was
+incomprehensible. Just because she'd said a few things she really
+didn't mean....
+
+Vernon was not very surprised, somehow. He hadn't thought they would
+come.
+
+Aunt Nina had said she wasn't a nice woman--but she was very pretty.
+
+
+
+
+                               chapter 6
+
+
+If Vernon had been capable of summing up the events of the next few
+years, he could best have done it in one word--scenes! Everlasting and
+ever-recurring scenes.
+
+And he began to notice a curious phenomenon. After each scene his
+mother looked larger and his father looked smaller. Emotional storms of
+reproach and invective exhilarated Myra mentally and physically. She
+emerged from them refreshed; soothed--full of good will toward all the
+world.
+
+With Walter Deyre it was the opposite. He withdrew into himself, every
+sensitive fibre in his nature shrinking from the onslaught. The faint
+polite sarcasm that was his weapon of defence never failed to goad his
+wife to the utmost fury. His quiet weary self-control exasperated her
+as nothing else could have done.
+
+Not that she was lacking for very real grounds of complaint. Walter
+Deyre spent less and less time at Abbots Puissants. When he did return
+his eyes had baggy pouches under them and his hand shook. He took
+little notice of Vernon, and yet the child was always conscious of an
+underlying sympathy. It was tacitly understood that Walter should not
+"interfere" with the child. A mother was the person who should have the
+say. Apart from supervising the boy's riding, Walter stood aside. Not
+to do so would have roused fresh matter for discussion and reproach.
+He was ready to admit that Myra had all the virtues and was a most
+careful and attentive mother.
+
+And yet he sometimes had the feeling that he could give the boy
+something that she could not. The trouble was that they were both
+shy of each other. To neither of them was it easy to express his
+feelings--a thing Myra would have found incomprehensible. They remained
+gravely polite to each other.
+
+But when a scene was in progress Vernon was full of silent sympathy. He
+knew exactly how his father was feeling--knew how that loud angry voice
+hurt the ears and the head. He knew, of course, that Mummy must be
+right--Mummy was always right, that was an article of belief not to be
+questioned--but all the same, he was unconsciously on his father's side.
+
+Things went from bad to worse--came to a crisis. Mummy remained
+locked in her room for two days--servants whispered delightedly in
+corners--and Uncle Sydney arrived on the scene to see what he could do.
+
+Uncle Sydney undoubtedly had a soothing influence over Myra. He walked
+up and down the room, jingling his money as of old, and looking stouter
+and more rubicund than ever.
+
+Myra poured out her woes.
+
+"Yes, yes, I know," said Uncle Sydney, jingling hard. "I know, my dear
+girl. I'm not saying you haven't had a lot to put up with. You have.
+Nobody knows that better than I do. But there's give and take, you
+know. Give and take. That's married life in a nutshell--give and take."
+
+There was a fresh outburst from Myra.
+
+"I'm not sticking up for Deyre," said Uncle Sydney. "Not at all. I'm
+just looking at the whole thing as a man of the world. Women lead
+sheltered lives and they don't look at these things as men do--quite
+right that they shouldn't. You're a good woman, Myra, and it's always
+hard for a good woman to understand these things. Carrie's just the
+same."
+
+"What has Carrie got to put up with, I should like to know?" cried
+Myra. "_You_ don't go off racketing round with disgusting women.
+_You_ don't make love to the servants."
+
+"N-no," said her brother. "No, of course not. It's the principle of the
+thing I'm talking about. And mind you, Carrie and I don't see eye to
+eye over everything. We have our tiffs--why, sometimes we don't speak
+to each other for two days on end. But bless you, we make it up again,
+and things go on better than before. A good row clears the air--that's
+what I say. But there must be give and take. And no nagging afterward.
+The best man in the world won't stand nagging."
+
+"I never nag," said Myra tearfully, and believed it. "How can you say
+such a thing?"
+
+"Now don't get the wind up, old girl. I'm not saying you do. I'm just
+laying down general principles. And remember, Deyre's not our sort.
+He's kittle cattle--the touchy sensitive kind. A mere trifle sets them
+off."
+
+"Don't I know it?" said Myra bitterly. "He's impossible. Why did I ever
+marry him?"
+
+"Well, you know, Sis, you can't have it both ways. It was a good match.
+I'm bound to admit it was a good match. Here you are, living in a swell
+place, knowing all the county, as good as anybody short of royalty. My
+word, if poor old Dad had lived, how proud he'd have been! And what I'm
+getting at is this--everything's got its seamy side. You can't have the
+halfpence without one or two of the kicks as well. They're decadent,
+these old families, that's what they are--decadent, and you've just
+got to face the fact. You've just got to sum up the situation in a
+businesslike way--advantages, so and so; disadvantages, ditto. It's the
+only way. Take my word for it, it's the only way."
+
+"I didn't marry him for the sake of 'advantages,' as you call it,"
+said Myra. "I hate this place. I always have. It's because of Abbots
+Puissants he married me--not for myself."
+
+"Nonsense, Sis, you were a jolly pretty girl--and still are," he added
+gallantly.
+
+"Walter married me for the sake of Abbots Puissants," said Myra
+obstinately. "I tell you I know it."
+
+"Well, well," said her brother. "Let's leave the past alone."
+
+"You wouldn't be so calm and cold-blooded about it if you were me,"
+said Myra bitterly. "Not if you had to live with him. I do everything
+I can think of to please him--and he only sneers and treats me like
+this."
+
+"You nag him," said Sydney. "Oh! yes, you do. You can't help it."
+
+"If only he'd answer back! If he'd say something--instead of just
+sitting there."
+
+"Yes, but that's the kind of fellow he is. You can't alter people
+in this world to suit your fancy. I can't say I care for the chap
+myself--too ladida for me. Why, if you put him in to run a concern it
+would be bankrupt in a fortnight! But I'm bound to say he's always been
+very polite and decent to me. Quite the gentleman. When I've run across
+him in London he's taken me to lunch at that swell club of his, and if
+I didn't feel too comfortable there that wasn't his fault. He's got his
+good points."
+
+"You're so like a man," said Myra. "Carrie would understand! He's been
+unfaithful to me, I tell you. Unfaithful!"
+
+"Well, well," said Uncle Sydney, with a great deal of jingling and his
+eyes on the ceiling. "Men will be men."
+
+"But Syd, you never----"
+
+"Of course not," said Uncle Sydney hastily. "Of course not--of course
+not. I'm speaking generally, Myra--generally, you understand."
+
+"It's all finished," said Myra. "No woman could stand more than I've
+stood. And now it's the end. I never want to see him again."
+
+"Ah!" said Uncle Sydney. He drew a chair to the table and sat down with
+the air of one prepared to talk business. "Then let's get down to brass
+tacks. You've made up your mind? What is it you do want to do?"
+
+"I tell you I never want to see Walter again!"
+
+"Yes, yes," said Uncle Sydney patiently. "We're taking that for
+granted. Now what do you want? A divorce?"
+
+"Oh!" Myra was taken aback. "I hadn't thought...."
+
+"Well, we must get the thing put on a businesslike footing. I doubt if
+you'd get a divorce. You've got to prove cruelty, you know, as well,
+and I doubt if you could do that."
+
+"If you knew the suffering he's caused me----"
+
+"I daresay. I'm not denying it. But you want something more than that
+to satisfy the law. And there's no desertion. If you wrote to him to
+come back he'd come, I suppose?"
+
+"Haven't I just told you I never want to see him again?"
+
+"Yes, yes, yes. You women do harp on a thing so. We're looking at the
+thing from a business point of view now. I don't think a divorce will
+wash."
+
+"I don't want a divorce."
+
+"Well, what do you want, a separation?"
+
+"So that he could go and live with that abandoned creature in London?
+Live with her altogether? And what would happen to me, I should like to
+know?"
+
+"Plenty nice houses near me and Carrie. You'd have the boy with you
+most of the time, I expect."
+
+"And let Walter bring disgusting women into this very house, perhaps?
+No, indeed, I don't intend to play into his hands like that!"
+
+"Well, dash it all Myra, what do you want?"
+
+Myra began to cry again.
+
+"I'm so miserable, Syd, I'm so miserable. If only Walter were
+different!"
+
+"Well, he isn't--and he never will be. You must just make up your mind
+to it, Myra. You've married a fellow who's a bit of a Don Jooan--and
+you've got to try and take a broad-minded view of it. You're fond of
+the chap. Kiss and make friends--that's what I say. We're none of us
+perfect. Give and take--that's the thing to remember--give and take."
+
+His sister continued to weep quietly.
+
+"Marriage is a ticklish business," went on Uncle Sydney in a ruminative
+voice. "Women are too good for us, not a doubt of it."
+
+"I suppose," said Myra in a tearful voice, "one ought to forgive and
+forgive--again and again."
+
+"That's the spirit," said Uncle Sydney. "Women are angels and men
+aren't, and women have got to make allowances. Always have had to and
+always will."
+
+Myra's sobs grew less. She was seeing herself now in the rôle of the
+forgiving angel.
+
+"It isn't as if I didn't do everything I could," she sobbed. "I run
+the house and I'm sure nobody could be a more devoted mother."
+
+"Of course you are," said Uncle Sydney. "And that's a fine youngster
+of yours. I wish Carrie and I had a boy. Four girls--it's a bit thick.
+Still, as I always say to her: 'Better luck next time, old girl.' We
+both feel sure it's going to be a boy this time."
+
+Myra was diverted.
+
+"I didn't know. When is it?"
+
+"June."
+
+"How is Carrie?"
+
+"Suffering a bit with her legs--swelled, you know. But she manages to
+get about a fair amount. Why, hullo, here's that young shaver. How long
+have you been here, my boy?"
+
+"Oh! a long time," said Vernon. "I was here when you came in."
+
+"You're so quiet," complained his uncle. "Not like your cousins. I'm
+sure the racket they make is almost too much to bear sometimes. What's
+that you've got there?"
+
+"It's an engine," said Vernon.
+
+"No, it isn't," said Uncle Sydney. "It's a milk cart!"
+
+Vernon was silent.
+
+"Hey," said Uncle Sydney. "Isn't it a milk cart?"
+
+"No," said Vernon. "It's an engine."
+
+"Not a bit of it. It's a milk cart. That's funny, isn't it? You say
+it's an engine and I say it's a milk cart. I wonder which of us is
+right?"
+
+Since Vernon knew that he was, it seemed hardly necessary to reply.
+
+"He's a solemn child," said Uncle Sydney, turning to his sister. "Never
+sees a joke. You know, my boy, you'll have to get used to being teased
+at school."
+
+"Shall I?" said Vernon, who couldn't see what that had to do with it.
+
+"A boy who can take teasing with a laugh, that's the sort of boy who
+gets on in the world," said Uncle Sydney, and jingled his money again,
+stimulated by a natural association of ideas.
+
+Vernon stared at him thoughtfully.
+
+"What are you thinking about?"
+
+"Nothing," said Vernon.
+
+"Take your engine on the terrace, dear," said Myra.
+
+Vernon obeyed.
+
+"Now I wonder how much that little chap took in of what we were talking
+about?" said Sydney to his sister.
+
+"Oh! he wouldn't understand. He's too little."
+
+"H'm," said Sydney. "I don't know. Some children take in a lot--my
+Ethel does. But then she's a very wide-awake child."
+
+"I don't think Vernon ever notices anything," said Myra. "It's rather a
+blessing in some ways."
+
+
+                                  _2_
+
+"Mummy," said Vernon later, "what's going to happen in June?"
+
+"In June, darling?"
+
+"Yes--what you and Uncle Sydney were talking about."
+
+"Oh! that----" Myra was momentarily discomposed. "Well, you see--it's a
+great secret."
+
+"Yes?" said Vernon eagerly.
+
+"Uncle Sydney and Aunt Carrie hope that in June they will have a dear
+little baby boy. A boy cousin for you."
+
+"Oh!" said Vernon, disappointed. "Is that all?"
+
+After a minute or two he said:
+
+"Why are Aunt Carrie's legs swelled?"
+
+"Oh! well--you see--she has been rather overtired lately."
+
+Myra dreaded more questions. She tried to remember what she and Sydney
+had actually said.
+
+"Mummy?"
+
+"Yes, dear."
+
+"Do Uncle Sydney and Aunt Carrie want to have a baby boy?"
+
+"Yes, of course."
+
+"Then why do they wait till June? Why don't they have it now?"
+
+"Because, Vernon, God knows best. And God wants them to have it in
+June."
+
+"That's a long time to wait," said Vernon. "If I were God I'd send
+people things at once, as soon as they wanted them."
+
+"You mustn't be blasphemous, dear," said Myra gently.
+
+Vernon was silent. But he was puzzled. What was blasphemous? He rather
+thought that it was the same word Cook had used speaking of her
+brother. She had said he was a most--something--man and hardly ever
+touched a drop! She had spoken as though such an attitude was highly
+commendable. But evidently Mummy didn't seem to think the same about it.
+
+Vernon added an extra prayer that evening to his usual petition of "God
+bless Mummy and Daddy and makemeagooboy armen."
+
+"Dear God," he prayed. "Will you send me a puppy in June!--or July
+would do if you are very busy."
+
+"Now why in June?" said Miss Robbins. "You _are_ a funny little
+boy. I should have thought you would have wanted the puppy now."
+
+"That would be blamafous," said Vernon, and eyed her reproachfully.
+
+
+                                  _3_
+
+Suddenly the world became very exciting. There was a war--in South
+Africa--and Father was going to it!
+
+Everyone was excited and upset. For the first time, Vernon heard of
+some people called the Boers. They were the people that Father was
+going to fight.
+
+His father came home for a few days. He looked younger and more alive
+and a great deal more cheerful. He and Mummy were quite nice to each
+other and there weren't any scenes or quarrels.
+
+Once or twice, Vernon thought, his father squirmed uneasily at some of
+the things his mother said. Once he said irritably:
+
+"For God's sake, Myra, don't keep talking of brave heroes laying down
+their lives for their country. I can't stand that sort of cant."
+
+But his mother had not got angry. She only said:
+
+"I know you don't like me saying it. But it's _true_."
+
+On the last evening before he left, Vernon's father called to his
+small son to go for a walk with him. They strolled all round the place,
+silently at first, and then Vernon was emboldened to ask questions.
+
+"Are you glad you're going to the war, Father?"
+
+"Very glad."
+
+"Is it fun?"
+
+"Not what you'd call fun, I expect. But it is in a way. It's
+excitement, and then, too, it takes you away from things--right away."
+
+"I suppose," said Vernon thoughtfully, "there aren't any ladies at the
+war?"
+
+Walter Deyre looked sharply at his son, a slight smile hovering on his
+lips. Uncanny, the way the boy sometimes hit the nail on the head quite
+unconsciously.
+
+"That makes for peace, certainly," he said gravely.
+
+"Will you kill a good many people, do you think?" inquired Vernon
+interestedly.
+
+His father replied that it was impossible to tell accurately beforehand.
+
+"I hope you will," said Vernon, anxious that his father should shine.
+"I hope you'll kill a hundred."
+
+"Thank you, old man."
+
+"I suppose----" began Vernon, and then stopped.
+
+"Yes?" said Walter Deyre encouragingly.
+
+"I suppose--sometimes--people do get killed in war."
+
+Walter Deyre understood the ambiguous phrase.
+
+"Sometimes," he said.
+
+"You don't think you will, do you?"
+
+"I might. It's all in the day's work, you know."
+
+Vernon considered the phrase thoughtfully. The feeling that underlay it
+came dimly to him.
+
+"Would you mind if you were, Father?"
+
+"It might be the best thing," said Walter Deyre, more to himself than
+to the child.
+
+"I hope you won't," said Vernon.
+
+"Thank you."
+
+His father smiled a little. Vernon's wish had sounded so politely
+conventional. But he did not make the mistake Myra would have done, of
+thinking the child unfeeling.
+
+They had reached the ruins of the Abbey. The sun was just setting.
+Father and son looked round and Walter Deyre drew in his breath with a
+little intake of pain. Perhaps he might never stand here again.
+
+"I've made a mess of things," he thought to himself.
+
+"Vernon?"
+
+"Yes, Father?"
+
+"If I am killed Abbots Puissants will belong to you. You know that,
+don't you?"
+
+"Yes, Father."
+
+Silence again. So much that he would have liked to say--but he wasn't
+used to saying things. These were the things that one didn't put into
+words. Odd, how strangely at home he felt with that small person, his
+son. Perhaps it had been a mistake not to have got to know the boy
+better. They might have had some good times together. He was shy of the
+boy--and the boy was shy of him. And yet, somehow, they were curiously
+in harmony. They both of them disliked saying things.
+
+"I'm fond of the old place," said Walter Deyre. "I expect you will be
+too."
+
+"Yes, Father."
+
+"Queer to think of the old monks--catching their fish--fat fellows.
+That's how I always think of them--comfortable chaps."
+
+They lingered a few minutes longer.
+
+"Well," said Walter Deyre, "we must be getting home. It's late."
+
+They turned. Walter Deyre squared his shoulders. There was a
+leavetaking to be got through--an emotional one, if he knew Myra--and
+he rather dreaded it. Well, it would soon be over. Good-byes were
+painful things--better if one made no fuss about them, but then of
+course Myra would never see it that way.
+
+Poor Myra! She'd had a rotten deal on the whole. A fine-looking
+creature, but he'd married her really for the sake of Abbots
+Puissants--and she had married him for love. That was the root of the
+whole trouble.
+
+"Look after your mother, Vernon," he said suddenly. "She's been very
+good to you, you know."
+
+He rather hoped, in a way, that he wouldn't come back. It would be best
+so. Vernon had his mother.
+
+And yet, at that thought, he had a queer traitorous feeling. As though
+he were deserting the boy....
+
+
+                                  _4_
+
+"Walter," cried Myra, "you haven't said good-bye to Vernon."
+
+Walter looked across at his son, standing there wide-eyed.
+
+"Good-bye, old chap. Have a good time."
+
+"Good-bye, Father."
+
+That was all. Myra was scandalized. Had he no love for the boy? He
+hadn't even kissed him. How queer they were--the Deyres. So casual.
+Strange, the way they had nodded to each other across the width of the
+room. So alike....
+
+"But Vernon," said Myra to herself, "shall not grow up like his father."
+
+On the walls around her Deyres looked down and smiled sardonically.
+
+
+
+
+                               chapter 7
+
+
+Two months after his father sailed for South Africa Vernon went to
+school. It had been Walter Deyre's wish and arrangement, and Myra,
+at the moment, was disposed to regard any wish of his as law. He was
+her soldier and her hero, and everything else was forgotten. She was
+thoroughly happy at this time. Knitting socks for the soldiers, urging
+on energetic campaigns of "white feather," sympathizing and talking
+with other women whose husbands had also gone to fight the wicked
+ungrateful Boers.
+
+She felt exquisite pangs parting with Vernon. Her darling--her baby--to
+go so far away from her. What sacrifices mothers had to make! But it
+had been his father's wish.
+
+Poor darling, he was sure to be most terribly homesick! She couldn't
+bear to think of it.
+
+But Vernon was not homesick. He had no real passionate attachment to
+his mother. All his life he was to be fondest of her when away from
+her. His escape from her emotional atmosphere was felt by him as a
+relief.
+
+He had a good temperament for school life. He had an aptitude for
+games, a quiet manner, and an unusual amount of physical courage. After
+the dull monotony of life under the reign of Miss Robbins, school was a
+delightful novelty. Like all the Deyres, he had the knack of getting on
+with people. He made friends easily.
+
+But the reticence of the child who so often answered "Nothing" clung to
+him. Except with one or two people, that reticence was to go through
+life with him. His school friends were people with whom he shared
+"doing things." His thoughts he was to keep to himself and share with
+only one person. That person came into his life very soon.
+
+On his very first holidays he found Josephine.
+
+
+                                  _2_
+
+Vernon was welcomed by his mother with an outburst of demonstrative
+affection. Already rather self-conscious about such things, he bore it
+manfully. Myra's first raptures over, she said:
+
+"There's a lovely surprise for you, darling. Who do you think is here?
+Your cousin Josephine, Aunt Nina's little girl. She has come to live
+with us. Now, isn't that nice?"
+
+Vernon wasn't quite sure. It needed thinking over. To gain time, he
+said:
+
+"Why has she come to live with us?"
+
+"Because her mother has died. It's terribly sad for her and we must be
+very, very kind to her to make up."
+
+"Is Aunt Nina dead?"
+
+He was sorry Aunt Nina was dead. Pretty Aunt Nina with her curling
+cigarette smoke.
+
+"Yes. You can't remember her, of course, darling."
+
+He didn't say that he remembered her perfectly. Why should one say
+things?
+
+"She's in the schoolroom, darling. Go and find her and make friends."
+
+Vernon went slowly. He didn't know whether he was pleased or not. A
+girl! He was at the age to despise girls. Rather a nuisance having a
+girl about. On the other hand, it would be jolly having _someone_.
+It depended what the kid was like. One would have to be decent to her
+if she'd just lost her mother.
+
+He opened the schoolroom door and went in. Josephine was sitting on the
+window sill swinging her legs. She stared at him, and Vernon's attitude
+of kindly condescension fell from him.
+
+She was a squarely built child of about his own age. She had dead
+black hair cut very straight across her forehead. Her jaw stuck out
+a little in a determined way. She had a very white skin and enormous
+eyelashes. Although she was two months younger than Vernon, she had the
+sophistication of twice his years--a kind of mixture of weariness and
+defiance.
+
+"Hullo," she said.
+
+"Hullo," said Vernon, rather feebly.
+
+They went on looking at each other, suspiciously, as is the manner of
+children and dogs.
+
+"I suppose you're my cousin Josephine," said Vernon.
+
+"Yes, but you'd better call me Joe. Everyone does."
+
+"All right--Joe."
+
+There was a pause. To bridge it, Vernon whistled.
+
+"Rather jolly, coming home," he observed at last.
+
+"It's an awfully jolly place," said Joe.
+
+"Oh! do you like it?" said Vernon, warming to her.
+
+"I like it awfully. Better than any of the places I've lived."
+
+"Have you lived in a lot of places?"
+
+"Oh! yes. At Coombes first--when we were with Father. And then at Monte
+Carlo with Colonel Anstey. And then at Toulon with Arthur--and then a
+lot of Swiss places because of Arthur's lungs. And then I went to a
+convent for a bit after Arthur died. Mother couldn't be bothered with
+me just then. I didn't like it much--the nuns were so silly. They made
+me have a bath in my chemise. And then, after Mother died, Aunt Myra
+came and fetched me here."
+
+"I'm awfully sorry--about your mother, I mean," said Vernon awkwardly.
+
+"Yes," said Joe. "It's rotten in a way--though much the best thing for
+her."
+
+"Oh!" said Vernon, rather taken aback.
+
+"Don't tell Aunt Myra," said Joe. "Because I think she's rather easily
+shocked by things--rather like the nuns. You have to be careful what
+you say to her. Mother didn't care for me an awful lot, you know. She
+was frightfully kind and all that--but she was always soppy about some
+man or other. I heard some people say so in the hotel, and it was quite
+true. She couldn't help it, of course. But it's a very bad plan. I
+shan't have anything to do with men when I grow up."
+
+"Oh!" said Vernon. He was still feeling very young and awkward beside
+this amazing person.
+
+"I liked Colonel Anstey best," said Joe reminiscently. "But of course
+Mother only ran away with him to get away from Father. We stayed at
+much better hotels with Colonel Anstey. Arthur was very poor. If I ever
+do get soppy about a man when I grow up, I shall take care that he's
+rich. It makes things so much easier."
+
+"Wasn't your father nice?"
+
+"Oh! Father was a devil--Mother said so. He hated us both."
+
+"But why?"
+
+Joe wrinkled her straight black brows in perplexity.
+
+"I don't quite know. I think--I think it was something to do with
+_me_ coming. I think he had to marry Mother because she was going
+to have me--something like that--and it made him angry."
+
+They looked at each other, solemn and perplexed.
+
+"Uncle Walter's in South Africa, isn't he?" went on Joe.
+
+"Yes. I've had three letters from him at school. Awfully jolly letters."
+
+"Uncle Walter's a dear. I loved him. He came out to Monte Carlo, you
+know."
+
+Some memory stirred in Vernon. Of course, he remembered now. His father
+had wanted Joe to come to Abbots Puissants then.
+
+"He arranged for me to go to the convent," said Joe. "Reverend Mother
+thought he was lovely--a true type of high-born English gentleman--such
+a funny way of putting it."
+
+They both laughed a little.
+
+"Let's go out in the garden. Shall we?" said Vernon.
+
+"Yes, let's. I say, I know where there are four different nests--but
+the birds have all flown away."
+
+They went out together, amicably discussing birds' eggs.
+
+
+                                  _3_
+
+To Myra, Joe was a perplexing child. She had nice manners, answered
+promptly and politely when spoken to, and submitted to caresses without
+returning them. She was very independent and gave the maid off to
+attend to her little or nothing to do. She could mend her own clothes
+and keep herself neat and tidy without any outside urging. She was,
+in fact, the sophisticated hotel child whom Myra had never happened
+to come across. The depths of her knowledge would have horrified and
+shocked her aunt.
+
+But Joe was shrewd and quick-witted, well used to summing up the people
+with whom she came in contact. She refrained carefully from "shocking
+Aunt Myra." She had for her something closely akin to a kindly contempt.
+
+"Your mother," she said to Vernon, "is very good--but she's a little
+stupid too, isn't she?"
+
+"She's very beautiful," said Vernon hotly.
+
+"Yes, she is," agreed Joe. "All but her hands. Her hair's lovely. I
+wish I had red-gold hair."
+
+"It comes right down below her waist," said Vernon.
+
+He found Joe a wonderful companion, quite unlike his previous
+conception of "girls." She hated dolls, never cried, was as strong if
+not stronger than he was, and was always ready and willing for any
+dangerous sport. Together they climbed trees, rode bicycles, fell
+and cut and bumped themselves, and ended up by taking a wasp's nest
+together, with a success due more to luck than skill.
+
+To Joe, Vernon could talk and did. She opened up to him a strange new
+world, a world where people ran away with other people's husbands and
+wives, a world of dancing and gambling and cynicism. She had loved her
+mother with a fierce protective tenderness that almost reversed the
+rôles.
+
+"She was too soft," said Joe. "I'm not going to be soft. People are
+mean to you if you are. Men are beasts anyway, but if you're a beast to
+them first, they're all right. All men are beasts."
+
+"That's a silly thing to say, and I don't think it's true."
+
+"That's because you're going to be a man yourself."
+
+"No, it isn't. And anyway I'm not a beast."
+
+"No, but I daresay you will be when you're grown up."
+
+"But, look here, Joe, you'll have to marry someone some day, and you
+won't think your husband a beast."
+
+"Why should I marry anyone?"
+
+"Well--girls do. You don't want to be an old maid like Miss Crabtree."
+
+Joe wavered. Miss Crabtree was an elderly spinster who was very active
+in the village and who was very fond of "the dear children."
+
+"I shouldn't be the kind of old maid Miss Crabtree is," she said
+weakly. "I should--oh! I should do things. Play the violin, or write
+books, or paint some marvellous pictures."
+
+"I hope you won't play the violin," said Vernon.
+
+"That's really what I should like to do best. Why do you hate music so,
+Vernon?"
+
+"I don't know. I just do. It makes me feel all horrible inside."
+
+"How queer! It gives me a nice feeling. What are you going to do when
+you grow up?"
+
+"Oh! I don't know. I'd like to marry someone very beautiful and live at
+Abbots Puissants and have lots of horses and dogs."
+
+"How dull!" said Joe. "I don't think that would be exciting a bit."
+
+"I don't know that I want things to be very exciting," said Vernon.
+
+"I do," said Joe. "I want things to be exciting the whole time without
+ever stopping."
+
+
+                                  _4_
+
+Joe and Vernon had few other children to play with. The Vicar, whose
+children Vernon had played with when he was younger, had gone to
+another living, and his successor was unmarried. Most of the children
+of families in the same position as the Deyres lived too far away for
+more than a very occasional visit.
+
+The only exception was Nell Vereker. Her father, Captain Vereker, was
+agent to Lord Coomberleigh. He was a tall stooping man, with very
+pale blue eyes and a hesitating manner. He had good connections but
+was inefficient generally. His wife made up in efficiency for what he
+lacked. She was a tall commanding woman, still handsome. Her hair was
+very golden and her eyes were very blue. She had pushed her husband
+into the position he held, and in the same way she pushed herself into
+the best houses of the neighbourhood. She had birth but, like her
+husband, no money. Yet she was determined to make a success of life.
+
+Both Vernon and Joe were bored to death by Nell Vereker. She was a thin
+pale child with fair straggly hair. Her eyelids and the tip of her
+nose were faintly tinged with pink. She was no good at anything. She
+couldn't run and she couldn't climb. She was always dressed in starched
+white muslin and her favourite games were dolls' tea parties.
+
+Myra was very fond of Nell. "Such a thorough little lady," she used to
+say. Vernon and Joe were kindly and polite when Mrs. Vereker brought
+Nell to tea. They tried to think of games she would like, and they used
+to give whoops of delight when at last she departed, sitting up very
+straight beside her mother in the hired carriage.
+
+It was in Vernon's second holidays, just after the famous episode of
+the wasp's nest, that the first rumours came about Deerfields.
+
+Deerfields was the property adjoining Abbots Puissants. It belonged to
+old Sir Charles Alington. Some friends of Mrs. Deyre's came to lunch
+and the subject came up for discussion.
+
+"It's quite true. I had it from an absolutely authentic source.
+It's been sold to these people.... Yes--_Jews!_ Oh! of
+course--enormously wealthy.... Yes, a fancy price, I believe. Levinne,
+the name is.... No, Russian Jews, so I heard.... Oh! of course
+_quite_ impossible. Too bad of Sir Charles, I say.... Yes, of
+course there's the Yorkshire property as well, and I hear he's lost a
+lot of money lately.... No, no one will call. Naturally."
+
+Joe and Vernon were pleasurably excited. All titbits about Deerfields
+were carefully stored up. At last the strangers arrived and moved in.
+There was more talk of the same kind.
+
+"Oh! absolutely impossible, Mrs. Deyre.... Just as we thought.... One
+wonders what they think they are doing.... What do they expect?...
+I dare say they'll sell the place and move away.... Yes, there is a
+family. A boy. About your Vernon's age, I believe."
+
+"I wonder what Jews are like," said Vernon to Joe. "Why does everyone
+dislike them? We thought one boy at school was a Jew, but he eats bacon
+for breakfast, so he can't be."
+
+The Levinnes proved to be a very Christian brand of Jew. They appeared
+in church on Sunday, having taken a whole pew. The interest of the
+congregation was breathless. First came Mr. Levinne--very round and
+stout, tightly frock-coated--an enormous nose and a shining face. Then
+Mrs.--an amazing sight. Colossal sleeves! Hour-glass figure! Chains
+of diamonds! An immense hat decorated with feathers and black tightly
+curling ringlets underneath it! With them was a boy rather taller than
+Vernon with a long yellow face and protruding ears.
+
+A carriage and pair was waiting for them when service was over. They
+got into it and drove away.
+
+"Well!" said Miss Crabtree.
+
+Little groups formed, talking busily.
+
+
+                                  _5_
+
+"I think it's rotten," said Joe.
+
+She and Vernon were in the garden together.
+
+"What's rotten?"
+
+"Those people."
+
+"Do you mean the Levinnes?"
+
+"Yes. Why should everyone be so horrid about them?"
+
+"Well," said Vernon, trying to be strictly impartial, "they did look
+queer, you know."
+
+"Well, I think people are beasts."
+
+Vernon was silent. Joe, a rebel by force of circumstances, was always
+putting a new point of view before him.
+
+"That boy," continued Joe. "I dare say he's awfully jolly, even though
+his ears do stick out."
+
+"I wonder," said Vernon. "It would be jolly to have someone else. Kate
+says they're making a swimming pool at Deerfields."
+
+"They must be frightfully, frightfully rich," said Joe.
+
+Riches meant little to Vernon. He had never thought about them.
+
+The Levinnes were the great topic of conversation for some time. The
+improvements they were making at Deerfields! The workmen they had had
+down from London!
+
+Mrs. Vereker brought Nell to tea one day. As soon as she was in the
+garden with the children she imparted news of fascinating importance.
+
+"They've got a motor car."
+
+"A motor car?"
+
+Motor cars were almost unheard of then. One had never been seen in the
+Forest. Storms of envy shook Vernon. A motor car!
+
+"A motor car _and_ a swimming pool," he murmured.
+
+It was too much.
+
+"It's not a swimming pool," said Nell. "It's a sunk garden."
+
+"Kate says it's a swimming pool."
+
+"Our gardener says it's a sunk garden."
+
+"What is a sunk garden?"
+
+"I don't know," confessed Nell. "But it is one."
+
+"I don't believe it," said Joe. "Who'd want a silly sort of thing like
+that when they could have a swimming pool?"
+
+"Well, that's what our gardener says."
+
+"I know," said Joe. A wicked look came into her eyes. "Let's go and
+see."
+
+"What?"
+
+"Let's go and see for ourselves."
+
+"Oh! but we couldn't," said Nell.
+
+"Why not? We can creep up through the woods."
+
+"Jolly good idea," said Vernon. "Let's."
+
+"I don't want to," said Nell. "Mother wouldn't like it, I know."
+
+"Oh! don't be a spoilsport, Nell. Come on."
+
+"Mother wouldn't like it," repeated Nell.
+
+"All right. Wait here, then. We won't be long."
+
+Tears gathered slowly in Nell's eyes. She hated being left. She stood
+there sullenly, twisting her frock between her fingers.
+
+"We won't be long," Vernon repeated.
+
+He and Joe ran off. Nell felt she couldn't bear it.
+
+"Vernon!"
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"Wait for me. I'm coming too."
+
+She felt heroic as she made the announcement. Joe and Vernon did not
+seem particularly impressed by it. They waited with obvious impatience
+for her to come up with them.
+
+"Now then," said Vernon, "I'm leader. Everyone to do as I say."
+
+They climbed over the Park palings and reached the shelter of the
+trees. Speaking in whispers under their breath, they flitted through
+the undergrowth, drawing nearer and nearer toward the house. Now it
+rose before them, some way ahead to the right.
+
+"We'll have to get farther still and keep a bit more up-hill."
+
+They followed him obediently. And then suddenly a voice broke on their
+ears, speaking from a little behind them to the left.
+
+"You're trethpassing," it said.
+
+They turned--startled. The yellow-faced boy with the large ears
+stood there. He had his hands in his pockets, and was surveying them
+superciliously.
+
+"You're trethpassing," he said again.
+
+There was something in his manner that awoke immediate antagonism.
+Instead of saying, as he had meant to say, "I'm sorry," Vernon said,
+"Oh!"
+
+He and the other boy looked at each other--the cool measuring glance of
+two adversaries in a duel.
+
+"We come from next door," said Joe.
+
+"Do you?" said the boy. "Well, you'd better go back there. My father
+and mother don't want you in here."
+
+He managed to be unbearably offensive as he said this. Vernon,
+unpleasantly conscious of being in the wrong, flushed angrily.
+
+"You might manage to speak politely," he said.
+
+"Why should I?" said the boy.
+
+He turned as a footstep sounded coming through the undergrowth.
+
+"Is that you, Sam?" he said. "Just turn these trethpassing kids off the
+place, will you?"
+
+The keeper, who had stepped out beside him, grinned and touched his
+forehead. The boy strolled away, as though he had lost all interest.
+The keeper turned to the children and put on a ferocious scowl.
+
+"Out of it, you young varmints! I'll turn the dogs loose on you unless
+you're out of here in double-quick time."
+
+"We're not afraid of dogs," said Vernon haughtily as he turned to
+depart.
+
+"Ho, you're not, h'aren't you? Well, then, I've got a rhinoHoceras here
+and I'm a-going to loose that this minute."
+
+He stalked off. Nell gave a terrified pull at Vernon's arm.
+
+"He's gone to get it," she cried. "Oh! hurry--hurry!"
+
+Her alarm was contagious. So much had been retailed about the Levinnes
+that the keeper's threat seemed a perfectly likely one to the children.
+With one accord they ran for home. They plunged in a bee line, pushing
+their way through the undergrowth. Vernon and Joe led. A piteous cry
+arose from Nell.
+
+"Vernon--Vernon! Oh! do wait. I've got stuck."
+
+What a nuisance Nell was! She couldn't run or do anything. He turned
+back, gave her frock a vigorous pull to free it from the brambles with
+which it was entangled (a good deal to the frock's detriment), and
+hauled her to her feet.
+
+"Come on, do."
+
+"I'm so out of breath. I can't run any more. Oh! Vernon, I'm so
+frightened."
+
+"Come _on_."
+
+Hand in hand, he pulled her along. They reached the Park palings,
+scrambled over....
+
+
+                                  _6_
+
+"We-ell," said Joe, fanning herself with a very dirty linen hat. "That
+_was_ an adventure."
+
+"My frock's all torn," said Nell. "What shall I do?"
+
+"I hate that boy," said Vernon. "He's a beast."
+
+"He's a beastly beast," agreed Joe. "We'll declare war on him. Shall
+we?"
+
+"Rather!"
+
+"What shall I do about my frock?"
+
+"It's very awkward their having a rhinoceros," said Joe thoughtfully.
+"Do you think Tom Boy would go for it if we trained him to?"
+
+"I shouldn't like Tom Boy to be hurt," said Vernon.
+
+Tom Boy was the stable dog, a great favourite of his. His mother had
+always vetoed a dog in the house, so Tom Boy was the nearest Vernon had
+got to having a dog of his own.
+
+"I don't know what Mother will say about my frock."
+
+"Oh, bother your frock, Nell! It's not the sort of frock for playing in
+the garden, anyway."
+
+"I'll tell your mother it's my fault," said Vernon impatiently. "Don't
+be so like a girl."
+
+"I am a girl," said Nell.
+
+"Well, so is Joe a girl. But she doesn't go on like you do. She's as
+good as a boy any day."
+
+Nell looked ready to cry, but at that minute they were called from the
+house.
+
+"I'm sorry, Mrs. Vereker," said Vernon. "I'm afraid I've torn Nell's
+frock."
+
+There were reproaches from Myra, civil disclaimers from Mrs. Vereker.
+When Nell and her mother had gone Myra said:
+
+"You must not be so rough, Vernon darling. When a little girl friend
+comes to tea you must take great care of her."
+
+"Why have we got to have her to tea? We don't like her. She spoils
+everything."
+
+"Vernon! Nell is such a dear little girl."
+
+"She isn't, Mother. She's awful."
+
+"Vernon!"
+
+"Well, she is. I don't like her mother either."
+
+"I don't like Mrs. Vereker much," said Myra. "I always think she's a
+very hard woman. But I can't think why you children don't like Nell.
+Mrs. Vereker tells me she's absolutely devoted to you, Vernon."
+
+"Well, I don't want her to be."
+
+He escaped with Joe.
+
+"War," he said. "That's what it is--war! I dare say that Levinne boy is
+really a Boer in disguise. We must plan out our campaign. Why should he
+come and live next door to us and spoil everything?"
+
+The kind of guerilla warfare that followed occupied Vernon and Joe
+in a most pleasurable fashion. They invented all kinds of methods
+of harassing the enemy. Concealed in trees, they pelted him with
+chestnuts. They stalked him with pea shooters. They outlined a hand in
+red paint and crept secretly up to the house one night after dark and
+left it on the doorstep with the word "Revenge" printed at the bottom
+of the sheet of paper.
+
+Sometimes their enemy retaliated in kind. He, too, had a pea shooter,
+and it was he who laid in wait for them one day with a garden hose.
+
+Hostilities had been going on for nearly ten days when Vernon came upon
+Joe sitting on a tree stump looking unusually despondent.
+
+"Hullo! What's up? I thought you were going to stalk the enemy with
+those squashy tomatoes Cook gave us."
+
+"I was. I mean I did."
+
+"What's the matter, Joe?"
+
+"I was up a tree and he came right by underneath. I could have got him
+beautifully."
+
+"Do you mean to say you didn't?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Why ever not?"
+
+Joe's face became very red and she began to speak very fast.
+
+"I couldn't. You see, he didn't know I was there, and he looked--oh!
+Vernon, he looked so awfully _lonely_--as though he were simply
+hating things. You know, it must be pretty beastly having no one to do
+things with."
+
+"Yes, but----"
+
+Vernon paused to adjust his ideas.
+
+"Don't you remember how we said it was all rotten?" went on Joe.
+"People being so beastly about the Levinnes, and now we're being as
+beastly as anyone."
+
+"Yes, but he was beastly to _us_!"
+
+"Perhaps he didn't mean to be."
+
+"That's nonsense."
+
+"No, it isn't. Look at the way dogs bite you if they're afraid or
+suspicious. I expect he just expected us to be beastly to him, and
+wanted to start first. Let's be friends."
+
+"You can't be in the middle of a war."
+
+"Yes, you can. We'll make a white flag, and then you march with it and
+demand a parley, and see if you can't agree upon honourable terms of
+peace."
+
+"Well," said Vernon, "I don't mind if we do. It would be a change,
+anyway. What shall we use for a flag of truce--my handkerchief or your
+pinafore?"
+
+Marching with the flag of truce was rather exciting. It was not long
+before they encountered the enemy. He stared in complete surprise.
+
+"What's up?" he said.
+
+"We want a parley," said Vernon.
+
+"Well, I'm agreeable," said the other boy, after a moment's pause.
+
+"What we want to say is this," said Joe. "If you'll agree, we'd like to
+be friends."
+
+They looked from one to the other.
+
+"Why do you want to be friends?" he asked suspiciously.
+
+"It seems a bit silly," said Vernon, "living next door and not being
+friends, doesn't it?"
+
+"Which of you thought of that first?"
+
+"I did," said Joe.
+
+She felt those small jet-black eyes boring into her. What a queer boy
+he was. His ears seemed to stick out more than ever.
+
+"All right," said the boy, "I'd like to."
+
+There was a minute's embarrassed pause.
+
+"What's your name?" said Joe.
+
+"Sebastian."
+
+There was just the faintest lisp, so little as hardly to be noticed.
+
+"What a funny name. Mine's Joe and this is Vernon. He's at school. Do
+you go to school?"
+
+"Yes. I'm going to Eton later."
+
+"So am I," said Vernon.
+
+Again a faint tide of hostility rose between them. Then it ebbed
+away--never to return.
+
+"Come and see our swimming pool," said Sebastian. "It's rather jolly."
+
+
+
+
+                               chapter 8
+
+
+The friendship with Sebastian Levinne prospered and throve apace. Half
+the zest of it lay in the secrecy that had to be adopted. Vernon's
+mother would have been horrified if she had guessed at anything of the
+kind. The Levinnes would certainly not have been horrified--but their
+gratification might have led to equally dire results.
+
+School time passed on leaden wings for poor Joe, cooped up with a daily
+governess who arrived every morning and who subtly disapproved of her
+outspoken and rebellious pupil. Joe lived only for the holidays. As
+soon as they came she and Vernon would set off to a secret meeting
+place where there was a convenient gap in a hedge. They had invented
+a code of whistles and many unnecessary signals. Sometimes Sebastian
+would be there before time--lying on the bracken, his yellow face and
+jutting ears looking strangely at variance with his knickerbocker suit.
+
+They played games, but they also talked--how they talked! Sebastian
+told them stories of Russia. They learned of the persecution of
+Jews--of pogroms! Sebastian himself had never been in Russia, but he
+had lived for years amongst other Russian Jews and his own father had
+narrowly escaped with his life in a pogrom. Sometimes he would say
+sentences in Russian to please Vernon and Joe. It was all entrancing.
+
+"Everybody hates us down here," said Sebastian. "But it doesn't matter.
+They won't be able to do without us because my father is so rich. You
+can buy everything with money."
+
+He had a certain queer arrogance about him.
+
+"You can't buy everything," objected Vernon. "Old Nicoll's son has
+come home from the war without a leg. Money couldn't make his leg grow
+again."
+
+"No," admitted Sebastian. "I didn't mean things like that. But money
+would get you a very good wooden leg and the best kind of crutches."
+
+"I had crutches once," said Vernon. "It was rather fun. And I had an
+awfully nice nurse to look after me."
+
+"You see, you couldn't have had that if you hadn't been rich."
+
+Was he rich? He supposed he was. He'd never thought about it.
+
+"I wish I was rich," said Joe.
+
+"You can marry me when you grow up," said Sebastian, "and then you will
+be."
+
+"It wouldn't be nice for Joe if nobody came to see her," objected
+Vernon.
+
+"I wouldn't mind that a bit," said Joe. "I wouldn't care what Aunt Myra
+or anybody said. I'd marry Sebastian if I wanted to."
+
+"People will come and see her then," said Sebastian. "You don't
+realize. Jews are frightfully powerful. My father says people can't
+do without them. That's why Sir Charles Alington had to sell us
+Deerfields."
+
+A sudden chill came over Vernon. He felt without putting the thought
+into words that he was talking to a member of an enemy race. But he
+felt no antagonism toward Sebastian. That was over long ago. He and
+Sebastian were friends--somehow he was sure they always would be.
+
+"Money," said Sebastian, "isn't just buying things. It's ever so
+much more than that. And it isn't only having power over people.
+It's--it's--being able to get together lots of beauty."
+
+He made a queer un-English gesture with his hands.
+
+"What do you mean," said Vernon, "by 'get together'?"
+
+Sebastian didn't know what he meant. The words had just come.
+
+"Anyway," said Vernon, "things aren't beauty."
+
+"Yes, they are. Deerfields is beautiful--but not nearly so beautiful as
+Abbots Puissants."
+
+"When Abbots Puissants belongs to me," said Vernon, "you can come and
+stay there as much as ever you like. We're always going to be friends,
+aren't we? No matter what anyone says?"
+
+"We're always going to be friends," said Sebastian.
+
+
+                                  _2_
+
+Little by little the Levinnes made headway. The church needed a new
+organ--Mr. Levinne presented it with one. Deerfields was thrown open
+on the occasion of the choir boys' outing and strawberries and cream
+provided. A large donation was given to the Primrose League. Turn where
+you would, you came up against the opulence and the kindness of the
+Levinnes.
+
+People began to say: "Of course they're impossible--but Mrs. Levinne is
+wonderfully _kind_."
+
+And they said other things.
+
+"Oh! of course--_Jews!_ But perhaps it is absurd of one to be
+prejudiced. Some very good people have been Jews."
+
+It was rumoured that the Vicar had said: "Including Jesus Christ," in
+answer. But nobody really believed that. The Vicar was unmarried, which
+was very unusual, and had odd ideas about Holy Communion, and sometimes
+preached very incomprehensible sermons, but nobody believed that he
+would have said anything really sacrilegious.
+
+It was the Vicar who introduced Mrs. Levinne to the Sewing Circle which
+met twice a week to provide comforts for our brave soldiers in South
+Africa. And meeting her twice a week there certainly made it awkward.
+
+In the end, Lady Coomberleigh, softened by the immense donation
+to the Primrose League, took the plunge and called. And where Lady
+Coomberleigh led, everybody followed.
+
+Not that the Levinnes were ever admitted to intimacy. But they were
+officially accepted, and people were heard saying:
+
+"She's a very _kind_ woman--even if she does wear impossible
+clothes for the country."
+
+But that, too, followed. Mrs. Levinne was adaptable like all her race.
+A very short time elapsed before she appeared in even tweedier tweeds
+than her neighbours.
+
+Joe and Vernon were solemnly bidden to tea with Sebastian Levinne.
+
+"We must go this once, I suppose," said Myra sighing. "But we need
+never get really intimate. What a queer-looking boy he is. You won't be
+rude to him, will you, Vernon darling?"
+
+The children solemnly made the official acquaintance of Sebastian. It
+amused them very much.
+
+But the sharp-witted Joe fancied that Mrs. Levinne knew more about
+their friendship than Aunt Myra did. Mrs. Levinne wasn't a fool. She
+was like Sebastian.
+
+
+                                  _3_
+
+Walter Deyre was killed a few weeks before the war ended. His end was
+a gallant one. He was shot when going back to rescue a wounded comrade
+under heavy fire. He was awarded a posthumous V. C. and the letter his
+colonel wrote to Myra was treasured by her as her dearest possession.
+
+    Never [wrote the Colonel] have I known anyone so fearless of
+    danger. His men adored him and would have followed him anywhere. He
+    has risked his life again and again in the gallantest way. You can
+    indeed be proud of him.
+
+Myra read that letter again and again. She read it to all her friends.
+It wiped away the faint sting that her husband had left no last word or
+letter for her.
+
+"But, being a Deyre, he wouldn't," she said to herself.
+
+Yet Walter Deyre had left a letter "in case I should be killed." But
+it was not to Myra and she never knew of it. She was grief-stricken,
+but happy. Her husband was hers in death as he had never been in life,
+and with her easy power of making things as she wished them to be, she
+began to weave a convincing romance of her wonderfully happy married
+life.
+
+It is difficult to say how Vernon was affected by his father's death.
+He felt no actual grief--was rendered even more stolid by his mother's
+obvious wish for him to display emotion. He was proud of his father--so
+proud that it almost hurt--yet he understood what Joe had meant when
+she said that it was better for her mother to be dead. He remembered
+very clearly that last evening walk with his father--the things he had
+said--the feeling there had been between them.
+
+His father, he knew, hadn't really wanted to come back. He was sorry for
+his father--he always had been. He didn't know why.
+
+It was not grief he felt for his father--it was more a kind of
+heart-gripping loneliness. Father was dead--Aunt Nina was dead. There
+was Mother, of course, but that was different.
+
+He couldn't satisfy his mother--he never had been able to. She was
+always hugging him, crying over him, telling him they must be all in
+all to each other now. And he couldn't, he just couldn't, say the
+things she wanted him to say. He couldn't even put his arms round her
+neck and hug her back.
+
+He longed for the holidays to be over. His mother, with her red eyes
+and her widow's weeds of the heaviest crape--somehow she overpowered
+things.
+
+Mr. Flemming, the lawyer from London, came down to stay, and Uncle
+Sydney came from Birmingham. He stayed two days. At the end of them
+Vernon was summoned to the library.
+
+The two men were sitting at the long table. Myra was sitting in a low
+chair by the fire, her handkerchief to her eyes.
+
+"Well, my boy," said Uncle Sydney, "we've got something to talk to you
+about. How would you like to come and live near your Aunt Carrie and me
+at Birmingham?"
+
+"Thank you," said Vernon, "but I'd rather live here."
+
+"A bit gloomy, don't you think?" said his uncle. "Now I've got my eye
+on a jolly house--not too big, thoroughly comfortable. There'll be your
+cousins near for you to play with in the holidays. It's a very good
+idea, I think."
+
+"I'm sure it is," said Vernon politely. "But I'd really like being here
+best, thank you."
+
+"Ah! H'm," said Uncle Sydney. He blew his nose and looked questioningly
+at the lawyer, who assented to the look with a slight nod.
+
+"It's not quite so simple as that, old chap," said Uncle Sydney. "I
+think you're quite old enough to understand if I explain things to
+you. Now that your father's dead--er--passed from us, Abbots Puissants
+belongs to you."
+
+"I know," said Vernon.
+
+"Eh? How do you know? Servants been talking?"
+
+"Father told me before he went away."
+
+"Oh!" said Uncle Sydney, rather taken aback. "Oh!--I see. Well, as I
+say, Abbots Puissants belongs to you, but a place like this takes a lot
+of money to run--paying wages and things like that--you understand? And
+then there are some things called Death Duties. When anyone dies you
+have to pay out a lot of money to the government.
+
+"Now, your father wasn't a rich man. When his father died, and he came
+into this place, he had so little money that he thought he'd have to
+sell it."
+
+"Sell it?" burst out Vernon incredulously.
+
+"Yes, it's not entailed."
+
+"What's entailed?"
+
+Mr. Flemming explained carefully and clearly.
+
+"But--but--you aren't going to sell it now?"
+
+Vernon gazed at him with agonizing imploring eyes.
+
+"Certainly not," said Mr. Flemming. "The estate is left to you, and
+nothing can be done until you are of age--that means twenty-one, you
+know."
+
+Vernon breathed a sigh of relief.
+
+"But you see," continued Uncle Sydney, "there isn't enough money to
+go on living here. As I say, your father would have had to sell it.
+But he met your mother and married her, and fortunately she had enough
+money to--to keep things going. But your father's death has made a lot
+of difference. For one thing, he has left certain--er--debts which your
+mother insists on paying."
+
+There was a sniff from Myra. Uncle Sydney's tone was embarrassed and he
+hurried on.
+
+"The common-sense thing to do is to let Abbots Puissants for a term of
+years--till you are twenty-one, in fact. By then, who knows? Things
+may--er--change for the better. Naturally your mother will be happier
+living near her own relations. You must think of your mother, you know,
+my boy."
+
+"Yes," said Vernon. "Father told me to."
+
+"So that's settled--eh?"
+
+How cruel they were, thought Vernon. Asking him--when he could see that
+there was nothing to ask him about. They could do as they liked. They
+meant to. Why call him in here and _pretend_!
+
+Strangers would come and live in Abbots Puissants.
+
+Never mind! Some day he would be twenty-one.
+
+"Darling," said Myra. "I'm doing it all for you. It would be so sad
+here without Daddy, wouldn't it?"
+
+She held out her arms, but Vernon pretended not to notice. He walked
+out of the room, saying with difficulty:
+
+"Thank you, Uncle Sydney, so much, for telling me."
+
+
+                                  _4_
+
+He went out into the garden and wandered on till he came to the old
+Abbey. He sat down with his chin in his hands.
+
+"Mother _could_!" he said to himself. "If she liked, she
+_could_! She wants to go and live in a horrid red brick house with
+pipes on it like Uncle Sydney's. She doesn't like Abbots Puissants--she
+never has. But she needn't pretend it's all for me. That's not true.
+She says things that aren't true. She always has...."
+
+He sat there smouldering with indignation.
+
+"Vernon--Vernon--I've been looking for you everywhere. I couldn't
+think what had become of you. What's the matter?"
+
+It was Joe. He told her. Here was someone who would understand and
+sympathize. But Joe startled him.
+
+"Well, why not? Why shouldn't Aunt Myra go and live in Birmingham if
+she wants to? I think you're beastly. Why should she go on living here
+just so that you should be here in the holidays? It's _her_ money.
+Why shouldn't she spend it on doing as _she_ likes?"
+
+"But Joe, Abbots Puissants----"
+
+"Well, what's Abbots Puissants to Aunt Myra? In her heart of hearts
+she feels about it just like you feel about Uncle Sydney's house in
+Birmingham. Why should she pinch and scrape to live here if she doesn't
+want to? If your father had made her happier here, perhaps she would
+want to--but he didn't. Mother said so once. I don't like Aunt Myra
+terribly--I know she's good and all that, but I don't love her--but
+I _can_ be fair. It's _her_ money. You can't get away from
+that!"
+
+Vernon looked at her. They were antagonists. Both had their point of
+view and neither could see the other's. They were both ablaze with
+indignation.
+
+"I think women have a rotten time," said Joe. "And I'm on Aunt Myra's
+side."
+
+"All right," said Vernon, "be on her side! I don't care."
+
+Joe went away. He stayed there, sitting on the ruined wall of the old
+Abbey.
+
+For the first time he questioned life.... Things weren't _sure_.
+How could you tell what was going to happen?
+
+_When he was twenty-one...._
+
+Yes, but you couldn't be _sure_! You couldn't be _safe_!
+
+Look at the time when he was a baby. Nurse, God, Mr. Green! How
+absolutely fixed they had seemed. And now they had all gone.
+
+At least, God was still there, he supposed. But it wasn't the same
+God--not the same God at all.
+
+What would have happened to everything by the time he was twenty-one?
+_What, strangest thought of all, would have happened to himself?_
+
+He felt terribly alone. Father, Aunt Nina--both dead. Only Uncle
+Sydney and Mummy--and they weren't--didn't--belong. He paused,
+confused. There was Joe! Joe understood. But Joe was queer about some
+things.
+
+He clenched his hands. No everything would be all right.
+
+_When he was twenty-one...._
+
+
+
+
+                                Book II
+
+                                 NELL
+
+
+
+
+                               chapter 1
+
+
+The room was full of cigarette smoke. It eddied and drifted about,
+forming a thin blue haze. Through it came the sound of three voices
+occupied with the betterment of the human race and the encouragement of
+art--especially art that defied all known conventions.
+
+Sebastian Levinne, leaning back against the ornate marble mantelpiece
+of his mother's town house, spoke didactically, gesticulating with
+the long yellow hand that held his cigarette. The tendency to lisp
+was still there, but very faint. His yellow Mongolian face, his
+surprised-looking ears, were much the same as they had been at eleven
+years old. At twenty-two he was the same Sebastian, sure of himself,
+perspective, with the same love of beauty and the same unemotional and
+unerring sense of values.
+
+In front of him, reclining in two immense leather-covered arm chairs,
+were Vernon and Joe. Very much alike these two, cast in the same
+sharply accentuated black and white mould. But, as of old, Joe's was
+the more aggressive personality, energetic, rebellious, vehement.
+Vernon, an immense length, lay back slothfully in his chair. His long
+legs rested on the back of another chair. He was blowing smoke rings
+and smiling thoughtfully to himself. He occasionally contributed grunts
+to the conversation, or a short lazy sentence.
+
+"That wouldn't pay," Sebastian had just said decisively.
+
+As he had half expected, Joe was roused at once to the point of
+virulence.
+
+"Who wants a thing to _pay_? It's so--so _rotten_--that point
+of view! Treating everything from a commercial standpoint. I hate it."
+
+Sebastian said calmly: "That's because you've got such an incurably
+romantic view of life. You like poets to starve in garrets, and artists
+to toil unrecognized, and sculptors to be applauded after they are
+dead."
+
+"Well--that's what happens. Always!"
+
+"No, not _always_. Very often, perhaps. But it needn't be as often
+as it is. That's my point. The world never likes anything new--but I
+say it could be made to. Taken the right way, it could be made to. But
+you've got to know just what will go down and what won't."
+
+"That's compromise," murmured Vernon indistinctly.
+
+"It's common sense! Why should I lose money by backing my judgment?"
+
+"Oh! Sebastian," cried Joe, "you--you----"
+
+"Jew!" said Sebastian calmly. "That's what you mean. Well, we Jews have
+got taste--we know when a thing is fine and when it isn't. We don't
+go by the fashion--we back our own judgment, and we're _right_!
+People always see the money side of it, but the other's there too."
+
+Vernon grunted. Sebastian went on:
+
+"There are two sides to what we're talking about--there are the people
+who are thinking of new things, new ways of doing old things, new
+thoughts altogether, and who can't get their chance because people are
+afraid of anything new. And there are the other people--the people
+who know what the public has always wanted and who go on giving it
+to them, because it's safe and there's a sure profit. But there's a
+third way--to find things that are new and beautiful and take a chance
+on them. That's what I'm going to do. I'm going to run a picture
+gallery in Bond Street--I signed the deeds yesterday--and a couple of
+theatres--and later I want to run a weekly of some kind on entirely
+different lines from anything that has been done before. And what's
+more, I'm going to make the whole thing _pay_. There are all
+sorts of things that I admire, that a cultivated few would admire--but
+I'm not going out for those. Anything I run's going to be a popular
+success. Dash it all, Joe, don't you see that half the fun of the thing
+is _making_ it pay? It's justifying yourself by success."
+
+Joe shook her head, unconvinced.
+
+"Are you really going to have all those things?" said Vernon.
+
+Both the cousins looked at Sebastian with a tinge of envy. Queer, and
+rather wonderful, to be in old Sebastian's position. His father had
+died some years before. Sebastian, at twenty-two, was master of so many
+millions that it took one's breath away to think about them.
+
+The friendship with Sebastian, begun all those years ago at Abbots
+Puissants, had endured and strengthened. He and Vernon had been friends
+at Eton, they were at the same college at Cambridge. In the holidays
+the three had always managed to spend a good deal of time together.
+
+"What about sculpture?" asked Joe suddenly. "Is that included?"
+
+"Of course. Are you still keen about taking up modelling?"
+
+"Rather. It's the only thing I really care about."
+
+A derisive hoot of laughter came from Vernon.
+
+"Yes, and what will it be this time next year? You'll be a frenzied
+poet or something."
+
+"It takes one some time to find one's true vocation," said Joe with
+dignity. "But I'm really in earnest this time."
+
+"You always are," said Vernon. "However, thank heaven you've given up
+that damned violin."
+
+"Why do you hate music so, Vernon?"
+
+"Dunno--I always have."
+
+Joe turned back to Sebastian. Unconsciously her voice took on a
+different note. It sounded ever so faintly constrained.
+
+"What do you think of Paul la Marre's work? Vernon and I went to his
+studio last Sunday."
+
+"No guts," said Sebastian succinctly.
+
+A slight flush rose in Joe's cheek.
+
+"That's simply because you don't understand what he's aiming at. I
+think he's wonderful."
+
+"Anæmic," said Sebastian, unperturbed.
+
+"Sebastian, I think you're perfectly hateful sometimes. Just because La
+Marre has the courage to break away from tradition----"
+
+"That's not it at all," said Sebastian. "A man can break away from
+tradition by modelling a Stilton cheese and calling it his idea of a
+nymph bathing. But if he can't convince you and impress you by doing
+so, he's failed. Just doing things differently to anyone else isn't
+genius. Nine times out of ten it's aiming at getting cheap notoriety."
+
+The door opened and Mrs. Levinne looked in.
+
+"Tea'th ready, dearths," she said, and beamed on them.
+
+Jet dangled and twinkled on her immense bust. A large black hat with
+feathers sat on top of her elaborately arranged coiffure. She looked
+the complete symbol of material prosperity. Her eyes dwelt adoration on
+Sebastian.
+
+They got up, and prepared to follow her. Sebastian said in a low voice
+to Joe:
+
+"Joe--you're not angry, are you?"
+
+There was suddenly something young and pathetic about his voice--a
+pleading in it that exposed him as immature and vulnerable. A moment
+ago he had been the master spirit laying down the law in complete
+self-confidence.
+
+"Why should I be angry?" said Joe coldly.
+
+She moved toward the door without looking at him. Sebastian's eyes
+rested on her wistfully. She had that dark magnetic beauty that matures
+early. Her skin was dead white, and her eyelashes so thick and dark
+that they looked like jet against the even colour of her cheeks. There
+was magic in her way of moving, something languorous and passionate
+that was wholly unconscious as yet of its own appeal. Although she was
+the youngest of the three, just past her twentieth birthday, she was
+at the same time the oldest. To her Vernon and Sebastian were boys,
+and she despised boys. That queer doglike devotion of Sebastian's
+irritated her. She liked men of experience, men who could say exciting,
+half-understood things. She lowered her white eyelids for a moment,
+remembering Paul la Marre.
+
+
+                                  _2_
+
+Mrs. Levinne's drawing room was a curious mixture of sheer blatant
+opulence and an almost austere good taste. The opulence was due
+to her--she liked velvet hangings and rich cushions and marble and
+gilding--the taste was Sebastian's. It was he who had torn down a
+medley of pictures from the wall and substituted two of his own
+choosing. His mother was reconciled to their plainness, as she called
+it, by the immense price that had been paid for them. The old Spanish
+leather screen was one of her son's presents to her--so was the
+exquisite _cloisonné_ vase.
+
+Seated behind an unusually massive silver tea tray, Mrs. Levinne raised
+the teapot with two hands and made conversational inquiries, lisping
+slightly.
+
+"And how'th your dear mother? She never comes to town nowadays. You
+tell her from me she'll be getting rusty."
+
+She laughed, a good-natured fat wheezy chuckle.
+
+"I've never regretted having this town hou'th as well as a country
+one. Deerfields is all very well, but one wantth a bit of life. And of
+course Sebastian will be home soon for good--and that full of schemes
+as he ith! Well, well, his father was much the same. Went into deals
+against everybody'th advice, and instead of losing his money he doubled
+and trebled it every time. A thmart fellow, my poor Yakob."
+
+Sebastian thought to himself: "I wish she wouldn't. That's just the
+sort of remark Joe always hates. Joe's always against me nowadays...."
+
+Mrs. Levinne went on: "I've got a box for _Kings in Arcady_ on
+Wednesday night. What about it, my dearth? Will you come?"
+
+"I'm awfully sorry, Mrs. Levinne," said Vernon. "I wish we could. But
+we're going down to Birmingham to-morrow."
+
+"Oh! you're going home."
+
+"Yes."
+
+Why hadn't he said "going home?" Why did it sound so fantastic in his
+ears? There was only one home, of course--Abbots Puissants. Home! A
+queer word, so many meanings to it. It reminded him of the ridiculous
+words of a song that one of Joe's young men used to bray out (What a
+damnable thing music was!) while he fingered his collar and looked at
+her sentimentally. "Home, love, is where the heart is, where'er the
+heart may be...."
+
+But in that case his home ought to be in Birmingham where his mother
+was.
+
+He experienced that faint feeling of disquietude that always came over
+him when he thought of his mother. He was very fond of her, naturally.
+Mothers, of course, were hopeless people to explain things to, they
+never understood. But he _was_ very fond of her--it would be
+unnatural if he wasn't. As she so often said, he was all she had.
+
+Suddenly a little imp seemed to jump in Vernon's brain. The imp said
+suddenly and unexpectedly: "What rot you are talking! She's got the
+house, and the servants to talk to and bully, and friends to gossip
+with, and her own people all round her. She'd miss all that far more
+than she'd miss you. She loves you, but she's relieved when you go back
+to Cambridge--and even then she's not as relieved as you are!"
+
+"Vernon!" It was Joe's voice, sharp with annoyance. "What are you
+thinking of? Mrs. Levinne was asking about Abbots Puissants--if it's
+still let?"
+
+How fortunate that when people said "What _are_ you thinking
+about?" they didn't in the least mean that they wanted to know! Still,
+you could always say "Nothing much," just as when you were small you
+had said "Nothing."
+
+He answered Mrs. Levinne's questions, promised to deliver her various
+messages to his mother.
+
+Sebastian saw them to the door, they said a final good-bye and walked
+out into the London streets. Joe sniffed the air ecstatically.
+
+"How I love London! You know, Vernon, my mind's made up. I'm coming up
+to London to study. I'm going to tackle Aunt Myra about it this time.
+And I won't live with Aunt Ethel, either. I'm going to be on my own."
+
+"You can't do that, Joe. Girls don't."
+
+"They _do_. I could share rooms with another girl or girls.
+But to live with Aunt Ethel, always asking me where I'm going, and
+who with--I just can't stand it. And anyway she hates me being a
+suffragette."
+
+The Aunt Ethel they referred to was Aunt Carrie's sister, an aunt by
+courtesy only. They were staying with her at the present moment.
+
+"Oh! and that reminds me," went on Joe. "You've got to do something for
+me, Vernon."
+
+"What?"
+
+"To-morrow afternoon Mrs. Cartwright's taking me to that Titanic
+Concert as a special treat."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Well, I don't want to go--that's all."
+
+"You can make some excuse or other, I suppose."
+
+"It's not so easy as that. You see, Aunt Ethel's got to think I've gone
+to the concert. I don't want her ferreting out where I am going."
+
+Vernon gave a whistle.
+
+"Oh! So that's it? What are you really up to, Joe? Who is it this time?"
+
+"It's La Marre, if you really want to know."
+
+"That bounder."
+
+"He's not a bounder. He's wonderful--you don't know how wonderful he
+is."
+
+Vernon grinned.
+
+"No, indeed I don't. I don't like Frenchmen."
+
+"You're so horribly insular. But it doesn't matter whether you like him
+or not. He's going to motor me down to the country to a friend's house
+where his _chef d'œuvre_ is. I do so want to go, and you know
+perfectly that Aunt Ethel would never let me."
+
+"You oughtn't to go racketing about the country with a fellow like
+that."
+
+"Don't be an ass, Vernon. Don't you know that I can look after myself?"
+
+"Oh! I suppose so."
+
+"I'm not one of those silly girls who know nothing about anything."
+
+"I don't see, though, where _I_ come in."
+
+"Well, you see," Joe displayed a trace of anxiety, "you're to go to the
+concert."
+
+"No, I won't do anything of the kind. You know I hate music."
+
+"Oh! You must, Vernon. It's the only way. If I say I can't go she'll
+ring up Aunt Ethel and suggest one of the girls coming instead, and
+then the fat will be in the fire. But if you just turn up instead of
+me--I'm to meet her at the Albert Hall--and give some weak excuse,
+everything will be all right. She's very fond of you--she likes you
+heaps better than me."
+
+"But I loathe music."
+
+"I know, but you can just bear it for one afternoon. An hour and a
+half. That's all it will be."
+
+"Oh! Damn it all, Joe, I don't want to."
+
+His hand shook with irritation. Joe stared at him.
+
+"You are _funny_ about music, Vernon! I've never known anyone who
+sort of--well, hates it like you. Most people just don't care for it.
+But I do think you might go--you know _I_ always do things for
+_you_."
+
+"All right," said Vernon abruptly.
+
+It was no good. It had got to be. Joe and he always stood together.
+After all, as she had said, it would only be an hour and a half. Why
+should he feel that he had taken a momentous decision? His heart felt
+like lead--right down in his boots. He didn't want to go--oh! He didn't
+want to go!
+
+Like a visit to the dentist--best not to think about it. He forced his
+mind away to other things. Joe looked up sharply as she heard him give
+vent to a chuckle.
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"I was thinking of you as a kid--so grand about saying you were never
+going to have anything to do with men. And now it's always men with
+you, one after the other. You fall in and out of love about once a
+month."
+
+"Don't be so horrid, Vernon. Those were just silly girls' fancies. La
+Marre says if you have any temperament that always happens--but the
+real grand passion is quite different when it comes."
+
+"Well, don't go and have a grand passion for La Marre."
+
+Joe did not answer. Presently she said:
+
+"I'm not like Mother. Mother was--was so _soft_ about men. She
+gave in to them--would do anything for anyone she was fond of. I'm not
+like that."
+
+"No," said Vernon, after thinking for a moment. "No, I don't think you
+are. You won't make a mess of your life in the same way she did. But
+you might make a mess of it in a different way."
+
+"What sort of a way?"
+
+"I don't quite know. Going and marrying someone you thought you had
+a grand passion for, just because everyone else disliked him, and
+then spending your life fighting him. Or deciding to go and live with
+someone just because you thought Free Love was a fine idea."
+
+"So it is."
+
+"Oh! I am not saying it isn't--though, as a matter of fact, I really
+think it is anti-social myself. But you're always the same. If anyone
+forbids you anything you always want to do it--quite irrespective of
+whether you really want to. I haven't put that well, but you know what
+I mean."
+
+"What I really want is to _do_ something! To be a great sculptor."
+
+"That's because you've got a pash for La Marre."
+
+"It isn't. Oh! Vernon, why will you be so trying? I've _always_
+wanted to do something--always--always! I used to say so at Abbots
+Puissants."
+
+"It's odd," said Vernon thoughtfully. "Old Sebastian used to say then
+very much what he says now. Perhaps one doesn't change as much as one
+thinks."
+
+"You were going to marry someone very beautiful and live at Abbots
+Puissants always," said Joe with slight scorn. "You don't still feel
+that to be your life's ambition, do you?"
+
+"One might do worse," said Vernon.
+
+"Lazy--downright lazy!"
+
+Joe looked at him in unconcealed impatience. She and Vernon were so
+alike in some ways, and so different in others!
+
+Vernon was thinking: "Abbots Puissants. In a year I shall be
+twenty-one."
+
+They were passing a Salvation Army meeting. Joe stopped. A thin
+white-faced man was standing on a box. His voice, high and raucous,
+came echoing across to them:
+
+"Why won't you be saved? Why won't you? Jesus wants you! Jesus wants
+_you_!" Tremendous emphasis on the _you_. "Yes, brothers
+and sisters, and I'll tell you something more. _You want Jesus._
+You won't admit it to yourselves, you turn your back on him, you're
+afraid--that's what it is, you're afraid, because you want him so
+badly--you want him and you don't know!" His arms waved, his white face
+shone with ecstasy. "But you will know--you _will_ know. There
+are things that you can't run away from for ever." He spoke slowly,
+almost menacingly. "_I say unto you, this very night shall thy soul
+be required of thee._"
+
+Vernon turned away with a slight shiver. A woman on the outskirts of
+the crowd gave a hysterical sob.
+
+"Disgusting," said Joe, her nose very much in the air. "Indecent and
+hysterical! For my part, I can't see how any rational being can be
+anything but an atheist."
+
+Vernon smiled to himself, though he said nothing. He was remembering
+the time, a year ago, when Joe had risen every day to attend early
+service and had insisted on eating a boiled egg with some ostentation
+on Fridays, and had sat spellbound listening to the somewhat
+uninteresting but strictly dogmatical sermons of handsome Father
+Cuthbert at the Church of St. Bartholemew which was reputed to be so
+"high" that Rome itself could do no more.
+
+"I wonder," he said aloud, "what it would feel like to be 'saved'?"
+
+
+                                  _3_
+
+It was half-past six on the following afternoon when Joe returned from
+her stolen day's pleasure. Her Aunt Ethel met her in the hall.
+
+"Where's Vernon?" inquired Joe, in case she might be asked how she had
+liked the concert.
+
+"He came in about half an hour ago. He said there was nothing the
+matter, but somehow I don't think he's very well."
+
+"Oh!" Joe stared. "Where is he? In his room? I'll go up and see."
+
+"I wish you would, dear. Really he didn't look well at all."
+
+Joe ran quickly up the stairs, gave a perfunctory rap on Vernon's door,
+and walked in. Vernon was sitting on his bed, and something in his
+appearance gave Joe a shock. She had never seen Vernon look quite like
+this.
+
+"Vernon, what's the matter?"
+
+He didn't answer. He had the dazed look of someone who has undergone a
+terrible shock. It was as though he were too far away to be reached by
+mere words.
+
+"Vernon." She shook him by the shoulder. "What _is_ the matter
+with you?"
+
+He heard her this time.
+
+"Nothing."
+
+"There must be something. You're looking--you're looking----"
+
+Words failed her to express how he was looking. She left it at that.
+
+"Nothing," he repeated dully.
+
+She sat down on the bed beside him.
+
+"Tell me," she said gently but authoritatively.
+
+A long shuddering sigh broke from Vernon.
+
+"Joe, do you remember that man yesterday?"
+
+"Which man?"
+
+"That Salvation Army chap--those cant phrases he used. And that one--a
+fine one--from the Bible: _This night shall thy soul be required
+of thee._ I said afterward I wondered what it would be like to be
+saved. Just idly. Well, I _know_!"
+
+Joe stared at him. _Vernon!_ Oh! But such a thing was impossible.
+
+"Do you mean--do you mean----" Difficult, somehow, to get the words.
+"Do you mean you've 'got religion'--suddenly--like people do?"
+
+She felt it was ridiculous as she said it. She was relieved when he
+gave a sudden spurt of laughter.
+
+"_Religion?_ Good God, no! Or is it that for some people? I
+wonder.... No, I mean----" he hesitated, brought the word out at last
+very softly, almost as though he dared not speak it: "_Music._"
+
+"Music?" She was still utterly at sea.
+
+"Yes. Joe, do you remember Nurse Frances?"
+
+"Nurse Frances? No, I don't think I do. Who was she?"
+
+"Of course you wouldn't. It was before you came--the time I broke my
+leg. I've always remembered something she said to me. About not being
+in a hurry to run away from things before you've had a good look. Well,
+that's what happened to me to-day. I couldn't run away any longer--I
+just had to look. Joe, music's the most wonderful thing in the world."
+
+"But--but--you've always said----"
+
+"I know. That's why it's been such an awful shock. Not that I mean
+music is so wonderful _now_--but it _could_ be--if you had
+it as it was meant to be! Little bits of it are ugly--it's like going
+up to a picture and seeing a nasty gray smear of paint--but go to a
+distance and it falls into its place as the most wonderful shadow.
+It's got to be a _whole_. I still think one violin's ugly, and a
+piano's beastly--but useful in a way, I suppose. But oh! Joe, music
+could be so wonderful--I know it could."
+
+Joe was silent, bewildered. She understood now what Vernon meant by
+his opening words. His face had the queer dreamy exaltation that one
+associated with religious fervour. And yet she was a little frightened.
+His face had always expressed so little. Now, she thought, it expressed
+too much. It was a worse face or a better face, just as you chose to
+look on it.
+
+He went on talking, hardly to her, more to himself.
+
+"There were nine orchestras, you know. All massed. Sound can be
+glorious if you get enough of it. I don't mean just loudness--it shows
+more when it's soft. But there must be enough. I don't know what they
+played--nothing, I think, that was real. But it showed one--it showed
+one----"
+
+He turned queer bright excited eyes upon her.
+
+"There's so much to know--to learn. I don't want to play things--never
+that. But I want to know about every instrument there is. What it can
+do, what are its limitations, what are its possibilities. And the
+notes, too. There are notes they don't use--notes that they ought to
+use. I know there are. Do you know what music's like now, Joe? It's
+like the little sturdy Norman pillars in the crypt of Gloucester
+Cathedral. It's at its beginnings, that's all."
+
+He sat silent, leaning forward dreamily.
+
+"Well, I think you've gone quite mad," said Joe.
+
+She tried on purpose to make her voice sound practical and matter of
+fact. But, in spite of herself, she was impressed. That white-hot
+conviction. And she had always thought Vernon rather a slow
+coach--reactionary, prejudiced, unimaginative.
+
+"I've got to begin to learn. As soon as ever I can. Oh! it's awful--to
+have wasted twenty years!"
+
+"Nonsense," said Joe. "You couldn't have studied music when you were an
+infant in a cot."
+
+He smiled at that. He was coming out of his trance by degrees.
+
+"You think I'm mad? I suppose it must sound like that. But I'm not.
+And oh! Joe, it's the most awful _relief_. As though you had been
+pretending for years, and now you needn't pretend any more. I've been
+horribly afraid of music--always. Now----"
+
+He sat up, squared his shoulders.
+
+"I'm going to work--work like a nigger. I'm going to know the ins and
+outs of every instrument. By the way, there must be more instruments
+in the world--many more. There ought to be a kind of waily thing--I've
+heard it somewhere. You'd want ten--fifteen of those. And about fifty
+harps."
+
+He sat there, planning composedly details that to Joe sounded sheer
+nonsense. Yet it was evident that to his inner vision some event was
+perfectly clear.
+
+"It'll be supper time in ten minutes," Joe reminded him timidly.
+
+"Oh! Will it? What a nuisance. I want to stay here and think and hear
+things in my head. Tell Aunt Ethel I've got a headache or that I've
+been frightfully sick. As a matter of fact, I think I _am_ going
+to be sick."
+
+And somehow that impressed Joe more than anything else. It was a
+homely familiar happening. When anything upset you very much, either
+pleasurably or otherwise, you always wanted to be sick! She had felt
+that herself, often.
+
+She stood in the door hesitating. Vernon had relapsed into abstraction
+again. How queer he looked! Quite different. As though--as though--Joe
+sought for the words she wanted--as though he had suddenly come alive.
+
+She was a little frightened.
+
+
+
+
+                               chapter 2
+
+
+Carey Lodge was the name of Myra's house. It was about eight miles from
+Birmingham.
+
+A subtle depression always weighed down Vernon's spirits as he got near
+Carey Lodge. He hated the house, hated its solid comfort, its thick
+bright-red carpets, its lounge hall, the carefully selected sporting
+prints that hung in the dining room, the superabundance of knick-knacks
+that filled the drawing room. And yet, was it so much those things he
+hated as the facts that stood behind them?
+
+He questioned himself, trying for the first time to be honest with
+himself. Wasn't it the truth that he hated his mother being so at home
+there, so placidly content? He liked to think of her in terms of Abbots
+Puissants--liked to think of her as being, like himself, an exile.
+
+And she wasn't! Abbots Puissants had been to her what a foreign kingdom
+might be to a queen consort. She had felt important there, and pleased
+with herself. It had been new and exciting. But it hadn't been home.
+
+Myra greeted her son with extravagant affection as always. He
+wished she wouldn't. In some way it made it harder than ever for
+him to respond. When he was away from her he pictured himself being
+affectionate to his mother. When he was with her all that illusion
+faded away.
+
+Myra Deyre had altered a good deal since leaving Abbots Puissants. She
+had grown much stouter. Her beautiful golden-red hair was flecked with
+gray. The expression of her face was different, it was at once more
+satisfied and more placid. There was now a strong resemblance between
+her and her brother Sydney.
+
+"You've had a good time in London? I'm so glad. It's so exciting to
+have my fine big son back with me--I've been telling everybody how
+excited I am. Mothers are foolish creatures, aren't they?"
+
+Vernon thought they were rather--then was ashamed of himself.
+
+"Very jolly to see you, Mother," he mumbled.
+
+Joe said: "You're looking splendidly fit, Aunt Myra."
+
+"I've not really been very well, dear. I don't think Dr. Grey quite
+understands my case. I hear there's a new doctor--Dr. Littleworth--just
+bought Dr. Armstrong's practice. They say he is wonderfully clever.
+I'm sure it's my heart--and it's all nonsense Dr. Grey saying it's
+indigestion."
+
+She was quite animated. Her health was always an absorbing topic to
+Myra.
+
+"Mary's gone--the housemaid, you know. I was really very disappointed
+in that girl. After all I did for her."
+
+It went on and on. Joe and Vernon listened perfunctorily. Their minds
+were full of conscious superiority. Thank heaven they belonged to a
+new and enlightened generation, far above this insistence on domestic
+details! For them, a new and splendid world opened out. They were
+deeply, poignantly sorry for the contented creature who sat there
+chattering to them.
+
+Joe thought: "Poor--poor Aunt Myra! So terribly female! Of course
+Uncle Walter got bored with her. Not her fault! A rotten education,
+and brought up to believe that domesticity was all that mattered. And
+here she is, still young really--at least not too terribly old--and
+all she's got to do it to sit in the house and gossip, and think about
+servants, and fuss about her health. If she'd only been born twenty
+years later she could have been happy and free and independent all her
+life."
+
+And out of her intense pity for her unconscious aunt she answered
+gently and pretended an interest that she certainly did not feel.
+
+Vernon thought: "Was Mother always like this? Somehow she didn't seem
+so at Abbots Puissants. Or was I too much of a kid to notice? It's
+rotten of me to criticize her when she's been so good to me always.
+Only I wish she wouldn't treat me still as though I were about six
+years old. Oh, well, I suppose she can't help it. I don't think I shall
+ever marry."
+
+And suddenly he jerked out abruptly, urged thereto by intense
+nervousness:
+
+"I say, Mother. I'm thinking of taking music at Cambridge."
+
+There, it was out! He had said it.
+
+Myra, distracted from her account of the Armstrongs' cook, said vaguely:
+
+"But darling, you always were so unmusical. You used to be quite
+unreasonable about it."
+
+"I know," said Vernon gruffly. "But one changes one's mind about things
+sometimes."
+
+"Well, I'm very glad, dear. I used to play quite brilliant pieces
+myself when I was a young girl. But one never keeps up anything when
+one marries."
+
+"I know. It's a wicked shame," said Joe hotly. "I don't mean to
+marry--but if I did I'd never give up my own career. And that reminds
+me, Aunt Myra, I've just got to go to London to study if I'm ever going
+to be any good at modelling."
+
+"I'm sure Mr. Bradford----"
+
+"Oh, damn Mr. Bradford! I'm sorry, Aunt Myra, but you don't understand.
+I've got to study--_hard_. And I must be on my own. I could share
+diggings with another girl----"
+
+"Joe, darling, don't be so absurd." Myra laughed. "I need my little Joe
+here. I always look on you as my daughter, you know, Joe dear."
+
+Joe wriggled.
+
+"I really am in earnest, Aunt Myra. It's my whole life."
+
+This tragic utterance only made her aunt laugh more.
+
+"Girls often think like that. Now don't let's spoil this happy evening
+by quarrelling."
+
+"But will you really seriously consider it?"
+
+"We must see what Uncle Sydney says."
+
+"It's nothing to do with him. He's not _my_ uncle. Surely, if I
+like, I can take my own money."
+
+"It isn't exactly your own money, Joe. Your father sends it to me as
+an allowance for you--though I'm sure I would be willing to have you
+without any allowance at all--and knows you are well and safely looked
+after with me."
+
+"Then I suppose I'd better write to Father."
+
+She said it valiantly, but her heart sank. She had seen her father
+twice in ten years, and the old antagonism held between them. The
+present plan doubtless commended itself to Major Waite. At the cost of
+a few hundreds a year, the problem of his daughter was lifted off his
+hands. But Joe had no money of her own. She doubted very much if her
+father would make her any allowance at all if she broke away from Aunt
+Myra and insisted on leading her own life.
+
+Vernon murmured to her: "Don't be so damned impatient, Joe. Wait till
+I'm twenty-one."
+
+That cheered her a little. One could always depend on Vernon.
+
+Myra asked Vernon about the Levinnes. Was Mrs. Levinne's asthma any
+better? Was it true that they spent almost all of their time in London
+nowadays?
+
+"No, I don't think so. Of course, they don't go down to Deerfields much
+in the winter, but they were there all the autumn. It'll be jolly to
+have them next door when we go back to Abbots Puissants, won't it?"
+
+His mother started, and said in a flustered sort of voice: "Oh!
+yes--very nice."
+
+She added almost immediately: "Your Uncle Sydney is coming round to
+tea. He's bringing Enid. By the way, I don't have late dinner any more.
+I really think it suits me better to have a good sit-down meal at six."
+
+"Oh!" said Vernon, rather taken aback.
+
+He had an unreasoning prejudice against those meals. He disliked
+the juxtaposition of tea and scrambled eggs and rich plum cake. Why
+couldn't his mother have proper meals like other people? Of course,
+Uncle Sydney and Aunt Carrie always had high tea. Bother Uncle Sydney!
+All this was his fault.
+
+His thought stopped--checked. All what? He couldn't answer--didn't
+quite know. But anyway, when he and his mother went back to Abbots
+Puissants everything would be different.
+
+
+                                  _2_
+
+Uncle Sydney arrived very soon--very bluff and hearty, a little stouter
+than of old. With him came Enid, his third daughter. The two eldest
+were married, and the two youngest were in the schoolroom.
+
+Uncle Sydney was full of jokes and fun. Myra looked at her brother
+admiringly. Really, there was nobody like Syd! He made things go.
+
+Vernon laughed politely at his uncle's jokes, which he privately
+thought both stupid and boring.
+
+"I wonder where you buy your tobacco in Cambridge," said Uncle
+Sydney. "From a pretty girl, I'll be bound. Ha! Ha! Myra, the boy's
+blushing--actually blushing."
+
+"Stupid old fool!" thought Vernon disdainfully.
+
+"And where do _you_ buy your tobacco, Uncle Sydney?" said Joe,
+valiantly entering the lists.
+
+"Ha! Ha!" trumpeted Uncle Sydney. "That's a good one! You're a smart
+girl, Joe. We won't tell your Aunt Carrie the answer to that, eh?"
+
+Enid said very little but giggled a good deal.
+
+"You ought to write to your cousin," said Uncle Sydney. "He'd like a
+letter, wouldn't you, Vernon?"
+
+"Rather," said Vernon.
+
+"There you are," said Uncle Sydney. "What did I tell you, Miss? The
+child wanted to, but was shy. She's always thought a lot of you,
+Vernon. But I mustn't tell tales out of school, hey, Enid?"
+
+Later, after the heavy composite meal was ended, he talked to Vernon at
+some length of the prosperity of Bent's.
+
+"Booming, my boy, booming."
+
+He went into long financial explanations: profits had doubled, he was
+extending the premises--and so on and so on.
+
+Vernon much preferred this style of conversation. Not being the
+least interested, he could abstract his attention. An encouraging
+monosyllable from time to time was all that was needed.
+
+Uncle Sydney talked on, developing the fascinating theme of the Power
+and Glory of Bent's, World without End, Amen.
+
+Vernon thought about the book on musical instruments which he had
+bought that morning and read coming down in the train. There was a
+terrible lot to know. Oboes--he felt he was going to have ideas about
+oboes. And violas--yes, certainly, violas.
+
+Uncle Sydney's talk made a pleasant accompaniment, like a remote double
+bass.
+
+Presently Uncle Sydney said he must be getting along. There was more
+facetiousness--should or should not Vernon kiss Enid good-night?
+
+How idiotic people were! Thank goodness he'd soon be able to get up to
+his own room!
+
+Myra heaved a happy sigh as the door closed.
+
+"Dear me!" she murmured. "I wish your father had been here. We've had
+such a happy evening. He would have enjoyed it."
+
+"A jolly good thing he wasn't," said Vernon. "I don't remember that he
+and Uncle Sydney ever hit it off really well."
+
+"You were only a little boy. They were the greatest of friends, and
+your father was always happy when I was. Oh, dear, how happy we were
+together!"
+
+She raised a handkerchief to her eyes. Vernon stared at her. For a
+moment he thought: "This is the most magnificent loyalty." And then
+suddenly: "No, it isn't. She really believes it."
+
+Myra went on in a soft reminiscent tone:
+
+"You were never really fond of your father, Vernon. I think it must
+have grieved him sometimes. But then you were so devoted to me. It was
+quite ridiculous."
+
+Vernon said suddenly and violently, and with a strange feeling that he
+was defending his father by saying so:
+
+"Father was a brute to you."
+
+"Vernon, how dare you say such a thing? Your father was the best man in
+the world."
+
+She looked at him defiantly. He thought: "She's seeing herself
+being heroic. 'How wonderful a woman's love can be--protecting her
+dead'--that sort of thing. Oh! I hate it all. I hate it all."
+
+He mumbled something, kissed her, and went up to bed.
+
+
+                                  _3_
+
+Later in the evening Joe tapped at his door and was bidden to enter.
+Vernon was sitting sprawled out in a chair. The book on musical
+instruments lay on the floor beside him.
+
+"Hullo, Joe. God, what a beastly evening!"
+
+"Did you mind it so much?"
+
+"Didn't you? It's all wrong. What an ass Uncle Sydney is. Those idiotic
+jokes! It's all so cheap."
+
+"H'm," said Joe. She sat down thoughtfully on the bed and lit a
+cigarette.
+
+"Don't you agree?"
+
+"Yes--at least I do in a way."
+
+"Spit it out," said Vernon encouragingly.
+
+"Well, what I mean is, _they're_ happy enough."
+
+"Who?"
+
+"Aunt Myra. Uncle Sydney. Enid. They're a united happy lot, thoroughly
+content with one another. It's we who are wrong, Vernon. You and
+I. We've lived here all these years--but we don't belong. That's
+why--we've got to get out of it."
+
+Vernon nodded thoughtfully.
+
+"Yes, Joe, you're right. We've got to get out of it." He smiled
+happily, because the way was so clear. Twenty-one.... Abbots
+Puissants.... Music.
+
+
+
+
+                               chapter 3
+
+
+"Do you mind just going over that once more, Mr. Flemming?"
+
+"Willingly."
+
+Precise, dry, even, word after word fell from the old lawyer's lips.
+His meaning was clear and unmistakable! Too much so! It didn't leave a
+loophole for doubt.
+
+Vernon listened. His face was very white, his hands grasped the arms of
+the chair in which he was sitting.
+
+It couldn't be true--it _couldn't_! And yet, after all, hadn't
+Mr. Flemming said very much the same, years ago? Yes, but then there
+had been the magic words "twenty-one" to look forward to. "Twenty-one"
+which by a blessed miracle was to make everything right. Instead of
+which:
+
+"Mind you, the position is infinitely improved from what it was at the
+time of your father's death, but it is no good pretending we are out of
+the wood. The mortgage...."
+
+Surely, surely, they had never mentioned a mortgage? Well, it wouldn't
+have been much use, he supposed, to a boy of nine. No good trying to
+get round it. The plain truth was that he couldn't afford to live at
+Abbots Puissants.
+
+He waited till Mr. Flemming had finished and then said: "But if my
+mother...."
+
+"Oh! of course. If Mrs. Deyre were prepared to...." He left the
+sentence unfinished, paused, and then added: "But, if I may say so,
+every time that I have had the pleasure of seeing Mrs. Deyre she has
+seemed to me to be very settled--very settled indeed. I suppose you
+know that she bought the freehold of Carey Lodge two years ago?"
+
+Vernon hadn't known it. He saw plainly enough what it meant. Why hadn't
+his mother told him? Hadn't she had the courage? He had always taken
+it for granted that she would come back with him to Abbots Puissants,
+not so much because he longed for her presence there, as because it
+was--quite naturally--her home.
+
+But it wasn't her home. It never could be in the sense that Carey Lodge
+was her home.
+
+He could appeal to her, of course. Beg her, for his sake, because he
+wanted it so much.
+
+No, a thousand times no! You couldn't beg favours from people you
+didn't really love. And he didn't really love his mother. He didn't
+believe he ever really had. Queer and sad and a little dreadful, but
+there it was.
+
+If he never saw her again, would he mind? Not really. He would like to
+know that she was well and happy--cared for. But he wouldn't miss her,
+would never feel a longing for her presence. Because, in a queer way,
+he didn't really _like_ her. He disliked the touch of her hands,
+always had to take a hold on himself before kissing her good-night.
+He'd never been able to tell her anything--she never understood or knew
+what he was feeling. She had been a good loving mother--and he didn't
+even like her! Rather horrible, he supposed, most people would say....
+
+He said quietly to Mr. Flemming: "You are quite right. I am sure my
+mother would not wish to leave Carey Lodge."
+
+"Now, there are one or two alternatives open to you, Mr. Deyre. Major
+Salmon, who, as you know, has rented it furnished all these years, is
+anxious to buy----"
+
+"No!" The word burst from Vernon like a pistol shot.
+
+Mr. Flemming smiled.
+
+"I was sure you would say that. And I must confess I am glad. There
+have been--er--Deyres at Abbots Puissants for, let me see, nearly five
+hundred years. Nevertheless, I should be failing in my duty if I didn't
+point out to you that the price offered is a good one, and that if,
+later, you should decide to sell, it may not be easy to find a suitable
+purchaser."
+
+"It's out of the question."
+
+"Very good. Then the best thing, I think, is to try and let once
+more. Major Salmon definitely wants to buy a place, so it will mean
+finding a new tenant. But I dare say we shall have no great difficulty.
+The point is, how long do you want to let for? To let the place for
+another long term of years is, I should say, not very desirable. Life
+is very uncertain. Who knows, in a few years the state of affairs may
+have--er--changed very considerably, and you may be in a position to
+take up residence there yourself."
+
+"So I shall, but not the way you think, you old dunderhead," thought
+Vernon. "It'll be because I've made a name for myself in music--not
+because Mother is dead. I'm sure I hope she'll live to be ninety."
+
+He exchanged a few more words with Mr. Flemming, then rose to go.
+
+"I'm afraid this has been rather a shock to you," said the old lawyer
+as he shook hands.
+
+"Yes--just a bit. I've been building castles in the air, I suppose."
+
+"You're going down to spend your twenty-first birthday with your
+mother, I suppose?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You might talk things over with your uncle, Mr. Bent. A very shrewd
+man of business. He has a daughter about your age, I think?"
+
+"Yes, Enid. The two eldest are married, and the two youngest are at
+school. Enid's about a year younger than I am."
+
+"Ah! very pleasant to have a cousin of one's own age. I dare say you
+will see a good deal of her."
+
+"Oh! I don't suppose I shall," said Vernon vaguely.
+
+Why should he be seeing a lot of Enid? She was a dull girl. But of
+course Mr. Flemming didn't know that.
+
+Funny old chap. What on earth was there to put on such a sly knowing
+expression about?
+
+
+                                  _2_
+
+"Well, Mother, I don't seem to be exactly the young heir!"
+
+"Oh! well, dear, you mustn't worry. Things arrange themselves, you
+know. You must have a good talk with your Uncle Sydney."
+
+Silly! What good could a talk with his Uncle Sydney do him?
+
+Fortunately the matter was not referred to again. The extraordinary
+surprise was that Joe had been allowed to have her way. She was
+actually in London--somewhat dragoned and chaperoned, it is true--but
+still she had got her way.
+
+His mother seemed always to be whispering mysteriously to friends.
+Vernon caught her at it one day.
+
+"Yes ... quite inseparable, they were ... so I thought it wiser ... it
+would be such a pity...." And what Vernon called the "other tabby" said
+something about "First cousins ... most unwise...." and his mother,
+with a suddenly heightened colour and raised voice, had said: "Oh! I
+don't think in _every_ case."
+
+"Who were first cousins?" asked Vernon later. "What was all the mystery
+about?"
+
+"Mystery, darling? I don't know what you mean."
+
+"Well, you shut up when I came in. I wondered what it was all about?"
+
+"Oh! nothing interesting. Some people you don't know."
+
+She looked rather red and confused.
+
+Vernon wasn't curious. He asked no more.
+
+He missed Joe most frightfully. Carey Lodge was pretty deadly without
+her. For one thing, he saw more of Enid than he ever had before. She
+was always coming in to see Myra, and Vernon would find himself let
+in for taking her to roller skate at the new rink, or for some deadly
+party or other.
+
+Myra told Vernon that it would be nice if he asked Enid up to Cambridge
+for May Week. She was so persistent about it that Vernon gave in. After
+all, it didn't matter. Sebastian would have Joe and he himself didn't
+much care. Dancing was rather rot. Everything was rot that interfered
+with music.
+
+The evening before his departure Uncle Sydney came to Carey Lodge
+and Myra pushed Vernon into the study with him and said, "Your Uncle
+Sydney's come to have a little talk with you, Vernon."
+
+Mr. Bent hemmed and hawed for a minute or two and then, rather
+surprisingly, came straight to the point. Vernon had never liked his
+uncle as much. His facetious manner had been entirely laid aside.
+
+"I'm coming straight out with what I want to say, my boy--but I don't
+want you interrupting till I've finished. See?"
+
+"Yes, Uncle Sydney."
+
+"The long and short of it is just this. _I want you to come into
+Bent's._ Now remember what I said--no interruptions! I know you've
+never thought of such a thing, and I dare say the idea isn't very
+congenial to you now. I'm a plain man, and I can face facts as well as
+anyone. If you'd got a good income and could live at Abbots Puissants
+like a gentleman, there wouldn't be any question of the thing. Well,
+I accept that. You're like your father's people. But for all that,
+you've got good Bent blood in your veins, my boy, and blood's bound to
+tell.
+
+"I've got no son of my own. I'm willing--if you're willing--to look
+upon you as a son. The girls are provided for, and handsomely provided
+for at that. And mind you, it won't be a case of toiling for life. I'm
+not unreasonable--and I realize just as much as you do what that place
+of yours stands for. You're a young fellow. You go into the business
+when you come down from Cambridge--mind you, you go into it from the
+bottom. You'll start at a moderate salary and work up. If you want
+to retire before you're forty, well, you can do so. Please yourself.
+You'll be a rich man by then, and you'll be able to run Abbots
+Puissants as it should be run.
+
+"You'll marry young, I hope. Excellent thing, young marriages.
+Your eldest boy succeeds to the place, the younger sons find a
+first-class business to step into where they can show what they're
+made of. I'm proud of Bent's--as proud of Bent's as you are of Abbots
+Puissants--that's why I understand your feeling about the old place. I
+don't want you to have to sell it. Let it go out of the family after
+all these years--that would be a shame. Well, there's the offer."
+
+"It's most awfully good of you, Uncle Sydney----" began Vernon.
+
+His uncle threw up a large square hand and stopped him.
+
+"We'll leave it at that, if you please. I don't want an answer now. In
+fact, I won't have one. When you come down from Cambridge--that's time
+enough."
+
+He rose.
+
+"Kind of you to ask Enid up for May Week. Very excited about it, she
+is. If you knew what that girl thought of you, Vernon, you'd be quite
+conceited. Ah! well, girls will be girls."
+
+Laughing boisterously, he slammed the front door.
+
+Vernon remained in the hall frowning. It was really jolly decent of
+Uncle Sydney--_jolly_ decent.
+
+Not that he was going to accept. All the money in the world wouldn't
+tear him from music.
+
+And, somehow, he would have Abbots Puissants as well.
+
+
+                                  _3_
+
+May Week!
+
+Joe and Enid were at Cambridge. Vernon had been let in for Ethel, too,
+as chaperon. The world seemed largely composed of Bents just at present.
+
+Joe had burst out at once with: "Why on earth did you ask Enid?"
+
+He had answered: "Oh! Mother went on about it--it doesn't really
+matter."
+
+Nothing mattered to Vernon just then except one thing. Joe talked
+privately to Sebastian about that.
+
+"Is Vernon really in earnest about this music business? Will he ever be
+any good? I suppose it's just a passing craze?"
+
+But Sebastian was unexpectedly serious.
+
+"It's extraordinarily interesting, you know," he said. "As far as I can
+make out, what Vernon is aiming at is something entirely revolutionary.
+He's mastering now what you might call the main facts, and mastering
+them at an extraordinary rate. Old Coddington admits that, though of
+course he snorts at Vernon's ideas--or would if Vernon ever let out
+about them. The person who's interested is old Jeffries--mathematics!
+He says Vernon's ideas of music are fourth dimensional.
+
+"I don't know if Vernon will ever pull it off--or whether he'll be
+considered as a harmless lunatic. The border line is very narrow,
+I imagine. Old Jeffries is very enthusiastic. But not in the least
+encouraging. He points out, quite rightly, that to attempt to discover
+something new and force it on the world is always a thankless task, and
+that in all probability the truths that Vernon is discovering won't
+be accepted for at least another two hundred years. He's a queer old
+codger. Sits about thinking of imaginary curves in space--that sort of
+thing.
+
+"But I see his point. Vernon isn't creating something new. He's
+discovering something that's already there. Rather like a scientist.
+Jeffries says that Vernon's dislike of music as a child is perfectly
+understandable. To his ear music's incomplete--it's like a picture
+out of drawing. The whole perspective is wrong. It sounds to Vernon
+like--I suppose--a primitive savage's music would sound to us--Mostly
+unendurable discord.
+
+"Jeffries is full of queer ideas. Start him off on squares and cubes
+and geometrical figures and the speed of light and he goes quite mad.
+He writes to a German fellow called Einstein. The queer thing is that
+he isn't a bit musical, and yet he can see--or says he can--exactly
+what Vernon is driving at."
+
+Joe cogitated deeply.
+
+"Well," she said at last, "I don't understand a word of all this. But
+it looks as though Vernon might make a success of it all."
+
+Sebastian was discouraging.
+
+"I wouldn't say that. Vernon may be a genius--and that's quite a
+different thing. Nobody welcomes genius. On the other hand, he may
+be just slightly mad. He sounds mad enough sometimes when he gets
+going--and yet, somehow, I've always got a kind of feeling that he's
+right--that in some odd way he knows what he's talking about."
+
+"You've heard about Uncle Sydney's offer?"
+
+"Yes. Vernon seems to be turning it down very light-heartedly, and yet,
+you know, it's a good thing."
+
+"You wouldn't have him accept it?" flamed out Joe.
+
+Sebastian remained provokingly cool.
+
+"I don't know. It needs thinking about. Vernon may have wonderful
+theories about this music business--there's nothing to show that he's
+ever going to be able to put them into practice."
+
+"You're maddening," said Joe, turning away.
+
+Sebastian annoyed her nowadays. All his cool analytical faculties
+seemed to be uppermost. If he had enthusiasms, he hid them carefully.
+
+And to Joe, just now, enthusiasm seemed the most necessary thing in the
+world. She had a passion for lost causes, for minorities. She was a
+passionate champion of the weak and oppressed.
+
+Sebastian she felt, was only interested in successes. She accused
+him in her own mind of judging everyone and everything by a monetary
+standard. Most of the time they were together they fought and bickered
+incessantly.
+
+Vernon, too, seemed separated from her. Music was the only thing he
+wanted to talk about, and even then on lines that were not familiar to
+her.
+
+His preoccupation was entirely with instruments--their scope and
+power--and the violin which Joe herself played seemed the instrument
+in which he was least interested. Joe was quite unfitted to talk about
+clarionets, trombones, and bassoons. Vernon's ambition in life seemed
+to be to form friendships with players of these instruments so as to be
+able to acquire some practical as opposed to theoretical knowledge.
+
+"Don't you know any bassoon players?"
+
+Joe said she didn't.
+
+Vernon said that she might as well make herself useful and try and pick
+up some musical friends. "Even a French horn would do," he said kindly.
+
+He drew an experimental finger round the edge of his finger bowl. Joe
+shuddered and clapped both hands to her ears. The sound increased in
+volume. Vernon smiled dreamily and ecstatically.
+
+"One ought to be able to catch that and harness it. I wonder how it
+could be done. It's a lovely round sound, isn't it? Like a circle."
+
+Sebastian took the finger bowl forcibly away from him, and he wandered
+round the room and rang various goblets experimentally.
+
+"Nice lot of glasses in this room," he said appreciatively.
+
+"You're drowning sailors," said Joe.
+
+"Can't you be satisfied with bells and a triangle?" asked Sebastian.
+"And a little gong to beat."
+
+"No," said Vernon. "I want glass.... Let's have the Venetian and
+the Waterford together.... I'm glad you have these esthetic tastes,
+Sebastian. Have you got a common glass that I can smash?--all the
+tinkling fragments. Wonderful stuff--glass!"
+
+"Symphony of goblets," said Joe scathingly.
+
+"Well, why not? I suppose somebody once pulled a bit of catgut tight
+and found it made a squawky noise, and somebody once blew through a
+reed and liked it. I wonder when they first thought of making things
+of brass and metal. I dare say some book tells you."
+
+"Columbus and the egg. You and Sebastian's glass goblets. Why not a
+slate and a slate pencil?"
+
+"If you've got one...."
+
+"Isn't he too funny?" giggled Enid. And that stopped the
+conversation--for the time, at any rate.
+
+Not that Vernon really minded her presence. He was far too wrapped up
+in his ideas to be sensitive about them. Enid and Ethel were welcome to
+laugh as much as they chose.
+
+But he was slightly disturbed by the lack of harmony between Joe and
+Sebastian. The three of them had always been such a united trio.
+
+"I don't think this 'living your own life' stunt agrees with Joe," said
+Vernon to his friend. "She's like an angry cat most of the time. I
+can't think why Mother agreed. She was dead against it about six months
+ago. I can't imagine what made her change her mind, can you?"
+
+A smile creased Sebastian's long yellow face.
+
+"I could make a guess," he said.
+
+"What?"
+
+"I shan't say. In the first place, I may be wrong, and in the second
+place I should hate to interfere with the (possibly) normal course of
+events."
+
+"That's your tortuous Russian mind."
+
+"I dare say."
+
+Vernon didn't insist. He was much too lazy to probe for reasons that
+weren't given him.
+
+Day succeeded day. They danced, breakfasted, drove at incredibly fast
+speeds through the countryside, sat and smoked and talked in Vernon's
+rooms, danced again. It was a point of honour not to sleep. At five in
+the morning they went on the river.
+
+Vernon's right arm ached. Enid fell to his share and she was a heavy
+partner. Well, it didn't matter. Uncle Sydney had seemed pleased, and
+he was a decent old boy. Jolly good of him to make that offer. What a
+pity it was that he (Vernon) was not more of a Bent and less of a Deyre.
+
+A vague memory stirred in his mind--somebody saying, "The Deyres,
+Vernon, are neither happy nor successful. They can't make good."
+Who was it who had said that? A woman's voice, it had been, in a
+garden--and there had been curling cigarette smoke....
+
+Sebastian's voice said: "He's going to sleep. Wake up, you blighter!
+Chuck a chocolate at him, Enid."
+
+A chocolate whizzed past his head. Enid's voice said with a giggle:
+
+"I can't throw straight for nuts."
+
+She giggled again as though she thought it very funny. Tiresome
+girl--always giggling. Besides, her teeth stuck out.
+
+He heaved himself over onto his side. Not usually very appreciative of
+the beauties of Nature, this morning he was struck by the beauty of the
+world. The pale gleaming river, here and there on the banks a flowering
+tree.
+
+The boat drifted slowly down stream ... a queer silent enchanted world.
+Because, he supposed, there were no human beings about. It was, when
+you came to think of it, an excess of human beings who spoiled the
+world. Always chattering and talking and giggling, and asking you what
+you were thinking of when all you wanted was to be let alone.
+
+He always remembered feeling that as a kid. If they'd only let him
+alone! He smiled to himself as he remembered the ridiculous games he
+had been in the habit of inventing. Mr. Green! He remembered Mr. Green
+perfectly. And those three playmates--what were their names, now?
+
+A funny child's world--a world of dragons and princesses and strangely
+concrete realities mixed up with them. There had been a story someone
+had told him--a ragged prince with a little green hat and a princess in
+a tower whose hair when she combed it was so golden that it could be
+seen in four kingdoms.
+
+He raised his head a little, looked along the river bank. There was a
+punt tied up under some trees. Four people in it--but Vernon only saw
+one.
+
+A girl in a pink evening frock with hair like spun gold standing under
+a tree laden with pink blossom.
+
+He looked and he looked.
+
+"Vernon." Joe kicked him correctively. "You're not asleep because your
+eyes are open. You've been spoken to four times."
+
+"Sorry. I was looking at that lot over there. That's rather a pretty
+girl, don't you think so?"
+
+He tried to make his tone light--casual. Inside him a riotous voice was
+saying: "Pretty? She's lovely. She's the most lovely girl in the world.
+I'm going to get to know her. I've got to know her. I'm going to marry
+her...."
+
+Joe heaved herself up on her elbows, looked, uttered an exclamation.
+
+"Why!" she exclaimed. "I do believe--yes, I'm sure it is. It's Nell
+Vereker."
+
+
+                                  _4_
+
+Impossible; It couldn't be. Nell Vereker? Pale scraggy Nell, with her
+pink nose and her inappropriate starched dresses. Surely it couldn't
+be. Was Time capable of that kind of practical joke? If so, one
+couldn't be sure of anything. That long-ago Nell, and this Nell--they
+were two different people.
+
+The whole world felt dreamlike. Joe was saying:
+
+"If that's Nell, I really must speak to her. Let's go across."
+
+And then the greetings, exclamations, surprise.
+
+"Why, of course. Joe Waite. And Vernon! It's years ago, isn't it?"
+
+Very soft her voice was. Her eyes smiled into his--a trifle shyly.
+Lovely--lovely--lovelier even than he had thought. Tongue-tied fool,
+why couldn't he say anything? Something brilliant, witty, arresting.
+How blue her eyes were with their long soft golden-brown lashes. She
+was like the blossom above her head--untouched, springlike.
+
+A great wave of despondency swept over him. She would never marry him.
+Was it likely? A great clumsy tongue-tied creature such as he was.
+She was talking to him. Heavens! he must try and listen to what she
+said--answer intelligently.
+
+"We left very soon after you did. Father gave up his job."
+
+An echo came into his head of past gossip:
+
+_Vereker got the sack. Hopelessly incompetent--it was bound to
+come._
+
+Her voice went on--such a lovely voice. You wanted to listen to it
+instead of to the words.
+
+"We live in London now. Father died five years ago."
+
+He said, feeling idiotic, "Oh! I say, I'm sorry, awfully sorry."
+
+"I'll give you our address. You must come and see us."
+
+He blundered out hopes of meeting her that evening. What dance was she
+going to? She told him. No good there. The night after--thank goodness!
+they'd be at the same. He said hurriedly:
+
+"Look here. You've got to save me a dance or two--you must--we've not
+seen each other for years."
+
+"Oh! but can I?" Her voice was doubtful.
+
+"I'll fix it somehow. Leave it to me."
+
+It was over all too soon. Good-byes were said. They were going upstream
+again.
+
+Joe said in an incredibly matter-of-fact tone, "Well, isn't that
+strange? Who would ever have thought that Nell Vereker would have
+turned out so good-looking? I wonder if she's as much of an ass as
+ever."
+
+Sacrilege! He felt oceans removed from Joe. Joe couldn't see anything
+at all.
+
+_Would_ Nell ever marry him? _Would_ she? Probably she'd
+never look at him. All sorts of fellows must be in love with her.
+
+He felt terribly despondent. Black misery swept over him.
+
+
+                                  _5_
+
+He was dancing with her. Never had he imagined that he could be so
+happy. She was like a feather, a rose leaf in his arms. She was wearing
+a pink dress again--a different one. It floated out all round her.
+
+If life could only go on like this for ever ... for ever....
+
+But of course, life never did. In what seemed to Vernon like one
+second, the music stopped. They were sitting together on two chairs.
+
+He wanted to say a thousand things to her--but he didn't know how to
+begin. He heard himself saying foolish things about the floor and the
+music.
+
+Fool--unutterable fool! In a few minutes another dance would begin. She
+would be swept away from him. He must make some plan--some arrangement
+to meet her again.
+
+She was talking--desultory in-between-dance talk. London--the season.
+Horrible to think of--she was going to dances night after night--three
+dances a night sometimes. And here was he tied by the leg. She would
+marry someone--some rich clever amusing fellow would snap her up.
+
+He mumbled something about being in town--she gave him their address.
+Mother would be so pleased to see him again. He wrote it down.
+
+The music struck up. He said desperately: "Nell--I say, I do call you
+Nell, don't I?"
+
+"Why, of course." She laughed. "Do you remember hauling me over the
+palings that day we thought the rhinoceros was after us?"
+
+And he had thought her a nuisance, he remembered. Nell! A nuisance!
+
+She went on: "I used to think you were wonderful then, Vernon."
+
+She had, had she? But she couldn't think him wonderful now. His mood
+drooped to despondency once more.
+
+"I--I was an awful little rotter, I expect," he mumbled.
+
+Why couldn't he be intelligent and clever and say witty things?
+
+"Oh! you were a dear. Sebastian hasn't changed much, has he?"
+
+Sebastian. She called him Sebastian. Well, after all, he supposed she
+would--since she called him Vernon. What a lucky thing it was that
+Sebastian cared for nobody but Joe. Sebastian with his money and his
+brains. Did Nell like Sebastian? he wondered.
+
+"One would know his ears anywhere," said Nell with a laugh.
+
+Vernon felt comforted. He had forgotten Sebastian's ears. No girl who
+had noticed Sebastian's ears could go falling in love with him. Poor
+old Sebastian! Rather rough luck to be handicapped with those ears.
+
+He saw Nell's partner arriving. He blurted out quickly and hurriedly:
+
+"I say, it's wonderful to have seen you again, Nell. Don't forget me,
+will you? I shall be turning up in town. It's--it's been awfully jolly
+seeing you again. (Oh! damn, I said that before!) I mean--it's been
+simply ripping. You don't know. But you won't forget, will you?"
+
+She was gone from him. He saw her whirling round in Barnard's arms. She
+couldn't like Barnard surely, could she? Barnard was such an absolute
+ass.
+
+Her eyes met his over Barnard's shoulder. She smiled.
+
+He was in Heaven again. She liked him--he knew she liked him. She had
+smiled....
+
+
+                                  _6_
+
+May Week was over. Vernon was sitting at a table writing.
+
+    Dear Uncle Sydney:
+
+    I've thought over your offer, and I'd like to come into Bent's if
+    you still want me. I'm afraid I shall be rather useless but I will
+    try all I know. I still think it's most awfully good of you.
+
+He paused. Sebastian was walking up and down restlessly. His pacing
+disturbed Vernon.
+
+"For goodness' sake, sit down," he said irritably. "What's the matter
+with you?"
+
+"Nothing."
+
+Sebastian sat down with unusual mildness. He filled and lighted a pipe.
+From behind a sheltering haze of smoke, he spoke:
+
+"I say, Vernon. I asked Joe to marry me that last night. She turned me
+down."
+
+"Oh! rough luck," said Vernon, trying to bring his mind back and be
+sympathetic. "Perhaps she'll change her mind," he said vaguely. "They
+say girls do."
+
+"It's this damned money," said Sebastian angrily.
+
+"What damned money?"
+
+"Mine. Joe always said she would marry me when we were kids together.
+She likes me--I'm sure she does. And now--everything I say or do always
+seems to be wrong. If I were only persecuted, or looked down on, or
+socially undesirable, I believe she'd marry me like a shot. But she's
+always got to be on the losing side. It's a ripping quality in a way,
+but you can carry it to a pitch where it's damned illogical. Joe is
+illogical."
+
+"Hm," said Vernon vaguely.
+
+He was selfishly intent on his own affairs. It seemed to him curious
+that Sebastian should be so keen on marrying Joe. There were lots of
+other girls who would suit him just as well. He reread his letter and
+added another sentence:
+
+    I will work like a nigger.
+
+
+
+
+                               chapter 4
+
+
+"We want another man," said Mrs. Vereker.
+
+Her eyebrows, slightly enhanced by art, drew together in a straight
+line as she frowned.
+
+"It's too annoying young Wetherill failing us," she added.
+
+Nell nodded apathetically. She was sitting on the arm of a chair, not
+yet dressed. Her golden hair hung in a stream over the pale pink kimono
+she was wearing. She looked very lovely and very young and defenseless.
+
+Mrs. Vereker, sitting at her inlaid desk, frowned still more and bit
+the end of her penholder thoughtfully. The hardness that had always
+been noticeable was now accentuated and, as it were, crystallized. This
+was a woman who had battled steadily and unceasingly through life and
+was now engaged in a supreme struggle. She lived in a house the rent
+of which she could not afford to pay and she dressed her daughter in
+clothes she could not afford to buy. She got things on credit--not,
+like some others, by cajolery, but by sheer driving power. She never
+appealed to her creditors, she browbeat them.
+
+And the result was that Nell went everywhere and did everything that
+other girls did and was better dressed while doing so.
+
+"Mademoiselle is lovely," said the dressmakers, and their eyes would
+meet Mrs. Vereker's in a glance of understanding.
+
+A girl so beautiful, so well turned out, would marry probably in her
+first season, certainly in her second--and then a rich harvest would be
+reaped. They were used to taking risks of this kind--Mademoiselle was
+lovely, Madame her mother was a woman of the world and a woman, they
+could see, who was accustomed to success in her undertakings. She would
+assuredly see to it that her daughter made a good match and did not
+marry a nobody.
+
+Nobody but Mrs. Vereker knew the difficulties, the setbacks, the
+galling defeats of the campaign she had undertaken.
+
+"There is young Earnescliff," she said thoughtfully. "But he is really
+too much of an outsider--and not even money to recommend him."
+
+Nell looked at her pink polished nails.
+
+"What about Vernon Deyre?" she suggested. "He wrote he was coming up to
+town this week-end."
+
+"He would do," said Mrs. Vereker. She looked sharply at her daughter.
+"Nell, you're not--you're not allowing yourself to become foolish about
+that young man, are you? We seem to have seen a great deal of him
+lately."
+
+"He dances well," said Nell. "And he's frightfully useful."
+
+"Yes," said Mrs. Vereker. "Yes. It's a pity."
+
+"What's a pity?"
+
+"That he hasn't got a few more of this world's goods. He'll have to
+marry money if he's ever going to be able to keep up Abbots Puissants.
+It's mortgaged, you know. I found that out. Of course, when his mother
+dies.... But she's one of those large healthy women who go on living
+till they're eighty or ninety. And besides, she may marry again. No,
+Vernon Deyre is hopeless considered as a _parti_. He's very much
+in love with you, too, poor boy."
+
+"Do you think so?" said Nell in a low voice.
+
+"Anyone can see it. It sticks out all over him--it always does with
+boys of that age. Well, they've got to go through calf love, I suppose.
+But no foolishness on your part, Nell."
+
+"Oh! Mother, he's only a boy--a very nice boy, but a boy."
+
+"He's a good-looking boy," said her mother dryly. "I'm only warning
+you. Being in love is a painful process when you can't have the man you
+want. And worse----"
+
+She stopped. Nell knew well enough how her thoughts ran on. Captain
+Vereker had once been a handsome blue-eyed impecunious young subaltern.
+Her mother had been guilty of the folly of marrying him for love. She
+had lived to rue the day bitterly. A weak man, a failure, a drunkard.
+Disillusionment enough there in all conscience.
+
+"Someone devoted is always useful," said Mrs. Vereker, reverting to
+her utilitarian standpoint. "He mustn't, of course, spoil your chances
+with other men. But you're too wise to let him monopolize you to that
+extent. Yes, write and ask him to drive down to Ranelagh and dine with
+us there on Sunday next."
+
+Nell nodded. She got up and went to her own room, flung off the
+trailing kimono and started dressing. With a stiff brush she brushed
+out the long golden hair before coiling it round her small lovely head.
+
+The window was open. A sooty London sparrow chirped and sang with the
+arrogance of his kind.
+
+Something caught at Nell's heart. Oh! why was everything so--so----
+
+So what? She didn't know--couldn't put into words the feeling that
+surged over her. Why couldn't things be nice instead of nasty? It would
+be just as easy for God.
+
+Nell never thought much about God, but she knew, of course, that he was
+there. Perhaps, somehow or other, God would make everything come right
+for her.
+
+There was something childlike about Nell Vereker on that summer's
+morning in London.
+
+
+                                  _2_
+
+Vernon was in the seventh heaven. He had had the luck to meet Nell in
+the park that morning, and now there was a whole glorious rapturous
+evening! So happy was he that he almost felt affectionate toward Mrs.
+Vereker.
+
+Instead of saying to himself, "That woman is a gorgon!" as he usually
+did, he found himself thinking: "She may not be so bad after all.
+Anyway, she's very fond of Nell."
+
+At dinner he studied the other members of the party. There was an
+inferior girl dressed in green, a being not to be mentioned in the same
+breath with Nell, and there was a tall dark man, a Major Somebody,
+whose evening dress was very faultless and who talked about India a
+lot. An insufferably conceited being--Vernon hated him. Boasting and
+swaggering and showing off! A cold hand closed round his heart. Nell
+would marry this blighter and go away to India. He knew it, he simply
+knew it. He refused a course that was handed to him and gave the girl
+in green a hard time, so monosyllabic were his responses to her efforts.
+
+The other man was older--very old to Vernon. A rather wooden figure,
+very upright. Gray hair, blue eyes, a square determined face. It turned
+out that he was an American, though no one would have known it, for he
+had no trace of accent.
+
+He spoke stiffly and a little punctiliously. He sounded rich. A very
+suitable companion for Mrs. Vereker, Vernon thought him. She might even
+marry him, and then, perhaps, she would cease worrying Nell and making
+her lead this insane life....
+
+Mr. Chetwynd seemed to admire Nell a good deal, which was only natural,
+and he paid her one or two rather old-fashioned compliments. He sat
+between her and her mother.
+
+"You must bring Miss Nell to Dinard this summer, Mrs. Vereker," he
+said. "You really must. Quite a party of us going. Wonderful place."
+
+"It sounds delightful, Mr. Chetwynd, but I don't know whether we can
+manage it. We seem to have promised so many people for visits and one
+thing and another."
+
+"I know you're always so much in request that it's hard to get hold of
+you. I hope your daughter's not listening when I congratulate you on
+being the mother of the beauty of the season."
+
+"And I said to the syce...."
+
+This from Major Dacre.
+
+All the Deyres had been soldiers. Why wasn't he a soldier, thought
+Vernon, instead of being in business in Birmingham? Then he laughed
+to himself. Absurd to be so jealous. What could be worse than to be a
+penniless subaltern? There would be no hope of Nell then.
+
+Americans were rather long-winded--he was getting tired of the sound of
+Chetwynd's voice. If only dinner could come to an end! If he and Nell
+could wander together under the trees.
+
+Wandering with Nell wasn't easy. He was foiled by Mrs. Vereker. She
+asked him questions about his mother and Joe, kept him by her side. He
+was no match for her in tactics. He had to stay there, answer, pretend
+he liked it.
+
+There was only one crumb of comfort. Nell was walking with the old
+boy--not with Dacre.
+
+Suddenly they encountered friends. Everyone stood talking. It was his
+chance. He found his way to Nell's side.
+
+"Come with me--do. Quickly--now."
+
+He had done it! He had got her away from the others. He was hurrying
+so that she had almost to run to keep up with him, but she didn't say
+anything--didn't protest or make a joke about it.
+
+The voices sounded from farther and farther away. He could hear other
+sounds now--the hurried unevenness of Nell's breathing. Was that
+because they had walked so fast? He didn't somehow think it was.
+
+He slowed up. They were alone now--alone in the world. They couldn't
+have been more alone, he felt, on a desert island.
+
+He must say something--something ordinary and commonplace. Otherwise
+she might think of going back to the others, and he couldn't bear
+that. Lucky she didn't know how his heart was beating--in great throbs,
+right up in his throat somewhere.
+
+He said abruptly: "I've gone into my uncle's business, you know."
+
+"Yes, I know. Do you like it?"
+
+A cool sweet voice. No trace of agitation in it now.
+
+"I don't like it much. I expect I shall get to, though."
+
+"I suppose it will be more interesting when you understand it more."
+
+"I don't see how it ever could be. It's making the shanks of buttons,
+you know."
+
+"Oh! I see--no, that doesn't sound very thrilling."
+
+There was a pause, and then she said, very softly: "Do you hate it very
+much, Vernon?"
+
+"I'm afraid I do."
+
+"I'm awfully sorry. I--I understand just how you feel."
+
+If someone understood, it made the whole world different. Adorable
+Nell! He said unsteadily:
+
+"I say, that's--that's most awfully sweet of you."
+
+Another pause--one of those pauses that are heavy with the weight of
+latent emotion. Nell seemed to take fright. She said rather hurriedly:
+
+"Weren't you--I mean I thought you were taking up music?"
+
+"I was, I--I gave that up."
+
+"But why? Isn't that the most awful pity?"
+
+"It's the thing I wanted to do most in the world. But it's no good.
+I've got to make some money somehow." Should he tell her? Was this the
+moment? No, he daren't--he simply daren't. He blundered on quickly:
+"You see, Abbots Puissants--you remember Abbots Puissants?"
+
+"Of course. Why, Vernon, we were talking about it the other day."
+
+"Sorry. I'm stupid to-night. Well, you see I want awfully to live there
+again some day."
+
+"I think you're wonderful."
+
+"Wonderful?"
+
+"Yes. To give up everything you cared about and set to as you are
+doing. It's splendid!"
+
+"It's ripping of you to say that. It makes--oh! you don't know what a
+difference it makes."
+
+"Does it?" said Nell in a very low voice. "I'm glad."
+
+She thought to herself: "I ought to go back. Oh! I ought to go back.
+Mother will be very angry about this. What am I doing? I ought to go
+back and listen to George Chetwynd, but he's so _dull_. Oh! God,
+don't let Mother be very cross."
+
+And she walked on by Vernon's side. She felt out of breath.
+Strange--what was the matter with her? If only Vernon would say
+something. What was he thinking about?
+
+She said in a would-be-detached voice: "How's Joe?"
+
+"Very artistic at present. I thought perhaps you might have been seeing
+something of each other as you were both in town?"
+
+"I've seen her once, I think. That's all." She paused and then added,
+rather diffidently: "I don't think Joe likes me."
+
+"Nonsense! Of course she does."
+
+"No, she thinks I'm frivolous, that I only care for social
+things--dances and parties."
+
+"Nobody who really knew you could think that."
+
+"I don't know. I feel awfully--well, stupid sometimes."
+
+"You? Stupid?"
+
+That warm incredulous voice. Darling Vernon! He did think her nice,
+then. Her mother had been right.
+
+They came to a little bridge across some water. They walked onto it,
+stood there side by side, leaning over, looking down on the water below.
+
+Vernon said in a choked kind of voice: "It's jolly here."
+
+"Yes."
+
+It was coming--it was coming. She couldn't have defined what she meant,
+but that was the feeling. The world standing still, gathering itself
+for a leap and a spring.
+
+"Nell...."
+
+Why did her knees feel so shaky? Why did her voice sound so far away?
+
+"Yes."
+
+Was that queer little "Yes" hers?
+
+"Oh! Nell...."
+
+He had got to tell her. He must.
+
+"I love you so.... I do love you so...."
+
+"Do you?"
+
+It couldn't be her speaking. What an idiotic thing to say!
+
+"Do you?" Her voice sounded stiff and unnatural.
+
+His hand found hers. His hand was hot--hers was cold. They both shook.
+
+"Could you--do you--do you think you could ever manage to love me?"
+
+She answered, hardly knowing what she was saying: "I don't know."
+
+They continued to stand there like dazed children, hand in hand, lost
+in a kind of rapture that was almost fear.
+
+Something must happen soon. They didn't know what.
+
+Out of the darkness two figures appeared--a hoarse laugh, a girl's
+giggle.
+
+"So here you are! What a romantic spot!"
+
+The green girl and that ass Dacre. Nell said something, a saucy
+something--said it with the utmost self-possession. Women were
+wonderful. She moved out into the moonlight--calm, detached, at ease.
+They all walked together, talking, chaffing each other. They found
+George Chetwynd with Mrs. Vereker on the lawn. He looked very glum,
+Vernon thought.
+
+Mrs. Vereker was distinctly nasty to him. Her manner when bidding him
+good-bye was quite offensive.
+
+He didn't care. All he wanted was to get away and lose himself in an
+orgy of remembrance.
+
+He'd told her--he'd told her. He'd asked her whether she loved
+him--yes, he had dared to do that--and instead of laughing at him she
+had said, "_I don't know_."
+
+But that meant--that meant.... Oh, it was incredible! Nell, fairy-like
+Nell, so wonderful, so inaccessible, loved him--or, at least, she was
+willing to love him.
+
+He wanted to walk on and on through the night. Instead he had to
+catch the midnight train to Birmingham. Damn! If he could only have
+walked--walked--till morning.
+
+With a little green hat and a magic flute like the prince in that tale!
+
+Suddenly he saw the whole thing in music--the high tower and princess's
+cascade of golden hair, and the eerie haunting tune of the prince's
+pipe which called the princess out from her tower.
+
+Insensibly, this music was more in accordance with recognized canons
+than Vernon's original conception had been. It was adapted to the
+limits of known dimensions, though at the same time the inner vision
+remained unaltered. He heard the music of the tower--the round globular
+music of the princess's jewels, and the gay wild lawless strain of the
+vagabond prince: "Come out, my love, come out...."
+
+He walked through the bare drab streets of London as through an
+enchanted world. The black mass of Paddington Station loomed up before
+him.
+
+In the train he didn't sleep. Instead, on the back of an envelope,
+he wrote microscopic notes: "Trumpets ... French horns ... Cor
+Anglais," and alongside them lines and curves that to his understanding
+represented what he heard.
+
+He was happy.
+
+
+                                  _3_
+
+"I'm ashamed of you. What can you be thinking of?"
+
+Mrs. Vereker was very angry. Nell stood before her, dumb and lovely.
+
+Her mother uttered a few more virulent and incisive words, then turned
+and left the room without saying good-night.
+
+Ten minutes later, as Mrs. Vereker completed her preparations for the
+night, she suddenly laughed to herself--a grim chuckle.
+
+"I needn't have been so angry with the child. As a matter of fact, it
+will do George Chetwynd good. Wake him up. He needed prodding."
+
+She turned out her light and slept, satisfied.
+
+Nell lay awake. Again and again she went over the evening, trying to
+recapture each feeling, each word that had been spoken.
+
+What had Vernon said? What had she answered? Queer that she couldn't
+remember.
+
+He had asked her whether she loved him. What had she said to that?
+She couldn't tell. But in the darkness the scene rose up before her
+eyes. She felt her hand in Vernon's, heard his voice, husky and ill
+assured.... She shut her eyes, lost in a hazy delicious dream.
+
+Life was so lovely--so lovely.
+
+
+
+
+                               chapter 5
+
+
+"Then you can't love me!"
+
+"Oh! but Vernon, I do. If you'd only try and understand."
+
+They faced each other desperately, bewildered by this sudden rift
+between them--by the queer unexpected vagaries of life. One minute they
+had been so near that each thought even had seemed to be shared by the
+other. Now they were poles apart, angry and hurt by the other's lack of
+comprehension.
+
+Nell turned away with a little gesture of despair and sank down on a
+chair.
+
+Why was it all like this? Why couldn't things stay as they ought to
+be, as you had felt they were going to be for ever? That evening at
+Ranelagh--and the night afterward when she had lain awake wrapped in a
+happy dream. Enough that night just to know that she was loved. Why,
+even her mother's scathing words had failed to upset her. They had come
+from so far away. The couldn't penetrate that shining web of misty
+dream.
+
+She had wakened up happy the next morning. Her mother had been
+pleasant, had said nothing more. Wrapped in her secret thoughts, Nell
+had gone through the day doing all the usual things: chattering with
+friends, walking in the park, lunching, teaing, dancing. Nobody, she
+was sure, could have noticed anything different, and yet all the time
+she herself had been conscious of that one deep strand underneath
+everything else. Just for a minute, sometimes, she would lose the
+thread of what she was saying, she would remember.... "Oh! Nell, I do
+love you so...." The moonlight on the dark water. His hand in hers....
+A little shiver and she would recall herself hastily, chatter, laugh.
+Oh! how happy one could be--how happy she had been.
+
+Then she had wondered if, perhaps, he would write. She had watched for
+the post, her heart giving little throbs whenever the postman knocked.
+It had come the second day. She had hidden it beneath a pile of others,
+kept it till she went up to bed, then opened it with a beating heart.
+
+    Oh, Nell--oh, darling Nell! Did you really mean it? I've written
+    three letters to you and torn them up. I'm so afraid of saying
+    something that might make you angry. Because perhaps you didn't
+    mean it after all. But you did, didn't you? You are so lovely,
+    Nell, and I do love you so dreadfully. I'm always thinking about
+    you, the whole time. I make awful mistakes at the office just
+    because I'm thinking about you. But oh, Nell, I will work so hard!
+    I want so dreadfully to see you. When can I come up to town? I must
+    see you. Darling, darling, Nell, I want to say such lots and lots
+    of things and I can't in a letter, and anyway perhaps I'm boring
+    you. Write and tell me when I can see you. Very soon, please. I
+    shall go mad if I can't see you very soon.
+
+                                                            Yours ever,
+                                                                Vernon.
+
+She had read it again and again, put it under her pillow when she
+slept, read it again the next morning. She had been so happy, so
+dreadfully happy. It was not till the day after that she had written to
+him. When the pen was in her hand she had felt stiff and awkward. She
+hadn't known what to say.
+
+Dear Vernon.
+
+Was that silly? Ought she to say Dearest Vernon? Oh! no, she
+couldn't--she couldn't.
+
+    Dear Vernon. Thank you for your letter.
+
+A long pause. She bit the stem of her penholder and gazed in an
+agonized way at the wall in front of her.
+
+    A party of us are going to the Howards' dance on Friday. Will you
+    dine here first and come with us? Eight o'clock.
+
+A longer pause. She'd got to say something--she wanted to say
+something. She bent over and wrote hastily:
+
+    I want to see you too--very much. Yours, Nell.
+
+He had written back:
+
+    Dear Nell, I'd love to come on Friday. Thanks ever so much.
+
+                                                         Yours, Vernon.
+
+A little panic had swept over her when she read it. Had she offended
+him? Did he think she ought to have said more in her letter? Happiness
+fled. She lay awake, miserable, uncertain, hating herself in case it
+had been her fault.
+
+Then had come Friday night. The moment she saw him she knew it was
+all right. Their eyes met across the room. The world changed back to
+radiant happiness again.
+
+They did not sit near each other at dinner. It was not till the third
+dance at the Howards' that they were able really to speak to each
+other. They moved round the crowded room, gyrating in a deep-toned
+sentimental waltz. He whispered:
+
+"I haven't asked for too many dances, have I?"
+
+"No."
+
+Queer how absolutely tongue-tied it made her feel being with Vernon.
+He held her just a minute longer when the music stopped. His fingers
+tightened over hers. She looked at him and smiled. They were both
+deliriously happy. In a few minutes he was dancing with another girl,
+talking airily in her ear. Nell was dancing with George Chetwynd. Once
+or twice her eyes met Vernon's and they both smiled very faintly. Their
+secret was so wonderful.
+
+At his next dance with her his mood had changed.
+
+"Nell, darling, isn't there anywhere I can talk to you? I've got such
+heaps of things I want to say. What a ridiculous house this is--nowhere
+to go."
+
+They tried the stairs, mounting higher and higher as you do in London
+houses. Still, it seemed impossible to get away from people. Then they
+saw a tiny iron ladder that led to the roof.
+
+"Nell, let's get up there? Could you? Would it ruin your dress?"
+
+"I don't care about my dress."
+
+Vernon went up first, unbolted the trap door, climbed out, and knelt
+down to help Nell. She climbed through safely.
+
+They were alone, looking down on London. Insensibly they drew nearer to
+each other. Her hand found its way into his.
+
+"Nell--darling...."
+
+"Vernon...."
+
+Her voice could only whisper.
+
+"It _is_ true? You do love me?"
+
+"I do love you."
+
+"It's too wonderful to be true. Oh! Nell, I do so want to kiss you."
+
+She turned her face to his. They kissed--rather shakily and timidly.
+
+"Your face is so soft and lovely," murmured Vernon.
+
+Oblivious of dirt and smuts, they sat down on a little ledge. His arms
+went round her, held her. She turned her face to his kisses.
+
+"I do love you so, Nell. I love you so much that I'm almost afraid to
+touch you."
+
+She didn't understand that--it seemed queer. She drew a little closer
+to him. The magic of the night was made complete by their kisses....
+
+
+                                  _2_
+
+They woke from a happy dream. "Oh! Vernon, I believe we've been here
+_ages_!"
+
+Conscience-stricken, they hurried to the trap door. On the landing
+below, Vernon surveyed Nell anxiously.
+
+"I'm afraid you've been sitting on an awful lot of smuts, Nell."
+
+"Oh! have I? How awful."
+
+"It's my fault, darling. But oh! Nell, it was worth it, wasn't it?"
+
+She smiled up at him, gently, happily.
+
+"It was worth it," she said softly.
+
+As they went down the stairs she said with a little laugh:
+
+"What about all the things you wanted to say? Lots and lots of them."
+
+They both laughed in perfect understanding. They reëntered the dancing
+room rather sheepishly. They had missed six dances.
+
+A lovely evening. Nell had gone to sleep and dreamed of more kisses.
+
+And then, Saturday morning, Vernon had rung up.
+
+"I want to talk to you. Can I come round?"
+
+"Oh! Vernon dear, you can't. I'm going out now to meet people. I can't
+get out of it."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"I mean I wouldn't know what to say to Mother."
+
+"You haven't told her anything?"
+
+"Oh, _no_!"
+
+The vehemence of that "Oh, _no_!" had checked Vernon. He thought:
+"Poor little darling. Of course she hasn't." He said: "Hadn't I better
+do that? I'll come round now."
+
+"Oh! no, Vernon, not until we've talked."
+
+"Well, when can we talk?"
+
+"I don't know. I'm lunching with people and going to a matinée and to
+the theatre again to-night. If you'd only told me you were going to be
+up this week-end I'd have arranged something."
+
+"What about to-morrow?"
+
+"Well, there's church----"
+
+"That'll do! Don't go to church. Say you've got a headache or
+something. I'll come round. We can talk then, and when your mother
+comes back from church I can have it out with her."
+
+"Oh! Vernon, I don't think I can----"
+
+"Yes, you can. I'm going to ring off now before you can make any more
+excuses. At eleven to-morrow."
+
+He rang off. He hadn't even told Nell where he was staying. She admired
+him for this masculine decision even while it caused her anxiety. She
+was afraid he was going to spoil everything.
+
+And now here they were, in the middle of a heated discussion. Nell had
+begged him to say nothing to her mother.
+
+"It will spoil everything. We shan't be allowed to."
+
+"Shan't be allowed to what?"
+
+"See each other or anything."
+
+"But Nell darling, I want to marry you. And you want to marry me, don't
+you? I want to marry you awfully soon."
+
+She had her first feeling of exasperation then. Couldn't he see things
+as they were? He was talking like a mere boy.
+
+"But, Vernon, we haven't any money."
+
+"I know. But I'm going to work awfully hard. You won't mind being poor,
+will you, Nell?"
+
+She said No since it was expected of her, but she was conscious that
+she did not say it whole heartedly. It was dreadful being poor. Vernon
+didn't know how dreadful it was. She suddenly felt years and years
+older and more experienced than he. He was talking like a romantic
+boy--he didn't know what things were really like.
+
+"Oh! Vernon, can't we just go on as we are? We're so happy now."
+
+"Of course we're happy--but we could be happier still. I want to be
+really engaged to you--I want everyone to know that you belong to me."
+
+"I don't see that that makes any difference."
+
+"I suppose it doesn't. But I want to have a right to see you, instead
+of being miserable about you going round with chaps like that ass,
+Dacre."
+
+"Oh! Vernon, you're not jealous?"
+
+"I know I oughtn't to be. But you don't really know how lovely you are,
+Nell! Everyone must be in love with you. I believe even that solemn old
+American fellow is."
+
+Nell changed colour slightly.
+
+"Well, I think you'll spoil everything," she murmured.
+
+"You think your mother will be horrid to you about it? I'm awfully
+sorry. I'll tell her it's all my fault. And after all, she's got to
+know. I expect she'll be disappointed because she probably wanted you
+to marry someone rich. That's quite natural. But it doesn't really make
+you happy, being rich, does it?"
+
+Nell said suddenly in a hard desperate little voice:
+
+"You talk like that, but what do you know about being poor?"
+
+Vernon was astonished.
+
+"But I am poor."
+
+"No, you're not. You've been to schools and universities and in the
+holidays you've lived with your mother who's rich. You don't know
+anything at all about it. You don't know----"
+
+She stopped in despair. She wasn't clever with words. How could she
+paint the picture she knew so well? The shifts, the struggles, the
+evasions, the desperate fight to keep up appearances, the ease with
+which friends dropped you if you "couldn't keep up with things," the
+slights, the snubs--worse, the galling patronage! In Captain Vereker's
+lifetime, and since his death, it had always been the same. You could,
+of course, live in a cottage in the country and never see anyone, never
+to go to dances like other girls, never have pretty clothes, live
+within your income and rot away slowly! Either way was pretty beastly.
+It was so unfair--one ought to have money. And always marriage lay
+ahead of you clearly designated as the way of escape. No more striving
+and snubs and subterfuges.
+
+You didn't think of it as marrying for money. Nell, with the boundless
+optimism of youth, had always pictured herself falling in love
+with a nice rich man. And now she had fallen in love with Vernon
+Deyre. Her thoughts hadn't gone as far as marriage. She was just
+happy--wonderfully happy.
+
+She almost hated Vernon for dragging her down from the clouds. And she
+resented his easy taking for granted of her readiness to face poverty
+for his sake. If he'd put it differently. If he'd said: "I oughtn't to
+ask you--but do you think you _could_ for my sake?" Something like
+that.
+
+So that she could feel that her sacrifice was being appreciated.
+For, after all, it _was_ a sacrifice! She didn't want to be
+poor--she hated the idea of being poor. She was afraid of it. Vernon's
+contemptuous unworldly attitude infuriated her. It was so easy not
+to care about money when you'd never felt the lack of it. And Vernon
+hadn't. He wasn't aware of the fact, but there it was. He'd lived
+softly and comfortably and well.
+
+He said now in an astonished kind of way: "Oh! Nell, surely you
+wouldn't mind being poor?"
+
+"I've been poor, I tell you. I know what it's like."
+
+She felt years and years older than Vernon. He was a child--a baby!
+What did he know of the difficulties of getting credit? Of the money
+that she and her mother already owed? She felt suddenly terribly lonely
+and miserable. What was the good of men? They said wonderful things to
+you, they loved you, but did they ever try to understand? Vernon wasn't
+trying now. He was just saying condemnatory things, showing her how she
+had fallen in his estimation.
+
+"If you say that you can't love me."
+
+She replied helplessly: "You don't understand."
+
+They gazed at each other hopelessly. What had happened? Why were things
+like this between them?
+
+"You don't love me," repeated Vernon angrily.
+
+"Oh! Vernon, I do, I do...."
+
+Suddenly, like an enchantment, their love swept over them again. They
+clung together, kissing. They felt that age-long lovers' delusion that
+everything _must_ come right because they loved. It was Vernon's
+victory. He still insisted on telling Mrs. Vereker. Nell opposed him
+no longer. His arms round her, his lips on hers ... she couldn't go on
+arguing. Better to give oneself up to the joy of being loved, to say:
+"Yes--yes darling, if you like ... anything you like."
+
+Yet, almost unknown to herself, under her love was a faint resentment.
+
+
+                                  _3_
+
+Mrs. Vereker was a clever woman. She was taken by surprise but she did
+not show it, and she adopted a different line from any that Vernon had
+pictured her taking. She was faintly derisively amused.
+
+"So you children think you are in love with one another? Well, well!"
+
+She listened to Vernon with such an expression of kindly irony that
+despite himself his tongue flustered and tripped.
+
+She gave a faint sigh as he subsided into silence.
+
+"What it is to be young! I feel quite envious. Now, my dear boy,
+just listen to me. I'm not going to forbid the banns or do anything
+melodramatic. If Nell really wants to marry you she shall. I don't
+say I won't be very disappointed if she does. She's my only child. I
+naturally hope that she will marry someone who can give her the best
+of everything, and surround her with every luxury and comfort. That, I
+think, is only natural."
+
+Vernon was forced to agree. Mrs. Vereker's reasonableness was extremely
+disconcerting, being so unexpected.
+
+"But, as I say, I'm not going to forbid the banns. What I do stipulate
+is that Nell should be thoroughly sure that she really knows her own
+mind. You agree to that, I'm sure?"
+
+Vernon agreed to that with an uneasy feeling of being entangled in a
+mesh from which he was presently not going to be able to escape.
+
+"Nell is very young. This is her first season. I want her to have every
+chance of being sure that she does like you better than any other man.
+If you agree between yourselves that you are engaged, that is one
+thing--a public announcement of your engagement is another. I could not
+agree to that. Any understanding between yourselves must be kept quite
+secret. I think you will see that that is only fair. Nell must be given
+every chance to change her mind if she wants to."
+
+"She doesn't want to!"
+
+"Then there is certainly no reason for objecting. As a gentleman you
+can hardly act otherwise. If you agree to these stipulations I will put
+no obstacle in the way of your seeing Nell."
+
+"But, Mrs. Vereker, I want to marry Nell quite soon."
+
+"And what exactly do you propose to marry on?"
+
+Vernon told her the salary he was getting from his uncle and explained
+the position in regard to Abbots Puissants.
+
+When he had finished she spoke. She gave a brief and succinct résumé of
+house rent, servants' wages, the cost of clothes, alluded delicately
+to possible perambulators, and then contrasted the picture with Nell's
+present position.
+
+Vernon was like the Queen of Sheba--no spirit was left in him. He was
+beaten by the relentless logic of facts. A terrible woman, Nell's
+mother--implacable. But he saw her point. He and Nell would have to
+wait. He must, as Mrs. Vereker said, give her every chance of changing
+her mind. Not that she would, bless her lovely heart!
+
+He essayed one last venture.
+
+"My uncle might increase my salary. He has spoken to me several times
+on the advantages of early marriages. He seems very keen on the
+subject."
+
+"Oh!" Mrs. Vereker was thoughtful for a minute or two. "Has he any
+daughters of his own?"
+
+"Yes, five, and the two oldest are married already."
+
+Mrs. Vereker smiled. A simple boy. He had quite misunderstood the point
+of her question. Still, she had found out what she wanted to know.
+
+"We'll leave it like that, then," she said.
+
+A clever woman!
+
+
+                                  _4_
+
+Vernon left the house in a restless mood. He wanted badly to talk to
+someone sympathetic. He thought of Joe, then shook his head. He and Joe
+had almost quarrelled about Nell. Joe despised Nell as what she called
+a "regular empty-headed society girl." She was unfair and prejudiced.
+As a passport to Joe's favour, you had to have short hair, wear art
+smocks, and live in Chelsea.
+
+Sebastian, on the whole, was the best person. Sebastian was always
+willing to see your point of view, and he was occasionally unusually
+useful with his matter-of-fact common-sense point of view. A very sound
+fellow, Sebastian.
+
+Rich, too. How queer things were! If only he had Sebastian's money
+he could probably marry Nell to-morrow. Yet, with all that money,
+Sebastian couldn't get hold of the girl he wanted. Rather a pity. He
+wished Joe would marry Sebastian instead of some rotter or other who
+called himself artistic.
+
+Sebastian, alas, was not at home. Vernon was entertained by Mrs.
+Levinne. Strangely enough, he found a kind of comfort in her bulky
+presence. Funny fat old Mrs. Levinne with her jet and her diamonds and
+her greasy black hair managed to be more understanding than his own
+mother.
+
+"You mustn't be unhappy, my dear," she said. "I can see you are. It's
+some girl, I suppose? Ah, well, well, Sebastian is just the same about
+Joe. I tell him he must be patient. Joe's just kicking up her heels at
+present. She'll settle down soon and begin to find out what it is she
+really does want."
+
+"It would be awfully jolly if she married Sebastian. I wish she would.
+It would keep us all together."
+
+"Yes--I'm very fond of Joe myself. Not that I think she's really the
+wife for Sebastian--they'd be too far away to understand each other.
+I'm old-fashioned, my dear. I'd like my boy to marry one of our own
+people. It always works out best. The same interests, and the same
+instincts, and Jewish women are good mothers. Well, well, it may come;
+if Joe is really in earnest about not marrying him. And the same thing
+with you, Vernon. There are worse things than marrying a cousin."
+
+"Me? Marry Joe?"
+
+Vernon stared at her in utter astonishment. Mrs. Levinne laughed, a fat
+good-natured chuckle that shook her various chins.
+
+"Joe? No, indeed. It's your cousin Enid I'm talking about. That's the
+idea at Birmingham, isn't it?"
+
+"Oh! no--at least--I'm sure it isn't."
+
+Mrs. Levinne laughed again.
+
+"I can see that you, at any rate, have never thought of it till this
+minute. But it would be a wise plan, you know--that is, if the other
+girl won't have you. Keeps the money in the family."
+
+Vernon went away with his brain tingling. All sorts of things fell into
+line. Uncle Sydney's chaff and hints. The way Enid was always being
+thrust at him. That, of course, was what Mrs. Vereker had been hinting
+at. They wanted him to marry Enid! Enid!
+
+Another memory came back to him. His mother and some old friend of
+hers whispering together. Something about first cousins. A sudden idea
+occurred to him. That was why Joe had been allowed to go to London. His
+mother had thought that he and Joe might....
+
+He gave a sudden shout of laughter. He and Joe! It showed how
+little his mother had ever understood. He could never, under any
+circumstances, imagine himself falling in love with Joe. They were
+exactly like brother and sister and always would be. They had the same
+sympathies, the same sharp divergences and differences of opinion. They
+were cast in the same mould, devoid of any glamour and romance for each
+other.
+
+Enid! So this was what Uncle Sydney was after. Poor old Uncle Sydney,
+doomed to disappointment--but he shouldn't have been such an ass.
+
+Perhaps, though, he was jumping to conclusions. Perhaps it wasn't Uncle
+Sydney--only his mother. Women were always marrying you to someone in
+their minds. Anyway, Uncle Sydney would soon know the truth.
+
+
+                                  _5_
+
+The interview between Vernon and his uncle wasn't very satisfactory.
+Uncle Sydney was both annoyed and upset, though he tried to conceal the
+fact from Vernon. He was uncertain at first which line to take and made
+one or two vague sallies in different directions.
+
+"Nonsense, all nonsense, much too young to marry. Packet of nonsense."
+
+Vernon reminded his uncle of his own words.
+
+"Pooh!--I didn't mean this kind of marriage. Society girl--I know what
+they are."
+
+Vernon broke out hotly.
+
+"Sorry, my boy, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. But that kind of
+girl wants to marry money. You'll be no use to her for many years to
+come."
+
+"I thought perhaps----"
+
+Vernon paused. He felt ashamed, uncomfortable.
+
+"That I'd set you up with a large income, hey? Is that what the young
+lady suggested? Now, I put it to you, my boy, would that be business?
+No, I see that you know it isn't."
+
+"I don't feel that I'm even worth what you give me, Uncle Sydney."
+
+"Pooh, pooh, I wasn't saying that. You're doing very well for a start.
+I'm sorry about this affair--it will upset you. My advice to you is,
+give the whole thing up. Much the best thing to do."
+
+"I can't do that, Uncle Sydney."
+
+"Well, it's not my business. By the way, have you talked it over with
+your mother? No? Well, you have a good talk with her. See if she
+doesn't say the same as I do. I bet she will. And remember the old
+saying: a boy's best friend is his mother--hey?"
+
+Why did Uncle Sydney say such idiotic things? He always had as far as
+Vernon could remember back. And yet he was a shrewd and clever business
+man.
+
+Well, there was nothing for it. He must buckle to--and wait. The first
+misty enchantment of love was wearing off. It could be hell as well as
+heaven. He wanted Nell so badly--so badly.
+
+He wrote to her:
+
+    Darling, there is nothing for it. We must be patient and wait. At
+    any rate we'll see each other often. Your mother was really very
+    decent about it--much more so than I thought she'd be. I do quite
+    see the force of all she said. It's only fair that you should be
+    free to see if you like anyone better than me. But you won't, will
+    you, darling? I know you won't. We're going to love each other for
+    ever and ever. And it won't matter how poor we are ... the tiniest
+    place with you....
+
+
+
+
+                               chapter 6
+
+
+Nell was relieved by her mother's attitude. She had feared
+recriminations, reproaches. Insensibly she always shrank from harsh
+words or any kind of scene. Sometimes she thought to herself bitterly:
+"I'm a coward. I can't stand up to things."
+
+She was definitely afraid of her mother. She had been dominated by her
+always, from the first moment she could remember. Mrs. Vereker had
+the hard imperious character which can rule most weaker natures with
+whom it comes in contact. And Nell was the more easily subdued because
+she understood well enough that her mother loved her and that it was
+because of that love that she was so determined that Nell should have
+the happiness out of life that she herself had failed to get.
+
+So Nell was immeasurably relieved when her mother uttered no
+reproaches, merely observed:
+
+"If you're determined to be foolish, well, there it is. Most girls have
+some little love affair or other which comes to nothing in the end. I
+haven't much patience with this sentimental nonsense myself. The boy
+can't possibly afford to marry for years to come and you'll only make
+yourself very unhappy. But you must please yourself."
+
+In spite of herself, Nell was influenced by this contemptuous attitude.
+She hoped against hope that Vernon's uncle might perhaps do something.
+Vernon's letter dashed her hopes.
+
+They must wait--and perhaps wait a very long time.
+
+
+                                  _2_
+
+In the meantime Mrs. Vereker had her own methods. One day she asked
+Nell to go and see an old friend--a girl who had married some few years
+ago. Amelie King had been a brilliant dashing creature whom Nell, as
+a schoolgirl, had admired enviously. She might have made a very good
+marriage, but to everyone's surprise she had married a struggling young
+man and had disappeared from her own particular gay world.
+
+"It seems unkind to drop old friends," said Mrs. Vereker. "I'm sure
+Amelie would be pleased if you went to see her, and you're not doing
+anything this afternoon."
+
+So Nell went off obediently to call on Mrs. Horton at 35 Glenster
+Gardens, Ealing.
+
+It was a hot day. Nell took the District Railway and inquired her way
+from Ealing Broadway Station when she got there.
+
+Glenster Gardens proved to be about a mile from the station--a long
+depressing road of little houses, all exactly alike. The door of No.
+35 was opened by a frowsy-looking maid with a dirty apron and Nell was
+shown into a small drawing room. There were one or two nice old pieces
+of furniture in it and the cretonnes and curtains were of an attractive
+pattern though very faded, but the place was very untidy and littered
+with children's toys and odd bits of mending. A child's fretful wail
+rose from somewhere in the house as the door opened and Amelie came in.
+
+"Nell, why how nice of you! I haven't seen you for years."
+
+Nell had quite a shock on seeing her. Could this be the well-turned-out
+attractive Amelie? Her figure had got sloppy, her blouse was shapeless
+and evidently homemade, and her face was tired and worried, with all
+the old dash and sparkle gone out of it.
+
+She sat down and they talked. Presently Nell was taken to see the two
+children, a boy and a girl, the younger a baby in a cot.
+
+"I ought to take them out now," said Amelie, "but really I'm too
+tired this afternoon. You don't know how tired one can get pushing a
+perambulator all the way up from the shops as I did this morning."
+
+The boy was an attractive child, the baby girl looked sickly and
+peevish.
+
+"It's partly her teeth," said Amelie. "And then her digestion is weak,
+the doctor says. I do wish she wouldn't cry so at night. It's annoying
+for Jack, who needs his sleep after working all day."
+
+"You don't have a nurse?"
+
+"Can't afford it, my dear. We have the half-wit--that's what we call
+the girl who opened the door to you. She's a complete idiot, but she
+comes cheap and she really will set to and do some work, which is more
+than most of them will do. A general servant hates coming anywhere
+where there are children."
+
+She called out: "Mary, bring some tea," and led the way back to the
+drawing room.
+
+"Oh! dear, Nell, do you know I almost wish you hadn't come to see me.
+You look so smart and cool--you remind me of all the fun one used to
+have in the old days. Tennis and dancing and golf and parties."
+
+Nell said timidly: "But you're happy...."
+
+"Oh! of course. I'm only enjoying a grumble. Jack's a dear, and then
+there are the children, only sometimes--well, one is really too tired
+to care for anyone or anything. I feel I'd sell my nearest and dearest
+for a tiled bathroom and bath salts and a maid to brush my hair and
+lovely silken garments to slip into. And then you hear some rich idiot
+holding forth on how money doesn't bring happiness. Fools!"
+
+She laughed.
+
+"Tell me some news, Nell. I'm so out of things nowadays. You can't keep
+up if you have no money. I never see any of the old crowd."
+
+They gossiped a little. So and So was married, So and So had had a row
+with her husband, So and So had got a new baby, and about So and So
+there was the most terrible scandal.
+
+Tea was brought, rather untidily, with smeary silver and thick bread
+and butter. As they were finishing, the front door was opened with a
+key and a man's voice sounded from the hall fretful and irritable.
+
+"Amelie--I say, it is too bad. I only ask you to do one thing and you
+go and forget it. This parcel has never been taken down to Jones's. You
+said you would."
+
+Amelie ran out to him in the hall. There was a quick interchange of
+whispers. She brought him into the drawing room where he greeted Nell.
+The child in the nursery began to wail again.
+
+"I must go to her," said Amelie, and hurried away.
+
+"What a life!" said Jack Horton. He was still very good-looking though
+his clothes were distinctly shabby and there were bad-tempered lines
+coming round his mouth. He laughed as though it were a great joke.
+"You've found us at sixes and sevens, Miss Vereker. We always are.
+Traveling to and fro in trains this weather is very trying--and no
+peace in the home when you get there!"
+
+He laughed again and Nell laughed too, politely. Amelie came back
+holding the child in her arms. Nell rose to go. They came with her to
+the door. Amelie sent messages to Mrs. Vereker and waved her hand.
+
+At the gate Nell looked back and caught the expression on Amelie's
+face. A hungry envious look.
+
+In spite of herself Nell's heart sank. Was this the inevitable end? Did
+poverty kill love?
+
+She reached the main road and was walking along it in the direction of
+the station when an unexpected voice made her start.
+
+"Miss Nell, by all that's wonderful!"
+
+A big Rolls-Royce had drawn up to the curb. George Chetwynd sat behind
+the wheel smiling at her.
+
+"If this isn't too good to be true! I thought I saw a girl who was
+mighty like you--from the back view anyhow--so I slowed down to have
+a look at her face, and it was your very self. Are you going back to
+town? Because if so, step in."
+
+Nell stepped in obediently and settled herself contentedly beside the
+driver. The car glided forward smoothly, gathering power. A heavenly
+sensation, Nell thought--effortless, delightful.
+
+"And what are you doing in Ealing?"
+
+"I've been to see some friends."
+
+Moved by some obscure prompting, she described her visit. Chetwynd
+listened sympathetically, nodding his head from side to side, all the
+while driving the car with the perfection of a master.
+
+"If that isn't too bad," he said sympathetically. "You know, I hate
+to think of that poor girl. Women ought to be taken care of--to have
+their lives made easy for them. They ought to be surrounded with
+everything they want."
+
+He looked at Nell and said kindly: "It's upset you, I can see. You must
+have a very soft heart, Miss Nell."
+
+Nell looked at him with a sudden warming of her heart. She did like
+George Chetwynd. There was something so kind and reliable and strong
+about him. She liked his rather wooden face, and the way his graying
+hair grew back from his temples. She liked the square upright way he
+sat and the firm precision of his hands on the wheel. He looked the
+kind of man who could deal with any emergency, a man on whom you could
+_depend_. The brunt of things would always be on his shoulders,
+not on yours. Oh! yes, she liked George. He was a nice person to meet
+when you were tired at the end of a bothering day.
+
+"Is my tie crooked?" he asked suddenly without looking round.
+
+Nell laughed.
+
+"Was I staring? I'm afraid I was."
+
+"I felt the glance. What were you doing--sizing me up?"
+
+"I believe I was."
+
+"And I suppose I've been found utterly wanting."
+
+"No, very much the other way about."
+
+"Don't say these nice things--which I'm sure you don't mean. You
+excited me so much that I nearly collided with a tram then."
+
+"I never say things I don't mean."
+
+"Don't you? I wonder now." His voice altered, "There's something I've
+wanted to say to you for a long time. This is a funny place to say it,
+but I'm going to take the plunge here and now. Will you marry me, Nell?
+I want you very badly."
+
+"Oh!" Nell was startled. "Oh! no, I couldn't."
+
+He shot a quick glance at her before returning to his task of steering
+through the traffic. He slowed down a little.
+
+"Do you mean that, I wonder? I know I'm too old for you----"
+
+"No--you're not--I mean, it's not that."
+
+A little smile twisted his mouth.
+
+"I must be twenty years older than you, Nell, at least. It's a lot,
+you know. But I do honestly believe that I could make you happy.
+Queerly enough, I'm sure of it."
+
+Nell didn't answer for a minute or two. Then she said rather weakly:
+"Oh! but really, I couldn't."
+
+"Splendid! You said it much less decidedly that time."
+
+"But indeed----"
+
+"I'm not going to bother you any more just now. We'll take it that
+you've said No this time. But you aren't always going to say No, Nell.
+I can afford to wait quite a long time for what I want to have. Some
+day you'll find yourself saying Yes."
+
+"No, I shan't."
+
+"Yes, you will, dear. There's no one else, is there? Ah! but I know
+there isn't."
+
+Nell didn't answer. She told herself that she didn't know what to say.
+She had tacitly promised her mother that nothing should be said about
+her engagement.
+
+And yet somewhere, deep down, she felt ashamed.
+
+George Chetwynd began cheerfully to talk of various outside topics.
+
+
+
+
+                               chapter 7
+
+
+August was a difficult month for Vernon. Nell and her mother were in
+Dinard. He wrote to her and she to him, but her letters told him little
+or nothing of what he wanted to know. She was having a gay time, he
+gathered, and enjoying herself though longing for Vernon to be there.
+
+Vernon's work was of the purely routine order. It required little
+intelligence. You needed to be careful and methodical, that was all.
+His mind, free from other distractions, swung back to its secret love,
+music.
+
+He had formed the idea of writing an opera and had taken for his theme
+the half-forgotten fairy story of his youth. It was now bound up in his
+mind with Nell--the whole strength of his love for her flowed into
+this new channel.
+
+He worked feverishly. Nell's words about his living comfortably with
+his mother had rankled, and he had insisted on having rooms of his own.
+The ones he had found were very cheap, but they gave him an unexpected
+sense of freedom. At Carey Lodge he would never have been able to
+concentrate. His mother would have been, he knew, forever fussing after
+him, urging him to come to bed. Here, in Arthur Street, he could, and
+often did, sit up till five in the morning if he liked.
+
+He got very thin and haggard-looking. Myra worried about his health and
+urged patent restoratives upon him. He assured her curtly that he was
+all right. He told her nothing of what he was doing. Sometimes he would
+be full of despair over his work, at others a sudden sense of power
+would rush over him as he knew that some small infinitesimal fragment
+was good.
+
+Occasionally he went to town and spent a week-end with Sebastian, and
+on two occasions Sebastian came down to Birmingham. Sebastian was
+Vernon's most valued stand-by at this time. His sympathy was real and
+not assumed and it had a twofold character. He was interested as a
+friend and also from his own professional standpoint. Vernon had an
+enormous respect for Sebastian's judgment in all things artistic. He
+would play excerpts on the piano he had hired, explaining as he did so
+the proper orchestration. Sebastian listened, nodding very quietly,
+speaking little. At the end he would say:
+
+"It's going to be good, Vernon. Get on with it."
+
+He never uttered a word of destructive criticism, for in his belief
+such a word might be fatal. Vernon needed encouragement and nothing but
+encouragement.
+
+He said one day: "Is this what you meant to do at Cambridge?"
+
+Vernon considered for a minute.
+
+"No," he said at last. "At least, it's not what I meant originally.
+After that concert, you know. It's gone again--the thing I saw then.
+Perhaps it'll come back again sometime. This is, I suppose, the usual
+sort of thing, conventional--and all that. But here and there I've got
+what I mean into it."
+
+"I see."
+
+To Joe, Sebastian said plainly what he thought.
+
+"Vernon calls this the 'usual sort of thing,' but as a matter of fact
+it isn't. It's entirely unusual. The whole orchestration is conducted
+on an unusual plan. What it is, though, is immature. Brilliant but
+immature."
+
+"Have you told him so?"
+
+"Good Lord, no. One disparaging word and he'd shrivel up and consign
+the whole thing to the waste-paper basket. I know these people. I'm
+spoon feeding him with praise at present. We'll have the pruning knife
+and the garden syringe later. I've mixed my metaphors, but you know
+what I mean."
+
+In early September Sebastian gave a party to meet Herr Radmaager, the
+famous composer. Vernon and Joe were bidden to attend.
+
+"Only about a dozen of us," said Sebastian. "Anita Quarll, whose
+dancing I'm interested in--she's a rotten little devil, though.
+Jane Harding--you'll like her. She's singing in this English Opera
+business. Wrong vocation--she's an actress, not a singer. You and
+Vernon--Radmaager--two or three others. Radmaager will be interested in
+Vernon--he's well disposed toward the younger generation."
+
+Both Joe and Vernon were elated.
+
+"Do you think I'll ever do anything, Joe? Really do anything, I mean."
+
+Vernon sounded dispirited.
+
+"Why not?" said Joe valiantly.
+
+"I don't know. Everything I've done just lately is rotten. I started
+all right. But now I'm stale as stale. I'm tired before I start."
+
+"I suppose that's because you work all day."
+
+"I suppose it is."
+
+He was silent for a minute or two and then said: "It'll be wonderful
+meeting Radmaager. He's one of the few men who writes what I call
+music. I wish I could talk to him about what I really think--but it
+would be such awful cheek."
+
+The party was of an informal character. Sebastian had a large studio,
+empty save for a dais, a grand piano, and a large quantity of cushions
+thrown down at random about the floor. At one end was a hastily put
+trestle table and on this were piled viands of all descriptions.
+
+You collected what you wanted and then pitched your cushion. When Joe
+and Vernon arrived a girl was dancing--a small red-haired girl with a
+lithe sinewy body. Her dancing was ugly but alluring.
+
+She finished to loud applause and leaped down from the dais.
+
+"Bravo, Anita," said Sebastian. "Now then, Vernon and Joe, have you got
+what you want? That's right. You'd better sink down gracefully by Jane.
+This is Jane."
+
+They sank down as bidden. Jane was a tall creature with a beautiful
+body and a mass of very dark brown hair coiled low on her neck. Her
+face was too broad for beauty and her chin too sharp. Her eyes were
+deep-set and green. She was about thirty, Vernon thought. He found her
+disconcerting, but attractive.
+
+Joe began to talk to her eagerly. Her enthusiasm for sculpture had been
+waning of late. She had always had a high soprano voice and she was now
+coquetting with the idea of becoming an opera singer.
+
+Jane Harding listened sympathetically enough, emitting a faintly amused
+monosyllable from time to time. Finally she said:
+
+"If you like to come round to my flat, I'll try your voice, and I can
+tell you in two minutes just what your voice is good for."
+
+"Would you really? That's awfully kind of you."
+
+"Oh! not at all. You can trust me. You can't trust someone who makes
+their living by teaching to tell you the truth."
+
+Sebastian came up and said: "What about it, Jane?"
+
+She got up from the floor--rather a beautiful movement. Then, looking
+round, she said in the curt voice of command one would use to a dog:
+
+"Mr. Hill."
+
+A small man, rather like a white worm, bustled forward with an
+ingratiating twist of the body. He followed her up to the dais.
+
+She sang a French song Vernon had never heard before.
+
+    "_J'ai perdu mon amie--elle est morte,
+    Tout s'en va cette fois à jamais,
+    A jamais, pour toujours elle emporte
+    Le dernier des amours que j'aimais._
+
+    "_Pauvre nous! Rien ne m'a crié l'heure
+    Où là-bas se nouait son linceul
+    On m'a dit, 'Elle est morte!' Et tout seul
+    Je répète, 'Elle est morte!' Et je pleure...._"
+
+Like most people who heard Jane Harding sing, Vernon was quite unable
+to criticize the voice. She created an emotional atmosphere--the voice
+was only an instrument. The sense of overwhelming loss, of dazed grief,
+the final relief of tears.
+
+There was applause. Sebastian murmured: "Enormous emotional
+power--that's it."
+
+She sang again. This time it was a Norwegian song about falling snow.
+There was no emotion in her voice whatsoever--it was like the white
+flakes of the snow: monotonous, exquisitely clear, finally dying away
+to silence on the last line.
+
+In response to applause she sang yet a third song. Vernon sat up,
+suddenly alert.
+
+    "_I saw a Fairy lady there
+    With long white hands and drowning hair
+    And oh! her face was wild and sweet,
+    Was sweet and wild and wild and strange and fair...._"
+
+It was like a spell laid on the room--the sense of magic, of terrified
+enchantment. Jane's face was thrust forward. Her eyes looked out, past
+beyond--seeing--frightened yet fascinated.
+
+There was a sigh as she finished. A stout burly man with white hair
+_en brosse_ pushed his way to Sebastian.
+
+"Ah! my good Sebastian, I have arrived. I will talk to that young
+lady--at once, immediately."
+
+Sebastian went with him across the room to Jane. Herr Radmaager took
+her by both hands. He looked at her earnestly,
+
+"Yes," he said at last. "Your physique is good. I should say that both
+the digestion and the circulation were excellent. You will give me your
+address and I will come and see you. Is it not so?"
+
+Vernon thought: "These people are mad."
+
+But he noticed that Jane Harding seemed to take it as a matter of
+course. She wrote her address, talked to Radmaager for a few minutes
+longer, then came and rejoined Joe and Vernon.
+
+"Sebastian is a good friend," she remarked. "He knows that Herr
+Radmaager is looking for a Solveig for his new opera, _Peer Gynt_.
+That is why he asked me here to-night."
+
+Joe got up and went to talk to Sebastian. Vernon and Jane Harding were
+left alone.
+
+"Tell me," said Vernon stammering a little. "That song you sang----"
+
+"Frosted snow?"
+
+"No, the last one. I--I heard it years ago--when I was a kid."
+
+"How curious, I thought it was a family secret."
+
+"A hospital nurse sang it to me when I broke my leg. I always loved it,
+but never thought I should hear it again."
+
+Jane Harding said thoughtfully: "I wonder now. Could that have been my
+Aunt Frances?"
+
+"Yes, that was her name. Nurse Frances. Was she your aunt? What's
+happened to her?"
+
+"She died a good many years ago. Diphtheria, caught from a patient."
+
+"Oh! I'm sorry." He paused, hesitated, then blundered on, "I've always
+remembered her. She was--she was a wonderful friend to me as a kid."
+
+He caught Jane's green eyes looking at him, a steady kindly glance, and
+he knew at once of whom she had reminded him the first moment he saw
+her. She was like Nurse Frances.
+
+She said quietly: "You write music, don't you? Sebastian told me about
+you."
+
+"Yes--at least, I try to."
+
+He stopped, hesitated again. He thought: "She's terribly attractive. Do
+I like her? Why am I afraid of her?"
+
+He felt suddenly excited and exalted. He could do things--he
+_knew_ he could do things....
+
+"Vernon!"
+
+Sebastian was calling him. He got up. Sebastian presented him to
+Radmaager. The great man was kindly and sympathetic.
+
+"I am interested," he said, "in what I hear about your work from my
+young friend here." He laid his hand on Sebastian's shoulder. "He is
+very astute, my young friend. In spite of his youth, he is seldom
+wrong. We will arrange a meeting and you shall show me your work."
+
+He moved on. Vernon was left quivering with excitement. Did he really
+mean it? He went back to Jane. She was smiling. Vernon sat down by
+her. A sudden wave of depression succeeded the exhilaration. What was
+the good of it all? He was tied, hand and foot, to Uncle Sydney and
+Birmingham. You couldn't write music unless you gave your whole time,
+your whole thoughts, your whole soul to it.
+
+He felt injured--miserable--yearning for sympathy. If only Nell were
+here. Darling Nell who always understood.
+
+He looked up and found Jane Harding watching him.
+
+"What's the matter?" she said.
+
+"I wish I were dead," said Vernon bitterly.
+
+Jane raised her eyebrows slightly.
+
+"Well," she said, "if you walk up to the top of this building and jump
+off, you can be."
+
+It was hardly the answer that Vernon had expected. He looked up
+resentfully, but her cool kindly glance disarmed him.
+
+"There's only one thing I care about in the whole world," he said
+passionately. "I want to write music. I _could_ write music. And
+instead of that I'm stuck in a beastly business that I hate. Grinding
+away day after day! It's too sickening."
+
+"Why do you do it if you don't like it?"
+
+"Because I have to."
+
+"I expect you want to really--otherwise you wouldn't," said Jane
+indifferently.
+
+"Haven't I told you that I want to write music more than anything else
+in the world?"
+
+"Then why don't you do it?"
+
+"Because I can't, I tell you."
+
+He felt exasperated with her. She didn't seem to understand at all. Her
+view on life seemed to be that if you wanted to do anything, you just
+went and did it.
+
+He began pouring out things. Abbots Puissants, the concert, his uncle's
+offer, and then--Nell.
+
+When he had finished she said: "You do expect life to be rather a fairy
+story, don't you?"
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"Just that. You want to be able to live in the house of your
+forefathers, and to marry the girl you love, and to grow immensely
+rich, and to be a great composer. I dare say you might manage to do one
+of those four things if you give your whole mind to it. But it's not
+likely that you'll have everything, you know. Life isn't like a penny
+novelette."
+
+He hated her for the moment. And yet, even while he hated, he was
+attracted. He felt again the curious emotional atmosphere that she had
+created when singing. He thought to himself: "A magnetic field, that's
+what it is." And then again: "I don't like her. I'm afraid of her."
+
+A long-haired young man came up and joined them. He was a Swede, but he
+spoke excellent English.
+
+"Sebastian tells me that you will write the music of the future," he
+said to Vernon. "I have theories about the future. Time is only another
+dimension of space. You can move to and fro in time as you can move
+to and fro in space. Half your dreams are only confused memories of
+the future. And as you can be separated from your dear ones in space,
+so you can be separated from them in time, and that is the greatest
+tragedy there is or can be."
+
+Since he was clearly mad, Vernon paid no attention. He was not
+interested in theories of space and time. But Jane Harding leaned
+forward.
+
+"To be separated in time," she said. "I never thought of that."
+
+Encouraged, the Swede went on. He talked of time, and of ultimate
+space, and of time one, and of time two. Whether Jane was interested or
+not, Vernon did not know. She looked straight in front of her and did
+not appear to be listening. The Swede went on to time three and Vernon
+escaped.
+
+He joined Joe and Sebastian. Joe was being enthusiastic on the subject
+of Jane Harding.
+
+"I think she's wonderful. Don't you, Vernon? She's asked me to go and
+see her. I wish I could sing like that."
+
+"She's an actress, not a singer," said Sebastian. "A good sort, Jane.
+She's had rather a tragic life. For five years she lived with Boris
+Androv, the sculptor."
+
+Joe glanced over in Jane's direction with enhanced interest. Vernon
+felt suddenly young and crude. He could still see those enigmatical
+slightly mocking green eyes. He heard that amused ironical voice.
+_You do expect life to be a fairy story, don't you?_ Hang it all,
+that hurt!
+
+And yet he had an immense desire to see her again.
+
+Should he ask her if he might?
+
+No, he couldn't.
+
+Besides, he was so seldom in town.
+
+He heard her voice behind him--a singer's voice, slightly husky.
+
+"Good-night, Sebastian. Thank you."
+
+She moved toward the door, looked over her shoulder at Vernon.
+
+"Come and see me some time," she said carelessly. "Your cousin has got
+my address."
+
+
+
+
+                               Book III
+
+                                 JANE
+
+
+
+
+                               chapter 1
+
+
+Jane Harding had a flat at the top of a block of mansions overlooking
+the river in Chelsea.
+
+Here, on the evening following the party, came Sebastian Levinne.
+
+"I've fixed it up, Jane," he said. "Radmaager is coming here to see you
+sometime to-morrow. He prefers to do that, it seems."
+
+"'Come, tell me how you live, he cried,'" quoted Jane. "Well, I'm
+living very nicely and respectably, entirely alone! Do you want
+something to eat, Sebastian?"
+
+"If there is anything?"
+
+"There are scrambled eggs and mushrooms, anchovy toast and black coffee
+if you'll sit here peaceably while I get them."
+
+She put the cigarette box and the matches beside him and left the room.
+In a quarter of an hour the meal was ready.
+
+"I like coming to see you, Jane," said Sebastian. "You never treat me
+as a bloated young Jew to whom only the flesh pots of the Savoy would
+make appeal."
+
+Jane smiled without speaking.
+
+Presently she said: "I like your girl, Sebastian."
+
+"Joe?"
+
+"Yes, Joe."
+
+Sebastian said gruffly: "What--what do you really think of her?"
+
+Again Jane paused before answering.
+
+"So young," she said at last. "So terribly young."
+
+Sebastian chuckled.
+
+"She'd be very angry if she heard you."
+
+"Probably." After a minute she said: "You care for her very much, don't
+you, Sebastian?"
+
+"Yes. It's odd, isn't it, Jane, how little all the things you've got
+matter? I've got practically all the things I want, except Joe, and Joe
+is all that matters. I can see what a fool I am, but it doesn't make
+a bit of difference! What's the difference between Joe and a hundred
+other girls? Very little. And yet she's the only thing in the world
+that matters to me just now."
+
+"Partly because you can't get her."
+
+"Perhaps. But I don't think that's so entirely."
+
+"Neither do I."
+
+"What do you think of Vernon?" asked Sebastian after a pause.
+
+Jane changed her position, shading her face from the fire.
+
+"He's interesting," she said slowly, "partly, I think, because he is so
+completely unambitious."
+
+"Unambitious, do you think?"
+
+"Yes. He wants things made easy."
+
+"If so, he'll never do anything in music. You want driving power for
+that."
+
+"Yes, you want driving power. But music will be the power that drives
+_him_!"
+
+Sebastian looked up, his face alight and appreciative.
+
+"Do you know, Jane," he said, "I believe you're right!"
+
+She smiled but made no answer.
+
+"I wish I knew what to make of the girl he's engaged to," said
+Sebastian.
+
+"What is she like?"
+
+"Pretty. Some people might call it lovely--but I'd call it pretty. She
+does the things that other people do, and does them very sweetly. She's
+not a cat. I'm afraid--yes, I am afraid now that she definitely cares
+for Vernon."
+
+"You needn't be afraid. Your pet genius won't be turned aside or held
+down. That doesn't happen. I'm more than ever sure, every day I live,
+that that doesn't happen."
+
+"Nothing would turn _you_ aside, Jane, but then you have got
+driving power."
+
+"And yet, do you know, Sebastian, I believe I should be more easily
+'turned aside,' as you call it, than your Vernon? I know what I want
+and go for it--he doesn't know what he wants, or rather doesn't want
+it, but _it_ goes for _him_.... And that _It_, whatever
+It is, _will_ be served--no matter at what cost."
+
+"Cost to whom?"
+
+"Ah! I wonder...."
+
+Sebastian rose.
+
+"I must go. Thanks for feeding me, Jane."
+
+"Thank you for what you've done for me with Radmaager. You're a very
+good friend, Sebastian. And I don't think success will ever spoil you."
+
+"Oh! success...." He held out his hand.
+
+She laid both hands on his shoulders and kissed him.
+
+"My dear, I hope you will get your Joe. But if not I am quite sure you
+will get everything else!"
+
+
+                                  _2_
+
+Herr Radmaager did not come to see Jane Harding for nearly a fortnight.
+He arrived without warning of any kind at half-past ten in the morning.
+He stumped into the flat without a word of apology and looked around
+the walls of the sitting room.
+
+"It is you who have furnished and papered this? Yes?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You live here alone?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"But you have not always lived alone?"
+
+"No."
+
+Radmaager said unexpectedly: "That is good." Then he said commandingly:
+"Come here."
+
+He took her by both arms, and drew her toward the window. There he
+looked her over from head to foot. He pinched the flesh of her arm
+between finger and thumb, opened her mouth and looked down her throat,
+and finally put a large hand on each side of her waist.
+
+"Breathe in--good! Now out--sharply."
+
+He took a tape measure out of his pocket, made her repeat the two
+movements, passing the tape measure round her each time. Finally
+he pocketed it and put it away. Neither he nor Jane seemed to see
+anything curious in the proceedings.
+
+"It is well," said Radmaager. "Your chest is excellent, your throat
+is strong. You are intelligent--since you have not interrupted me. I
+can find many singers with a better voice than yours--your voice is
+very true, very beautiful, but it is not clear, a silver thread. If
+you force it, it will go--and where will you be then, I ask you? The
+music you sing now is absurd--if you were not pig-headed as the devil
+you would not sing those rôles. Yet I respect you because you are an
+artist."
+
+He paused, then went on:
+
+"Now listen to me. My music is beautiful and it will not hurt your
+voice. When Ibsen created Solveig he created the most wonderful woman
+character that has ever been created. My opera will stand and fall
+by its Solveig--and it is not sufficient to have a singer. There are
+Cavarossi, Mary Montner, Jeanne Dorta--all hope to sing Solveig. But I
+will not have it. What are they? Unintelligent animals with marvelous
+vocal chords. For my Solveig I must have a perfect instrument, an
+instrument with intelligence. You are a young singer--as yet unknown.
+You shall sing at Covent Garden next year in my _Peer Gynt_ if you
+satisfy me. Now listen...."
+
+He sat down at Jane's piano and began to play--queer rhythmic
+monotonous notes.
+
+"It is the snow, you comprehend--the Northern snow. That is what your
+voice must be like--the snow. It is white like damask--and the pattern
+runs through it. But the pattern is in the music, not in your voice."
+
+He went on playing. Endless monotony, endless repetition, and yet
+suddenly the something that was woven through it caught your ear--what
+he had called the pattern.
+
+He stopped.
+
+"Well?"
+
+"It will be very difficult to sing."
+
+"Quite right. But you have an excellent ear. You wish to sing
+Solveig--yes?"
+
+"Naturally. It's the chance of a lifetime. If I can satisfy you."
+
+"I think you can." He got up again, laid his hands on her shoulders.
+"How old are you?"
+
+"Thirty-three."
+
+"And you have been very unhappy--that is so?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"How many men have you lived with?"
+
+"One."
+
+"And he was not a good man?"
+
+Jane answered evenly: "He was a very bad one."
+
+"I see. Yes, it is that which is written in your face. Now listen to
+me. All that you have suffered, all that you have enjoyed, you will
+put it into my music--not with abandon, not with unrestraint, but
+with controlled and disciplined force. You have intelligence and you
+have courage. Without courage nothing can ever be accomplished. Those
+without courage turn their backs on life. You will never turn your back
+on life. Whatever comes you will stand there facing it with your chin
+up and your eyes very steady.... But I hope, my child, that you will
+not be too much hurt."
+
+He turned away.
+
+"I will send on the score," he said over his shoulder. "And you will
+study it."
+
+He stumped out of the room and the flat door banged.
+
+Jane sat down by the table. She stared at the wall in front of her with
+unseeing eyes. Her chance had come.
+
+She murmured very softly to herself: "I'm afraid."
+
+
+                                  _3_
+
+For a whole week Vernon debated the question of whether he should
+or should not take Jane at her word. He could get up to town at the
+week-end--but then perhaps Jane would be away. He felt miserably
+self-conscious and shy. Perhaps by now she had forgotten that she had
+asked him.
+
+He let the week-end go by. He felt that certainly by now she would have
+forgotten him. Then he got a letter from Joe in which she mentioned
+having seen Jane twice. That decided Vernon. At six o'clock on the
+following Saturday he rang the bell of Jane's flat.
+
+Jane herself opened it. Her eyes opened a little wider when she saw
+who it was. Otherwise she displayed no surprise.
+
+"Come in," she said. "I'm finishing my practising. But you won't mind."
+
+He followed her into a long room whose windows overlooked the river.
+It was very empty. A grand piano, a divan, a couple of chairs and
+walls that were papered with a wild riot of bluebells and daffodils.
+One wall alone was papered in sober dark green and on it hung a single
+picture--a queer study of bare tree trunks. Something about it reminded
+Vernon of his early adventures in the Forest.
+
+On the music stool was the little man like a white worm.
+
+Jane pushed a cigarette box toward Vernon, said in her brutal
+commanding voice, "Now, Mr. Hill," and began to walk up and down the
+room.
+
+Mr. Hill flung himself upon the piano. His hands twinkled up and down
+it with marvellous speed and dexterity. Jane sang. Most of the time
+_sotto voce_, almost under her breath. Occasionally she would take
+a phrase full pitch. Once or twice she stopped with an exclamation of
+what sounded like furious impatience, and Mr. Hill was made to repeat
+from several bars back.
+
+She broke off quite suddenly by clapping her hands. She crossed to the
+fireplace, pushed the bell, and turning her head addressed Mr. Hill for
+the first time as a human being.
+
+"You'll stay and have some tea, won't you, Mr. Hill?"
+
+Mr. Hill was afraid he couldn't. He twisted his body apologetically
+several times and sidled out of the room. A maid brought in black
+coffee and hot buttered toast, which appeared to be Jane's conception
+of afternoon tea.
+
+"What was that you were singing?"
+
+"Electra--Richard Strauss."
+
+"Oh! I liked it. It was like dogs fighting."
+
+"Strauss would be flattered. All the same, I know what you mean. It is
+combative."
+
+She pushed the toast toward him and added: "Your cousin's been here
+twice."
+
+"I know. She wrote and told me."
+
+He felt tongue-tied and uncomfortable. He had wanted so much to come,
+and now that he was here he didn't know what to say. Something about
+Jane made him uncomfortable. He blurted out at last:
+
+"Tell me truthfully--would you advise me to chuck work altogether and
+stick to music?"
+
+"How can I possibly tell? I don't know what you want to do."
+
+"You spoke like that the other night. As though everyone can do just
+what they like."
+
+"So they can. Not always, of course--but very nearly always. If you
+want to murder someone, there is really nothing to stop you. But you
+will be hanged afterwards--naturally."
+
+"I don't want to murder anyone."
+
+"No, you want your fairy story to end happily. Uncle dies and
+leaves you all his money. You marry your lady love and live at
+Abbots--whatever it's called--happily ever afterward."
+
+Vernon said angrily: "I wish you wouldn't laugh at me."
+
+Jane was silent a minute, then she said in a different voice: "I wasn't
+laughing at you. I was doing something I'd no business to do--trying to
+interfere."
+
+"What do you mean, trying to interfere?"
+
+"Trying to make you face reality, and forgetting that you
+are--what--about eight years younger than I am?--and that your time for
+that hasn't yet come."
+
+He thought suddenly: "I could say anything to her--anything at all. She
+wouldn't always answer the way I wanted her to, though."
+
+Aloud he said: "Please go on. I'm afraid it's very egotistical, my
+talking about myself like this, but I'm so worried and unhappy. I want
+to know what you meant when you said the other evening that of the four
+things I wanted, I could get any one of them but not all together."
+
+Jane considered a minute.
+
+"What did I mean exactly? Why, just this. To get what you want, you
+must usually pay a price or take a risk--sometimes both. For instance,
+I love music--a certain kind of music. My voice is suitable for a
+totally different kind of music. It's an unusually good concert
+voice--not an operatic one, except for very light opera. But I've sung
+in Wagner, in Strauss--in all the things I like. I haven't exactly
+paid a price--but I take an enormous risk. My voice may give out any
+minute. I know that. I've looked the fact in the face and I've decided
+that the game is worth the candle.
+
+"Now, in your case, you mentioned four things. For the first, I suppose
+that if you remain in your uncle's business for a sufficient number
+of years you will grow rich without any further trouble. That's not
+very interesting. Secondly, you want to live at Abbots Puissants. You
+could do that to-morrow if you married a girl with money. Then the girl
+you're fond of, the girl you want to marry----"
+
+"Can I get her to-morrow?" asked Vernon. He spoke with a kind of angry
+irony.
+
+"I should say so--quite easily."
+
+"How?"
+
+"By selling Abbots Puissants. It is yours to sell, isn't it?"
+
+"Yes, but I couldn't do that. I couldn't--I couldn't...." Jane leaned
+back in her chair and smiled.
+
+"You prefer to go on believing that life is a fairy story?"
+
+"There must be some other way."
+
+"Yes, of course there is another. Probably the simplest. There's
+nothing to stop you both going out to the nearest Registry Office.
+You've both got the use of your limbs."
+
+"You don't understand. There are hundreds of difficulties in the way.
+I couldn't ask Nell to face a life of poverty. She doesn't want to be
+poor."
+
+"Perhaps she can't."
+
+"What do you mean by 'can't'?"
+
+"Just that. Can't. Some people can't be poor, you know."
+
+Vernon got up, walked twice up and down the room. Then he came back,
+dropped on the hearth rug beside Jane's chair, and looked up at her.
+
+"What about the fourth thing? Music? Do you think I could ever do that?"
+
+"That I can't say. Wanting mayn't be any use there. But if it does
+happen, I expect it will swallow up all the rest. They'll all
+go--Abbots Puissants, money, the girl. My dear, I don't feel life's
+going to be easy for you. Ugh! A goose is walking over my grave. Now
+tell me something about this opera Sebastian Levinne says you are
+writing."
+
+When he had finished telling her, it was nine o'clock. They both
+exclaimed and went out to a little restaurant together. As he said
+good-bye afterward his first diffidence returned.
+
+"I think you are one of the--the nicest people I ever met. You will
+let me come again and talk, won't you? If I haven't bored you too
+frightfully."
+
+"Any time you like. Good-night."
+
+
+                                  _4_
+
+Myra wrote to Joe:
+
+    Dearest Josephine:
+
+    I am so worried about Vernon and this woman he is always going up
+    to town to see--some opera singer or other. Years older than he is.
+    It's so dreadful the way women like that get hold of boys. I am
+    terribly worried and don't know what to do about it. I have spoken
+    to your Uncle Sydney, but he was not very helpful about it and just
+    said that boys will be boys. But I don't want _my_ boy to be
+    like that. I was wondering, dear Joe, if it would be any good my
+    seeing this woman and begging her to leave my boy alone. Even a
+    _bad_ woman would listen to a mother, I think. Vernon is too
+    young to have his life ruined. I really don't know what to do. I
+    seem to have no influence over Vernon nowadays.
+
+                                                        With much love,
+                                                      Your affectionate
+                                                             Aunt Myra.
+
+Joe showed this letter to Sebastian.
+
+"I suppose she means Jane," said Sebastian. "I'd rather like to see an
+interview between them. Frankly, I think Jane would be amused."
+
+"It's too silly," said Joe hotly. "I wish to goodness Vernon
+_would_ fall in love with Jane. It would be a hundred times better
+for him than being in love with that silly stick of a Nell."
+
+"You don't like Nell, do you, Joe?"
+
+"You don't like her either."
+
+"Oh! yes, I do, in a way. She doesn't interest me very much, but I can
+quite see the attraction. In her own way, she's quite lovely."
+
+"Yes, in a chocolate-box way."
+
+"She doesn't attract me, because to my mind there's nothing there to
+attract as yet. The real Nell hasn't happened. Perhaps she never will.
+I suppose to some people that is very attractive because it opens out
+all sorts of possibilities."
+
+"Well, I think Jane is worth ten of Nell! The sooner Vernon gets over
+his silly calf love for Nell and falls in love with Jane instead, the
+better it will be."
+
+Sebastian lit a cigarette and said slowly: "I'm not sure that I agree
+with you."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Well, it's not very easy to explain. But, you see, Jane is a real
+person--very much so. To be in love with Jane might be a whole-time
+job. We're agreed, aren't we, that Vernon is very possibly a genius?
+Well, I don't think a genius wants to be married to a real person.
+He wants to be married to someone rather negligible--someone whose
+personality won't interfere. Now it may sound cynical, but that's
+what will probably happen if Vernon marries Nell. At the moment she
+represents--I don't quite know what to call it--what's that line?
+'The apple tree, the singing and the gold....' Something like that.
+Once he's married to her, that will go. She'll just be a nice pretty
+sweet-tempered girl whom, naturally, he loves very much. But she won't
+_interfere_. She'll never get between him and his work--she hasn't
+got sufficient personality. Now Jane might. She wouldn't mean to, but
+she might. It isn't Jane's beauty that attracts you--it's herself. She
+might be absolutely fatal to Vernon."
+
+"Well," said Joe, "I don't agree with you. I think Nell's a silly
+little ass and I should hate to see Vernon married to her. I hope it
+will all come to nothing."
+
+"Which is much the likeliest thing to happen," said Sebastian.
+
+
+
+
+                               chapter 2
+
+
+Nell was back in London. Vernon came up to see her the day after her
+return. She noticed the change in him at once. He looked haggard,
+excited. He said abruptly:
+
+"Nell, I'm going to chuck Birmingham."
+
+"_What?_"
+
+"Listen while I tell you...."
+
+He talked eagerly, excitedly. His music--he'd got to give himself up to
+it. He told her of the opera.
+
+"Listen, Nell. This is you--in your tower--with your golden hair
+hanging down and shining--shining in the sun."
+
+He went to the piano, began to play, explaining as he did so.
+"Violins--you see--and this is all for harps ... and these are the
+round jewels...."
+
+He played what seemed to Nell to be a series of rather ugly discords.
+She privately thought it all hideous. Perhaps it would sound
+differently played by an orchestra.
+
+But she loved him--and because she loved him, everything he did must be
+right. She smiled and said:
+
+"It's lovely, Vernon."
+
+"Do you really like it, Nell? Oh! sweetheart--you are so wonderful. You
+always understand. You're so sweet about everything."
+
+He came across to her, knelt down and buried his face on her lap.
+
+"I love you so ... I love you so."
+
+She stroked his dark head.
+
+"Tell me the story of it."
+
+"Shall I? Well, you see, there's a princess in a tower with golden
+hair, and kings and knights come from all over the world to try and get
+her to marry them. But she's too haughty to look at any of them--the
+real good old fairy-story touch. And at last one comes--a kind of
+gypsy fellow--very ragged, with a little green hat on his head and a
+kind of pipe he plays on. And he sings and says that he has the biggest
+kingdom of anyone because his kingdom is the whole world--and that
+there are no jewels like his jewels, which are dewdrops. And they say
+he's mad and throw him out. But that night when the princess is lying
+in bed she hears him playing his song in the castle garden and she
+listens.
+
+"Then there's an old Jew pedlar man in the town and he offers the
+fellow gold and riches with which to win the princess, but the gypsy
+laughs and says, What could he give in exchange? And the old man says
+his green hat and the pipe he plays on, but the gypsy says he will
+never part with those.
+
+"He plays in the palace garden every night. There's an old bard in the
+palace and he tells a tale of how a hundred years ago a prince of the
+royal house was bewitched by a gypsy maid and wandered forth and was
+never seen again. And the princess listens to it, and at last one night
+she gets up and comes to the window. And the gypsy tells her to leave
+all her robes and jewels behind and to come out in a simple white gown.
+But she thinks in her heart that it's as well to be on the safe side,
+so she puts a pearl in the hem of her skirt, and she comes out, and
+they go off in the moonlight while he sings. But the pearl in her dress
+weighs her down and she can't keep up. And he goes on, not realizing
+that she's left behind....
+
+"I've told this very badly, like a story, but that's the end of the
+first act--his going off in the moonlight and her left behind weeping.
+There are three scenes. The castle hall, the market place, and the
+palace garden outside her window."
+
+"Won't that be very expensive--in the way of scenery, I mean?"
+suggested Nell.
+
+"I don't know--I hadn't thought--oh! it can be managed, I expect."
+Vernon was irritated by these prosaic details.
+
+"Now the second act is near the market place. There is a girl there
+mending dolls--with black hair hanging down round her face. The gypsy
+comes along, and asks her what she's doing, and she says she's mending
+the children's toys--she's got the most wonderful needle and thread in
+the world. He tells her all about the princess and how he's lost her
+again, and he says he's going to the old Jew pedlar to sell his hat and
+his pipe, and she warns him not to--but he says he must.
+
+"I wish I could tell things better. I'm just giving you the story
+now--not the way I've divided it up, because I'm not exactly sure
+myself yet about that. I've got the music--that's the great thing:
+the heavy empty palace music--and the noisy clattering market-place
+music--and the princess--like that line of poetry, 'a singing stream
+in a silent vale,' and the doll mender all trees and dark woods like
+the Forest used to sound at Abbots Puissants; you know, enchanted and
+mysterious and a little frightening ... I think you'll have to have
+some instruments specially tuned for it.... Well, I won't go into that,
+it wouldn't interest you--it's too technical.
+
+"Where was I? Oh! yes, he turns up at the palace--as a great king this
+time--all clanking swords and horse trappings and blazing jewels,
+and the princess is overjoyed and they're going to be married and
+everything's all right. But he begins to get pale and weary, worse
+every day, and when anyone asks him what is the matter, he says,
+'Nothing.'"
+
+"Like you when you were a little boy at Abbots Puissants," said Nell
+smiling.
+
+"Did I say that? I don't remember. Well, then the night before the
+wedding he can't bear it any more, and he steals away from the palace
+and down to the market and wakes up the old Jew and says he must
+have back his hat and his pipe. He'll give back everything he got in
+exchange. The old Jew laughs, and throws down the hat, torn across, and
+the pipe, broken, at the prince's feet.
+
+"He's broken-hearted--the bottom knocked out of the world--and he
+wanders away with them in his hand, till he comes to where the doll
+mender is sitting with her feet tucked up under her, and he tells her
+what has happened and she tells him to lie down and sleep. And when he
+wakes in the morning there are his green hat and his pipe, mended so
+beautifully that no one could tell they had been mended.
+
+"And then he laughs for joy, and she goes to a cupboard and pulls out a
+similar little green hat and a pipe, and they go out together through
+the forest, and just as the sun rises on the edge of the forest, he
+looks at her and remembers. He says, 'Why, a hundred years ago I left
+my palace and my throne for love of you.' And she says, 'Yes. But
+because you were afraid you hid a piece of gold in the lining of your
+doublet, and the gleam of it enchanted your eyes and we lost each
+other. But now the whole world is ours and we will wander through it
+together for ever and ever.'"
+
+Vernon stopped. He turned an enthusiastic face upon Nell. "It ought to
+be lovely, the end ... so lovely. If I can get into the music what I
+see and hear: the two of them in their little green hats ... playing
+their pipes ... and the forest and the sun rising...."
+
+His face grew dreamy and ecstatic. He seemed to have forgotten Nell.
+
+Nell herself felt indescribable sensations sweep over her. She was
+afraid of this queer rapt Vernon. He had talked of music before to her,
+but never with this strange exalted passion. She knew that Sebastian
+Levinne thought Vernon might do wonderful things someday, but she
+remembered lives she had read of musical geniuses, and suddenly she
+wished with all her heart that Vernon might not have this marvellous
+gift. She wanted him as he had been heretofore, her eager boyish lover,
+the two of them wrapped in their common dream.
+
+The wives of musicians were always unhappy: she had read that
+somewhere. She didn't want Vernon to be a great musician. She wanted
+him to make some money quickly and live with her at Abbots Puissants.
+She wanted a sweet sane normal everyday life. Love--and Vernon.
+
+This thing--this kind of possession--was _dangerous_. She was sure
+it was dangerous.
+
+But she couldn't damp Vernon's ardour. She loved him far too much
+for that. She said, trying to make her voice sound sympathetic and
+interested:
+
+"What an unusual fairy story! Do you mean to say you've remembered it
+from ever since you were a child?"
+
+"More or less. I thought of it again that morning on the river at
+Cambridge--just before I saw you standing under that tree. Darling, you
+were so lovely--so lovely.... You always will be lovely, won't you? I
+couldn't bear it if you weren't. What idiotic things I am saying! And
+then, after that night at Ranelagh, that wonderful night when I told
+you that I loved you, all the music came pouring into my mind. Only
+I couldn't remember the story clearly--only really the bit about the
+tower.
+
+"But I've had marvellous luck. I've met a girl who is actually the
+niece of the hospital nurse who told me the story. And she remembered
+it perfectly and helped me to get it quite clearly again. Isn't it
+extraordinary the way things happen?"
+
+"Who is she, this woman?"
+
+"She's really rather a wonderful person, I think. Awfully nice and
+frightfully clever. She's a singer--Jane Harding. She sings Electra and
+Brunhild and Isolde with the new English Opera Company, and she may
+sing at Covent Garden next year. I met her at a party of Sebastian's. I
+want you to meet her. I'm sure you'd like her awfully."
+
+"How old is she? Young?"
+
+"Youngish--about thirty, I should think. She has an awfully queer
+effect on one. In a way you almost dislike her, and yet she makes you
+feel you can do things. She's been very good to me."
+
+"I dare say."
+
+Why did she say that? Why should she feel an unreasoning prejudice
+against this woman--this Jane Harding?
+
+Vernon was staring at her with rather a puzzled expression.
+
+"What's the matter, darling? You said that so queerly."
+
+"I don't know." She tried to laugh. "A goose walking over my grave,
+perhaps."
+
+"Funny," said Vernon frowning. "Somebody else said that just lately."
+
+"Lots of people say it," said Nell laughing. She paused and then said:
+"I'd--I'd like to meet this friend of yours very much, Vernon."
+
+"I know. I want her to meet you. I've talked a lot about you to her."
+
+"I wish you wouldn't. Talk about me, I mean. After all, we promised
+Mother no one should know."
+
+"Nobody outside--but Sebastian knows and Joe."
+
+"That's different. You've known them all your life."
+
+"Yes, of course. I'm sorry. I didn't think. I didn't say we were
+engaged, or tell your name or anything. You're not cross, are you, Nell
+darling?"
+
+"Of course not."
+
+Even in her own ears her voice sounded hard. Why was life so horribly
+difficult? She was afraid of this music. Already it had made Vernon
+chuck up a good job. _Was_ it the music? Or was it Jane Harding?
+
+She thought to herself desperately: "I wish I'd never met Vernon. I
+wish I'd never loved him. I wish--oh! I wish I didn't love so much. I'm
+afraid. I'm afraid...."
+
+
+                                  _2_
+
+It was over! the plunge was taken! There was unpleasantness, of course.
+Uncle Sydney was furious; not, Vernon was forced to confess, without
+reason. There were scenes with his mother--tears--recriminations. A
+dozen times he was on the point of giving way, and yet, somehow or
+other, he didn't.
+
+He had a curious sense of desolation all the time. He was alone in this
+thing. Nell, because she loved him, agreed to all he said, but he was
+uncomfortably conscious that his decision had grieved and disturbed
+her, and might even shake her faith in the future. Sebastian thought
+the move premature. For the time being, he would have advised making
+the best of two worlds. Not that he said so. Sebastian never gave
+advice to anybody. Even the staunch Joe was doubtful. She realized that
+for Vernon to sever his connection with the Bents was serious, and she
+had not the real faith in Vernon's musical future which would have made
+her heartily applaud the step.
+
+So far in his life, Vernon had never had the courage to set himself
+definitely in opposition to everybody. When it was all over, and he
+was settled in the very cheap rooms which were all he could afford in
+London, he felt as one might who had overcome invincible odds. Then,
+and not till then, he went to see Jane Harding.
+
+He had held boyish imaginary conversations with her in his mind.
+
+"I have done what you told me."
+
+"Splendid! I knew you had the courage really."
+
+He was modest, she applauded. He was sustained and uplifted by her
+praise.
+
+The reality, as always, fell out quite differently. His intercourse
+with Jane always did. He was always holding imaginary conversations
+with Jane in his mind, and the reality was always totally different.
+
+In this case, when he announced, with due modesty, what he had done,
+she seemed to take it as a matter of course, with nothing particularly
+heroic about it. She said:
+
+"Well, you must have wanted to do it or you wouldn't have done it."
+
+He felt baffled, almost angry. A curious sense of constraint always
+came over him in Jane's presence. He could never be wholly natural with
+her. He had so much he wanted to say--but he found it difficult to say.
+He was tongue-tied--embarrassed. And then suddenly, for no reason,
+it seemed, the cloud would lift and he would be talking happily and
+easily, saying the things that came into his head.
+
+He thought: "Why am I so embarrassed with her? _She's_ natural
+enough."
+
+It worried him. From the first moment he had met her, he had felt
+disturbed--afraid. He resented the effect she had on him and yet he was
+unwilling to admit how strong that effect was.
+
+An attempt to bring about a friendship between her and Nell failed.
+Vernon could feel that behind the outward cordiality that politeness
+dictates there was very little real feeling.
+
+When he asked Nell what she thought of Jane, she answered: "I like her
+very much. I think she's most interesting."
+
+He was more awkward approaching Jane, but she helped him.
+
+"You want to know what I think of your Nell? She is lovely--and very
+sweet."
+
+He said: "And you really think you'll be friends?"
+
+"No, of course not. Why should we?"
+
+"Well, but----"
+
+He stammered, taken aback.
+
+"Friendship is not a kind of equilateral triangle. If A likes B and
+loves C, then C and B _et cetera, et cetera_.... We've nothing in
+common, your Nell and I. She, too, expects life to be a fairy story,
+and is just beginning to be afraid, poor child, that it mayn't be,
+after all. She's a Sleeping Beauty waking in the forest. Love, to her,
+is something very wonderful and very beautiful."
+
+"Isn't it that to you?"
+
+He had to ask. He wanted to know so badly. So often, so often, he'd
+wondered about Boris Androv, about those five years.
+
+She looked at him with a face from which all expression had died out.
+
+"Some day--I'll tell you."
+
+He wanted to say, "Tell me now," but he didn't. He said instead:
+
+"Tell me, Jane, what is life to you?"
+
+She paused a minute and then said: "A difficult, dangerous, but
+endlessly interesting adventure."
+
+
+                                  _3_
+
+At last he was able to work. He began to appreciate to the full the
+joys of freedom. There was nothing to fray his nerves, nothing to
+dissipate his energy. It could flow, all in one steady stream, into
+his work. There were few distractions. At the moment, he had only just
+enough money to keep body and soul together. Abbots Puissants was still
+unlet....
+
+The autumn passed and most of the winter. He saw Nell once or twice a
+week, stolen unsatisfactory meetings. They were both conscious of the
+loss of the first fine rapture. She questioned him closely about the
+progress of the opera. How was it going? When did he expect it would be
+finished? What chances were there of its being produced?
+
+Vernon was vague as to all these practical aspects. He was concerned at
+the moment only with the creative side. The opera was getting itself
+born slowly, with innumerable pangs and difficulties, with a hundred
+setbacks owing to Vernon's own lack of experience and technique. His
+conversation was mostly of instrumental difficulties or possibilities.
+He went out with odd musicians who played in orchestras. Nell went to
+many concerts and was fond of music but it is doubtful if she could
+have told an oboe from a clarionet. She'd always imagined a horn and a
+French horn to be much the same thing. The technical knowledge needed
+in score writing appalled her, and Vernon's indifference to how and
+when the opera would be produced made her uneasy.
+
+He hardly realized himself how much his uncertain answers depressed and
+alienated Nell. He was startled one day when she said to him--indeed,
+not so much said as wailed:
+
+"Oh! Vernon, don't try me too hard. It's so difficult--so difficult. I
+must have some hope. You don't understand."
+
+He looked at her astonished.
+
+"But Nell, it's all right _really_. It's only a question of being
+patient."
+
+"I know, Vernon. I shouldn't have said that, but you see----"
+
+She paused.
+
+"It makes it so much more difficult for me, darling," said Vernon, "if
+I feel that you're unhappy."
+
+"Oh! I'm not--I won't be."
+
+But underneath, choked down, that old feeling of resentment lifted its
+head again. Vernon didn't understand or care how difficult things were
+for her. He never had the faintest conception of her difficulties.
+He would, perhaps, have called them silly, or trivial. They were, in
+one sense, but in another they weren't--since the sum total of them
+went to make up her life. Vernon didn't see or realize that she was
+fighting a battle--fighting it all the time. She could never relax. If
+he could only realize that, give her a word of cheer, show her that he
+understood the difficult position in which she was placed. But he never
+would see.
+
+A devastating sense of loneliness swept over Nell. Men were like
+that--they never understood or cared. Love--that seemed to solve
+everything. But really it didn't solve anything at all. She almost
+hated Vernon. Selfishly absorbed in his work, disliking her to be
+unhappy because it upset _him_....
+
+She thought: "Any _woman_ would understand."
+
+And, moved by some obscure impulse, she went of her own accord to see
+Jane Harding.
+
+Jane was in, and if she was surprised to see Nell, she did not show it.
+They talked for some time of desultory things. Yet Nell had a feeling
+that Jane was waiting and watching, biding her time.
+
+Why had she come? She didn't know. She feared and distrusted
+Jane--perhaps that was why! Jane was her enemy. Yes, but she had a fear
+that her enemy had a wisdom denied to her. Jane (she put it to herself)
+was clever. She was, very possibly, bad--yes, she was sure Jane was
+bad--but somehow or other one might learn from her.
+
+She began rather blunderingly. Did Jane think that Vernon's music was
+likely to be successful--that is to say, successful _soon_? She
+tried in vain to keep a quaver out of her voice.
+
+She felt Jane's cool green eyes upon her.
+
+"Things getting difficult?"
+
+"Yes, you see----"
+
+It tumbled out, a great deal of it: the shifts, the difficulties,
+the unspoken force of her mother's silent pressure, a dimly veiled
+reference to Someone, name not given, Someone who understood and was
+kind and was rich.
+
+How easy to say these things to a woman--even a woman like Jane, who
+couldn't know anything about them. Women understood--they didn't pooh
+pooh trifles and make everything out to be unimportant.
+
+When she had finished, Jane said: "It's a little hard on you. When you
+first met Vernon you had no idea of this music business."
+
+"I didn't think it would be like this," said Nell bitterly.
+
+"Well, it's no good going back to what you didn't think, is it?"
+
+"I suppose not." Nell felt vaguely annoyed at Jane's tone. "Oh!" she
+broke out. "You feel, of course, that everything ought to give way to
+his music--that he's a genius--that I ought to be glad to make any
+sacrifice."
+
+"No, I don't," said Jane, "I don't think any of those things. I don't
+know what good geniuses are, or works of art either. Some people are
+born with a feeling that they matter more than anything else, and some
+people aren't. It's impossible to say who's right. The best thing for
+you would be to persuade Vernon to give up music, sell Abbots Puissants
+and settle down with you on the proceeds. But I do know this, that
+you haven't an earthly chance of getting him to give up music. These
+things, genius, art, whatever you like to call them, are much stronger
+than you are. You might just as well be King Canute on the seashore.
+You can't turn back Vernon from music."
+
+"What can I do?" said Nell hopelessly.
+
+"Well, you can either marry this other man you were talking of and be
+reasonably happy, or you can marry Vernon and be actively unhappy with
+periods of bliss."
+
+Nell looked at her.
+
+"What would you do?" she whispered.
+
+"Oh! I should marry Vernon and be unhappy, but then some of us like
+taking our pleasures sadly."
+
+Nell got up. She stood in the doorway looking back at Jane who had not
+moved. She was lying back against the wall, smoking a cigarette, her
+eyes half closed. She looked a little like a cat, or a Chinese idol. A
+sudden wave of fury came over Nell.
+
+"I hate you," she cried. "You're taking Vernon away from me.
+Yes--_you_. You're bad--evil. I know it, I can feel it. You're a
+bad woman."
+
+"You're jealous," said Jane quietly.
+
+"You admit then, there's something to be jealous of? Not that Vernon
+loves you. He doesn't. He never would. It's you who want to get hold of
+him."
+
+There was silence--a pulsating silence. Then, without moving, Jane
+laughed. Nell hurried out of the flat, hardly knowing what she was
+doing.
+
+
+                                  _4_
+
+Sebastian came very often to see Jane. He usually came after dinner,
+ringing up first to find out if she would be at home. They both found a
+curious pleasure in each other's company. To Sebastian Jane recounted
+her struggles with the rôle of Solveig, the difficulties of the music,
+the difficulty of pleasing Radmaager, the still greater difficulty of
+pleasing herself. To Jane Sebastian imparted his ambitions, his present
+plans, his future vague ideals.
+
+One evening, after they had both been silent after a long spell of
+talking, he said:
+
+"I can talk to you better than anyone I know, Jane. I don't quite know
+why, either."
+
+"Well, in a way, we're both the same kind of person, aren't we?"
+
+"Are we?"
+
+"I think so. Not superficially, perhaps, but fundamentally. We both
+like truth. I think, as far as one can say that of oneself, we both see
+things as they are."
+
+"And you think most people don't?"
+
+"Of course they don't. Nell Vereker, for instance. She sees things as
+they've been shown her, as she hopes they are."
+
+"A slave of convention, you mean?"
+
+"Yes, but it works both ways. Joe, for instance, prides herself on
+being unconventional, but that makes just as much for narrowness and
+prejudice."
+
+"Yes, if you're 'agin' everything irrespective of what it is. Joe is
+like that. She _must_ be a rebel. She never really examines a
+thing on its merits. And that's what damns me so hopelessly in her
+eyes. I'm successful, and she admires failures. I'm rich, so she'd
+gain instead of lose if she married me. And being a Jew doesn't count
+against you much nowadays."
+
+"It's even fashionable," said Jane laughing.
+
+"And yet, do you know, Jane, I always have a queer feeling that Joe
+really likes me."
+
+"Perhaps she does. She's the wrong age for you, Sebastian. That Swede
+at your party said something wonderfully true--about separation in
+time being worse than separation in space. If you're the wrong age for
+a person, nothing keeps you apart so hopelessly. You may be made for
+one another, but be born at the wrong time for each other. Does that
+sound nonsense? I believe when she's about thirty-five, Joe could love
+you--the real essential you--madly. It'll take a woman to love you,
+Sebastian, not a girl."
+
+Sebastian was looking into the fire. It was a cold February day, and
+there were logs piled up on the coals. Jane hated gas fires.
+
+"Have you ever wondered, Jane, why we don't fall in love with each
+other, you and I? Platonic friendship doesn't usually work. And
+you're very attractive. There's a lot of the siren about you--quite
+unconscious, but it's there."
+
+"Perhaps we should under normal conditions."
+
+"Aren't we under normal conditions? Oh! wait a minute--I know what you
+mean. You mean, the line's already engaged."
+
+"Yes. If you didn't love Joe----"
+
+"And if you----"
+
+He stopped.
+
+"Well?" said Jane. "You knew, didn't you?"
+
+"Yes, I suppose so. You don't mind talking about it?"
+
+"Not in the least. If a thing's there, what does it matter if you talk
+of it or not?"
+
+"Are you one of the people, Jane, who believe that if you want a thing
+enough you can make it happen?"
+
+Jane considered.
+
+"No--I don't think I am. So many things happen to you naturally that
+it keeps you busy without--well, looking for things as well. When a
+thing's offered you, you've got to choose whether you'll accept it or
+refuse it. That's destiny. And when you've made your choice you must
+abide by it without looking back."
+
+"That's the spirit of Greek tragedy. You've got Electra into your
+bones, Jane." He picked up a book from the table. "_Peer Gynt?_
+You're steeping yourself in Solveig, I see."
+
+"Yes. It's more her opera than Peer's. You know, Sebastian, Solveig
+is a wonderfully fascinating character--so impassive, so calm, and
+yet so utterly certain that her love for Peer is the only thing in
+heaven or earth. She knows that he wants and needs her though he never
+tells her so, she is abandoned and deserted by him, and manages to
+turn that desertion into a crowning proof of his love. By the way,
+that Whitsuntide music of Radmaager's is perfectly glorious. You know:
+'Blessed is he who has made my life blessed!' To show that the love of
+a man can turn into a kind of impassioned nun is difficult but rather
+wonderful."
+
+"Is Radmaager pleased with you?"
+
+"Sometimes he is. Yesterday, on the other hand, he consigned my soul to
+hell and shook me till my teeth rattled. He was perfectly right, too. I
+sang it all wrong--like a melodramatic stage-struck girl. It's got to
+be sheer force of will--restraint. Solveig must be so soft and gentle
+but really so terribly strong. It's like Radmaager said the first day.
+Snow--smooth snow--with a wonderful clear design running through it."
+
+She went on to talk of Vernon's work.
+
+"It's almost finished, you know. I want him to show it to Radmaager."
+
+"Will he?"
+
+"I think so. Have you seen it?"
+
+"Parts of it only."
+
+"What do you think of it?"
+
+"I'll hear what you think of it first, Jane. Your judgment's as good as
+mine any day where music is concerned."
+
+"It's crude. There's too much in it--too much good stuff. He hasn't
+learned how to handle his material, but the material is there--masses
+and masses of it. Do you agree?"
+
+Sebastian nodded.
+
+"Absolutely. I'm more sure than ever that Vernon is going to--well,
+revolutionize things. But there's a nasty time coming. He'll have to
+face the fact that what he's written isn't, when all's said and done, a
+commercial proposition."
+
+"You mean, it couldn't be produced?"
+
+"That's what I mean."
+
+"_You_ could produce it."
+
+"You mean, out of friendship?"
+
+"That's what I meant."
+
+Sebastian got up and began to pace up and down.
+
+"To my way of thinking, that's unethical," he said at last.
+
+"And also you don't like losing money."
+
+"Quite true."
+
+"But you could afford to lose a certain amount without--well, noticing
+it?"
+
+"I always notice losing money. It affects--well, my pride."
+
+Jane nodded.
+
+"I understand that. But I don't think, Sebastian, that you need lose
+money."
+
+"My dear Jane----"
+
+"Don't argue with me till you know what I'm arguing about. You're going
+to produce a certain amount of what the world calls 'highbrow' stuff
+at the little Holborn theatre, aren't you? Well, this summer--say
+the beginning of July--produce _The Princess in the Tower_
+for--say--two weeks. Don't produce it from the point of view of an
+opera (don't tell Vernon this, by the way--but there, you wouldn't.
+You're not an idiot) but from the point of view of a musical
+spectacular play. Unusual scenery and weird lighting effects--you're
+keen on lighting, I know. The Russian ballet--that's what you've got
+to aim at; that's the--the _tone_ of it. Have good singers, but
+attractive ones to look at as well. And now, putting modesty in the
+background, I'll tell you this. I'll make a success of it for you."
+
+"You--as the princess?"
+
+"No, my dear child, as the doll mender. It's a weird character--a
+character that will attract and arrest. The music of the doll mender
+is the best thing Vernon has done. Sebastian, you've always said I
+could act. They're going to let me sing at Covent Garden this season
+because I can act. I shall make a hit. I know I can act--and acting
+counts for a lot in opera. I can--I can _sway_ people. I can make
+them _feel_. Vernon's opera will need licking into shape from the
+dramatic point of view. Leave that to me. From the musical side, you
+and Radmaager may be able to make suggestions--if he'll take them.
+Musicians are the devil to deal with, as we all know. The thing can be
+done, Sebastian."
+
+She leaned forward, her face vivid and impressive. Sebastian's face
+grew more impassive, as it always did when he was thinking hard. He
+looked appraisingly at Jane, weighing her, not from the personal
+standpoint, but from the impersonal. He believed in Jane, in her
+dynamic force, inner magnetism, in her wonderful power of communicating
+emotion over the footlights.
+
+"I'll think it over," he said quietly. "There's something in what you
+say."
+
+Jane laughed suddenly,
+
+"And you'll be able to get me very cheap, Sebastian," she said.
+
+"I shall expect to," said Sebastian gravely. "My Jewish instincts must
+be appeased somehow. You're putting this thing over on me, Jane--don't
+imagine that I don't know it!"
+
+
+
+
+                               chapter 3
+
+
+At last "The Princess in the Tower" was finished. Vernon suffered from
+a tremendous wave of reaction. The whole thing was rotten--hopeless.
+Best to chuck it into the fire.
+
+Nell's sweetness and encouragement were like manna to him at this time.
+She had that wonderful instinct for always saying the words he longed
+to hear. But for her, as he constantly told her, he would have given
+way to despair long ago.
+
+He had seen less of Jane during the winter. She had been on tour
+with the English Opera Company part of the time. When she sang in
+_Electra_ in Birmingham, he went down for it. He was tremendously
+impressed--loved both the music and Jane's impersonation of Electra.
+That ruthless will, that determined: "Say naught but dance on!" She
+gave the impression of being more spirit than flesh. He was conscious
+that her voice was really too weak for the part, but somehow it didn't
+seem to matter. She _was_ Electra--that fanatical fiery spirit of
+relentless doom.
+
+He stayed a few days with his mother--days which he found trying and
+difficult. He went to see his Uncle Sydney and was received coldly.
+Enid was engaged to be married to a solicitor, and Uncle Sydney was not
+too pleased about it.
+
+Nell and her mother were away for Easter. On their return Vernon rang
+up and said he must see her immediately. He arrived with a white face
+and burning eyes.
+
+"Nell, do you know what I've heard? Everyone has been saying that you
+are going to marry George Chetwynd. _George Chetwynd!_"
+
+"Who said so?"
+
+"Lots of people. They say you go round with him everywhere."
+
+Nell looked frightened and unhappy.
+
+"I wish you wouldn't believe things. And Vernon, don't look so--so
+accusing. It's perfectly true that he has asked me to marry him--twice,
+as a matter of fact."
+
+"That old man?"
+
+"Oh! Vernon, don't be ridiculous. He's only about forty-one or -two."
+
+"Nearly double your age. Why, I thought he wanted to marry your mother,
+perhaps."
+
+Nell laughed in spite of herself.
+
+"Oh! dear, I wish he would. Mother's really awfully handsome still."
+
+"That's what I thought that night at Ranelagh. I never guessed--I never
+dreamed--that it was _you_! Or hadn't it begun then?"
+
+"Oh! yes, it had begun--as you call it. That was why Mother was so
+angry that night--at my going off alone with you."
+
+"And I never guessed! Nell, you might have told me!"
+
+"Told you what? There wasn't anything to tell--then!"
+
+"No, I suppose not. I'm being an idiot. But I do know he's awfully
+rich. I get frightened sometimes. Oh! darling Nell, it was beastly of
+me to doubt you--even for a minute. As though you'd ever care how rich
+anyone was."
+
+Nell said irritably: "Rich, rich, rich! You harp on that. He's awfully
+kind and awfully nice, too."
+
+"Oh, I dare say."
+
+"He is, Vernon. Really he is."
+
+"It's nice of you to stick up for him, darling, but he must be an
+insensitive sort of brute to hang round after you've refused him twice."
+
+Nell did not answer. She looked at him in a way he did not
+understand--something piteous and appealing and yet defiant in that
+strange limpid gaze. It was as though she looked at him from a world so
+far removed from his that they might be on different spheres.
+
+He said: "I feel ashamed of myself, Nell. But you're so lovely,
+everyone must want you."
+
+She broke down suddenly--began to cry. He was startled. She cried on,
+sobbed on his shoulder.
+
+"I don't know what to do--I don't know what to do. I'm so unhappy. If I
+could only talk to you."
+
+"But you can talk to me, darling. I'm here listening."
+
+"No, no, no ... I can never talk to you. You don't understand. It's all
+no use."
+
+She cried on. He kissed her, soothed her, poured out all his love....
+
+When he had gone her mother came into the room, an open letter in her
+hand.
+
+She did not appear to notice Nell's tear-stained face.
+
+"George Chetwynd sails for America on the thirtieth of May," she
+remarked as she went across to her desk.
+
+"I don't care when he sails," said Nell rebelliously.
+
+Mrs. Vereker did not answer.
+
+That night Nell knelt longer than usual by her narrow white bed.
+
+"Oh! God, please let me marry Vernon, I want to so much. I do love him
+so. Please let things come right and let us be married. Make something
+happen.... Please God...."
+
+
+                                  _2_
+
+At the end of April Abbots Puissants was let. Vernon came to Nell in
+some excitement.
+
+"Nell, will you marry me now? We could just manage. It's a bad let--an
+awfully bad one--but I simply had to take it. You see, there's been the
+mortgage interest to pay and all the expenses of the upkeep while it's
+been unlet. I've had to borrow for all that and now of course it's got
+to be paid back. We'll be pretty short for a year or two, but then it
+won't be so bad...."
+
+He talked on, explaining the financial details.
+
+"I've been into it all, Nell. I have really. Sensibly, I mean. We could
+afford a tiny flat and one maid and have a little left over to play
+with. Oh! Nell, you wouldn't mind being poor with me, would you? You
+said once I didn't know what it was to be poor, but you can't say that
+now. I've lived on frightfully little since I came to London, and I
+haven't minded a bit."
+
+No, Nell knew he hadn't. The fact was in some way a vague reproach to
+her. And yet, though she couldn't quite express it to herself, she felt
+that the two cases were not on a par. It made much more difference to
+women. To be gay and pretty and admired and have a good time--none of
+those things affected men. They hadn't that everlasting problem of
+clothes--nobody minded if they were shabby.
+
+But how explain these things to Vernon? One couldn't. He wasn't like
+George Chetwynd. George understood things like that.
+
+"Nell."
+
+She sat there, irresolute, his arm round her. She had got to decide.
+Visions floated before her eyes. Amelie ... the hot little house, the
+wailing children ... George Chetwynd and his car ... a stuffy little
+flat, a dirty incompetent maid ... dances ... clothes ... the money
+they owed dressmakers ... the rent of the London house--unpaid ...
+herself at Ascot, smiling, chattering in a lovely model gown ... then,
+with a sudden revulsion, she was back at Ranelagh on the bridge over
+the water with Vernon....
+
+In almost the same voice as she had used that evening she said: "I
+don't know. Oh! Vernon, I don't know."
+
+"Oh! Nell darling, do ... do!"
+
+She disengaged herself from him, got up.
+
+"Please, Vernon--I must think ... yes, think. I--I can't when I'm with
+you."
+
+She wrote to him later that night:
+
+    Dearest Vernon:
+
+    Let us wait a little longer--say six months. I don't feel I want
+    to be married now. Besides, something might have happened about
+    your opera then. You think I'm afraid of being poor, but it's not
+    quite that. I've seen people--people who loved each other--and they
+    didn't any more because of all the bothers and worries. I feel that
+    if we wait and are patient everything will come right. Oh! Vernon,
+    I know it will--and then everything will be so lovely. If only we
+    wait and have patience....
+
+Vernon was angry when he got this letter. He did not show the letter to
+Jane, but he broke out into sufficiently unguarded speech to let her
+see how the land lay. She said at once in her disconcerting fashion:
+
+"You do think you're sufficient prize for any girl, don't you, Vernon?"
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"Well, do you think it will be awfully jolly for a girl who has danced
+and been to parties and had lots of fun and people admiring her to be
+stuck down in a poky hole with no more fun?"
+
+"We'd have each other."
+
+"You can't make love to her for twenty-four hours on end. While you're
+working, what is she to do?"
+
+"Don't you think a woman can be poor and happy?"
+
+"Certainly, given the necessary qualifications."
+
+"Which are--what? Love and trust?"
+
+"No, you idiotic child. A sense of humour, a tough hide, and the
+valuable quality of being sufficient unto oneself. You will insist on
+love in a cottage being a sentimental problem dependent on the amount
+of love concerned. It's far more a problem of mental outlook. You'd be
+all right stuck down anywhere--Buckingham Palace or the Sahara--because
+you've got your mental preoccupation--music. But Nell's dependent on
+extraneous circumstances. Marrying you will cut her off from all her
+friends."
+
+"Why should it?"
+
+"Because it's the hardest thing in the world for people with different
+incomes to continue friends. They're not all doing the same thing
+naturally."
+
+"You always put me in the wrong," said Vernon savagely. "Or at any rate
+you try to."
+
+"Well, it annoys me to see you put yourself on a pedestal and stand
+admiring yourself for nothing at all," said Jane calmly. "You expect
+Nell to sacrifice her friends and life to you, but you wouldn't make
+your sacrifice for her."
+
+"What sacrifice? I'd do anything."
+
+"Except sell Abbots Puissants!"
+
+"You don't understand."
+
+Jane looked at him gently.
+
+"Perhaps I do. Oh! yes, my dear, I do very well. But don't be noble.
+It always annoys me to see people being noble! Let's talk about _The
+Princess in the Tower_. I want you to show it to Radmaager."
+
+"Oh! it's so rotten. I couldn't. You know, I didn't realize myself,
+Jane, how rotten it was until I had finished it."
+
+"No," said Jane. "Nobody ever does. Fortunately--or nothing ever would
+be finished. Show it to Radmaager. What he says will be interesting, at
+all events."
+
+Vernon yielded rather grudgingly.
+
+"He'll think it such awful cheek."
+
+"No, he won't. He's a very high opinion of what Sebastian says, and
+Sebastian has always believed in you. Radmaager says that, for so young
+a man, Sebastian's judgment is amazing."
+
+"Good old Sebastian! He's wonderful," said Vernon warmly. "Nearly
+everything he's done has been a success. Shekels are rolling in. God!
+how I envy him sometimes."
+
+"You needn't. He's not such a very happy person, really."
+
+"You mean Joe? Oh, that will all come right."
+
+"I wonder. Vernon, do you see much of Joe?"
+
+"A fair amount. Not as much as I used to. I can't stand that queer
+artistic set she's drifted into--their hair's all wrong and they look
+unwashed and they talk what seems to me the most arrant drivel.
+They're not a bit like your crowd--the people who really do things."
+
+"We're what Sebastian would call the successful commercial
+propositions. All the same, I'm worried about Joe. I'm afraid she's
+going to do something foolish."
+
+"That bounder La Marre, you mean?"
+
+"Yes, I mean that bounder La Marre. He's clever with women, you know,
+Vernon. Some men are."
+
+"You think she'd go off with him or something? Of course Joe is a
+damned fool in some ways." He looked curiously at Jane. "But I should
+have thought you----"
+
+He stopped, suddenly crimson. Jane looked very faintly amused.
+
+"You really needn't be embarrassed by my morals."
+
+"I wasn't. I mean--I've always wondered--oh! I've wondered such an
+awful lot...."
+
+His voice died away. There was silence. Jane sat very upright. She did
+not look at Vernon. She looked straight ahead of her. Presently, in a
+quiet even voice, she began to speak. She spoke quite unemotionally and
+evenly, as though recounting something that had happened to someone
+else. It was a cold concise recital of horror, and to Vernon the most
+dreadful thing about it was her own detached calm. She spoke as a
+scientist might speak, impersonally.
+
+He buried his face in his hands.
+
+Jane brought her recital to an end. Her quiet voice ceased.
+
+Vernon said in a low shuddering voice: "And you lived through
+_that_? I--I didn't know that such things were."
+
+Jane said calmly: "He was a Russian and a degenerate. It's hard for an
+Anglo Saxon to understand that peculiar refined lust of cruelty. You
+understand brutality. You don't understand anything else."
+
+Vernon said, feeling childish and awkward as he put the question:
+"You--you loved him very much?"
+
+She shook her head slowly, began to speak and then stopped.
+
+"Why dissect the past?" she said after a minute or two. "He did some
+fine work. There's a thing of his in the South Kensington. It's
+macabre, but it's good."
+
+Then she began once more to talk of _The Princess in the Tower_.
+
+Vernon went to the South Kensington two days later. He found the
+solitary representation of Boris Androv's work easily enough. A drowned
+woman--the face was horrible, puffed, bloated, decomposed, but the body
+was beautiful ... a lovely body. Vernon knew instinctively that it was
+Jane's body.
+
+He stood looking down on the bronze nude figure, with arms spread wide
+and long lank hair reaching out mournfully.
+
+Such a beautiful body ... Jane's body. Androv had modelled that nude
+body from her.
+
+For the first time for years a queer remembrance of the Beast came over
+him. He felt afraid.
+
+He turned quickly away from the beautiful bronze figure and left the
+building hurriedly, almost running.
+
+
+                                  _3_
+
+It was the first night of Radmaager's new opera, _Peer Gynt_.
+Vernon was going to it and had been asked by Radmaager to attend a
+supper party afterward. He was dining with Nell at her mother's house.
+She was not coming to the opera.
+
+Much to Nell's surprise, Vernon did not turn up to dinner. They waited
+some time, and then began without him. He arrived just as dessert was
+being put on the table.
+
+"I'm most awfully sorry, Mrs. Vereker. I can't tell you how sorry I am.
+Something very--very unexpected occurred. I'll tell you later."
+
+His face was so white and he was so obviously upset that Mrs. Vereker
+forgot her annoyance. She was always a tactful woman of the world and
+she treated the present situation with her usual discretion.
+
+"Well," she said, rising, "now you are here, Vernon, you can talk to
+Nell. If you're going to the opera you won't have much time."
+
+She left the room. Nell looked inquiringly at Vernon. He answered her
+look.
+
+"Joe's gone off with La Marre."
+
+"Oh, Vernon, she hasn't!"
+
+"She has."
+
+"Do you mean that she has eloped? That she's married him? That they've
+run away to get married?"
+
+Vernon said grimly: "He can't marry her. He's got a wife already."
+
+"Oh, Vernon, how awful! How could she?"
+
+"Joe was always wrong-headed. She'll regret this--I know she will. I
+don't believe she really cares for him."
+
+"What about Sebastian? Won't he feel this terribly?"
+
+"Yes, poor devil. I've been with him now. He's absolutely broken up
+over it. I'd no idea how much he cared for Joe."
+
+"I know he did."
+
+"You see, there were the three of us--always. Joe and I and Sebastian.
+We belonged together."
+
+A faint pang of jealousy shot through Nell. Vernon repeated:
+
+"The three of us. It's----Oh! I don't know. I feel as though I'd been
+to blame in some way. I've let myself get out of touch with Joe. Dear
+old Joe, she was so staunch always--better than any sister could be. It
+hurts me to think of the things she used to say when she was a kid--how
+she'd never have anything to do with men. And now she's come a mucker
+like this."
+
+Nell said in a shocked voice: "A married man. That's what makes it so
+awful. Had he any children?"
+
+"How should I know anything about his beastly children?"
+
+"Vernon--don't be so cross."
+
+"Sorry, Nell. I'm upset, that's all."
+
+"How could she do such a thing?" said Nell. She had always rather
+resented Joe's unspoken contempt of which she had been subconsciously
+aware. She would not have been human had she not felt a faint sense of
+superiority. "To run away with anyone married! It's dreadful!"
+
+"Well, she had courage, anyway," said Vernon.
+
+He felt a sudden passionate desire to defend Joe--Joe who belonged to
+Abbots Puissants and the old days.
+
+"Courage?" said Nell.
+
+"Yes, courage!" said Vernon, "At any rate she wasn't prudent. She
+didn't count the cost. She's chucked away everything in the world for
+love. That's more than some people will do."
+
+"Vernon!"
+
+She got up, breathing hard.
+
+"Well, it's true." All his smouldering resentment came bursting out.
+"You won't even face a little discomfort for me, Nell. You're always
+saying 'Wait' and 'Let's be careful.' You aren't capable of chucking
+everything to the winds for love of anyone."
+
+"Oh! Vernon, how cruel you are ... how cruel!"
+
+He saw the tears come into her eyes and was immediately all compunction.
+
+"Oh! Nell, I didn't mean it--I didn't mean it, sweetheart."
+
+His arms went round her, held her to him. Her sobs lessened. He glanced
+at his watch.
+
+"Damn! I must go. Good-night, Nell darling. You do love me, don't you?"
+
+"Yes, of course--of course I do."
+
+He kissed her once more, hurried off. She sat down again by the
+disordered dinner table. Sat there, lost in thought....
+
+
+                                  _4_
+
+He got to Covent Garden late. _Peer Gynt_ had begun. The scene was
+Ingrid's wedding, and Vernon arrived just at the moment of the first
+brief meeting of Peer and Solveig. He wondered if Jane were nervous.
+She managed to look marvellously young with her fair plaits and her
+innocent calm bearing. She looked nineteen. The act ended with the
+carrying off of Ingrid by Peer.
+
+Vernon found himself interested less in the music than in Jane.
+To-night was Jane's ordeal. She had to make good or go under. Vernon
+knew how anxious she was, above everything else to justify Radmaager's
+trust in her.
+
+Presently he knew that all was well. Jane was the perfect Solveig. Her
+voice, clear and true--the crystal thread, as Radmaager had called
+it--sang unfalteringly and her acting was wonderful. The calm steadfast
+personality of Solveig dominated the opera.
+
+Vernon found himself for the first time interested in the story of
+the weak storm-torn Peer, the coward who ran from reality at every
+opportunity. The music of Peer's conflict with the great Boyg stirred
+him, reminding him of his childish terror of the Beast. It was the
+same formless bogy fear of childhood. Unseen, Solveig's clear voice
+delivered him from it. The scene in the forest where Solveig comes to
+Peer was infinitely beautiful, ending with Peer bidding Solveig remain
+while he went out to take up his burden. Her reply: "If it is so heavy
+it is best two should share it." And then Peer's departure, his final
+evasion: "Bring sorrow on her? No. Go roundabout, Peer, go roundabout."
+
+The Whitsuntide music was the most beautiful, but in atmosphere very
+Radmaagian, Vernon thought. It led up to and prepared for the effect
+of the final scene: the weary Peer asleep with his head on Solveig's
+lap, and Solveig, her hair silvered, a Madonna blue cloak round her in
+the middle of the stage, her head silhouetted against the rising sun,
+singing valiantly against the buttons' moulder.
+
+It was a wonderful duet--Chavaranov, the famous Russian bass, his voice
+deepening and deepening, and Jane, with her silver thread singing
+steadily upward and ever upward, higher and higher, till the last note
+was left to her--high and incredibly pure.... And the sun rose....
+
+Vernon, feeling boyishly important, went behind afterward. The
+opera had been a terrific success. The applause had been long and
+enthusiastic. He found Radmaager holding Jane by the hand and kissing
+her with artistic fervour and thoroughness.
+
+"You are an angel--you are magnificent--yes, magnificent! You are an
+artist. Ah!" he burst into a torrent of words in his native language,
+then reverted to English. "I will reward you--yes, little one, I will
+reward you. I know very well how to do it. I will persuade the long
+Sebastian. Together we will--"
+
+"Hush," said Jane.
+
+Vernon came forward awkwardly, said shyly: "It was splendid!"
+
+He squeezed Jane's hand, and she gave him a brief affectionate smile.
+
+"Where's Sebastian? Wasn't he here just now?"
+
+Sebastian was no longer to be seen. Vernon volunteered to go in search
+of him and bring him along to supper. He said vaguely that he thought
+he knew where he was. Jane knew nothing of the news about Joe and he
+didn't see how he could tell her at the moment.
+
+He got a taxi and drove to Sebastian's house but did not find him.
+Vernon wondered if perhaps Sebastian might be at his own rooms where he
+had left him earlier in the evening. He drove there straight away.
+
+He was feeling suddenly elated and triumphant. Even Joe did not seem
+to matter for the moment. He felt suddenly convinced that his own work
+was good--or rather that it would be some day. And somehow or other he
+also felt that things were coming right with Nell. She had clung to him
+differently to-night--more closely--more as though she could not bear
+to let him go.... Yes, he was sure of it. Everything was coming right.
+
+He ran up the stairs to his room. It was in darkness. Sebastian was not
+here then. He switched on the light, looked round. A note lay on the
+table, sent by hand. He picked it up. It was addressed to him in Nell's
+handwriting. He tore it open....
+
+He stood there a long time. Then, carefully and methodically, he drew
+up a chair to the table, setting it very exactly straight, as though
+that were important, and sat down holding the note in his hand. He read
+it again for the tenth or eleventh time:
+
+    Dearest Vernon--forgive me--please forgive me. I am going to marry
+    George Chetwynd. I don't love him as I love you but I shall be safe
+    with him. Again--do forgive me--please.
+
+                                               Your always loving Nell.
+
+He said aloud: "_Safe with him._ What does she mean by that? She'd
+have been safe with me. _Safe with him?_ That hurts...."
+
+He sat there. Minutes passed.... Hours passed.... He sat there,
+motionless, almost unable to think.... Once the thought rose dully in
+his brain: "Was this how Sebastian felt? I didn't understand...."
+
+When he heard a rustle in the doorway he didn't look up. His first
+sight of Jane was when she came round the table, dropped on her knees
+beside him.
+
+"Vernon, my dear, what is it? I knew there was something when you
+didn't come to the supper. I came to see."
+
+Dully, mechanically, he held out the note to her. She took it and read
+it. She laid it down again on the table.
+
+He said in a dull bewildered voice: "She needn't have said that about
+not being safe with me. She would have been safe with me."
+
+"Oh! Vernon--my dear...."
+
+Her arms went round him. He clutched at her suddenly--a frightened
+clutch such as a child might give at its mother. A sob burst from his
+throat. He laid his face down on the gleaming white skin of her neck.
+
+"Oh! Jane ... Jane...."
+
+She held him closer. She stroked his hair. He murmured:
+
+"Stay with me. Stay with me. Don't leave me."
+
+She answered: "I won't leave you. It's all right."
+
+Her voice was tender--motherly. Something broke in him like the
+breaking of a dam. Ideas swirled and rushed through his head. His
+father kissing Winnie at Abbots Puissants ... the statue in the South
+Kensington ... Jane's body ... her beautiful body.
+
+He said hoarsely: "Stay with me."
+
+Her arms round him, her lips on his forehead, she murmured back: "I'll
+stay with you, dear."
+
+Like a mother to a child.
+
+He wrenched himself suddenly free.
+
+"Not like that. Not like that. Like this."
+
+His lips fastened on hers--fiercely, hungrily--his hand clutched at the
+roundness of her breast. He'd always wanted her--always. He knew it
+now. It was her body he wanted, that beautiful gracious body that Boris
+Androv had known so well.
+
+He said again: "Stay with me."
+
+There was a long pause--it seemed to him as though minutes, hours,
+years passed before she answered.
+
+She said: "_I'll stay...._"
+
+
+
+
+                               chapter 4
+
+
+On a day in July Sebastian Levinne walked along the Embankment in the
+direction of Jane's flat. It was a day more suggestive of early spring
+than of summer. A cold wind blew the dust in his face and made him
+blink.
+
+There was a change visible in Sebastian. He had grown perceptibly
+older. There was very little of the boy about him now--there never had
+been much. He had always had that curious maturity of outlook which is
+the Semitic inheritance. As he walked along now, frowning to himself
+and pondering, he would easily have been taken for a man over thirty.
+
+Jane herself opened the door of the flat to him. She spoke in a low
+unusually husky voice.
+
+"Vernon's out. He couldn't wait for you. You said three, you know, and
+it's past four now."
+
+"I was kept. Just as well, perhaps. I'm never quite sure of the best
+way of dealing with Vernon's nerves."
+
+"Don't tell me any fresh crises have arisen? I couldn't bear it."
+
+"Oh! you'll get used to them. I've had to. What's the matter with your
+voice, Jane?"
+
+"A cold. A throat, rather. It's all right. I'm nursing it."
+
+"My God! and _The Princess in the Tower_ to-morrow night. Suppose
+you can't sing?"
+
+"Oh! I shall sing. Don't be afraid. Only don't mind my whispering. I
+want to save it every bit I can."
+
+"Of course. You've seen someone, I suppose?"
+
+"My usual man in Harley Street."
+
+"What did he say?"
+
+"The usual things."
+
+"He didn't forbid you to sing to-morrow?"
+
+"Oh! no."
+
+"You're an awfully good liar, aren't you, Jane?"
+
+"I thought it would save trouble. But I might have known it would be no
+good with you. I'll be honest. He warned me that I'd been persistently
+overstraining my voice for years. He said it was madness to sing
+to-morrow night. But I don't care."
+
+"My dear Jane, I'm not going to risk your losing your voice."
+
+"Mind your own business, Sebastian. My voice is my affair. I don't
+interfere in your concerns, don't interfere in mine."
+
+Sebastian grinned.
+
+"The tiger cat at home," he remarked. "But you mustn't, Jane, all the
+same. Does Vernon know?"
+
+"Of course not. What do you think? And you're not to tell him,
+Sebastian."
+
+"I don't interfere really," said Sebastian. "I never have. But Jane
+dear, it will be ten thousand pities. The opera's not worth it. And
+Vernon's not worth it either. Be angry with me if you like for saying
+so."
+
+"Why should I be angry with you? It's the truth and I know it. All the
+same, I'm going through with it. Call me any kind of a conceited egoist
+you like, but _The Princess in the Tower_ won't be a success
+without me. I've been a success as Isolde and a furore as Solveig. It's
+my moment. And it's going to be Vernon's moment too. I can at least do
+that for him."
+
+He heard the undercurrent of feeling, the unconscious betrayal of
+that "at least," but not by a muscle of his face did he show that he
+had realized its significance. He only said again very gently: "He's
+not worth it, Jane. Paddle your own canoe. It's the only way. You've
+arrived. Vernon hasn't and may never."
+
+"I know. I know. No one's what you call 'worth it'--except perhaps one
+person."
+
+"Who?"
+
+"_You_, Sebastian. _You're_ worth it--and yet it's not for
+you I'm doing it!"
+
+Sebastian was surprised and touched. A sudden mist came over his eyes.
+He stretched out his hand and took Jane's. They sat for a minute or two
+in silence.
+
+"That was nice of you, Jane," he said at last.
+
+"Well, it's true. You're worth a dozen of Vernon. You've got brains,
+initiative, strength of character...."
+
+Her husky voice died away. After another minute or two he said very
+gently:
+
+"How are things? Much as usual?"
+
+"Yes, I think so. You know Mrs. Deyre came to see me?"
+
+"No, I didn't. What did she want?"
+
+"She came to beg me to give up her boy. Pointed out how I was ruining
+his life. Only a really bad woman would do what I was doing. And so on.
+You can guess the kind of thing."
+
+"And what did you say to her?" asked Sebastian curiously.
+
+Jane shrugged her shoulders.
+
+"What could I say? That to Vernon one harlot was as good as another?"
+
+"Oh! my dear," said Sebastian gently. "Is it as bad as that?"
+
+Jane got up, lighted a cigarette, and walked restlessly about the room.
+Sebastian noticed how haggard her face had become.
+
+"Is he--more or less all right?" he ventured.
+
+"He drinks too much," said Jane curtly.
+
+"Can't you prevent it?"
+
+"No, I can't."
+
+"It's queer. I should have thought you would always have great
+influence over Vernon."
+
+"Well, I haven't. Not now." She was silent for a moment and then said:
+"Nell's being married in the autumn, isn't she?"
+
+"Yes. Do you think things will be--better then?"
+
+"I haven't the least idea."
+
+"I wish to God he'd pull up," said Sebastian. "If you can't keep him
+straight, Jane, nobody can. Of course, it's in the blood."
+
+She came and sat down again.
+
+"Tell me--tell me everything you know. About his people--his father,
+his mother."
+
+Sebastian gave a succinct account of the Deyres. Jane listened.
+
+"His mother you've seen," he concluded. "Queer, isn't it, that Vernon
+doesn't seem to have inherited one single thing from her? He's a Deyre
+through and through. They are all artistic, musical, weak-willed,
+self-indulgent, and attractive to women. Heredity's an odd thing."
+
+"I don't quite agree with you," said Jane. "Vernon's not like his
+mother, but he _has_ inherited something from her."
+
+"What?"
+
+"Vitality. She's an extraordinarily fine animal--have you ever thought
+of her that way? Well, Vernon's inherited some of that. Without it he'd
+never have been a composer. If he were a Deyre pure and simple he'd
+only have _dallied_ with music. It's the Bent force that gives him
+the power to create. You say his grandfather built up their business
+single-handed. Well, there's the same thing in Vernon."
+
+"I wonder if you're right."
+
+"I'm sure I am."
+
+Sebastian considered silently for some minutes.
+
+"Is it only drink?" he said at last. "Or is it--well, I mean, are
+there--other people?"
+
+"Oh! there are others."
+
+"And you don't mind?"
+
+"Mind? Mind? Of course I mind. What do you think I'm made of,
+Sebastian? I'm nearly killed with minding.... But what can I do? Make
+scenes? Rant and rave and drive Vernon away from me altogether?"
+
+Her beautiful husky voice rose from its whisper. Sebastian made a quick
+gesture and she stopped.
+
+"You're right. I must be careful."
+
+"I can't understand it," grumbled Sebastian. "Even his music doesn't
+seem to mean anything to Vernon now. He's taken every suggestion from
+Radmaager and been like a lamb. It's unnatural!"
+
+"We must wait. It will come back. It's reaction--reaction and Nell
+together. I can't help feeling that if _The Princess in the Tower_
+is a success, Vernon will pull himself together. He must feel a certain
+pride--a sense of achievement."
+
+"I hope so," said Sebastian heavily. "But I'm a bit worried about the
+future."
+
+"In what way? What are you afraid of?"
+
+"War."
+
+Jane looked at him in astonishment. She could hardly believe her ears.
+She thought she must have mistaken the word.
+
+"_War?_"
+
+"Yes. The outcome of this Sarajevo business."
+
+It still seemed to Jane a little absurd and ridiculous.
+
+"War with whom?"
+
+"Germany--principally."
+
+"Oh! surely, Sebastian. Such a--a--far-away thing."
+
+"What does the pretext matter?" said Sebastian impatiently. "It's the
+way money has been going. Money talks. I handle money--our relations in
+Russia handle money. We know. From the way money has been behaving for
+some time we can guess what is in the wind. War's coming, Jane."
+
+Jane looked at him and changed her mind. Sebastian was in earnest, and
+Sebastian usually knew what he was talking about. If he said war was
+coming, then, fantastic as it seemed, war would come.
+
+Sebastian sat still, lost in thought. Money, investments, various
+loans, financial responsibilities he had undertaken, the future of his
+theatres, the policy to be adopted by the weekly paper he owned. Then,
+of course, there would be fighting. He was the son of a naturalized
+Englishman. He didn't wish in the least to go and fight, but he
+supposed it would be necessary. Everyone below a certain age would do
+so as a matter of course. It was not the danger that worried him, it
+was the annoyance of leaving his pet schemes to be looked after by
+someone else. "They'll make a mess of it, sure to," thought Sebastian
+bitterly. He put the war down as being a long job--two years, perhaps
+more. In the end, he shouldn't wonder if America was dragged into it.
+
+The government would issue loans--war loans would be a good
+investment. No highbrow stuff for the theatres. Soldiers on leave
+would want light comedy--pretty girls--legs--dancing. He thought
+it all out carefully. It was a good thing to get a chance to think
+uninterruptedly. Being with Jane was like being alone. She always knew
+when you didn't want to be spoken to.
+
+He looked across at her. She, too, was thinking. He wondered what she
+was thinking about--you never quite knew with Jane. She and Vernon were
+alike there--didn't tell their thoughts. She was probably thinking
+about Vernon. If Vernon should go to the war and be killed! But
+no--that mustn't be. Sebastian's artistic soul rebelled. Vernon mustn't
+be killed.
+
+
+                                  _2_
+
+The production of _The Princess in the Tower_ has been forgotten
+by now. It came at an unfortunate time, since war broke out only about
+three weeks later.
+
+At the time it was what is called "well received." Certain critics
+waxed a little sarcastic over this "new school of young musicians" who
+thought they could revolutionize all existing ideas. Others praised it
+with sincerity as a work of great promise, though immature. But one and
+all spoke enthusiastically of the perfect beauty and artistry of the
+whole performance. Everyone "went to Holborn, such miles out of the
+way, dear, but really worth it," to see the attractive fantastic drama,
+and "that wonderful new singer, Jane Harding. Her _face_, dear, is
+simply wonderful--quite mediæval. It wouldn't be the same without her!"
+It was a triumph for Jane, though a triumph that was short-lived. On
+the fifth day she was forced to retire from the cast.
+
+Sebastian was summoned by telephone at an hour when Vernon would not be
+there. Jane met him with such a radiant smile that he thought at first
+that his fears were not going to be realized.
+
+"It's no good, Sebastian. Mary Lloyd must go on with it. She's not too
+bad, considering. As a matter of fact, she's got a better voice than I
+have and she's quite nice-looking."
+
+"H'm, I was afraid Hershall would say that. I'd like to see him
+myself."
+
+"Yes, he wants to see you. Not that there's anything to be done, I'm
+afraid."
+
+"What do you mean? Nothing to be done?"
+
+"It's gone, my child. Gone for good. Hershall's too honest to hold out
+any real hope. He says of course you never can be absolutely sure. It
+might come back with rest, _et cetera, et cetera_. He said it very
+well, and then I looked at him and laughed--and then he had to look
+shamefaced and own up. He was relieved, I think, at the way I took it."
+
+"But Jane, darling Jane...."
+
+"Oh! don't mind so much, Sebastian. Please don't. It's so much easier
+if you don't. It's been a gamble, you know, all along--my voice was
+never really strong enough. I gambled with it. So far I won--now, I've
+lost. Well, there it is! One must be a good gambler and not let the
+hands twitch. Isn't that what they say at Monte Carlo?"
+
+"Does Vernon know?"
+
+"Yes. He's most awfully upset. He loved my voice. He's really quite
+broken-hearted about it."
+
+"But he doesn't know that----"
+
+"That if I had waited two days, and not sung on the opening night of
+his opera, it would have been all right? No, he doesn't know that. And
+if you are loyal to me, Sebastian, he never will."
+
+"I shan't make promises. I think he ought to know."
+
+"No, because really it's unwarrantable what I've done! I've laid him
+under an obligation to me without his knowledge. That's a thing one
+shouldn't do. It isn't fair. If I had gone to Vernon and told him what
+Hershall said, do you suppose he would ever have consented to let me
+sing? He'd have prevented me by main force. It would be the meanest and
+cruellest thing in the world to go to Vernon now and say: 'See what I
+have done for you!' Snivelling and asking for sympathy and gratitude
+ladled out in a soup plate."
+
+Sebastian was silent.
+
+"Come now, my dear, agree."
+
+"Yes," said Sebastian at last. "You're right. What you did was
+unethical. You did it without Vernon's knowledge, and it's got to be
+kept from him now. But oh! Jane darling, why did you? Is Vernon's music
+worth it?"
+
+"It will be--some day."
+
+"Is that why you did it?"
+
+Jane shook her head.
+
+"I thought not."
+
+There was a pause, Sebastian said: "What will you do now, Jane?"
+
+"Possibly teach. Possibly go on the stage. I don't know. If the worst
+comes to the worst, I can always cook."
+
+They both laughed, but Jane was very near tears.
+
+She looked across the table at Sebastian and then suddenly rose and
+came and knelt down beside him. She laid her head down on his shoulder
+and he put his arm round her.
+
+"Oh! Sebastian ... Sebastian ..."
+
+"Poor old Jane!"
+
+"I pretend I don't mind--but I do ... I do. I loved singing. I loved
+it, loved it, loved it.... That lovely Whitsuntide music of Solveig. I
+shall never sing it again."
+
+"I know. Why were you such a fool, Jane?"
+
+"I don't know. Sheer idiocy."
+
+"If you had the choice again----"
+
+"I'd do the same thing again."
+
+A silence. Then Jane lifted her head and said:
+
+"Do you remember saying, Sebastian, that I had great 'driving power'?
+That nothing would turn me aside? And I said that I might be more
+easily turned aside than you thought. That between Vernon and me, I
+should go to the wall."
+
+Sebastian said: "Things are queer."
+
+Jane slipped down on the floor beside him, her hand still in his.
+
+"You can be clever," said Sebastian, breaking the silence. "You can
+have the brains to foresee things, and the wits to plan things, and the
+force to succeed, but with all the cleverness in the world you can't
+avoid suffering some way or another. That's what's so odd. I know I've
+got brains, I know I'll get to the top of anything I undertake. I'm not
+like Vernon. Vernon will either be a heaven-sent genius, or else he'll
+be an idle dissipated young man. He's got a gift if he's got anything,
+I've got ability. And yet with all the ability in the world, I can't
+prevent myself getting hurt."
+
+"No one can."
+
+"One might, perhaps, if one gave up one's whole life to it. If you
+pursued safety and nothing but safety. You'd get your wings singed,
+perhaps, but that would be all. You'd build a nice smooth wall and hide
+yourself inside it."
+
+"You're thinking of somebody in particular? Who?"
+
+"Just a fancy. The future Mrs. George Chetwynd, if you want to be
+exact."
+
+"Nell? Do you think Nell has the strength of character to shut herself
+out from life?"
+
+"Oh! Nell has got an enormous power of developing protective colouring.
+Some species have." He paused, then went on: "Jane, have you ever heard
+from--Joe?"
+
+"Yes, my dear, twice."
+
+"What did she say?"
+
+"Very little. Just what fun everything was, and how she was enjoying
+herself, and how splendid one felt when one had had the courage to defy
+convention." She paused and then added: "She's not happy, Sebastian."
+
+"You think not?"
+
+"I'm sure of it."
+
+There was a long silence. Two unhappy faces looked into the empty
+fireplace. Outside taxis hooted as they sped rapidly down the
+Embankment. Life went on....
+
+
+                                  _3_
+
+It was the ninth of August. Nell Vereker turned out of Paddington
+Station and walked slowly down toward the park. Four-wheelers passed
+her with old ladies in them laden with many hams. Staring placards were
+flaunted at every street corner. In every shop was a queue of people
+anxious to buy commodities.
+
+Nell had said to herself many times: "We're at war--actually at war,"
+and had not been able to believe it. To-day, for the first time, it
+seemed to come home to her. A train journey where the ticket office
+refused to change a five-pound note had proved the turning point.
+Ridiculous, but there it was.
+
+A taxi passed and Nell hailed it. She got in, giving the address of
+Jane's flat in Chelsea. She glanced at her watch. It was just half-past
+ten. No fear that Jane would be out so early.
+
+Nell went up in the lift and stood outside the door, having rung the
+bell. Her heart was beating nervously. In another minute the door would
+open. Her small face grew white and strained. Ah! now the door was
+opening. She and Jane were face to face.
+
+She thought Jane started a little--that was all.
+
+"Oh!" she said. "It's you."
+
+"Yes," said Nell. "May I come in, please?"
+
+It seemed to her that Jane hesitated a minute before drawing back to
+let her enter. She retreated into the hall, shut a door at the far
+end, and then drew open the sitting-room door for Nell to pass in. She
+followed her, closing the door behind her.
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Jane, I've come to ask you if you know where Vernon is."
+
+"Vernon?"
+
+"Yes. I went to his rooms--yesterday. He's left. The woman there didn't
+know where he'd gone. She said his letters were forwarded to you. I
+went home and wrote to you asking for his address. Then I was afraid
+you wouldn't tell me, wouldn't even answer, perhaps, and I thought I'd
+come instead."
+
+"I see."
+
+The tone was noncommittal, unhelpful. Nell hurried on.
+
+"I was sure you'd know where he was. You do, don't you?"
+
+"Yes, I know."
+
+A slow answer, unnecessarily slow, Nell thought. Either Jane knew or
+she didn't.
+
+Again a pause. Then Jane said: "Why do you want to see Vernon, Nell?"
+
+Nell raised a white face.
+
+"Because I've been such a beast--such a beast! I see it now--now
+that this awful war has come. I was such a miserable coward. I hate
+myself--simply hate myself. Just because George was kind and good
+and--yes, rich! Oh, Jane, how you must despise me! I know you do.
+You're quite right to despise me. Somehow this war has made everything
+clear--don't you find that?"
+
+"Not particularly. There have been wars before and there will be wars
+again. They don't really alter anything underneath, you know."
+
+Nell was not paying attention.
+
+"It's wicked to do anything except marry the man you love. I do love
+Vernon. I always knew I loved him, but I just hadn't the courage....
+Oh! Jane, do you think it's too late? Perhaps it is. Perhaps he won't
+want me now. But I _must_ see him. Even if he doesn't want me. I
+must tell him."
+
+She stood there looking piteously up at Jane. Would Jane help her? If
+not, she must try Sebastian--but she was afraid of Sebastian. He might
+refuse flatly to do anything.
+
+"I could get hold of him for you," said Jane slowly, after a minute or
+two.
+
+"Oh! thank you, Jane. And Jane--tell me--the war?"
+
+"He's applied to join up, if that's what you mean."
+
+"Yes. Oh! it's dreadful--if he should be killed. But it can't last
+long. It'll be over by Christmas--everybody says so."
+
+"Sebastian says it will last two years."
+
+"Oh! but Sebastian can't know. He's not really English. He's Russian."
+
+Jane shook her head. Then she said: "I'll go and--" she
+paused--"telephone. Wait here."
+
+She went out, closing the door behind her. She went to the end of the
+passage and into the bedroom. Vernon raised a dark rumpled head from
+the pillow.
+
+"Get up," said Jane curtly. "Wash yourself and shave yourself and try
+and make yourself reasonably decent. Nell's here and wants to see you."
+
+"Nell! But----"
+
+"She thinks I'm telephoning to you. When you're ready, you can go
+outside the front door and ring the bell--and may God have mercy on
+both our souls."
+
+"But Jane. Nell ... what does she want?"
+
+"If you want to marry her, Vernon, now is your chance."
+
+"But I'll have to tell her----"
+
+"What? That you've been leading a 'gay life,' that you've been 'wild'?
+All the usual euphemisms! That's all she'll expect--and she'll be
+grateful to you for laying as little stress on that as possible.
+But tell her about you and me and you bring it from the general to
+the particular--and take the child through hell. Muzzle that noble
+conscience of yours and think of her."
+
+Vernon rose slowly from the bed.
+
+"I don't understand you, Jane."
+
+"No, probably you never will."
+
+He said: "Has Nell thrown over George Chetwynd?"
+
+"I haven't asked for details. I'm going back to her now. Hurry up."
+
+She left the room. Vernon thought: "I've never understood Jane. I
+never shall. She's so damned disconcerting. Well, I suppose I've been
+a sort of passing amusement to her. No, that's ungrateful. She's been
+damned decent to me. Nobody could have been more decent than Jane has
+been. But I couldn't make Nell understand that. She'd think Jane was
+dreadful...."
+
+As he shaved and washed rapidly he said to himself: "All the same, it's
+out of the question. Nell and I could never come together again. Oh! I
+don't suppose there's any question of that. She's probably only come
+to ask me to forgive her, to make her feel comfortable in case I get
+killed in this bloody war. The sort of thing a girl would do. Anyway, I
+don't believe I care any more."
+
+Another voice, deep down, said ironically: "Oh! no, not at all. Then
+why is your heart beating and your hand shaking? You bloody ass, of
+course you care!"
+
+He was ready. He went outside--rang the bell. A mean
+subterfuge--unworthy--he felt ashamed. Jane opened the door. She said,
+rather like a parlour maid, "In here," and waved him toward the sitting
+room. He went in, closing the door behind him.
+
+Nell had risen at his entrance. She stood with her hands clasped in
+front of her.
+
+Her voice came faint and weak, like a guilty child.
+
+"Oh! Vernon...."
+
+Time swept backward. He was in the boat at Cambridge ... on the bridge
+at Ranelagh. He forgot Jane, he forgot everything. He and Nell were the
+only people in the world.
+
+"Nell!"
+
+They were clinging together, breathless as though they had been
+running. Words tumbled from Nell's lips.
+
+"Vernon--if you want--I do love you--Oh! I do.... I'll marry
+you any time--at once--to-day. I don't mind about being poor or
+_anything_!"
+
+He lifted her off her feet, kissed her eyes, her hair, her lips.
+
+"Darling--oh! darling. Don't let's waste a minute--not a minute. I
+don't know how you get married. I've never thought about it. But let's
+go out and see. We'll go to the Archbishop of Canterbury--isn't that
+what you do? and get a special licence. How the devil _do_ you get
+married?"
+
+"We might ask a clergyman?"
+
+"Or there's a Registry Office. That's the thing."
+
+"I don't think I want to be married at a Registry Office. I'd feel
+rather like a cook or a house parlourmaid being engaged."
+
+"I don't think it's that kind, darling. But if you'd rather be married
+in a church, let's be married in a church. There are thousands of
+churches in London, all with nothing to do. I'm sure one of them will
+love to marry us."
+
+They went out together, laughing happily. Vernon had forgotten
+everything--remorse, conscience, Jane....
+
+At half-past two that afternoon Vernon Deyre and Eleanor Vereker were
+married in the church of St. Ethelred's, Chelsea.
+
+
+
+
+                                Book IV
+
+                                  WAR
+
+
+
+
+                               chapter 1
+
+
+It was six months later that Sebastian Levinne had a note from Joe.
+
+    _St. George's Hotel, Soho._
+
+    Dear Sebastian: I'm over in England for a few days. I should love
+    to see you. Yours, Joe.
+
+Sebastian read and reread the brief note. He was at his mother's house
+on a few days' leave, so it had reached him with no delay. Across the
+breakfast table he was conscious of his mother's eyes watching him,
+and he marvelled as he had often done before, at the quickness of her
+maternal apprehension. She read his face, which most people found so
+inscrutable, as easily as he read the note in his hand.
+
+When she spoke it was in ordinary commonplace tones.
+
+"Some more marmalade, dear?" she said.
+
+"No, thanks, Mother." He answered the spoken question first, then went
+on to the unspoken one of which he was so keenly conscious. "It's from
+Joe."
+
+"Joe," said Mrs. Levinne. Her voice expressed nothing.
+
+"She's in London."
+
+There was a pause.
+
+"I see," said Mrs. Levinne.
+
+Still her voice expressed nothing. But Sebastian was aware of a whole
+tumult of feeling. It was the same to him as though his mother had
+burst out: "My son, my son! And you were just beginning to forget her!
+Why does she come back like this? Why can't she leave you alone? This
+girl who has nothing to do with us or our race? This girl who was never
+the right wife for you and never will be."
+
+Sebastian rose.
+
+"I think I must go round and see her."
+
+His mother answered in the same voice: "I suppose so."
+
+They said no more. They understood each other. Each respected the
+other's point of view.
+
+As he swung along the street it suddenly occurred to Sebastian that
+Joe had given him no clues as to what name she was staying under at
+the hotel. Did she call herself Miss Waite or Madame de la Marre?
+Unimportant, of course, but one of those silly conventional absurdities
+that made one feel awkward. He must ask for her under one or the other.
+How like Joe it was to have completely overlooked the point!
+
+But as it happened there was no awkwardness, for the first person he
+saw as he passed through the swing doors was Joe herself. She greeted
+him with a glad cry of surprise.
+
+"Sebastian! I'd no idea you could possibly have got my letter so soon!"
+
+She led the way to a retired corner of the lounge and he followed her.
+
+His first feeling was that she had changed--she had gone so far away
+that she was almost a stranger. It was partly, he thought, her clothes.
+They were ultra-French clothes. Very quiet and dark and discreet, but
+utterly un-English. Her face, too, was very much made up. Its creamy
+pallor was enhanced by art, her lips were impossibly red, and she had
+done something to the corners of her eyes.
+
+He thought: "She's a stranger--and yet she's Joe! She's the same Joe
+but she's gone a long way away--so far away that one can only just get
+in touch with her."
+
+But they talked together easily enough, each, as it were, putting out
+little feelers, as though sounding the distance that separated them.
+And suddenly the distance itself lessened and the elegant Parisian
+stranger melted into Joe.
+
+They talked of Vernon. Where was he? He never wrote or told one
+anything.
+
+"He's on Salisbury Plain, near Wiltsbury. He may be going out to France
+any minute."
+
+"And Nell married him after all! Sebastian, I feel I was rather a
+beast about Nell. I didn't think she had it in her. I don't think
+she _would_ have had it in her if it hadn't been for the war.
+Sebastian, isn't the war wonderful? What it's doing for people, I mean."
+
+Sebastian said dryly that he supposed it was very much like any other
+war. Joe flew out at him vehemently.
+
+"It isn't! It isn't! That's just where you're wrong. There's going to
+be a new world after it. People are beginning to see things--things
+they never saw before. All the cruelty and the wickedness and the waste
+of war. And they'll stand together so that such a thing shall never
+happen again."
+
+Her face was flushed and exalted. Sebastian perceived that the war had,
+as he phrased it, "got" Joe. The war did get people. He had discussed
+it and deplored it with Jane. It made him sick to read the things that
+were printed and said about the war: "A world fit for heroes." "The war
+to end war." "The fight for democracy." And really, all the time it was
+the same old bloody business it always had been. Why couldn't people
+speak the truth about it?
+
+Jane had disagreed with him. She maintained that the claptrap (for
+she agreed it _was_ claptrap) which was written about war was
+inevitable, a kind of accompanying phenomenon inseparable from it. It
+was Nature's way of providing a way of escape--you had to have that
+wall of illusion and lies to help you to endure the solid facts. It
+was, to her, pitiable and almost beautiful--these things that we wanted
+to believe and told ourselves so speciously.
+
+Sebastian had said: "I dare say, but it's going to play hell with the
+nation afterward."
+
+He was saddened and a little depressed by Joe's fiery enthusiasm.
+And yet, after all, it was typical of Joe. Her enthusiasm always was
+red-hot. It was a toss-up which camp he found her in, that was all.
+She might just as easily have been a white-hot pacifist, embracing
+martyrdom with fervour.
+
+She said now accusingly to Sebastian: "You don't agree! You think
+everything's going to be just the same."
+
+"There have always been wars, and they have never made any great
+difference."
+
+"Yes, but this is a different kind of war altogether."
+
+He smiled. He could not help it.
+
+"My dear Joe, the things that happen to us personally are always
+different."
+
+"Oh! I've no patience with you. It's people like you----"
+
+She stopped.
+
+"Yes," said Sebastian encouragingly. "People like me----"
+
+"You usen't to be like that. You used to have ideas. Now----"
+
+"Now," said Sebastian gravely, "I am sunk in money. I'm a capitalist.
+Everyone knows what a hoggish creature the capitalist is."
+
+"Don't be absurd. But I do think that money is rather--well, stifling."
+
+"Yes," said Sebastian. "That's true enough. But that's a question of
+effect on an individual. I will quite agree with you that poverty is
+a blessed state. Talking in terms of art, it's probably as valuable
+as manure in a garden. But it's nonsense to say that because I've
+got money I'm unfit to make prognostications as to the future, and
+especially as to the state obtaining after the war. Just because I've
+got money I'm all the more likely to be a good judge. Money has got a
+lot to do with war."
+
+"Yes, but because you think of everything in terms of money, you say
+that there always will be wars."
+
+"I didn't say anything of the kind. I think war will eventually be
+abolished. I'd give it roughly another two hundred years."
+
+"Ah! you do admit that by then we may have purer ideals."
+
+"I don't think it's got anything to do with ideals. It's probably a
+question of transport. Once get flying going on a commercial scale and
+you fuse countries together. Air charabancs to the Sahara Wednesdays
+and Saturdays--that kind of thing. Countries getting mixed up and
+matey. Trade revolutionized. For all practical purposes, you make
+the world smaller. You reduce it in time to the level of a nation
+with counties in it. I don't think what's always alluded to as the
+Brotherhood of Man will ever develop from fine ideas--it will be a
+simple matter of common sense."
+
+"Oh, Sebastian!"
+
+"I'm annoying you. I'm sorry, Joe dear."
+
+"You don't believe in anything."
+
+"Well, it's you who are the atheist, you know. Though, as a matter
+of fact, that word has gone out of fashion. We say nowadays that we
+believe in _Something_! Personally, I'm quite satisfied with
+Jehovah. But I know what you meant when you said that, and you're
+wrong. I believe in beauty, in creation, in things like Vernon's
+music. I can't see any real defence for them economically, and yet I'm
+perfectly sure that they matter more than anything else in the world.
+I'm even prepared (sometimes) to drop money over them. That's a lot for
+a Jew!"
+
+Joe laughed in spite of herself. Then she asked: "What was _The
+Princess in the Tower_ really like? Honestly, Sebastian."
+
+"Oh! rather like a giant toddling--an unconvincing performance, and yet
+a performance on a different scale from anything else."
+
+"You think that some day----"
+
+"I'm sure of it. There's nothing I'm so sure of as that. If only he
+isn't killed in this bloody war."
+
+Joe shivered.
+
+"It's so awful," she murmured. "I've been working in the hospitals in
+Paris. Some of the things one sees!"
+
+"I know. If he's only maimed it doesn't matter--not like a violinist
+who is finished if he loses his right hand. No, they can mess up his
+body any way they like, so long as his brain is left untouched. That
+sounds brutal, but you know what I mean."
+
+"I know. But sometimes--even then----" She broke off and then went on,
+speaking in a new tone of voice: "Sebastian, I'm married."
+
+If something in him winced he didn't show it.
+
+"Are you, my dear? Did La Marre get a divorce?"
+
+"No. I left him. He was a beast--a beast, Sebastian."
+
+"I can imagine he might be."
+
+"Not that I regret anything. One has to live one's life--to gain
+experience. Anything is better than shrinking from life. That's just
+what people like Aunt Myra can't understand. I'm not going near them
+at Birmingham. I'm not ashamed or repentant of anything I've done."
+
+She gazed at him defiantly and his mind went back to Joe in the woods
+at Abbots Puissants. He thought: "She's just the same. Wrong-headed,
+rebellious, adorable. One might have known then that she'd do this sort
+of thing."
+
+He said gently: "I'm only sorry that you've been unhappy. Because
+you've been unhappy, haven't you?"
+
+"Horribly. But I've found my real life now. There was a boy in
+hospital--terribly badly wounded. They gave him morphia.--He's been
+discharged now--cured, though of course he isn't fit for service.
+But the morphia--it's got hold of him. That's why we were married. A
+fortnight ago. We're going to fight it together."
+
+Sebastian did not trust himself to speak. Joe all over. But why, in
+the name of fortune, couldn't she have been content with physical
+disabilities? Morphia. A ghastly business.
+
+And suddenly a pang shot through him. It was as though he resigned his
+last hope of her. Their ways led in opposite directions--Joe amongst
+her lost causes and her lame dogs, and he on an upward route. He
+might, of course, be killed in the war, but somehow he didn't think he
+would be. He was almost certain that he wouldn't even be picturesquely
+wounded. He felt a kind of certitude that he would come through
+safely, probably with moderate distinction; that he would come back
+to his enterprises, reorganizing and revitalizing them; that he would
+be successful, notably successful, in a world that did not tolerate
+failures. And the higher he climbed the farther he would be separated
+from Joe.
+
+He thought bitterly: "There's always some woman to pull you out of a
+pit, but nobody will come and keep you company on a mountain peak, and
+yet you may be damned lonely there."
+
+He didn't quite know what to say to Joe. No good depressing her, poor
+child. He said rather weakly:
+
+"What's your name now?"
+
+"Valnière. You must meet François some time, I've just come over to
+settle up some legal bothers. Father died about a month ago, you know."
+
+Sebastian nodded. He remembered hearing of Major Waite's death.
+
+Joe went on.
+
+"I want to see Jane. And I want to see Vernon and Nell."
+
+It was settled that he should motor her down to Wiltsbury on the
+following day.
+
+
+                                  _2_
+
+Nell and Vernon had rooms in a small prim house about a mile out of
+Wiltsbury. Vernon, looking well and brown, fell upon Joe and hugged her
+with enthusiasm.
+
+They all went into a room full of antimacassars and lunched off boiled
+mutton and caper sauce.
+
+"Vernon, you look splendid--and almost good-looking, doesn't he, Nell?"
+
+"That's the uniform," said Nell demurely.
+
+She had changed, Sebastian thought, looking at her. He had not
+seen her since her marriage. To him she had always fallen into a
+class--a certain type of charming young girl. Now he saw her as an
+individual--the real Nell bursting out of her chrysalis.
+
+There was a subdued radiance about her. She was quieter than she used
+to be, and yet she was more alive. They were happy together--no one who
+looked at them could doubt it. They seldom looked at each other, but
+when they did you felt it. Something passed between them--delicate,
+evanescent, but unmistakable.
+
+It was a happy meal. They talked of old days--of Abbots Puissants.
+
+"And here we are, all four of us together again," said Joe.
+
+A warm feeling fastened round Nell's heart. Joe had included her. All
+_four_ of us, she had said. Nell remembered how once Vernon had
+said, "We three," and the words had hurt her. But that was over now.
+She was one of them. That was her reward--one of her rewards. Life
+seemed full of rewards at the moment.
+
+She was happy--so terribly happy. And she might so easily not have
+been happy. She might have been actually married to George when the
+war broke out. How could she ever have been so incredibly foolish
+as to think that anything mattered except marrying Vernon? How
+extraordinarily happy they were and how right he had been to say
+poverty didn't matter.
+
+It wasn't as though she were the only one. Lots of girls were doing
+it--flinging up everything, marrying the man they cared for no matter
+how poor he was. After the war something would turn up. That was the
+attitude. And behind it lay that awful secret fear that you never
+took out and looked at properly. The nearest you ever got to it was
+saying defiantly: "And no matter _what_ happens, we'll have had
+_something_."
+
+She thought: "The world's changing. Everything's different now. It
+always will be. We'll never go back...."
+
+She looked across the table at Joe. Joe looked different somehow--very
+_queer_. What you would have called before the war--well, "_not
+quite_." What had Joe been doing with herself? That nasty man,
+La Marre.... Oh! well, better not think about it. Nothing mattered
+nowadays.
+
+Joe was very nice to her--so different from what she used to be in the
+old days when Nell had always felt uncomfortable that Joe despised her.
+Perhaps she had cause. She _had_ been a little coward.
+
+The war was awful, of course, but it had simplified things. Her mother,
+for instance, had come round almost at once. She was disappointed,
+naturally, about George Chetwynd (poor George, he really _was_ a
+dear and she'd been a beast to him), but Mrs. Vereker proceeded to make
+the best of things with admirable common sense.
+
+"These war marriages!" she used that phrase with a tiny shrug of the
+shoulders. "Poor children--you can't blame them. Not wise, perhaps--but
+what is wisdom at a time like this?" Mrs. Vereker needed all her skill
+and all her wit to deal with her creditors and she had come off pretty
+well. Some of them even felt sympathy for her.
+
+If she and Vernon didn't really like each other, they concealed the
+fact quite creditably, and as a matter of fact had met only once since
+the marriage. It had all been very easy.
+
+Perhaps, if you had courage, things were always easy. Perhaps that was
+the great secret of life.
+
+Nell pondered, then waking from her reverie plunged once more into the
+conversation.
+
+Sebastian was speaking.
+
+"We're going to look Jane up when we get back to town. I've not so much
+as heard of her for ages. Have you, Vernon?"
+
+Vernon shook his head.
+
+"No," he said, "I haven't."
+
+He tried to speak naturally but didn't quite succeed.
+
+"She's very nice," said Nell. "But--well, rather difficult, isn't she?
+I mean, you never quite know what she's thinking about."
+
+"She might be occasionally disconcerting," Sebastian allowed.
+
+"She's an angel," said Joe with vehemence.
+
+Nell was watching Vernon. She thought: "I wish he'd say something ...
+anything. I'm afraid of Jane. I always have been. She's a devil...."
+
+"Probably," said Sebastian, "she's gone to Russia or Timbuctoo or
+Mozambique. One would never be surprised with Jane."
+
+"How long is it since you've seen her?" asked Joe.
+
+"Exactly? Oh, about three weeks."
+
+"Is that all? I thought you meant really ages."
+
+"It seems like it," said Sebastian.
+
+They began to talk of Joe's hospital in Paris. Then they talked of Myra
+and Uncle Sydney. Myra was very well and making an incredible quantity
+of swabs and also did duty twice a week at a canteen. Uncle Sydney
+was well on the way to making a second fortune, having started the
+manufacture of explosives.
+
+"He's got off the mark early," said Sebastian appreciatively. "This
+war's not going to be over for three years at least."
+
+They argued the point. The days of an "optimistic six months" were
+over, but three years were regarded as too gloomy a view. Sebastian
+talked about explosives, the state of Russia, the food question, and
+submarines. He was a little dictatorial, since he was perfectly sure
+that he was right.
+
+At five o'clock Sebastian and Joe got into the car and drove back to
+London. Vernon and Nell stood in the road waving.
+
+"Well," said Nell, "that's that." She slipped her arm through Vernon's.
+"I'm glad you were able to get off to-day. Joe would have been awfully
+disappointed not to see you."
+
+"Do you think she's changed?"
+
+"A little. Don't you?"
+
+They were strolling along the road and they turned off where a track
+led over the downs.
+
+"Yes," said Vernon, with a sigh. "I suppose it was inevitable."
+
+"I'm glad she's married. I think it's very fine of her. Don't you?"
+
+"Oh, yes. Joe was always warm-hearted, bless her!"
+
+He spoke abstractedly. Nell glanced up at him. She realized now that he
+had been rather silent all day. The others had done most of the talking.
+
+"I'm glad they came," she said again.
+
+Vernon didn't answer. She pressed her arm against his and felt him
+press it against his side. But his silence persisted.
+
+It was getting dark and the air came sharp and cold, but they did not
+turn back, walked on and on without speaking. So they had often walked
+before--silent and happy. But this silence was different. There was
+weight in it and menace.
+
+Suddenly Nell knew.
+
+"Vernon! It's come! You've got to go...."
+
+He pressed her hand closer still but did not speak.
+
+"Vernon ... when?"
+
+"Next Thursday."
+
+"Oh!" she stood still. Agony shot through her. It had come. She had
+known it was bound to come, but she hadn't known--quite--what it was
+going to feel like.
+
+"Nell, Nell.... Don't mind so much. Please don't mind so much." The
+words came tumbling out now. "It'll be all right. I _know_ it'll
+be all right. I'm not going to get killed. I couldn't now that you love
+me--now that we're so happy. Some fellows feel their number's up when
+they go out--but I don't. I've a kind of certainty that I'm going to
+come through. I want you to feel that too."
+
+She stood there frozen. This was what war was really. It took the heart
+out of your body, the blood out of your veins. She clung to him with a
+sob. He held her to him.
+
+"It's all right, Nell. We knew it was coming soon. And I'm really
+frightfully keen to go--at least I would be if it wasn't for leaving
+you. You wouldn't like me to have spent the whole war guarding a bridge
+in England, would you? And there will be the leaves to look forward
+to--we'll have the most frightfully jolly leaves. There will be lots
+of money, and we'll simply blow it. Oh! Nell darling, I just know that
+nothing can happen to me now that you care for me."
+
+She agreed with him.
+
+"It can't--it can't. God couldn't be so cruel."
+
+But the thought came to her that God was letting a lot of cruel things
+happen.
+
+She said valiantly, forcing back her tears: "It'll be all right,
+darling. I know it too."
+
+"And even--even if it isn't, you must remember--how perfect this has
+been.... Darling, you have been happy, haven't you?"
+
+She lifted her lips to his. They clung together, dumb, agonizing, the
+shadow of their first parting hanging over them.
+
+How long they stood there they hardly knew.
+
+
+                                  _3_
+
+When they went back to the antimacassars they talked cheerfully of
+ordinary things. Vernon touched only once on the future.
+
+"Nell, when I'm gone will you go to your mother, or what?"
+
+"No. I'd rather stay down here. There are lots of things to do in
+Wiltsbury--hospital, canteen."
+
+"Yes, but I don't want you to do anything. I think you'd be better
+distracted in London. There will still be theatres and things like
+that."
+
+"No, Vernon, I must do something--work, I mean."
+
+"Well, if you want to work you can knit me socks. I hate all this
+nursing business. I suppose it's necessary, but I don't like it. You
+wouldn't care to go to Birmingham?"
+
+Nell said very decidedly that she would _not_ like to go to
+Birmingham.
+
+The actual parting when it came was less strenuous. Vernon kissed her
+almost off-handedly.
+
+"Well, so long. Cheer up. Everything's going to be all right. I'll
+write as much as I can, though I expect we're not allowed to say much
+that's interesting. Take care of yourself, Nell darling."
+
+One almost involuntary tightening of his arms round her, and then he
+almost pushed her from him.
+
+He was gone.
+
+She thought: "I shall never sleep to-night ... never...."
+
+But she did. A deep heavy sleep. She went down into it as into an
+abyss. A haunted sleep--full of terror and apprehension that gradually
+faded into the unconsciousness of exhaustion.
+
+She woke with a keen sword of pain piercing her heart.
+
+She thought: "Vernon's gone to the war. I must get something to do."
+
+
+
+
+                               chapter 2
+
+
+Nell went to see Mrs. Curtis, the Red Cross commandant. Mrs. Curtis was
+benign and affable. She was enjoying her importance and was convinced
+that she was a born organizer. Actually, she was a very bad one. But
+everyone said she had a wonderful manner. She condescended graciously
+to Nell.
+
+"Let me see, Mrs.--ah! Deyre. You've got your V.A.D. and nursing
+certificates?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"But you don't belong to any of the local detachments?"
+
+Nell's exact standing was discussed at some length.
+
+"Well, we must see what we can do for you," said Mrs. Curtis. "The
+hospital is fully staffed at present, but of course they are always
+falling out. Two days after the first convoy came in, we had seventeen
+resignations. All women of a certain age. They didn't like the way the
+Sisters spoke to them. I myself think the Sisters were perhaps a little
+unnecessarily brutal, but of course there's a great deal of jealousy of
+the Red Cross. And these were well-to-do women who didn't like being
+'spoken to.' You are not sensitive in that way, Mrs. Deyre?"
+
+Nell said that she didn't mind anything.
+
+"That is the spirit," said Mrs. Curtis approvingly. "I myself," she
+continued, "consider it in the light of good discipline. And where
+should we all be without discipline?"
+
+It shot through Nell's mind that Mrs. Curtis had not had to endure
+any discipline, which robbed her pronouncement of some of its
+impressiveness. But she continued to stand there looking attentive and
+impressed.
+
+"I have a list of girls on the reserve," continued Mrs. Curtis. "I
+will add your name. Two days a week you will attend at the Out Patient
+Ward at the Town Hospital, and thereby gain a little experience. They
+are short-handed there and are willing to accept our help. Then you
+and Miss--" she consulted a list--"I think Miss Cardner--yes, Miss
+Cardner--will go with the district nurse on her rounds on Tuesdays and
+Fridays. You've got your uniform, of course? Then that is all right."
+
+Mary Cardner was a pleasant plump girl whose father was a retired
+butcher. She was very friendly to Nell, explained that the days were
+Wednesday and Saturday and not Tuesday and Friday, "but old Curtis
+always gets something wrong," that the district nurse was a dear and
+never jumped on you, and that Sister Margaret at the hospital was a
+holy terror.
+
+On the following Wednesday Nell did her first round with the district
+nurse, a little bustling woman very much overworked. At the end of the
+day she patted Nell kindly on the shoulder.
+
+"I'm glad to see you have a head on your shoulders, my dear. Really
+some of the girls who come seem to be half-witted--they do indeed. And
+such fine ladies, you wouldn't believe--Not by birth--I don't mean
+that. But half-educated girls who think nursing is all smoothing a
+pillow and feeding the patient with grapes. You'll know your way about
+in no time."
+
+Heartened by this, Nell presented herself at the Out Patient Department
+at the given time without too much trepidation. She was received by a
+tall gaunt Sister with a malevolent eye.
+
+"Another raw beginner," she grumbled. "Mrs. Curtis sent you, I suppose?
+I'm sick of that woman. Takes me more time and trouble teaching silly
+girls who think they know everything than it would to do everything
+myself."
+
+"I'm sorry," said Nell meekly.
+
+"Get a couple of certificates, attend a dozen lectures, and think you
+know everything," said Sister Margaret bitterly. "Here they come. Don't
+get in my way more than you can help."
+
+A typical batch of patients was assembled: a young boy with legs
+riddled with ulcers, a child with scalded legs from an overturned
+kettle, a girl with a needle in her finger, various sufferers with "bad
+ears," "bad legs," "bad arms."
+
+Sister Margaret said sharply to Nell: "Know how to syringe an ear? I
+thought not. Watch me."
+
+Nell watched.
+
+"You can do it next time," said Sister Margaret. "Get the bandage off
+that boy's finger, and let him soak it in hot boracic water till I'm
+ready for him."
+
+Nell felt nervous and clumsy. Sister Margaret was paralyzing her.
+Almost immediately, it seemed, Sister was by her side.
+
+"We haven't got all day here to do things in," she remarked. "Here,
+leave it to me. You seem to be all thumbs. Soak the bandages off that
+kid's legs. Tepid water."
+
+Nell got a basin of tepid water and knelt down before the child, a mere
+mite of three. She was badly burnt and the bandages had stuck to the
+tiny legs. Nell sponged and soaked very gently, but the baby screamed.
+It was a loud long-drawn yell of terror and agony, and it defeated
+Nell utterly.
+
+She felt suddenly sick and faint. She couldn't do this work--she simply
+couldn't do it. She drew back, and as she did so she glanced up to find
+Sister Margaret watching her, a gleam of malicious pleasure showing in
+her eye.
+
+"I thought you couldn't stick it," that eye said.
+
+It rallied Nell as nothing else would have done. She bent her head, and
+setting her teeth, went on with her job, trying to avert her mind from
+the child's shrieks. It was done at last, and Nell stood up, white and
+trembling and feeling deathly sick.
+
+Sister Margaret came along. She seemed disappointed.
+
+"Oh! you've done it," she said. She spoke to the child's mother. "I'd
+be a bit more careful how you let the child get at the kettle in
+future, Mrs. Somers," she said.
+
+Mrs. Somers complained that you couldn't be everywhere at once.
+
+Nell was ordered off to foment a poisoned finger. Next, she assisted
+Sister to syringe the ulcerated leg, and after that stood by while a
+young doctor extracted the needle from the girl's finger. As he probed
+and cut, the girl winced and shrank and he spoke to her sharply.
+
+"Keep quiet, can't you?"
+
+Nell thought: "One never sees this side of things. One is only used to
+a doctor with a bedside manner. _I'm afraid this will hurt a little.
+Be as still as you can._"
+
+The young doctor proceeded to extract a couple of teeth, flinging them
+carelessly on the floor, then he treated a smashed hand that had just
+come in from an accident.
+
+It was not, Nell reflected, that he was unskillful. It was the absence
+of manner that was so disturbing to one's preconceived ideas. Whatever
+he did, Sister Margaret accompanied him, tittering in a sycophantic
+manner at any joke he was pleased to make. Of Nell he took no notice.
+
+At last the hour was over. Nell was thankful. She said good-bye timidly
+to Sister Margaret.
+
+"Like it?" asked Sister with a demoniac grin.
+
+"I'm afraid I'm very stupid," said Nell.
+
+"How can you be anything else?" said Sister Margaret. "A lot of
+amateurs like you Red Cross people. And thinking you know everything on
+earth. Well, perhaps, you'll be a little less clumsy next time!"
+
+Such was Nell's encouraging début at the hospital.
+
+It grew less terrible as time went on, however. Sister Margaret
+softened and relaxed her attitude of fierce defensiveness. She even
+permitted herself to answer questions.
+
+"You're not so stuck-up as most," she allowed graciously.
+
+Nell, in her turn, was impressed by the enormous amount of competent
+work Sister Margaret managed to put in in a very short time. And she
+understood a little her soreness on the subject of amateurs.
+
+What struck Nell most was the enormous number of "bad legs" and their
+prototypes, most of them evidently old friends. She asked Sister
+Margaret timidly about them.
+
+"Nothing much to be done about it," Sister Margaret replied.
+"Hereditary, most of them. Bad blood. You can't cure it."
+
+Another thing that impressed Nell was the uncomplaining heroism of the
+poor. They came and were treated, suffered great pain, and went off to
+walk several miles home without a thought.
+
+She saw it too in their homes. She and Mary Cardner had taken over a
+certain amount of the district nurse's round. They washed bedridden
+old women, tended "bad legs," occasionally washed and tended babies
+whose mothers were too ill to do anything. The cottages were small,
+the windows usually hermetically sealed, and the places littered with
+treasures dear to the hearts of the owners. The stuffiness was often
+unbearable.
+
+The worst shock was about two weeks after beginning work, when they
+found a bedridden old man dead in his bed and had to lay him out. But
+for Mary Cardner's matter-of-fact cheerfulness Nell felt she could not
+have done it.
+
+The district nurse praised them.
+
+"You're good girls. And you're being a real help."
+
+They went home glowing with satisfaction. Never in her life had Nell so
+appreciated a hot bath and a lavish allowance of bath salts.
+
+She had had two postcards from Vernon. Mere scrawls saying he was
+all right and everything was splendid. She wrote to him every day,
+describing her adventures, trying to make them sound as amusing as
+possible. He wrote back:
+
+    _Somewhere in France_
+
+    Darling Nell:
+
+    I'm all right. Feeling splendidly fit. It's all a great adventure,
+    but I do long to see you. I do wish you wouldn't go into these
+    beastly cottages and places and mess about with diseased people.
+    I'm sure you'll catch something. Why you want to, I can't think.
+    I'm sure it isn't necessary. Do give up.
+
+    We think mostly about our food out here, and the Tommies think of
+    nothing but their tea. They'll risk being blown to bits any time
+    for a cup of 'ot tea. I have to censor their letters. One man
+    always ends "Yours till hell freezes," so I'll say the same.
+
+                                                         Yours, Vernon.
+
+One morning Nell received a telephone call from Mrs. Curtis.
+
+"There is a vacancy for a ward maid, Mrs. Deyre. Afternoon duty. Be at
+the hospital at two-thirty."
+
+The Town Hall of Wiltsbury had been turned into a hospital. It was a
+big new building standing in the cathedral square and overshadowed by
+the tall spire of the cathedral. A handsome being in uniform with a
+game leg and medals received her kindly at the front entrance.
+
+"You've come to the wrong door, missie. Staff through the
+quartermaster's stores. Here, the scout will show you the way."
+
+A diminutive scout conducted her down steps, through a kind of gloomy
+crypt where an elderly lady in Red Cross uniform sat surrounded with
+bales of hospital shirts--wearing several shawls and shivering a good
+deal--then along stone-flagged passages, and finally into a gloomy
+underground chamber where she was received by Miss Curtain, the chief
+of the ward maids, a tall thin lady with a face like a dreaming duchess
+and charming gentle manners.
+
+Nell was instructed in her duties, which were simple enough to
+understand. They entailed hard work, but no difficulty. A certain area
+of stone passages and steps to scrub. Then the nurses' tea to lay, wait
+on, and finally clear away. Then the ward maids had their own tea. Then
+the same routine for supper.
+
+Nell soon got the hang of things. The salient points of the new life
+were: one, war with the kitchen; two, the difficulty of providing the
+Sisters with the right kind of tea.
+
+There was a long table where the V.A.D. nurses sat, pouring down in a
+stream, frantically hungry, and always the food seemed to fail before
+the last three were seated. You then applied to the kitchen through a
+tube and got a biting rejoinder. The right amount of bread and butter
+had been sent up, three pieces for each. Somebody must have eaten more
+than her share. Loud disclaimers from the V.A.D.'s. They chatted to
+each other amiably and freely, addressing each other by their surnames.
+
+"I didn't eat your slice of bread, Jones. I wouldn't do such a mean
+thing!" "They always send it up wrong." "Look here, Catford's got
+to have something to eat. She's got an op. in half an hour." "Hurry
+up, Bulgy [an affectionate nickname, this]. We've got all those
+mackintoshes to scrub."
+
+Very different the behaviour at the Sisters' table at the other side
+of the room. Conversation there went on genteelly in frosty whispers.
+Before each Sister was a small brown pot of tea. It was Nell's business
+to know exactly how strong each Sister liked it. It was never a
+question of how weak! To bring "washy" tea to a Sister was to fall from
+grace for ever.
+
+The whispers went on incessantly.
+
+"I said to her: 'Naturally the surgical cases receive the first
+attention.'" "I only passed the remark, so to speak." "Pushing herself
+forward. Always the same thing." "Would you believe it, she forgot
+to hold the towel for the doctor's hands." "I said to doctor this
+morning...." "I passed the remark to Nurse...."
+
+Again and again that one phrase recurred: "I passed the remark." Nell
+grew to listen for it. When she approached the table the whispers
+became lower and the Sisters looked at her suspiciously. Their
+conversation was secretive and shrouded in dignity. With enormous
+formality, they offered each other tea.
+
+"Some of mine, Sister Westhaven? There's plenty in the pot." "Would you
+oblige me with the sugar, Sister Carr?" "Pardon me."
+
+Nell had just begun to realize the hospital atmosphere, the feuds, the
+jealousies, the cabals, and the hundred-and-one undercurrents, when she
+was promoted to the ward, one of the nurses having gone sick.
+
+She had a row of twelve beds to attend to, mostly surgical cases. Her
+companion was Gladys Potts, a small giggling creature, intelligent but
+lazy. The ward was under the charge of Sister Westhaven, a tall thin
+acid woman with a look of permanent disapproval. Nell's heart sank when
+she saw her, but later she congratulated herself. Sister Westhaven was
+far the pleasantest nurse in the hospital to work under.
+
+There were five Sisters in all. Sister Carr, round and good-tempered
+looking. The men liked her and she giggled and joked with them a good
+deal, and was then late over her dressings and hurried over them. She
+called the V.A.D.'s "dear," and patted them affectionately, but her
+temper was uncertain. She herself was so unpunctual that everything
+went wrong and the "dear" was blamed for it. She was maddening to work
+under.
+
+Sister Barnes was impossible. Everyone said so. She ranted and scolded
+from morning to night. She hated V.A.D.'s and let them know it. "I'll
+teach them to come here thinking they know everything," was her
+constant declaration. Apart from her biting sarcasm, she was a good
+nurse, and some of the girls liked working under her in spite of her
+lashing tongue.
+
+Sister Dunlop was a dug-out. She was kindly and placid, but thoroughly
+lazy. She drank a great deal of tea and did as little work as possible.
+
+Sister Norris was Theatre Sister. She was competent at her job, rouged
+her lips, and was cattish to her underlings.
+
+Sister Westhaven was by far the best nurse in the hospital. She was
+enthusiastic over work and was a good judge of those under her. If they
+showed promise she was reasonably amiable to them. If she judged them
+fools they led a miserable life.
+
+On the fourth day she said to Nell: "I thought you weren't worth much
+at first, Nurse. But you've got a good lot of work in you."
+
+So much imbued by now was Nell by the hospital spirit that she went
+home in the seventh heaven.
+
+Little by little she sank into the hospital rut. At first she had
+suffered a heart-rending pang at the sight of the wounded. The first
+dressing of wounds at which she assisted was almost more than she could
+bear. Those who "longed to nurse" usually brought a certain amount
+of emotionalism to the task. But they were soon purged of it. Blood,
+wounds, suffering were everyday matters.
+
+Nell was popular with the men. In the slack hour after tea she wrote
+letters for them, fetched books she thought they would like from the
+shelves at the end of the ward, heard stories of their families and
+sweethearts. She became, in common with the other nurses, zealous to
+defend them from the cruelties and stupidities of the would-be kind.
+
+On visitors' days streams of elderly ladies arrived. They sat down by
+beds and did their best to "cheer our brave soldier." Certain things
+were conventions. "You're longing to get back, I suppose?" And "Yes,
+ma'am," was always the answer given. Descriptions were sought of the
+Angels at Mons.
+
+There were also concerts. Some were well organized and were thoroughly
+enjoyed. Others----! They were summed up by the nurse on the next row
+to Nell, Phillis Deacon:
+
+"Anybody who thinks they can sing, but has never been allowed to by
+their families, has got their chance now!"
+
+There were also clergymen. Never, Nell thought, had she seen so many
+clergymen. One or two were appreciated. They were fine men, with
+sympathy and understanding, and they knew the right things to say and
+did not stress the religious side of their duties unduly. But there
+were many others.
+
+"Nurse."
+
+Nell paused in a hurried progress along the ward, having just been told
+sharply by Sister: "Nurse, your beds are crooked, No. 7's sticking
+out."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Couldn't you wash me now, Nurse?"
+
+Nell stared at the unusual request.
+
+"It's not nearly half-past seven."
+
+"It's the parson. He's at me to be confirmed. He's coming in now."
+
+Nell took pity on him. The Reverend Canon Edgerton found his
+prospective convert barred from him by screens and basins of water.
+
+"Thank yer, Nurse," said the patient hoarsely. "It seems a bit hard to
+go on nagging at a feller when he can't get away from yer, doesn't it?"
+
+Washing--interminable washing. The patients were washed, the ward was
+washed, and at every hour of the day there were mackintoshes to scrub.
+
+And eternal tidiness.
+
+"Nurse--your beds. The bedclothes are hanging down on No. 9. No. 2 has
+pushed his bed sideways. What will Doctor think?"
+
+Doctor--Doctor--Doctor. Morning, noon, and night, Doctor! Doctor was a
+god. For a mere V.A.D. to speak to Doctor was _lèse majesté_ and
+brought down the vials of wrath on your head from Sister. Some of the
+V.A.D.'s offended innocently. They were Wiltsbury girls and they knew
+the doctors--knew them as ordinary human beings. They said good-morning
+blithely. Soon they knew better--knew they had been guilty of that
+awful sin, "pushing yourself forward." Mary Cardner "pushed herself
+forward." Doctor asked for some scissors and, unthinkingly, she handed
+him the pair she wore. Sister explained her crime to her at length. She
+ended thus:
+
+"I don't say you mightn't have done this. Seeing you had the exact
+thing that was wanted, you might have said to me--in a whisper, that
+is--'Is this what is needed, Sister?' And I would have taken them from
+you and handed them to Doctor. No one could have objected to that."
+
+You got tired of the word "Doctor." Every remark Sister made was
+punctuated with it, even when speaking to him.
+
+"Yes, Doctor ... 102 this morning, Doctor.... I don't think so,
+Doctor.... Pardon, Doctor? I didn't quite catch.... Nurse, hold the
+towel for Doctor's hands."
+
+And you held the towel meekly, standing like a glorified towel horse.
+And Doctor, having wiped his sacred hands, flung the towel on the floor
+where you meekly picked it up. You poured water for Doctor, you handed
+soap to Doctor, and finally you received the command:
+
+"Nurse, open the door for Doctor."
+
+"And what I'm afraid is, we shan't be able to grow out of it
+afterward," said Phillis Deacon wrathfully. "I shall never feel the
+same about doctors again. Even the scrubbiest little doctors I shall be
+subservient to, and when they come to dine I shall find myself rushing
+to open the door for them. I know I shall."
+
+There was a great freemasonry in the hospital. Class distinctions were
+a thing of the past. The dean's daughter, the butcher's daughter, Mrs.
+Manfred who was the wife of a draper's assistant, Phillis Deacon who
+was the daughter of a baronet--they all called each other by their
+surname and shared the common interest of "what would there be for
+supper, and would it go round?" Undoubtedly there was cheating. Gladys
+Potts, the giggler, was discovered to go down early and surreptitiously
+to filch an extra piece of bread and butter or an unfair helping of
+rice.
+
+"You know," said Phillis Deacon, "I do sympathize with servants now.
+One always thinks they mind so much about their food--and here are we
+getting just the same. It's having nothing else to look forward to. I
+could have cried when the scrambled eggs didn't go round last night."
+
+"They oughtn't to have scrambled eggs," said Mary Cardner angrily. "The
+eggs ought to be separate, poached or boiled. Scrambled gives too much
+opportunity to unscrupulous people."
+
+And she looked with significance at Gladys Potts, who giggled nervously
+and moved away.
+
+"That girl's a slacker," said Phillis Deacon. "She's always got
+something else to do when it's screens. And she sucks up to Sister.
+It doesn't matter with Westhaven. Westhaven's fair. But she flattered
+little Carr till she got all the soft jobs."
+
+Little Potts was unpopular. Strenuous efforts were made to force her
+to do the more disagreeable work sometimes, but Potts was wily. Only
+the resourceful Deacon was a match for her.
+
+There were also the jealousies amongst the doctors themselves.
+Naturally they all wanted the more interesting surgical cases. The
+allotting of cases to different wards gave rise to feeling.
+
+Nell soon knew all the doctors and their various attributes. There was
+Dr. Lang, tall, untidy, slouching, with long nervous fingers. He was
+the cleverest surgeon of the lot. He had a sarcastic tongue, and was
+ruthless in his treatments but he was clever. All the Sisters adored
+him.
+
+Then there was Dr. Wilbraham, who had the fashionable practice of
+Wiltsbury. A big florid man, genial in temper when things went well,
+and the manners of a spoilt child when he was put out. If he was tired
+and cross he was unnecessarily rough and Nell hated him.
+
+There was Dr. Meadows, a quiet efficient G. P. He was content not to do
+operations and he gave every case unfailing attention. He always spoke
+politely to the V.A.D.'s and omitted to throw towels on the floor.
+
+Then there was Dr. Bury, who was not supposed to be much good and who
+was himself convinced that he knew everything. He was always wishing
+to try extraordinary new methods and he never continued one treatment
+for more than a couple of days. If one of his patients died, it was the
+fashion to say: "Do you wonder, with Dr. Bury?"
+
+Then there was young Dr. Keen, who had been invalided home from the
+front. He was little more than a medical student but he was full
+of importance. He even demeaned himself to chat with the V.A.D.'s,
+explaining the importance of an operation that had just taken place.
+Nell said to Sister Westhaven: "I didn't know Dr. Keen was operating.
+I thought it was Dr. Lang." Sister replied grimly: "Dr. Keen held the
+leg. That's all."
+
+Operations had been a nightmare to Nell at first. At the first one she
+attended, the floor rose at her and a nurse led her out. She hardly
+dared to face Sister, but Sister was unexpectedly kind.
+
+"It's partly the lack of air and the smell of the ether, Nurse," she
+said kindly. "Go into a short one next. You'll get used to it."
+
+Next time Nell felt faint but did not have to go out, the time after
+she felt sick only, and the time after that she didn't feel sick at all.
+
+Once or twice she was lent to help the theatre nurse clear up the
+operating theatre after an unusually big op. The place was like a
+shambles, blood everywhere. The theatre nurse was only eighteen, a
+determined slip of a thing. She owned to Nell that she had hated it at
+first.
+
+"The very first op. was a leg," she said. "Amputation. And Sister went
+off afterward and left me to clear up, and I had to take the leg down
+to the furnace myself. It was awful."
+
+On her days out Nell went to tea with friends. Some of them were kindly
+old ladies and sentimentalized over her and told her she was splendid.
+
+"You don't work on Sundays, do you, dear? Really? Oh! but that isn't
+right. Sunday should be a day of rest."
+
+Nell pointed out gently that the soldiers had to be washed and fed on
+Sundays just as any other day, and the old ladies admitted this but
+seemed to think that the matter should have been better organized.
+They were also very distressed at Nell's having to walk home alone at
+midnight.
+
+Others were even more difficult.
+
+"I hear these hospital nurses give themselves great airs, ordering
+everyone about. I shouldn't stand that kind of thing myself. I am
+willing to do anything I can to help in this dreadful war, but
+impertinence I will not stand. I told Mrs. Curtis so, and she agreed it
+would be better for me not to do hospital work."
+
+To these ladies Nell made no reply at all.
+
+The rumour of "the Russians" was sweeping through England at this time.
+Everyone had seen them--or if not actually seen them, their cook's
+second cousin had, which was practically the same thing. The rumour
+died hard--it was so pleasing and so exciting.
+
+A very old lady who came to the hospital took Nell aside.
+
+"My dear," she said, "don't believe that story. It's true, but not in
+the way we think."
+
+Nell looked inquiringly at her.
+
+"Eggs!" said the old lady in a poignant whisper. "Russian eggs! Several
+millions of them--to keep us from starving."
+
+Nell wrote all these things to Vernon. She felt terribly cut off from
+him. His letters were naturally terse and constrained and he seemed to
+dislike the idea of her working in hospital. He urged her again and
+again to go to London--enjoy herself.
+
+How queer men were, Nell thought. They didn't seem to understand. She
+would hate to be one of the "keeping themselves bright for the boys"
+brigade. How soon you drifted apart when you were doing different
+things! She couldn't share Vernon's life and he couldn't share hers.
+
+The first agony of parting, when she had felt sure he would be killed,
+was over. She had fallen into the routine of wives. Four months had
+passed and he hadn't been even wounded. He wouldn't be. Everything was
+all right.
+
+Five months after he had gone out he wired that he had got leave.
+Nell's heart almost stopped beating. She was so excited! She went off
+to Matron and was granted leave of absence.
+
+She travelled to London feeling strange and unusual in ordinary
+clothes. Their first leave!
+
+
+                                  _2_
+
+It was true--really true! The leave train came in and disgorged its
+multitudes. She saw him. He was actually there. They met. Neither could
+speak. He squeezed her hand frantically. She knew then how afraid she
+had been....
+
+That five days went by in a flash. It was like some queer delirious
+dream. She adored Vernon and he adored her, but they were in some ways
+like strangers to each other. He was offhand when she spoke about
+France. It was all right--everything was all right. One made jokes
+about it and refused to treat it seriously. "For goodness' sake, Nell,
+don't sentimentalize. It's awful to come home and find everyone with
+long faces. And don't talk slush about our brave soldiers laying down
+their lives, _etc._ That sort of stuff makes me sick. Let's get
+tickets for another show."
+
+Something in his absolute callousness perturbed her--it seemed somehow
+rather dreadful to treat everything so lightly. When he asked her what
+she had been doing she could only give him hospital news, and that he
+didn't like. He begged her again to give it up.
+
+"It's a filthy job, nursing. I hate to think of your doing it."
+
+She felt chilled, rebuffed, then rebuked herself. They were together
+again. What did anything else matter?
+
+They had a wild delightful time. They went to a show and danced every
+night. In the daytime they went shopping. Vernon bought her everything
+that took his fancy. They went to a Paris firm of dressmakers and sat
+there whilst airy young duchesses floated past in wisps of chiffon and
+Vernon chose the most expensive model. They felt horribly wicked but
+dreadfully happy when Nell wore it that night.
+
+Then Nell told him he ought to go and see his mother. Vernon rebelled.
+
+"Oh! darling, I don't want to! Our little short precious time. I can't
+miss a minute of it."
+
+Nell pleaded. Myra would be terribly hurt and disappointed.
+
+"Well, then, you've got to come with me."
+
+"No, that wouldn't do at all."
+
+In the end, he went down to Birmingham for a flying visit. His mother
+made a tremendous fuss over him--greeted him with floods of what she
+called "glad proud tears," and trotted him round to see the Bents.
+Vernon came back seething with conscious virtue.
+
+"You are a hard-hearted devil, Nell. We've missed a whole day! God, how
+I've been slobbered over."
+
+He felt ashamed as soon as he had said it. Why couldn't he love his
+mother better? Why did she always manage to rub him up the wrong way,
+no matter how good his resolutions were? He gave Nell a hug.
+
+"I didn't mean it. I'm glad you made me go. You're so sweet, Nell. You
+never think of yourself. It's so wonderful being with you again. You
+don't know...."
+
+And she put on the French model gown and they went out to dine with
+a ridiculous feeling of having been model children and deserving a
+reward.
+
+They had nearly finished dinner when Nell saw Vernon's face change. It
+stiffened and grew anxious.
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"Nothing," he said hastily.
+
+But she turned and looked behind her. At a small table against the wall
+was Jane.
+
+Something cold seemed for a moment to rest on Nell's heart. Then she
+said easily:
+
+"Why, it's Jane! Let's go and speak to her."
+
+"No, I'd rather not." She was a little surprised by the vehemence of
+his tone. He saw that and went on: "I'm stupid, darling. I want to
+have you and nothing but you--not other people butting in. Have you
+finished? Let's go. I don't want to miss the beginning of the play."
+
+They paid the bill and went. Jane nodded to them carelessly and Nell
+waved her hand to her. They arrived at the theatre ten minutes early.
+
+Later, as Nell was slipping the gown from her white shoulders, Vernon
+said suddenly: "Nell, do you think I shall ever write music again?"
+
+"Of course. Why not?"
+
+"Oh! I don't know. I don't think I want to."
+
+She looked at him in surprise. He was sitting on a chair, frowning into
+space.
+
+"I thought it was the only thing you cared about."
+
+"Cared about--cared about--that doesn't express it in the least. It
+isn't the things you care about that matter. It's the things you can't
+get rid of--the things that won't let you go--that haunt you--like a
+face that you can't help seeing even when you don't want to...."
+
+"Darling Vernon--don't."
+
+She came and knelt down beside him. He clutched her to him convulsively.
+
+"Nell--darling Nell--nothing matters but you. Kiss me...."
+
+But he reverted presently to the topic. He said irrelevantly: "Guns
+make a pattern, you know. A musical pattern, I mean. Not the sound one
+hears. I mean the pattern the sound makes in space. I suppose that's
+nonsense--but I know what I mean."
+
+And again a minute or two later: "If one could only get hold of it
+properly."
+
+Ever so slightly, she moved her body away from him. It was as though
+she challenged her rival. She never admitted it openly, but secretly
+she feared Vernon's music. If only he didn't care so much.
+
+And to-night, at any rate, she was triumphant. He drew her back,
+holding her close, showering kisses on her.
+
+But long after Nell was asleep, Vernon lay staring into the darkness,
+seeing against his will Jane's face and the outline of her body in its
+dull green satin sheath as he had seen it against the crimson curtain
+at the restaurant.
+
+He said to himself very softly under his breath: "Damn Jane!"
+
+But he knew that you couldn't get rid of Jane as easily as that.
+
+He wished he hadn't seen her.
+
+There was something so damnably disturbing about Jane.
+
+He forgot her the next day. It was their last, and it went terribly
+quickly.
+
+All too soon, it was over.
+
+
+                                  _3_
+
+It had been like a dream. Now the dream was over. Nell was back at
+the hospital. It seemed to her she had never been away. She waited
+desperately for the post--for Vernon's first letter. It came--more
+ardent and unrestrained than usual, as though even censorship had been
+forgotten. Nell wore it against her heart and the indelible pencil came
+off on her skin. She wrote and told him so.
+
+Life went on as usual. Dr. Lang went out to the front and was replaced
+by an elderly doctor with a beard who said, "Thank ye, thank ye,
+Sister," every time he was offered a towel or was helped on with his
+white linen coat. They had a slack time with most of the beds empty and
+Nell found the enforced idleness trying.
+
+One day, to her surprise and delight, Sebastian walked in. He was home
+on leave and had come down to look her up. Vernon had asked him to.
+
+"You've seen him then?"
+
+Sebastian said Yes, his lot had taken over from Vernon.
+
+"And he's all right?"
+
+"Oh! yes, he's all _right_!"
+
+Something in the way he said it caused her alarm. She pressed him.
+Sebastian frowned in perplexity.
+
+"It's difficult to explain, Nell. You see, Vernon's an odd
+beggar--always has been. He doesn't like looking things in the face."
+
+He quelled the fierce retort that he saw rising to her lips.
+
+"I don't mean in the least what you think I mean. He isn't
+_afraid_. Lucky devil, I don't think he knows what fear is. I
+wish I didn't. No, it's different from that. It's the whole life--it's
+pretty ghastly, you know. Dirt and blood and filth, and noise--above
+all, noise! Recurrent noise at fixed times. It gets on my nerves, so
+what must it do to Vernon's?"
+
+"Yes, but what did you mean by not facing things."
+
+"Simply that he won't admit that there's anything to face. He's afraid
+of minding, so he says there's nothing _to_ mind. If he'd only
+admit that it's a bloody filthy business like I do he'd be all right.
+But it's like that old piano business--he won't look at the thing fair
+and square. And it's no good saying 'there ain't no such thing' when
+there _is_. But that's always been Vernon's way. He's in good
+spirits--enjoying everything--and it isn't natural. I'm afraid of
+his----Oh! I don't know what I'm afraid of. But I know that telling
+yourself fairy stories is about the worst thing you can do. Vernon's a
+musician, and he's got the nerves of a musician. The worst of him is
+that he doesn't know anything about himself. He never has."
+
+Nell looked troubled.
+
+"Sebastian, what do you think will happen?"
+
+"Oh! nothing, probably. What I should like to happen would be for
+Vernon to stop one, in as conveniently painless a place as possible,
+and come back to be nursed for a bit."
+
+"How I wish that would happen!"
+
+"Poor old Nell! It's rotten for all you people. I'm glad I haven't got
+a wife."
+
+"If you had----" Nell paused, then went on. "Would you want her to
+work in a hospital or would you rather she did nothing?"
+
+"Everybody will be working sooner or later. It's as well to get down to
+it as soon as possible, I should say."
+
+"Vernon doesn't like my doing this."
+
+"That's his ostrich act again, plus the reactionary spirit that he's
+inherited and will never quite outgrow. Sooner or later he'll face
+the fact that women are working--but he won't admit it till the last
+minute."
+
+Nell sighed.
+
+"How worrying everything is."
+
+"I know. And I've made things worse for you. But I'm awfully fond of
+Vernon. He's the one friend I care about. And I hoped if I told you
+what I thought you'd encourage him to--well, give way a little--at any
+rate to you. But perhaps to you he does let himself go?"
+
+Nell shook her head.
+
+"He won't do anything but joke about the war."
+
+Sebastian whistled.
+
+"Well, next time--get it out of him. Stick to it."
+
+Nell said suddenly and sharply: "Do you think he'd talk better--to
+Jane?"
+
+"To Jane?" Sebastian looked rather embarrassed. "I don't know. Perhaps.
+It all depends."
+
+"You do think so! Why? Tell me why? Is she more sympathetic, or what?"
+
+"Oh! Lord, no. Jane's not exactly sympathetic. Provocative is more the
+word. You get annoyed with her--and out pops the truth. She makes you
+aware of yourself in ways you don't want to be. There's nobody like
+Jane for pulling you off your high horse."
+
+"You think she's a lot of influence over Vernon?"
+
+"Oh! I wouldn't say that. And anyway, it wouldn't matter if she had.
+She's doing relief work in Serbia. Sailed a fortnight ago."
+
+"Oh!" said Nell. She drew a deep breath and smiled.
+
+Somehow, she felt happier.
+
+
+                                  _4_
+
+    Darling Nell:
+
+    Do you know I dream of you every night? Usually you're nice to me,
+    but sometimes you're a little beast. Cold and hard and far away.
+    You couldn't be that really, could you? Not now. Darling, will the
+    indelible pencil ever come off?
+
+    Nell sweetest, I never believe I'm going to be killed, but if I
+    were, what would it matter? We've had so much. You'd think of me
+    always as happy and loving you, wouldn't you, sweetheart? I know
+    I'd go on loving you after I was dead. That's the only bit of me
+    that couldn't die. I love you--love you--love you....
+
+He had never written to her quite like that before. She put the letter
+in its usual place.
+
+That day she was absent-minded at the hospital. She forgot things. The
+men noticed it.
+
+"Nurse is daydreaming," they teased her, making little jokes. And she
+laughed back.
+
+It was so wonderful, so very wonderful, to be loved. Sister Westhaven
+was in a temper. Nurse Potts slacked more than usual. But it didn't
+matter. Nothing mattered.
+
+Even the monumental Sister Jenkins, who came on night duty and was
+always full of pessimism, failed to impress her with any kind of gloom.
+
+"Ah!" Sister Jenkins would say, settling her cuffs and moving three
+double chins round inside her collar in an effort to alleviate their
+mass. "No. 3 still alive? You surprise me. I didn't think he'd last
+through the day. Well, he'll be gone to-morrow, poor young chap.
+[Sister Jenkins was always prophesying that patients would be gone
+to-morrow, and the failure of her prognostications to come true never
+seemed to induce in her a more hopeful attitude.] I don't like the
+look of No. 18--that last operation was worse than useless. No. 8 is
+going to take a turn for the worse, unless I'm much mistaken. I said
+so to Doctor, but he didn't listen to me. Now then, Nurse [with sudden
+acerbity], no good for you to hang about. Off duty is off duty."
+
+Nell accepted this gracious permission to depart, well aware that if
+she had not lingered Sister Jenkins would have asked her "what she
+meant by hurrying away like that?--not even willing to wait a minute
+overtime."
+
+It took twenty minutes to walk home. The night was a clear starry one
+and Nell enjoyed the walk. If only Vernon could have been walking
+beside her!
+
+She let herself into the house very quietly with her latch-key. Her
+landlady always went to bed early. On the tray in the hall was an
+orange-coloured envelope.
+
+She knew then.
+
+Telling herself that it wasn't--that it couldn't be--that he was only
+wounded--surely he was only wounded ... yet she knew.
+
+A sentence from the letter she had received that morning leaped out at
+her: _Nell sweetest, I never believe I am going to be killed, but if
+I were, what would it matter? We've had so much...._
+
+He had never written like that before. He must have felt--have known.
+Sensitive people did know sometimes beforehand.
+
+She stood there, holding the telegram. Vernon--her lover, her
+husband.... She stood there a long time.
+
+Then at last she opened the telegram, which informed her with deep
+regret that Lieutenant Vernon Deyre had been Killed in Action.
+
+
+
+
+                               chapter 3
+
+
+A memorial service was held for Vernon in the little old church at
+Abbotsford under the shadow of Abbots Puissants, as it had been held
+for his father. The two last of the Deyres were not to lie in the
+family vault. One in South Africa, one in France.
+
+In Nell's memory afterward the proceedings seemed shadowed by the
+monumental bulk of Mrs. Levinne--a vast matriarchal figure dwarfing
+everything else. She herself had to bite her lips not to laugh
+hysterically. The whole thing was so funny somehow--so unlike Vernon.
+
+Her mother was there, elegant and aloof. Uncle Sydney was there, in
+black broadcloth, restraining himself from jingling his money with
+great difficulty, and with a suitable "mourner's" face. Myra Deyre was
+there in heavy crape, weeping copiously and unrestrainedly. But it was
+Mrs. Levinne who dominated the proceedings. She came back with them
+afterward to the sitting room at the inn, identifying herself with the
+family.
+
+"Poor dear boy--poor dear gallant boy! I've always thought of him like
+another thon."
+
+She was genuinely distressed. Tears splashed down on her black bodice.
+She patted Myra on the shoulder.
+
+"Now, now, my dear, you mustn't take on so. You mustn't indeed. It's
+our duty, all of us, to bear up. You gave him to his country. You
+couldn't do more. Here's Nell--as brave as can be."
+
+"Everything I had in the world," sobbed Myra. "First husband, then son.
+Nothing left."
+
+She stared ahead of her through blood-suffused eyes in a kind of
+ecstasy of bereavement.
+
+"The very best son--we were everything to each other." She caught Mrs.
+Levinne's hand. "You'll know what it feels like if Sebastian...."
+
+A spasm of fear passed across Mrs. Levinne's face. She clenched her
+hands.
+
+"I see they've sent up some sandwiches and some port," said Uncle
+Sydney, creating a diversion. "Very thoughtful. Very thoughtful. A
+little drop of port, Myra dear. You've been through a great strain, you
+know."
+
+Myra waved away port with a horror-stricken hand. Uncle Sydney was made
+to feel that he had displayed callousness.
+
+"We've all got to keep up," he said. "It's our duty."
+
+His hand stole to his pocket and he began to jingle.
+
+"Syd!"
+
+"Sorry, Myra."
+
+Again Nell felt that wild desire to giggle. She didn't want to cry. She
+wanted to laugh and laugh and laugh.... Awful--to feel like that.
+
+"I thought everything went off very nicely," said Uncle Sydney. "Very
+nicely indeed. A most impressive lot of the villagers attended. You
+wouldn't like to stroll round Abbots Puissants? That was a very nice
+letter putting it at our disposal to-day."
+
+"I hate the place," said Myra vehemently. "I always have."
+
+"I suppose, Nell, you've seen the lawyers? I understand Vernon made a
+perfectly simple will before going out to France, leaving everything to
+you. In that case, Abbots Puissants is now yours. It was not entailed,
+and in any case there are no Deyres now in existence."
+
+Nell said: "Thank you, Uncle Sydney, I've seen the lawyer. He was very
+kind and explained everything to me."
+
+"That's more than any lawyer can do as a rule," said Uncle Sydney.
+"They make the simplest thing sound difficult. It's not my business to
+advise you, but I know there's no man in your family who can do so.
+Much the best thing you can do is to sell it. There's no money to keep
+it up, you know. You understand that?"
+
+Nell did understand. She saw that Uncle Sydney was making it clear to
+her that no Bent money was coming her way. Myra would leave her money
+back to her own family. That, of course, was only natural. Nell would
+never have dreamed of anything else.
+
+As a matter of fact, Uncle Sydney had at once tackled Myra as to
+whether there was a child coming. Myra said she didn't think so. Uncle
+Sydney said she had better make sure. "I don't know exactly how the law
+stands, but as it is, if you were to pop off to-morrow, having left
+your money to Vernon, it might go to her. No good taking any chances."
+
+Myra said tearfully that it was very unkind of him to suggest that she
+was going to die.
+
+"Nothing of the sort. You women are all alike. Carrie sulked for a week
+when I insisted on her making a proper will. We don't want good money
+to go out of the family."
+
+Above all, he did not want good money to go to Nell. He disliked Nell,
+whom he regarded as Enid's supplanter. And he loathed Mrs. Vereker, who
+always managed to make him feel hot and clumsy and uncertain about his
+hands.
+
+"Nell, of course, will take legal advice," said Mrs. Vereker sweetly.
+
+"Don't think _I_ want to butt in," said Uncle Sydney.
+
+Nell felt a passionate pang of regret. If only she were going to have
+a child! Vernon had been so afraid for her. "It would be so dreadful
+for you, darling, if I were to be killed and you were left with all the
+trouble and worry of a child and very little money--Besides--you never
+know--you might die. I couldn't bear to risk it."
+
+And really, it _had_ seemed better and more prudent to wait.
+
+But now she was sorry. Her mother's consolations had seemed coldly
+brutal to her.
+
+"You're not going to have a baby, are you, Nell? Well, I must say I'm
+thankful. Naturally, you'll marry again, and it's so much better when
+there are no encumbrances."
+
+In answer to a passionate protest, Mrs. Vereker had smiled. "I oughtn't
+to have said that just now. But you are only a girl still. Vernon
+himself would have wanted you to be happy."
+
+Nell thought: "Never! She doesn't understand!"
+
+"Well, well, it's a sad world," said Mr. Bent, surreptitiously helping
+himself to a sandwich. "The flower of our manhood being mown down. But
+all the same, I'm proud of England. I'm proud of being an Englishman.
+I like to feel that I'm doing my bit in England just as much as these
+boys are doing it out here. We're doubling our output of explosives
+next month. Night and day shifts. I'm proud of Bent's, I can tell you."
+
+"It must be wonderfully profitable," said Mrs. Vereker.
+
+"That's not the way I like to look at it," said Mr. Bent. "I like to
+look at it that I'm serving my country."
+
+"Well, I hope we all try to do our bit," said Mrs. Levinne. "I have
+been a working party twice a week, and I'm interethting myself in all
+these poor girls who are having war babieths."
+
+"There's too much loose thinking going about," said Mr. Bent. "We
+mustn't get lax. England has never been lax."
+
+"Well, we've got to look after the children at any rate," said Mrs.
+Levinne. She added: "How is Joe? I thought I might see her here to-day."
+
+Both Uncle Sydney and Myra looked embarrassed. It was clear that Joe
+was what is known as a "delicate subject." They skated lightly over the
+topic. War work in Paris--very busy--unable to get leave.
+
+Mr. Bent looked at his watch.
+
+"Myra, we've not too much time before the train. Must get back
+to-night. Carrie, my wife you know, is very far from well. That's why
+she wasn't able to be here to-day." He sighed. "It's odd how often
+things turn out for the best. It was a great disappointment to us
+not having a son. And yet, in a way, we've been spared a good deal.
+Think of the anxiety we might be in to-day. The ways of Providence are
+wonderful."
+
+Mrs. Vereker said to Nell when they had taken leave of Mrs. Levinne,
+who motored them back to London: "One thing I do hope, Nell, is that
+you won't think it your duty to see a lot of your in-laws. I dislike
+the way that woman wallowed in her grief more than I can tell you. She
+was thoroughly enjoying herself, though I dare say she'd have preferred
+a proper coffin."
+
+"Oh! Mother--she was really unhappy. She was awfully fond of Vernon. As
+she said, he was all she had in the world."
+
+"That's a phrase women like her are very fond of using. It means
+nothing at all. And you're not going to pretend to me that Vernon
+adored his mother. He merely tolerated her. They had nothing in common.
+He was a Deyre through and through."
+
+Nell couldn't deny that.
+
+She stayed at her mother's flat in town for three weeks. Mrs. Vereker
+was very kind within her own limits. She was not a sympathetic woman
+at any time, but she respected Nell's grief and did not intrude upon
+it. Upon practical matters her judgment was, as it had always been,
+excellent. There were various interviews with lawyers and Mrs. Vereker
+was present at all of them.
+
+Abbots Puissants was still let. The tenancy would be up the following
+year, and the lawyer strongly advised its sale rather than reletting
+it. Mrs. Vereker, to Nell's surprise, did not seem to concur with this
+view. She suggested a further let of not too long duration.
+
+"So much may happen in a few years," she said.
+
+Mr. Flemming looked hard at her and seemed to catch her meaning. His
+glance rested for just a moment on Nell, fair and childish-looking in
+her mourning.
+
+"As you say," he remarked, "much may happen. At any rate, nothing need
+be decided for a year."
+
+Business matters settled, Nell returned to the hospital at Wiltsbury.
+She felt that there, and there only, could life be at all possible.
+Mrs. Vereker did not oppose her. She was a sensible woman and she had
+her own plans.
+
+A month after Vernon's death Nell was once more back in the ward.
+Nobody ever referred to her loss and she was grateful. To carry on as
+usual was the motto of the moment.
+
+Nell carried on.
+
+
+                                  _2_
+
+"There's someone asking for you, Nurse Deyre."
+
+"For me?" Nell was surprised.
+
+It must be Sebastian. Only he was likely to come down here and look her
+up. Did she want to see him or not? She hardly knew.
+
+But to her great surprise, her visitor was George Chetwynd. He
+explained that he was passing through Wiltsbury, and had stopped to
+find out if he could see her. He asked whether she couldn't come out to
+lunch with him.
+
+"I thought you were on afternoon duty," he explained.
+
+"I was changed to the morning shift yesterday. I'll ask Matron. We're
+not very busy."
+
+Permission was accorded her, and half an hour later she was sitting
+opposite George Chetwynd at the County Hotel with a plate of roast beef
+in front of her and a waiter hovering over her with a vast dish of
+cabbage.
+
+"The only vegetable the County Hotel knows," observed Chetwynd.
+
+He talked interestingly and made no reference to her loss. All he said
+was that her continuing to work here was the pluckiest thing he had
+ever heard of.
+
+"I can't tell you how I admire all you women. Carrying on, tackling one
+job after another. No fuss--no heroics--just sticking to it as though
+it were the most natural thing in the world. I think Englishwomen are
+fine."
+
+"One must do something."
+
+"I know. I can understand that feeling. Anything's better than sitting
+with your hands in your lap, eh?"
+
+"That's it."
+
+She was grateful. George always understood. He told her that he was off
+to Serbia in a day or two, organizing relief work there.
+
+"Frankly," he said, "I'm ashamed of my country for not coming in. But
+it will. I'm convinced of that. It's only a matter of time. In the
+meantime we do what we can to alleviate the horrors of war."
+
+"You look very well."
+
+He looked younger than she remembered him--well set up, bronzed, the
+gray in his hair a mere distinction rather than a sign of age.
+
+"I'm feeling well. Nothing like having plenty to do. Relief work's
+pretty strenuous."
+
+"When are you off?"
+
+"Day after to-morrow." He paused, then said in a different voice: "Look
+here--you didn't mind my looking you up like this? You don't feel I'd
+no business to butt in?"
+
+"No--no. It was very kind of you. Especially after I--I----"
+
+"You know I've never borne any rancour over that. I admire you for
+following your heart. You loved him, and you didn't love me. But
+there's no reason we shouldn't be friends, is there?"
+
+He looked so friendly, so very unsentimental, that Nell answered
+happily that there wasn't.
+
+He said: "That's fine. And you'll let me do anything for you that a
+friend can? Advise you in any bothers that arise, I mean?"
+
+Nell said she'd be only too grateful.
+
+They left it like that. He departed in his car shortly after lunch,
+wringing her hand and saying he hoped they'd meet again in about six
+months' time, and begging her again to consult him if she were in a
+difficulty any time.
+
+Nell promised that she would.
+
+
+                                  _3_
+
+The winter was a bad one for Nell. She caught a cold, neglected to
+take proper care of herself, and was ill for a week or so. She was
+quite unfit to resume hospital work at the end of it, and Mrs. Vereker
+carried her off to London to her flat. There she regained strength
+slowly.
+
+Endless bothers seemed to arise. Abbots Puissants appeared to need an
+entire new roof. New water pipes had to be installed. The fencing was
+in a bad state.
+
+Nell appreciated for the first time the awful drain property can be.
+The rent was eaten up many times over with the necessary repairs, and
+Mrs. Vereker had to come to the rescue to tide Nell over a difficult
+corner and not let her get too much in debt. They were living as
+penuriously as possible. Vanished were the days of outward show and
+credit. Mrs. Vereker managed to make both ends meet by a very narrow
+margin, and would hardly have done that but for what she won at the
+bridge table. She was a first-class player and added materially to her
+income by play. She was out most of the day at a bridge club that still
+survived.
+
+It was a dull unhappy life for Nell. Worried over money, not strong
+enough to undertake fresh work, nothing to do but sit and brood.
+Poverty combined with love in a cottage was one thing. Poverty without
+love to soften it was another. Sometimes Nell wondered how she was ever
+going to get through a life that stretched drear and bleak ahead of
+her. She couldn't bear things. She simply couldn't.
+
+Then Mr. Flemming urged her to make a decision concerning Abbots
+Puissants. The tenancy would be up in a month or two. Something must be
+done. He could not hold out any hopes of letting it for a higher rent.
+Nobody wanted to rent big places without central heating or modern
+conveniences. He strongly advised her to sell.
+
+He knew the feeling her husband had had about the place. But since she
+herself was never likely to be able to afford to live in it....
+
+Nell admitted the wisdom of what he said, but still pleaded for time
+to decide. She was reluctant to sell it but she could not help feeling
+that, the worry of Abbots Puissants once off her mind she would be
+relieved from her heaviest burden. Then one day Mr. Flemming rang up
+to say that he had had a very good offer for Abbots Puissants. He
+mentioned a sum far in excess of her--or indeed his--expectations. He
+very strongly advised her to close with it without delay.
+
+Nell hesitated a minute, then said, "Yes."
+
+
+                                  _4_
+
+It was extraordinary how much happier she felt at once. Free of that
+terrible incubus! It wasn't as though Vernon had lived. Houses and
+estates were simply white elephants when you hadn't the necessary money
+to keep them up properly.
+
+She was undisturbed even by a letter from Joe in Paris.
+
+    How _can_ you sell Abbots Puissants when you know what Vernon
+    felt about it? I should have thought it would be the last thing you
+    could have done.
+
+She thought: "Joe doesn't understand."
+
+She wrote back:
+
+    What was I to do? I don't know where to turn for money. There's
+    been the roof and the drains and the water--it's endless. I can't
+    go on running into debt. Everything's so tiring I wish I were
+    dead....
+
+Three days later she got a letter from George Chetwynd asking if he
+might come and see her. He had, he said, something to confess.
+
+Mrs. Vereker was out. She received him alone. He broke it rather
+apprehensively to her. It was he who had purchased Abbots Puissants.
+
+Just at first she recoiled from the idea. Not George! Not George at
+Abbots Puissants! Then with admirable common sense he argued the point.
+
+Surely it was better that it should pass into his hands instead of
+those of a stranger? He hoped that sometimes she and her mother would
+come and stay there.
+
+"I'd like you to feel that your husband's home is open to you at any
+time. I want to change things there as little as possible. You shall
+advise me. Surely you prefer my having it to its passing into the hands
+of some vulgarians who will fill it with gilt and spurious Old Masters?"
+
+In the end she wondered why she had felt any objection. Better George
+than anyone. And he was so kind and understanding about everything. She
+was tired and worried. She broke down suddenly, cried on his shoulder
+whilst he put an arm round her and told her that everything was all
+right, that it was only because she'd been ill.
+
+Nobody could have been kinder or more brotherly.
+
+When she told her mother Mrs. Vereker said: "I knew George was looking
+out for a place. It's lucky he's chosen Abbots Puissants. He's probably
+haggled less about the price simply because he was once in love with
+you."
+
+The remote way she said "once in love with you" made Nell feel
+comfortable. She had imagined that her mother might have "ideas" still
+about George Chetwynd.
+
+
+                                  _5_
+
+That summer they went down and stayed at Abbots Puissants. They were
+the only guests. Nell had not been there since she was a child. A deep
+regret came upon her that she could not have lived there with Vernon.
+The house was truly beautiful and so were the stately gardens and the
+ruined Abbey.
+
+George was in the middle of doing up the house and he consulted her
+taste at every turn. Nell began to feel quite a proprietary interest.
+She was almost happy again, enjoying the ease and luxury and the
+freedom from anxiety.
+
+True, once she received the money from Abbots Puissants and had
+invested it she would have a nice little income, but she dreaded the
+onus of deciding where to live and what to do. She was not really happy
+with her mother, and all her own friends seemed to have drifted out of
+touch. She hardly knew where to go or what to do with her life.
+
+Abbots Puissants gave her just the peace and rest she needed. She felt
+sheltered there and safe. She dreaded the return to town.
+
+It was the last evening. George had pressed them to remain longer but
+Mrs. Vereker had declared that they really couldn't trespass further on
+his hospitality.
+
+Nell and George walked together on the long flagged walk. It was a
+still balmy evening.
+
+"It has been lovely here," said Nell, with a little sigh. "I hate going
+back."
+
+"I hate your going back, too." He paused, and then said very quietly:
+"I suppose there's no chance for me, is there, Nell?"
+
+"I don't know what you mean."
+
+But she did know--she knew at once.
+
+"I bought this house because I hoped someday you'd live here. I wanted
+you to have the home that was rightfully yours. Are you going to spend
+your whole life nursing a memory, Nell? Do you think he--Vernon--would
+wish it? I never think of the dead like that--as grudging happiness to
+the living. I think he would want you to be looked after and taken care
+of, now that he isn't here to do it."
+
+She said in a low voice: "I can't ... I can't."
+
+"You mean you can't forget him? I know that. But I'd be very good to
+you, Nell. You'd be wrapped round with love and care. I think I could
+make you happy--happier, at any rate, than you'll be facing life by
+yourself. I do honestly and truly believe that Vernon would wish it."
+
+Would he? She wondered. She thought George was right. People might
+call it disloyalty, but it wasn't. That life of hers with Vernon was
+something by itself--nothing could touch it ever.
+
+But oh! to be looked after, cared for, petted, and understood. She
+always _had_ been fond of George.
+
+She answered very softly: "Yes."
+
+
+                                  _6_
+
+The person who was angry about it was Myra. She wrote long abusive
+letters to Nell.
+
+    You can forget so soon. Vernon has only one home--in my heart. You
+    never loved him.
+
+Uncle Sydney twirled his thumbs and said: "That young woman knows which
+side her bread is buttered on," and wrote her a stereotyped letter of
+congratulations.
+
+An unexpected ally was Joe, who was paying a flying visit to London and
+came round to see Nell at her mother's flat.
+
+"I'm very glad," she said, kissing her. "And I'm sure Vernon would be.
+You're not the kind that can face life on your own. You never were.
+Don't you mind what Aunt Myra says. _I'll_ talk to her. Life's a
+rotten business for women. I think you'll be happy with George. Vernon
+would want you to be happy, I know."
+
+Joe's support heartened Nell more than anything. Joe had always been
+the nearest person to Vernon. On the night before her wedding she knelt
+by her bed and looked up to where Vernon's sword hung over the head of
+it.
+
+She pressed her hands over her closed eyes.
+
+"You do understand, beloved? You do? You do? It's you I love and always
+shall.... Oh! Vernon, if only I could know that you understood."
+
+She tried to send her very soul out questing in search of him. He
+must--he _must_--know and understand.
+
+
+
+
+                               chapter 4
+
+
+In the town of A---- in Holland, not far from the German frontier, is
+an inconspicuous inn. Here on a certain evening in 1917 a dark young
+man with a haggard face pushed open the door and in very halting
+Dutch asked for a lodging for the night. He breathed hard and his
+eyes were restless. Anna Schlieder, the fat proprietress of the inn,
+looked at him attentively up and down in her usual deliberate way
+before she replied. Then she told him that he could have a room. Her
+daughter Freda took him up to it. When she came back her mother said
+laconically: "English--escaped prisoner."
+
+Freda nodded but said nothing. Her china-blue eyes were soft and
+sentimental. She had reasons of her own for taking an interest in the
+English. Presently she again mounted the stairs and knocked on the
+door. She went in on top of the knock, which as a matter of fact the
+young man had not heard. He was so sunk in a stupor of exhaustion that
+external sounds and happenings had hardly any meaning for him. For
+days and weeks he had been on the _qui vive_, escaping dangers by
+a hair's-breadth, never daring to be caught napping either physically
+or mentally. Now he was suffering the reaction. He lay where he had
+fallen, half sprawling across the bed. Freda stood and watched him. At
+last she said:
+
+"I bring you hot water."
+
+"Oh!" He started up. "I'm sorry. I didn't hear you."
+
+She said slowly and carefully in his own language: "You are
+English--yes?"
+
+"Yes. Yes, that is----"
+
+He stopped suddenly in doubt. One must be careful. The danger was
+over--he was out of Germany. He felt slightly light-headed. A diet
+of raw potatoes, dug up from the fields, was not stimulating to
+the brain. But he still felt he _must_ be careful. It was so
+difficult. He felt queer--felt that he wanted to talk and talk, pour
+out everything now that at last that fearful long strain was over.
+
+The Dutch girl was nodding her head at him gravely, wisely.
+
+"I know," she said. "You come from over there." Her hand pointed in the
+direction of the frontier.
+
+He looked at her, still irresolute.
+
+"You have escaped--yes. We had before one like you."
+
+A wave of reassurance passed over him. She was all right, this girl.
+His legs suddenly felt weak under him. He dropped down on the bed again.
+
+"You are hungry? Yes. I see. I go and bring you something."
+
+Was he hungry? He supposed he was. How long was it since he had eaten?
+One day, two days? He couldn't remember. The end had been like a
+nightmare--just keeping blindly on. He had had a map and a compass. He
+had known the place where he wanted to cross the frontier, the spot
+that seemed to him to offer the best chance. A thousand-to-one chance
+against his being able to pass the frontier--but he had passed it. They
+had shot at him and missed. Or was that all a dream? He had swum down
+the river--that was it. No, that was all wrong, too. Well, he wouldn't
+think about it. He had escaped, that was the great thing.
+
+He leaned forward, supporting his aching head in his hands.
+
+Very soon Freda returned carrying a tray with food on it and a great
+tankard of beer. He ate and drank whilst she stood watching him. The
+effect was magical. His head cleared. He _had_ been light-headed,
+he realized that now. He smiled up at Freda.
+
+"That's splendid," he said. "Thanks awfully."
+
+Encouraged by his smile, she sat down on a chair.
+
+"You know London?"
+
+"Yes, I know it." He smiled a little. She had asked that so quaintly.
+
+Freda did not smile. She was in deadly earnest.
+
+"You know a soldier there? A what is it?--Corporal Green?"
+
+He shook his head, a little touched.
+
+"I'm afraid not," he said gently. "Do you know his regiment?"
+
+"It was a London regiment--the London Fusiliers." She had no further
+information than that.
+
+He said kindly: "When I get back to London I'll try to find out, if you
+like to give me a letter."
+
+She looked at him doubtfully, yet with a certain air of trusting
+appeal. In the end the doubt was vanquished.
+
+"I will write--yes," she said.
+
+She rose to leave the room and said abruptly: "We have an English paper
+here--two English papers here. My cousin brought them from the hotel.
+You would like to see them, yes?"
+
+He thanked her and she returned, bringing a tattered _Eve_ and a
+_Sketch_ which she handed to him with some pride.
+
+When she left the room again he laid down the papers by his side and
+lighted a cigarette--his last cigarette! What would he have done
+without those cigarettes--stolen at that! Perhaps Freda would bring him
+some--he had money to pay for them. A kind girl, Freda, in spite of her
+thick ankles and an unprepossessing exterior.
+
+He took out a small notebook from his pocket. The pages were blank and
+he wrote in it: _Corporal Green, London Fusiliers_. He would do
+what he could for the girl. He wondered idly what story lay behind it.
+What had Corporal Green been doing in Holland in A----? Poor Freda! It
+was the usual thing, he supposed.
+
+Green--it reminded him of his childhood. _Mr. Green._ The
+omnipotent delightful Mr. Green--his playfellow and protector. Funny,
+the things one thought of when one was a kid!
+
+He'd never told Nell about Mr. Green. Perhaps she'd had a Mr. Green of
+her own. Perhaps all children did.
+
+He thought: "Nell--oh! Nell ..." and his heart missed a beat. Then he
+turned his thoughts resolutely away. Very soon now. Poor darling, what
+she must have suffered knowing him to be a prisoner in Germany! But
+that was all over now. Very soon now they'd be together. Very soon. Oh!
+he mustn't think of it. The task in hand--no looking forward.
+
+He picked up the _Sketch_ and idly turned over the pages. A lot
+of new shows seemed to be on. What fun to go to a show again. Pictures
+of generals all looking very fierce and warlike. Pictures of people
+getting married. Not a bad-looking crowd. That one----Why----
+
+_It wasn't true--it couldn't be true. Another dream--a nightmare._
+
+    Mrs. Vernon Deyre, who is to marry Mr. George Chetwynd. Mrs.
+    Deyre's first husband was killed in action over a year ago. Mr.
+    George Chetwynd is an American who has done very valuable relief
+    work in Serbia.
+
+Killed in action--yes, he supposed, that might be. In spite of all
+conceivable precautions, mistakes like that _did_ arise. A man
+Vernon knew had been reported killed. A thousandth chance, but it
+happened.
+
+Naturally, Nell would have believed--and naturally, quite naturally,
+she would marry again.
+
+What nonsense he was talking! Nell--marry again! So soon. Marry
+George--_George_ with his gray hair.
+
+A sudden sharp pang shot through him. He had visualized George too
+clearly. Damn George. Blast and curse George!
+
+But it wasn't true. No, it wasn't true!
+
+He stood up, studying himself as he swayed on his feet. To anyone who
+had seen him, he would have appeared a little drunk.
+
+He was perfectly calm--yes, he was perfectly calm. The thing was not
+to believe--not to think. Put it away--right away. It wasn't true--it
+couldn't be true. If you once admitted that it might be true, you were
+done.
+
+He went out of his room, down the stairs. He passed the girl Freda,
+who stared at him. He said very quietly and calmly (marvellous that he
+should be so calm):
+
+"I'm going out for a walk."
+
+He went out, oblivious of old Anna Schlieder's eyes that raked his back
+as he passed her. The girl Freda said to her:
+
+"He passed me on the stairs like--like--what has happened to him?"
+
+Anna tapped her forehead significantly. Nothing ever surprised her.
+
+Out on the road Vernon was walking--walking very fast. He must get
+away--get away from the thing that was following him. If he looked
+round--if he thought about it--but he wouldn't think about it.
+
+Everything was all right--_everything_.
+
+Only he mustn't think. This queer dark thing that was following
+him--following him.... If he didn't think, he was all right.
+
+Nell--Nell with her golden hair and her sweet smile. His Nell. Nell and
+George.... No, no, no! It wasn't so. He was in time.
+
+And suddenly, lucidly, there ran through his mind the thought: "That
+paper was six months old at least. They've been married five months."
+
+He reeled. He thought: "I can't bear it. No, this I can't bear.
+Something must happen."
+
+He held on blindly to that: _Something must happen_.
+
+Somebody would help him. Mr. Green. What was this awful thing that was
+dogging him? Of course, the Beast. The Beast.
+
+He could hear it coming. He gave one panic-stricken glance over his
+shoulder. He was out of the town now, walking on a straight road
+between dykes. The Beast was coming lumbering along at a great pace,
+rattling and bumping.
+
+The Beast.... Oh! if only he could go back--to the Beast and Mr. Green,
+the old terrors, the old comforts. They didn't hurt you like the new
+things--like Nell and George Chetwynd. George.... Nell belonging to
+George....
+
+No! no, it wasn't true--it mustn't be true. He couldn't face any more.
+Not that--not that.
+
+There was only one way to get out of it all, to be at peace--only one
+way. Vernon Deyre had made a mess of life. Better to get out of it.
+
+One last flaming agony shot through his brain. Nell--George--no! He
+thrust them out with a last effort. Mr. Green--kind Mr. Green.
+
+He stepped out into the roadway right in the path of the lurching lorry
+that tried to avoid him too late--and struck him down and backward.
+
+A horrible searing shock. Thank God, this was death.
+
+
+
+
+                                Book V
+
+                             GEORGE GREEN
+
+
+
+
+                               chapter 1
+
+
+In the yard of the county hotel in Wiltsbury two chauffeurs were busy
+with cars. George Green finished his work on the interior of the big
+Daimler, wiped his hands on a bit of oily rag, and stood upright with
+a sigh of satisfaction. He was a cheerful young fellow and was smiling
+now because he was pleased with himself for locating the trouble and
+dealing with it. He strolled along to where his fellow chauffeur was
+completing the toilet of a Minerva.
+
+The latter looked up.
+
+"Hullo, George. You through? Your boss is a Yank, isn't he? What's he
+like?"
+
+"He's all right. Fussy, though. Won't go more than forty."
+
+"Well, thank your stars you don't drive for a woman," said the other.
+His name was Evans. "Always changing their minds. And no idea of the
+proper times for meals. Picnic lunches as often as not--and you know
+what that means, a hard-boiled egg and a leaf of lettuce."
+
+Green sat down on an adjacent barrel.
+
+"Why don't you chuck it?"
+
+"Not so easy to get another job these days," said Evans.
+
+"No, that's true," said Green. He looked thoughtful.
+
+"And I've got a missus and two kids," went on the other. "What's the
+rot that was talked about a country fit for heroes? No, if you've got a
+job--any kind of a job--it's better to freeze on to it in 1920."
+
+He was silent for a minute, and then went on.
+
+"Funny business--the war. I was hit twice--shrapnel. Makes you go a
+bit queer afterward. My missus says I frighten her--go quite batty
+sometimes. Wake up in the middle of the night hollering and not knowing
+where I am."
+
+"I know," said Green. "I'm the same. When my guvnor picked me up--in
+Holland that was--I couldn't remember a thing about myself except my
+name."
+
+"When was that? After the war?"
+
+"Six months after the armistice. I was working in a garage there. Some
+chaps who were drunk ran me down one night in a lorry. Fairly scared
+'em sober. They picked me up and took me along with them. I'd got a
+whacking great bash on the head. They looked after me and got me a
+job. Good chaps they were. I'd been working there two years when Mr.
+Bleibner came along. He hired a car from our place once or twice and I
+drove him. He talked to me a good bit and finally he offered to take me
+on as chauffeur."
+
+"Mean to say you never thought of getting back home before that?"
+
+"No--I didn't want to, somehow. I'd no folks there as far as I could
+remember, and I've an idea I'd had a bit of trouble there of some kind."
+
+"I shouldn't associate trouble with you, mate," said Evans with a laugh.
+
+George Green laughed, too. He was indeed a most cheerful looking young
+man, tall and dark with broad shoulders and an ever-ready smile.
+
+"Nothing much ever worries me," he boasted. "I was born the
+happy-go-lucky kind, I guess."
+
+He moved away, smiling happily. A few minutes later he was reporting to
+his employer that the Daimler was ready for the road.
+
+Mr. Bleibner was a tall thin dyspeptic-looking American with pure
+speech.
+
+"Very good. Now, Green, I am going to Lord Datchet's for luncheon.
+Abingworth Friars. It's about six miles from here."
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"After luncheon I am going to a place called Abbots Puissants.
+Abbotsford is the village. Do you know it?"
+
+"I've heard of it, I think, sir. But I don't know exactly where it is.
+I'll look it up on the map."
+
+"Yes, please do so. It cannot, I think, be more than twenty miles--in
+the direction of Ringwood, I fancy."
+
+"Very good, sir."
+
+Green touched his cap and withdrew.
+
+
+                                  _2_
+
+Nell Chetwynd stepped through the French window of the drawing room and
+came out upon the terrace at Abbots Puissants.
+
+It was one of those still early autumn days when there seems
+no stirring of life anywhere, as though Nature herself feigned
+unconsciousness. The sky was pale, not a deep, blue and there was a
+very faint haze in the atmosphere.
+
+Nell leaned against a big stone urn and gazed out over the silent
+prospect. Everything was very beautiful and very English. The formal
+gardens were exquisitely kept. The house itself had been very
+judiciously and carefully repaired.
+
+Not habitually given to emotion, as Nell looked up at the rose-red
+brick of the walls she felt a sudden swelling of the heart. It was all
+so perfect. She wished that Vernon could know--could see.
+
+Four years of marriage had dealt kindly with Nell, but they had changed
+her. There was no suggestion of the nymph about her now. She was a
+beautiful woman instead of a lovely girl. She was poised, assured. Her
+beauty was a very definite kind of beauty--it never varied or altered.
+Her movements were more deliberate than of old, she had filled out a
+little--there was no suggestion of immaturity. She was the perfect
+full-blown rose.
+
+A voice called her from the house.
+
+"Nell!"
+
+"I'm here, George, on the terrace."
+
+"Right. I'll be out in a minute."
+
+What a dear George was! A little smile creased her lips. The perfect
+husband! Perhaps that was because he was an American. You always heard
+that Americans made perfect husbands. Certainly, George had been one
+to her. The marriage had been a complete success. It was true that she
+had never felt for George what she had felt for Vernon, but almost
+reluctantly she had admitted that perhaps that was a good thing. These
+tempestuous emotions that tore and rent one--they couldn't last. Every
+day you had evidence that they _didn't_ last.
+
+All her old revolt was quelled now. She no longer questioned
+passionately the reason why Vernon should have been taken from her. God
+knew best. One rebelled at the time, but one came at last to realize
+that whatever happened was really for the best.
+
+They had known supreme happiness, she and Vernon, and nothing could
+ever mar or take away from it. It was there for ever--a precious secret
+possession, a hidden jewel. She could think of him now without regret
+or longing. They had loved each other and had risked everything to be
+together. Then had come that awful pain of separation--and then peace.
+
+Yes, that was the predominant factor in her life now--peace. George had
+given her that. He had wrapped her round with comfort, with luxury,
+with tenderness. She hoped that she was a good wife to him, even if she
+didn't care as she had cared for Vernon. But she _was_ fond of
+him--of course she was! The quiet affectionate feeling she had for him
+was by far the safest emotion to go through life with.
+
+Yes, that expressed exactly what she felt--safe and happy. She wished
+that Vernon knew. He would be glad, she was sure.
+
+George Chetwynd came out and joined her. He wore English country
+clothes and looked very much the country squire. He had not aged at
+all--indeed, he looked younger. In his hand he held some letters.
+
+"I've agreed to share that shooting with Drummond. I think we'll enjoy
+it."
+
+"I'm so glad."
+
+"We must decide who we want to ask."
+
+"Yes, we'll talk about it to-night. I'm rather glad the Hays couldn't
+come and dine. It will be nice to have an evening to ourselves."
+
+"I was afraid you were overdoing it in town, Nell."
+
+"We _did_ rush about, rather. But I think it's good for one
+really. And anyway, it's been splendidly peaceful down here."
+
+"It's wonderful." George threw an appreciative glance over the
+landscape. "I'd rather have Abbots Puissants than any place in England.
+It's got an atmosphere."
+
+Nell nodded.
+
+"I know what you mean."
+
+"I should hate to think of it in the hands of--well, people like the
+Levinnes, for instance."
+
+"I know. One would resent it. And yet Sebastian is a dear--and his
+taste, at any rate, is perfect."
+
+"He knows the taste of the public all right," said George dryly. "One
+success after another--with occasionally a _succès d'estime_,
+just to show he's not a mere money maker. He's beginning to look the
+part though--getting not exactly fat, but sleek. Adopting all sorts of
+mannerisms. There's a caricature of him in _Punch_ this week. Very
+clever."
+
+"Sebastian would lend himself to caricaturing," said Nell smiling.
+"Those enormous ears, and those funny high cheek bones. He was an
+extraordinary-looking boy."
+
+"It's odd to think of you all playing together as children. By the way,
+I've got a surprise for you. A friend you haven't seen for some time is
+coming to lunch to-day."
+
+"Not Josephine."
+
+"No. Jane Harding."
+
+"Jane Harding! But how on earth----"
+
+"I ran into her at Wiltsbury yesterday. She's on tour, acting in some
+company or other."
+
+"Jane! Why, George, I didn't even realize you knew her!"
+
+"I came across her when we were both doing relief work in Serbia. I saw
+a lot of her. I wrote to you about it."
+
+"Did you? I don't remember."
+
+Something in her tone seemed to strike him and he said anxiously: "It's
+all right, isn't it, dear? I thought it would be a pleasant surprise
+for you. I always thought she was a great friend of yours. I can put
+her off in a minute if----"
+
+"No, no. Of course, I'll be delighted to see her. I was only surprised."
+
+George was reassured.
+
+"That's all right then. By the way, she told me that a man called
+Bleibner, a man I knew very well in New York, is also in Wiltsbury. I'd
+like him to see the Abbey ruins--that sort of thing is a specialty of
+his. Do you mind if I ask him to lunch, too?"
+
+"No, of course not. Do ask him."
+
+"I'll see if I can get him on the phone now. I meant to do it last
+night, but it slipped my memory."
+
+He went indoors again. Nell was left on the terrace frowning slightly.
+
+George in this had been right. For some reason or other, she was
+not pleased at the thought of Jane's coming to lunch. She felt very
+definitely that she didn't want to see Jane. Already, the mere mention
+of Jane seemed to have disturbed the serenity of the morning. She
+thought: "I was so peaceful and now----"
+
+Annoying--yes, it was annoying. She was, had always been, afraid of
+Jane. Jane was the kind of person you could never be sure about.
+She--how could one put it?--she upset things. She was disturbing, and
+Nell didn't want to be disturbed.
+
+She thought unreasonably: "Why on earth did George have to meet her in
+Serbia? How trying things are."
+
+But it was absurd to be afraid of Jane. Jane couldn't hurt her--now.
+Poor Jane, she must have made rather a mess of things, to have come
+down to acting in a touring company.
+
+One must be loyal to one's old friends. Jane was an old friend. She
+should see how loyal Nell could be. And with a glow of self-approval
+she went upstairs and changed into a dress of dove-coloured georgette
+with which she wore one very beautifully matched string of pearls that
+George had given her on the last anniversary of their marriage. She
+took particular pains over her toilet, satisfying thereby some obscure
+female instinct.
+
+"At any rate," she thought, "the Bleibner man will be there and that
+will make things easier."
+
+Though why she expected things to be difficult she could not have
+explained.
+
+George came up to fetch her just as she was applying a final dusting of
+powder.
+
+"Jane's arrived," he said. "She's in the drawing room."
+
+"And Mr. Bleibner?"
+
+"He's engaged for lunch, unfortunately. But he's coming along this
+afternoon."
+
+"Oh!"
+
+She went downstairs slowly. Absurd to feel so apprehensive. Poor
+Jane--one simply must be nice to her. It was such terribly bad luck to
+have lost her voice and come down to this.
+
+Jane, however, did not seem aware of bad luck. She was sprawling back
+on the sofa in an attitude of easy unconcern, looking round the room
+with keen appreciation.
+
+"Hullo, Nell," she said. "Well, you seem to have dug yourself in pretty
+comfortably."
+
+It was an outrageous remark. Nell stiffened. She couldn't think for a
+moment of what to say. She met Jane's eyes, which were full of mocking
+maliciousness. They shook hands and Nell said at the same time: "I
+don't know what you mean."
+
+Jane subsided on the sofa again.
+
+"I meant all this. Palatial dwelling, well-proportioned footmen, highly
+paid cook, soft-footed servants, possibly a French maid, baths prepared
+for one with the latest unguents and bath salts, five or six gardeners,
+luxurious limousines, expensive clothes, and, I perceive, genuine
+pearls! Are you enjoying it all frightfully? I am sure you are."
+
+"Tell me about yourself," said Nell, seating herself beside Jane on the
+sofa.
+
+Jane's eyes narrowed.
+
+"That's a very clever answer. And I fully deserved it. Sorry, Nell. I
+was a beast. But you were being so queenly and so gracious. I never can
+stand people being gracious."
+
+She got up and began to stroll round the room.
+
+"So this is Vernon's home," she said softly. "I've never seen it
+before--only heard him talk about it."
+
+She was silent for a minute, then asked abruptly: "How much have you
+changed?"
+
+Nell explained that everything had been left as it was, as far as
+possible. Curtains, covers, carpets, and so forth, had all been
+renewed. The old ones were too shabby. And one or two priceless pieces
+of furniture had been added. Whenever George came across anything that
+was in keeping with the place he bought it.
+
+Jane's eyes were fixed on her while she made this explanation, and Nell
+felt uneasy because she couldn't read the expression in them.
+
+George came in before she had finished talking and they went in to
+lunch.
+
+The talk was at first of Serbia, of a few mutual friends out there.
+Then they passed on to Jane's affairs. George referred delicately to
+Jane's voice--the sorrow he had felt, that everyone must feel. Jane
+passed it off carelessly enough.
+
+"My own fault," she said. "I would sing a certain kind of music and my
+voice wasn't made for it."
+
+Sebastian Levinne, she went on to say, had been a wonderful friend. He
+was willing now to star her in London, but she had wished to learn her
+trade first.
+
+"Singing in opera is, of course, acting too. But there are all sorts of
+things to learn--to manage one's speaking voice, for instance. And then
+one's effects are all different--they must be more subtle, less broad."
+
+Next autumn, she explained, she was to appear in London in a dramatized
+version of _Tosca_.
+
+Then, dismissing her own affairs, she began to talk of Abbots
+Puissants. She led George on to discuss his plans, his ideas about the
+estate. He was made to display himself the complete country squire.
+
+There was, apparently, no mockery in Jane's eyes or her voice, but
+nevertheless Nell felt acutely uncomfortable. She wished George would
+stop talking. It was a little ridiculous, the way he spoke as though
+he and his forefathers before him had lived for centuries at Abbots
+Puissants.
+
+After coffee they went out on the terrace again, and here George was
+summoned to the telephone and left them with a word of excuse. Nell
+suggested a tour through the gardens and Jane acquiesced.
+
+"I'd like to see everything," she said.
+
+Nell thought: "It's Vernon's home she wants to see. That's why she's
+come. But Vernon never meant to her what he meant to me!"
+
+She had a passionate desire to vindicate herself, to make Jane
+see----See what? She didn't quite know herself, but she felt that Jane
+was judging her--condemning her, even.
+
+She stopped suddenly as they were walking down a long herbaceous
+border, gay with Michaelmas daisies against the old rose-coloured brick
+wall behind it.
+
+"Jane. I want to tell you--to explain----"
+
+She paused, gathering herself together. Jane merely looked at her
+inquiringly.
+
+"You must think it--very dreadful of me--marrying again so soon."
+
+"Not at all," said Jane. "It was very sensible."
+
+Nell didn't want that. That wasn't the point of view at all.
+
+"I adored Vernon--_adored_ him. When he was killed it nearly broke
+my heart. I mean it. But I knew so well that he himself wouldn't wish
+me to grieve. The dead don't want us to grieve----"
+
+"Don't they?"
+
+Nell stared at her.
+
+"Oh! I know you're voicing the popular idea," said Jane. "The dead want
+us to be brave and bear up and carry on as usual. They hate us being
+unhappy about them. That's what everybody goes about saying--but I
+never have seen that they've any foundation for that cheering belief.
+I think they've invented it themselves to make things easier for them.
+The living don't all want exactly the same thing, so I don't see why
+the dead should either. There must be heaps of selfish dead. If they
+exist at all, they must be very much the same as they were in life.
+They can't be full of beautiful and unselfish feelings all at once. It
+always makes me laugh when I see a bereaved widower tucking into his
+breakfast the day after the funeral and saying solemnly: 'Mary wouldn't
+wish me to grieve!' How does he know? Mary may be simply weeping and
+gnashing her teeth (astral teeth, of course) at seeing him going on as
+usual, just as though she had never existed. Heaps of women like a fuss
+made over them. Why should they change their characters when they're
+dead?"
+
+Nell was silent. She couldn't for the moment collect her thoughts.
+
+"Not that I mean Vernon was like that," went on Jane. "He may really
+have wished you not to grieve. You'd know best about that, because you
+knew him better than anyone else."
+
+"Yes," said Nell eagerly. "That's just it. I know he would want me to
+be happy. And he wanted me to have Abbots Puissants. I know he'd love
+to think of my being here."
+
+"He wanted to live here with you. That's not quite the same thing."
+
+"No, but it isn't as though I were living here with George as--as it
+would have been with him. Oh! Jane, I want to make you understand.
+George is a dear, but he isn't--he can never be--what--what Vernon was
+to me."
+
+There was a long pause and then Jane said: "You're lucky, Nell."
+
+"If you think I really love all this luxury! Why, for Vernon I'd give
+it up in a minute!"
+
+"I wonder."
+
+"Jane! You----"
+
+"You think you would, but--I wonder."
+
+"I did before."
+
+"No--you only gave up the prospect of it. That's different. It hadn't
+eaten into you as it has now."
+
+"Jane!"
+
+Nell's eyes filled with tears. She turned away.
+
+"My dear, I'm being a beast. There's no harm in what you've done. I
+dare say you're right--about Vernon wishing it. You need kindness and
+protection--but all the same, soft living does eat into one. You'll
+know what I mean some day. By the way, I didn't mean what you thought
+when I said just now that you were lucky. By lucky, I meant that you'd
+had the best of both worlds. If you'd married your George when you
+originally intended, you'd have gone through life with a secret regret,
+a longing for Vernon, a feeling that you'd been cheated out of life
+through your own cowardice. And if Vernon had lived you might have
+grown away from each other, quarrelled, come to hate each other. But
+as it is, you've had Vernon, made your sacrifice. You've got him where
+nothing can ever touch him. Love will be a thing of beauty to you for
+ever. And you've got all the other things as well. This!"
+
+She swept her arm around in a sudden embracing gesture.
+
+Nell had hardly paid any attention to the end part of the speech. Her
+eyes had grown soft and melting.
+
+"I know. Everything turns out for the best. They tell you so when
+you're a child and later you find it out for yourself. God does know
+best."
+
+"What do you know about God, Nell Chetwynd?"
+
+There was a savagery in the question that brought Nell's eyes to Jane
+in astonishment. She looked menacing--fiercely accusing. The gentleness
+of a minute ago was gone.
+
+"The will of God! Would you be able to say that, if God's will didn't
+happen to coincide with Nell Chetwynd's comfort, I wonder? You don't
+know anything about God or you couldn't have spoken like that, gently
+patting God on the back for making life comfortable and easy for you.
+Do you know a text that used to frighten me in the Bible? _This night
+shall thy soul be required of thee._ When God requires _your_
+soul of you, be sure you've got a soul to give him!"
+
+She paused and then said quietly: "I'll go now. I shouldn't have come.
+But I wanted to see Vernon's home. I apologize for what I've said.
+But you're so damned smug, Nell. You don't know it, but you are.
+Smug--that's the word. Life to you means yourself, and yourself only.
+What about Vernon? Was it best for him? Do you think _he_ wanted
+to die--right at the beginning of everything he cared for?"
+
+Nell flung her head back defiantly.
+
+"I made him happy."
+
+"I wasn't thinking of his happiness. I was thinking of his music. You
+and Abbots Puissants--what do you matter? Vernon had genius. That's the
+wrong way of putting it--he _belonged_ to his genius. And genius
+is the hardest master there is--everything has got to be sacrificed to
+it. Your trumpery happiness, even, would have had to go if it stood in
+the way. Genius has got to be served. Music wanted Vernon--and he's
+dead. That's the crying shame, the thing that matters, the thing you
+never even consider. I know why--because you were afraid of it, Nell.
+It doesn't make for peace and happiness and security. But I tell you,
+_it's got to be served_."
+
+Suddenly her face relaxed, the old mocking light that Nell hated came
+back to her eyes. She said:
+
+"Don't worry, Nell. You're much the strongest of us all. Protective
+colouring! I told Sebastian so long ago, and I was right. You'll endure
+when we've all perished. Good-bye. I'm sorry I've been a devil, but I'm
+made that way."
+
+Nell stood staring after her retreating figure. She clenched her hands
+and said under her breath:
+
+"I hate you. I've always hated you."
+
+
+                                  _3_
+
+The day had begun so peacefully--and now it was spoilt. Tears came into
+Nell's eyes. Why couldn't people let her alone? Jane and her horrid
+sneering. Jane was a beast--an uncanny beast. She knew where things
+hurt you most.
+
+Why, even Joe had said that she, Nell, was quite right to marry
+George! Joe had understood perfectly. Nell felt aggrieved and hurt.
+Why should Jane be so horrid? And saying things like that about the
+dead--irreligious things--when everyone knew that the dead liked one to
+be brave and cheerful.
+
+The impertinence of Jane to hurl a text at her head! A woman like Jane,
+who had lived with people and done all kinds of immoral things. Nell
+felt a glow of superior virtue. In spite of everything that was said
+nowadays, there were two kinds of women. She belonged to one kind and
+Jane to the other. Jane was attractive--that kind of woman always was
+attractive. That was why in the past she had felt afraid of Jane. Jane
+had some queer power over men--she was bad through and through.
+
+Thinking these thoughts, Nell paced restlessly up and down. She felt
+disinclined to go back to the house. In any case, there was nothing
+particular to do this afternoon. There were some letters that must be
+written sometime, but she really couldn't settle to them at present.
+
+She had forgotten about her husband's American friend, and was quite
+surprised when George joined her with Mr. Bleibner in tow. The American
+was a tall thin man, very precise. He paid her grave compliments on the
+house. They were now, he explained, going to view the ruins of the
+Abbey. George suggested she should come with them.
+
+"You go on," said Nell. "I'll follow you presently. I must get a hat.
+The sun is so hot."
+
+"Shall I get it for you, dear?"
+
+"No, thanks. You and Mr. Bleibner go on. You'll be ages pottering about
+there, I know."
+
+"Why, I should say that is very certain to be the case, Mrs. Chetwynd.
+I understand your husband has some idea of restoring the Abbey. That is
+very interesting."
+
+"It's one of our many projects, Mr. Bleibner."
+
+"You are fortunate to own this place. By the way, I hope you've no
+objection. I told my chauffeur (with your husband's assent, naturally)
+that he might stroll round the grounds. He is a most intelligent young
+man of quite a superior class."
+
+"That's quite all right. And if he'd like to see the house the butler
+can take him over it later."
+
+"Now I call that very kind of you, Mrs. Chetwynd. What I feel is that
+we want beauty appreciated by all classes. The idea that's going to
+weld together the League of Nations----"
+
+Nell felt suddenly that she couldn't bear to hear Mr. Bleibner's views
+on the League of Nations. They were sure to be ponderous and lengthy.
+She excused herself on the plea of the hot sun.
+
+Some Americans could be very boring. What a mercy George was not like
+that! Dear George--really, he was very nearly perfect. She experienced
+again that warm happy feeling that had surged over her earlier in the
+day.
+
+What an idiot she was to have let herself be upset by Jane! _Jane_
+of all people! What did it matter what Jane said or thought? It didn't,
+of course, but there was something about Jane--she had the power
+of--well--upsetting one.
+
+But that was all over now. The old tide of reassurance and safety
+welled up again. Abbots Puissants, George, the tender memory of Vernon.
+Everything was all right.
+
+She ran down the stairs happily, hat in hand. She paused a minute to
+adjust it in front of the mirror. She would go now and join them at the
+Abbey. She would make herself absolutely charming to Mr. Bleibner.
+
+She went down the steps of the terrace and along the garden walk.
+It was later than she thought. The sun was not far from setting--a
+beautiful sunset with a crimson sky.
+
+By the goldfish pond a young man in chauffeur's livery was standing
+with his back to her. He turned at her approach and civilly raised a
+finger to his cap.
+
+She stopped stock still, and slowly an unconscious hand crept up to her
+heart as she stood there staring.
+
+
+                                  _4_
+
+George Green stared.
+
+Then he ejaculated to himself: "Well, that's a rum go!"
+
+On arrival at their destination his master had said to him: "This is
+one of the oldest and most interesting places in England, Green. I
+shall be here at least an hour--perhaps longer. I will ask Mr. Chetwynd
+if you may stroll about the grounds."
+
+A kind old buffer, Green thought indulgently, but terribly keen on
+what was called "uplift." Couldn't let one alone. And he had that
+extraordinary American reverence for anything that was hallowed by
+antiquity.
+
+Certainly, this was a nice old place, though. He looked up at it
+appreciatively. He'd seen pictures of it somewhere, he was sure. He
+wouldn't mind having a stroll round as he'd been told to do so.
+
+It was well kept up, he noticed that. Who owned it? Some American chap?
+These Americans, they had all the money. He wondered who had owned it
+originally. Whoever it was must have been sick at having to let it go.
+
+He thought wistfully: "I wish I'd been born a toff. I'd like to own a
+place like this."
+
+He wandered some way through the gardens. In the distance he noticed a
+heap of ruins and amongst them two figures, one of which he recognized
+as being that of his employer. Funny old josser--always poking about
+ruins.
+
+The sun was setting, there was a wonderful lurid sky, and against it
+Abbots Puissants stood out in all its beauty.
+
+Funny, the way you thought of things as having happened before! Just
+for a minute Green could have sworn that he had once stood just where
+he was standing now and seen the house outlined against a red sky.
+Could swear, too, that he had felt just that same keen pang as of
+something that hurt. But it wanted something else--a woman with red
+hair like the sunset.
+
+There was a step behind him and he started and turned. For a minute he
+felt a vague pang of disappointment. For standing there was a young
+slender woman, and her hair, escaping each side from under her hat, was
+golden, not red.
+
+He touched his cap respectfully.
+
+A queer sort of lady, he thought. She stared at him with every bit of
+colour draining slowly from her face. She looked absolutely terrified.
+
+Then, with a sudden gasp, she turned and almost ran down the path.
+
+It was then that he ejaculated: "Well, that's a rum go!"
+
+She must, he decided, be a bit queer in the head.
+
+He resumed his aimless strolling.
+
+
+
+
+                               chapter 2
+
+
+Sebastian Levinne was in his office going into the details of a
+ticklish contract when a telegram was brought to him. He opened it
+carelessly, for he received forty or fifty telegrams a day. After he
+had read it he held it in his hand, looking at it.
+
+Then he crumpled it up, slipped it into his pocket, and spoke to Lewis,
+his right-hand man.
+
+"Get on with this thing as best you can," he said curtly. "I'm called
+out of town."
+
+He took no heed of the protestations that arose, but left the room.
+He paused to tell his secretary to see to the cancelling of various
+appointments and then went home, packed a bag, and took a taxi to
+Waterloo. There he unfolded the telegram again and read it:
+
+    Please come at once if you can very urgent Jane Wilts Hotel
+    Wiltsbury.
+
+It was a proof of his confidence and respect for Jane that he never
+hesitated. He trusted Jane as he trusted no one else in the world. If
+Jane said a thing was urgent, it was urgent. He obeyed the summons
+without wasting a thought of regret on the necessary complications it
+would cause. For no one else in the world, be it said, would he have
+done that.
+
+On arriving at Wiltsbury he drove straight to the hotel and asked
+for her. She had engaged a private room, and there she met him with
+outstretched hands.
+
+"Sebastian, my dear, you've been marvellously quick."
+
+"I came at once." He slipped off his coat and threw it over the back of
+a chair. "What is it, Jane?"
+
+"It's Vernon."
+
+Sebastian looked puzzled.
+
+"What about him?"
+
+"_He's not dead. I've seen him._"
+
+Sebastian stared at her for a minute, then drew a chair to the table
+and sat down.
+
+"It's not like you, Jane, but I think, for once in your life, you must
+have been mistaken."
+
+"I wasn't mistaken. It's possible, I suppose, for the War Office to
+have made an error?"
+
+"Errors have been made more than once--but they've usually been
+contradicted fairly soon. It stands to reason that they must be. If
+Vernon's alive, what's he been doing all this time?"
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"That I can't say. But I'm as sure about its being Vernon as I am that
+it's you here now."
+
+She spoke curtly but very confidently.
+
+He stared at her very hard, then nodded.
+
+"Tell me," he said.
+
+Jane spoke quietly and composedly.
+
+"There's an American here, a Mr. Bleibner. I met him out in Serbia.
+We recognized each other in the street. He told me he was staying at
+the County Hotel and asked me to lunch to-day. I went. Afterward it
+was raining. He wouldn't hear of my walking back. His car was there
+and would take me. His car did take me. Sebastian, the chauffeur was
+Vernon--_and he didn't know me_."
+
+Sebastian considered the matter.
+
+"You're sure you weren't deceived by some strong resemblance?"
+
+"Perfectly sure."
+
+"Then why didn't Vernon recognize you? He was pretending, I suppose."
+
+"No, I don't think so--in fact, I'm sure he wasn't. He would be
+bound to give some sign--a start--something. He couldn't have been
+_expecting_ to see me. He couldn't have controlled his first
+surprise. Besides, he looked--different."
+
+"How different?"
+
+Jane considered.
+
+"It's hard to explain. Rather happy and jolly and--just faintly--like
+his mother."
+
+"Extraordinary," said Sebastian. "I'm glad you sent for me. If it
+_is_ Vernon--well, it's going to be the devil of a business. Nell
+having married again and everything. We don't want reporters coming
+down like wolves on the fold. I suppose there'll have to be _some_
+publicity." He got up, walked up and down. "The first thing is to get
+hold of Bleibner."
+
+"I telephoned to him, asking him to be here at six-thirty. I didn't
+dare leave, though I was afraid you wouldn't be able to get here so
+soon. Bleibner will be here any minute."
+
+"Good for you, Jane. We must hear what he's got to say."
+
+There was a knock at the door and Mr. Bleibner was announced. Jane rose
+to meet him.
+
+"It's very good of you to come, Mr. Bleibner," she began.
+
+"Not at all," said the American. "Always delighted to oblige a lady.
+And you said that the matter you wanted to see me about was urgent."
+
+"It is. This is Mr. Sebastian Levinne."
+
+"_The_ Mr. Sebastian Levinne? I'm very pleased to meet you, sir."
+
+The two men shook hands.
+
+"And now, Mr. Bleibner," said Jane. "I'll come straight to what I want
+to talk to you about. How long have you had your chauffeur, and what
+can you tell us about him?"
+
+Mr. Bleibner was plainly surprised and showed it.
+
+"Green? You want to know about Green?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well----" The American reflected. "I've no objections to telling you
+what I know. I guess you wouldn't ask without a good reason. I know
+you well enough for that, Miss Harding. I picked up Green in Holland
+not long after the Armistice. He was working in a local garage. I
+discovered he was an Englishman and began to take an interest in him.
+I asked him his history and he was pretty vague about it. I thought at
+first he had something to conceal, but I soon convinced myself that he
+was genuine enough. The man was in a kind of mental fog. He knew his
+name and where he came from, but very little else."
+
+"Lost memory," said Sebastian softly. "I see."
+
+"His father was killed in the South African war, he told me. He
+remembered his father singing in the village choir, and he remembered a
+brother whom he used to call Squirrel."
+
+"And he was quite sure about his own name?"
+
+"Oh! yes. As a matter of fact, he'd got it written down in a small
+pocketbook. There was an accident, you know. He was knocked down by a
+lorry. That's how they knew who he was. They asked him if his name was
+Green and he said Yes--George. He was very popular at the garage, he
+was so sunny and light-hearted. I don't believe I've ever seen Green
+out of temper.
+
+"Well, I took a fancy to the young chap. I've seen a few shell-shocked
+cases and his state wasn't any mystery to me. He showed me the entry
+in his pocketbook and I made a few inquiries. I soon found the
+reason--there always is a reason, you know--for his loss of memory.
+Corporal George Green, London Fusiliers, was a deserter.
+
+"There, you have it. He'd funked things--and being a decent young
+fellow really, he couldn't face the fact. I explained it all to him.
+He said, rather wonderingly: 'I shouldn't have thought I could ever
+desert--not _desert_.' I explained to him that that point of view
+was just the reason he couldn't remember. He couldn't remember because
+he didn't want to remember.
+
+"He listened but I don't think he was very convinced. I felt, and still
+feel, extremely sorry for him. I didn't think there was any obligation
+on my part to report his existence to the military authorities. I
+took him into my service and offered him a chance to make good. I've
+never had cause to regret it. He's an excellent chauffeur--punctual,
+intelligent, a good mechanic, and always sunny-tempered and obliging."
+
+Mr. Bleibner paused and looked inquiringly at Jane and Sebastian. Their
+pale serious faces impressed him.
+
+"It's frightening," said Jane in her low voice. "It's one of the most
+frightening things that could happen."
+
+Sebastian took her hand and squeezed it.
+
+"It's all right, Jane."
+
+Jane roused herself with a slight shiver and spoke to the American.
+
+"I think it's our turn to explain. You see, Mr. Bleibner, in your
+chauffeur I recognized an old friend--and he didn't recognize me."
+
+"In--deed!"
+
+"But his name wasn't Green," said Sebastian.
+
+"No? You mean he enlisted under another name?"
+
+"No. There's something there that seems incomprehensible. I suppose
+we shall get at it some day. In the meantime, I will ask you, Mr.
+Bleibner, not to repeat this conversation to _anyone_. There's a
+wife in the matter, and--oh! many other considerations."
+
+"My dear sir," said Mr. Bleibner, "you can trust me to be absolutely
+silent. But what next? Do you want to see Green?"
+
+Sebastian looked at Jane and she bowed her head.
+
+"Yes," said Sebastian slowly. "I think perhaps that would be the best
+plan."
+
+The American rose.
+
+"He's below now. He brought me here. I'll send him up right away."
+
+
+                                  _2_
+
+George Green mounted the stairs with his usual buoyant step. As he did
+so he wondered what had happened to upset the old josser--by that term
+meaning his employer. Very queer the old buffer had looked.
+
+"The door at the top of the stairs," Mr. Bleibner had said.
+
+George Green rapped on it sharply with his knuckles and waited. A voice
+called "Come in" and he obeyed.
+
+There were two people in the room--the lady he had driven home to-day
+(whom he thought of in his own mind as a tip-topper) and a big, rather
+fat man with a very yellow face and projecting ears. His face seemed
+vaguely familiar to the chauffeur. For a moment he stood there while
+they both stared at him. He thought: "What's the matter with everybody
+this evening?"
+
+He said, "Yes, sir?" in a respectful voice to the yellow gentleman. He
+went on: "Mr. Bleibner told me to come up."
+
+The yellow gentleman seemed to recover himself.
+
+"Yes, yes," he said. "That's right. Sit down--er--Green. That's your
+name, isn't it?"
+
+"Yes, sir. George Green."
+
+He sat down respectfully in the chair indicated. The yellow gentleman
+handed him a cigarette case and said, "Help yourself." And all the
+time, his eyes, small piercing eyes, never left Green's face. That
+intent burning gaze made the chauffeur uneasy. What _was_ up with
+everyone to-night?
+
+"I wanted to ask you a few questions. To begin with, have you ever seen
+me before?"
+
+Green shook his head.
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"Sure?" persisted the other.
+
+A faint trace of uncertainty crept into Green's voice.
+
+"I--I don't think so," he said doubtfully.
+
+"My name is Sebastian Levinne."
+
+The chauffeur's face cleared.
+
+"Of course, sir, I've seen your picture in the papers. I thought it
+seemed familiar somehow."
+
+There was a pause, and then Sebastian Levinne asked casually: "Have you
+ever heard the name of Vernon Deyre?"
+
+"Vernon Deyre," Green repeated the name thoughtfully. He frowned
+perplexedly. "The name seems somehow familiar to me, sir, but I can't
+quite place it." He paused, the frown deepening. "I think I've heard
+it." And then added, "The gentleman's dead, isn't he?"
+
+"So that's your impression, is it? That the gentleman is dead."
+
+"Yes, sir, and a good----"
+
+He stopped suddenly, crimsoning.
+
+"Go on," said Levinne. "What were you going to say?" He added shrewdly,
+perceiving where the trouble lay. "You need not mince your words. Mr.
+Deyre was no relation of mine."
+
+The chauffeur accepted the implication.
+
+"I was going to say a good job, too--but I don't know that I ought to
+say it, since I can't remember anything about him. But I've got a kind
+of impression that--well, that he was best out of the way, so to speak.
+Made rather a mess of things, hadn't he?"
+
+"You knew him?"
+
+The frown deepened in an agony of attempted recollection.
+
+"I'm sorry, sir," the chauffeur apologized. "Since the war things
+seemed to have got a bit mixed up. I can't always recollect things
+clearly. I don't know where I came across Mr. Deyre, and why I disliked
+him, but I do know that I'm thankful to hear that he's dead. He was no
+good--you can take my word for that."
+
+There was a silence, only broken by something like a smothered sob from
+the other occupant of the room. Levinne turned to her.
+
+"Telephone to the theatre, Jane," he said. "You can't appear to-night."
+
+She nodded and left the room. Levinne looked after her and then said
+abruptly:
+
+"You've seen Miss Harding before?"
+
+"Yes, sir. I drove her home to-day."
+
+Levinne sighed. Green looked at him inquiringly.
+
+"Is--is that all, sir? I'm sorry to have been so little use. I know
+I've been a bit--well, queer since the war. My own fault. Perhaps Mr.
+Bleibner told you--I--didn't do my duty as I should have done."
+
+His face flushed but he brought out the words resolutely. Had the old
+josser told them or not? Better to say that anyway. At the same time, a
+pang of shame pierced him keenly. He was a deserter, a man who had run
+away! A rotten business.
+
+Jane Harding came back into the room and resumed her place behind the
+table. She looked paler than when she had gone out, Green thought.
+Curious eyes she had--so deep and tragic. He wondered what she was
+thinking about. Perhaps she had been engaged to this Mr. Deyre. No, Mr.
+Levinne wouldn't have urged him to speak out if that had been the case.
+It was probably all to do with money. A will, or something like that.
+
+Mr. Levinne began questioning him again. He made no reference to the
+last sentence.
+
+"Your father was killed in the Boer War, I believe?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"You remember him?"
+
+"Oh! yes, sir."
+
+"What did he look like?"
+
+Green smiled. The memory was pleasant to him.
+
+"A burly sort of chap. Mutton-chop whiskers. Very bright blue eyes. I
+remember him as well as anything singing in the choir. Baritone voice
+he had."
+
+He smiled happily.
+
+"And he was killed in the Boer War?"
+
+A sudden look of doubt crept into Green's face. He seemed
+worried--distressed. His eyes looked pathetically across the table like
+a dog at fault.
+
+"It's queer," he said. "I never thought of that. He'd be too old.
+He--and yet I'd swear--I'm sure----"
+
+The look of distress in his eyes was so acute that the other said,
+"Never mind," and went on: "Are you married, Green?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+The answer came with prompt assurance.
+
+"You seem very certain about that," said Mr. Levinne, smiling.
+
+"I am, sir. It leads to nothing but trouble--mixing yourself up with
+women." He stopped abruptly and said to Jane: "I beg your pardon."
+
+She smiled faintly and said: "It doesn't matter."
+
+There was a pause. Levinne turned to her and said something so quickly
+that Green could not catch it. It sounded like:
+
+"Extraordinary likeness to Sydney Bent. Never imagined it was there."
+
+Then they both stared at him again.
+
+And suddenly he was afraid--definitely childishly afraid--in the same
+way that he remembered being afraid of the dark when he was a baby.
+There was something up--that was how he put it to himself--and these
+two knew it. Something about him.
+
+He leaned forward, acutely apprehensive.
+
+"What's the matter?" he said sharply. "There's something...."
+
+They didn't deny it--just continued to look at him.
+
+And his terror grew. Why couldn't they tell a chap? They knew something
+that he didn't. Something dreadful. He said again, and this time his
+voice was high and shrill:
+
+"_What's the matter?_"
+
+The lady got up--he noticed in the background of his mind as it were
+how splendidly she moved. She was like a statue he'd seen somewhere.
+She came round the table and laid a hand on his shoulder. She said
+comfortingly and reassuringly: "It's all right. You mustn't be
+frightened."
+
+But Green's eyes continued to question Levinne. This man knew--this man
+was going to tell him. What was this horrible thing that they knew and
+he didn't?
+
+"Very odd things have happened in this war," began Levinne. "People
+have sometimes forgotten their own names."
+
+He paused significantly, but the significance was lost on Green. He
+said with a momentary return to cheerfulness:
+
+"I'm not as bad as that. I've never forgotten my name."
+
+"But you _have_." He stopped, then went on: "Your real name is
+Vernon Deyre."
+
+The announcement ought to have been dramatic, but it wasn't. The words
+seemed to Green simply silly. He looked amused.
+
+"I'm Mr. Vernon Deyre? You mean I'm his double or something?"
+
+"I mean you _are_ him."
+
+Green laughed frankly.
+
+"I can't monkey about with that stuff, sir. Not even if it means a
+title or a fortune! Whatever the resemblance, I'd be bound to be found
+out."
+
+Sebastian Levinne leaned forward over the table and rapped out each
+word separately, with emphasis.
+
+"You--are--Vernon--Deyre."
+
+Green stared. The emphasis impressed him.
+
+"You're kidding me?"
+
+Levinne slowly shook his head. Green turned suddenly to the woman who
+stood beside him. Her eyes, very grave and absolutely assured, met his.
+She said very quietly:
+
+"You are Vernon Deyre. We both know it."
+
+There was dead silence in the room. To Green, it seemed as though the
+whole world were spinning round. It was like a fairy story, fantastic
+and impossible. And yet something about these two compelled credence.
+He said uncertainly:
+
+"But--but things don't happen like that. You couldn't forget your own
+name!"
+
+"Evidently--since you have done so."
+
+"But--but, look here, sir, I _know_ I'm George Green. I--well, I
+just know it!"
+
+He looked at them triumphantly, but slowly and remorselessly Sebastian
+Levinne shook his head.
+
+"I don't know how that's come about," he said. "A doctor would probably
+be able to tell you. But I do know this--that you are my friend Vernon
+Deyre. There is no possible doubt of that."
+
+"But--but, if that's true, I ought to know it."
+
+He felt bewildered, horribly uncertain. A strange sickening world
+where you couldn't be sure of anything. These were kindly sane people,
+he trusted them. What they said must be so--and yet something in him
+refused to be convinced. They were sorry for him--he felt that. And
+that frightened him. There was something more yet--something that he
+hadn't been told.
+
+"Who is he?" he said sharply. "This Vernon Deyre, I mean."
+
+"You come from this part of the world. You were born and spent most of
+your childhood at a place called Abbots Puissants----"
+
+Green interrupted him in astonishment.
+
+"Abbots Puissants? Why, I drove Mr. Bleibner there yesterday. And you
+say it's my old home, and I never recognized it!"
+
+He felt suddenly buoyed up and scornful. The whole thing was a pack of
+lies! Of course it was! He had known it all the time. These people were
+honest, but they were mistaken. He felt relieved--happier.
+
+"After that you went to live near Birmingham," continued Levinne. "You
+went to school at Eton and from there you went on to Cambridge. After
+that you went to London and studied music. You composed an opera."
+
+Green laughed outright.
+
+"There you're quite wrong, sir. Why, I don't know one note of music
+from another."
+
+"The war broke out. You obtained a commission in the yeomanry. You were
+married--" he paused, but Green gave no sign--"and went out to France.
+In the spring of the following year you were reported Killed in Action."
+
+Green stared at him incredulously. What sort of a rigmarole was this?
+He couldn't remember a thing about any of it.
+
+"There must be some mistake," he said confidently. "Mr. Deyre must have
+been what they call my 'double.'"
+
+"There is no mistake, Vernon," said Jane Harding.
+
+Green looked from her to Sebastian. The confident intimacy of her tone
+had done more to convince him than anything else. He thought: "This is
+awful. A nightmare. Such things can't happen." He began to shake all
+over, unable to stop.
+
+Levinne got up, mixed him a stiff drink from materials that stood on a
+tray in the corner and brought it back to him.
+
+"Swallow this," he said, "And you'll feel better. It's been a shock."
+
+Green gulped down the draught. It steadied him. The trembling ceased.
+
+"Before God, sir," he said, "is this true?"
+
+"Before God, it is," said Sebastian.
+
+He brought a chair forward, sat down close by his friend.
+
+"Vernon, dear old chap--don't you remember me at all?"
+
+Green stared at him--an anguished stare. Something seemed to stir
+ever so faintly. How it hurt, this trying to remember! There was
+_something_--what was it. He said doubtfully:
+
+"You--you've grown up." He stretched out a hand and touched Sebastian's
+ear. "I seem to remember----"
+
+"He remembers your ears, Sebastian," cried Jane, and going over to the
+mantelpiece she laid her head down upon it and began to laugh.
+
+"Stop it, Jane." Sebastian rose, poured out another drink and took it
+to her. "Some medicine for you."
+
+She drank it, handed the glass back to him, smiled faintly, and said:
+"I'm sorry. I won't do it again."
+
+Green was going on with his discoveries.
+
+"You're--you're not a brother, are you? No, you lived next door. That's
+it--you lived next door."
+
+"That's right, old chap." Sebastian patted him on the shoulder. "Don't
+worry to think--it'll come back soon. Take it easy."
+
+Green looked at Jane. He said timidly and politely: "Were you--are
+you--my sister? I seem to remember something about a sister."
+
+Jane shook her head, unable to speak. Green flushed.
+
+"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have----"
+
+Sebastian interrupted.
+
+"You didn't have a sister. There was a cousin who lived with you. Her
+name was Josephine. We called her Joe."
+
+Green pondered.
+
+"Josephine--Joe. Yes, I seem to remember something about that." He
+paused and then reiterated pathetically: "Are you _sure_ my name
+isn't Green?"
+
+"Quite sure. Do you still feel it is?"
+
+"Yes.... And you say I made up music--music of my own? Highbrow
+stuff--not ragtime?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"It all seems--well, mad. Just that--mad!"
+
+"You mustn't worry," said Jane gently. "I dare say we have been wrong
+to tell you all this the way we have."
+
+Green looked from one to the other of them. He felt dazed.
+
+"What am I to do?" he asked helplessly.
+
+Sebastian gave an answer with decision.
+
+"You must stay here with us. You've had a great shock, you know. I'll
+go and square things with old Bleibner. He's a very decent chap and
+he'll understand."
+
+"I shouldn't like to put him out in any way. He's been a thundering
+good boss to me."
+
+"He'll understand. I've already told him something."
+
+"What about the car? I don't like to think of another chap driving that
+car. She's running now as sweetly----"
+
+He was once again the chauffeur, intent on his charge.
+
+"I know. I know." Sebastian was impatient. "But the great thing, my
+dear fellow, is to get you right as soon as possible. We want to get a
+first-class doctor on to you."
+
+"What's a doctor got to do with it?" Green was slightly hostile. "I'm
+perfectly fit."
+
+"Perhaps a doctor ought to see you all the same. Not here--in London.
+We don't want any talk down here."
+
+Something in the tone of the speaker's voice attracted Green's
+attention. The flush came over his face.
+
+"You mean the deserting business."
+
+"No, no. To tell the truth, I can't get the hang of that. I mean
+something quite different."
+
+Green looked at him inquiringly.
+
+Sebastian thought: "Well, I suppose he's got to know sometime." Aloud
+he said:
+
+"You see, thinking you were dead, your wife has--well--married again."
+
+He was a little afraid of the effect of those words. But Green seemed
+to see the matter in a humorous light.
+
+"That _is_ a bit awkward," he said with a grin.
+
+"It doesn't upset you in any way?"
+
+"You can't be upset by a thing you don't remember." He paused, as
+though really considering the matter for the first time. "Was Mr.
+Deyre--I mean, was I--fond of her?"
+
+"Well--yes."
+
+But again the grin came over Green's face.
+
+"And I to be so positive I wasn't married. All the same"--his face
+changed--"it's rather frightening--all this!"
+
+He looked suddenly at Jane, as though seeking assurance.
+
+"Dear Vernon," she said, "it will be all right."
+
+She paused, and then said in a quiet casual tone: "You drove Mr.
+Bleibner over to Abbots Puissants, you say. Did you--did you see anyone
+there? Any of the people of the house?"
+
+"I saw Mr. Chetwynd--and I saw a lady in the sunk gardens. I took her
+to be Mrs. Chetwynd, fair-haired and good-looking."
+
+"Did--did she see you?"
+
+"Yes. Seemed--well, scared. Went dead-white and bolted like a rabbit."
+
+"Oh, God!" said Jane, and bit off the exclamation almost before it was
+uttered.
+
+Green was cogitating quietly over the matter.
+
+"Perhaps she thought she knew me," he said. "She must have been one of
+them who knew him--me--in the old days, and it gave her a turn. Yes,
+that must have been it."
+
+He was quite happy with his solution.
+
+Suddenly he asked: "Had my mother got red hair?"
+
+Jane nodded.
+
+"Then that was it." He looked up apologetically. "Sorry. I was just
+thinking of something."
+
+"I'll go and see Bleibner now," said Sebastian. "Jane will look after
+you."
+
+He left the room. Green leaned forward in his chair, his head
+held between his hands. He felt acutely uncomfortable and
+miserable--especially with Jane. Clearly he ought to know her--and he
+didn't. She had said "Dear Vernon" just now. It was terribly awkward
+when people knew you and you felt they were strangers. If he spoke to
+her he supposed he ought to call her Jane--but he couldn't. She was a
+stranger. Still, he supposed he'd have to get used to it. They'd have
+to be Sebastian and George and Jane together--no, not George--Vernon.
+Silly sort of name, Vernon. Probably he'd been a silly sort of chap.
+
+"I mean," he thought, trying desperately to force the realization upon
+himself, "_I_ must have been a silly sort of chap."
+
+He felt horribly lonely--cut off from reality. He looked up to find
+Jane watching him, and the pity and understanding in her eyes made him
+feel a shade less forlorn.
+
+"It's rather terrible just at first, isn't it?" she said.
+
+He said politely: "It is rather difficult. You don't--you don't know
+where you are with things."
+
+"I understand."
+
+She said no more, just sat there quietly beside him. His head jerked
+forward. He began to doze. In reality he only slept for a few minutes,
+but it seemed to him hours. Jane had turned all the lamps out but one.
+He woke with a start. She said quickly:
+
+"It's all right."
+
+He stared at her, his breath coming in gasps. He was still in the
+nightmare then, he hadn't wakened. And there was something worse to
+come--something he didn't know yet. He was sure of it. That was why
+they all looked at him so pityingly.
+
+Jane got up suddenly. Wildly, he cried out:
+
+"Stay with me. Oh! please stay with me."
+
+He couldn't understand why her face should suddenly twist with pain.
+What was there in what he had said to make her look like that? He said
+again: "Don't leave me. Stay with me."
+
+She sat down again beside him and took his hand in hers. She said very
+gently:
+
+"I won't go away."
+
+He felt soothed, reassured. After a minute or two he dozed again. He
+woke quietly this time. The room was as before and his hand was still
+in Jane's. He spoke diffidently:
+
+"You--you aren't my sister? You were--you are, I mean--a friend of
+mine?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"A great friend?"
+
+"A great friend."
+
+He paused. Yet the conviction in his mind was growing stronger and
+stronger. He blurted out suddenly:
+
+"You're--you're my wife, aren't you?"
+
+He was sure of it.
+
+She drew her hand away. He wouldn't understand the look in her face. It
+frightened him. She got up.
+
+"No," she said. "I'm not your wife."
+
+"Oh! I'm sorry. I thought----"
+
+"It's all right."
+
+And at that minute Sebastian came back. His eyes went to Jane. She
+said, with a little twisted smile:
+
+"I'm glad you've come.... I'm--glad you've come."
+
+
+                                  _3_
+
+Jane and Sebastian talked long into the night. What was to be done? Who
+was to be told?
+
+There was Nell and Nell's position to consider. Presumably Nell should
+be told first of all. She was the one most vitally concerned.
+
+Jane agreed. "If she doesn't know already."
+
+"You think she knows?"
+
+"Well, evidently she met Vernon yesterday face to face."
+
+"Yes, but she must have thought it just a very strong resemblance."
+
+Jane was silent.
+
+"Don't you think so?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+"But hang it all, Jane, if she said she'd recognized him, she'd have
+done something--got hold of him or Bleibner. It's nearly two days ago
+now."
+
+"I know."
+
+"She can't have recognized him. She just saw Bleibner's chauffeur, and
+his likeness to Vernon gave her such a shock that she couldn't stand it
+and rushed away."
+
+"I suppose so."
+
+"What's in your mind, Jane?"
+
+"_We_ recognized him, Sebastian."
+
+"You mean you did. I'd been told by you."
+
+"But you would have known him anywhere, wouldn't you?"
+
+"Yes, I would.... But then, I know him so well."
+
+Jane said in a hard voice: "So does Nell."
+
+Sebastian looked sharply at her and said: "What are you getting at,
+Jane?"
+
+"I don't know."
+
+"Yes, you do. What do you really think happened?"
+
+Jane paused before speaking.
+
+"I think Nell came upon him suddenly in the garden and thought it was
+Vernon. Afterward she persuaded herself that it had only been a chance
+resemblance that had upset her so."
+
+"Well, that's very much what I said."
+
+He was a little surprised when she said meekly: "Yes, it is."
+
+"What's the difference?"
+
+"Practically none, only----"
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"You and I would have wanted to believe it was Vernon even if it
+wasn't."
+
+"Wouldn't Nell? Surely she hasn't come to care for George Chetwynd to
+such an extent----"
+
+"Nell is very fond of George, but Vernon is the only person she's ever
+been in love with."
+
+"Then that's all right. Or is it worse that way? It's the deuce of a
+tangle. What about his people?--Mrs. Deyre and the Bents."
+
+Jane said decidedly: "Nell must be told before they are. Mrs. Deyre
+will broadcast it over England as soon as she knows, and that will be
+very unfair to both Vernon and Nell."
+
+"Yes, I think you're right. Now my plan is this: to take Vernon up to
+town to-morrow and go and see a specialist--then be guided by what he
+advises."
+
+Jane said Yes, she thought that would be the best plan. She got up to
+go to bed. On the stairs she paused and said to Sebastian:
+
+"I wonder if we're right. Bringing him back, I mean. He looked so
+happy. Oh! Sebastian, he looked so happy...."
+
+"As George Green, you mean?"
+
+"Yes. Are you sure we're right?"
+
+"Yes, I'm pretty sure. It can't be right for anyone to be in that
+unnatural sort of state."
+
+"I suppose it _is_ unnatural. The queer thing is he looked so
+normal and commonplace. And happy--that's what I can't get over,
+Sebastian--_happy_.... We're none of us very happy, are we?"
+
+He couldn't answer that.
+
+
+
+
+                               chapter 3
+
+
+Two days later Sebastian came to Abbots Puissants. The butler was not
+sure that Mrs. Chetwynd could see him. She was lying down.
+
+Sebastian gave his name and said he was sure Mrs. Chetwynd would see
+him. He was shown into the drawing room to wait. The room seemed
+empty and silent but unusually luxurious--very different from what
+it had looked in his childish days. He thought to himself, "It was a
+_real_ house then," and wondered what exactly he meant by that. He
+got it presently. Now it suggested, very faintly, a museum. Everything
+was beautifully arranged, and harmonized perfectly. Every piece that
+was not perfect had been replaced by one that was. All the carpets and
+covers and hangings were new.
+
+"And they must have cost a pretty penny," thought Sebastian
+appreciatively, and priced them with a fair degree of accuracy. He
+always knew the cost of things.
+
+He was interrupted in this salutary exercise by the door opening. Nell
+came in, a pink colour in her cheeks and her hand outstretched.
+
+"Sebastian! What a surprise! I thought you were too busy ever to leave
+London except at a week-end--and not often then!"
+
+"I've lost just twenty thousand pounds in the last two days," said
+Sebastian gruffly as he took her hand. "Simply from gadding about and
+letting things go anyhow. How are you, Nell?"
+
+"Oh! I'm feeling splendid."
+
+She didn't look very splendid, though, he thought, now that the flush
+of surprise had died away. Besides, hadn't the butler said she was
+lying down, not feeling well? He fancied that her face looked a little
+strained and haggard.
+
+She went on: "Sit down, Sebastian. You look as though you were on the
+point of going off to catch a train. George is away--in Spain. He had
+to go on business. He'll be away a week at least."
+
+"Will he?"
+
+That was a good thing anyway. A damned awkward business. Nell had
+simply no idea....
+
+"You're very glum, Sebastian. Is anything the matter?"
+
+She asked the question quite lightly, but he seized upon it eagerly. It
+was the opening he needed.
+
+"Yes, Nell," he said gravely. "As a matter of fact, there is."
+
+He heard her draw in her breath with a sudden catch. Her eyes looked
+watchful.
+
+"What is it?" she said.
+
+Her voice sounded different--hard and suspicious.
+
+"I'm afraid what I'm going to say will be a great shock to you. It's
+about Vernon."
+
+"What about Vernon?"
+
+Sebastian waited a minute. Then he said: "Vernon--is alive, Nell."
+
+"Alive?" she whispered. Her hand crept up to her heart.
+
+"Yes."
+
+She didn't do any of the things he expected her to do--didn't faint, or
+cry out, or ask eager questions. She just stared straight ahead of her.
+And a sudden quick suspicion came into his shrewd Jewish mind.
+
+"You knew it?"
+
+"No, no."
+
+"I thought perhaps you saw him, the other day, when he came here?"
+
+"Then it _was_ Vernon!"
+
+It broke from her like a cry. Sebastian nodded his head. It was as he
+thought and said to Jane. She had not trusted her eyes.
+
+"What did you think--that it was a very close resemblance?"
+
+"Yes--yes, that's what I thought. How could I think it was Vernon? He
+looked at me and didn't know me."
+
+"He's lost his memory, Nell."
+
+"Lost his memory?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+He told her the story, giving the details as carefully as possible. She
+listened but paid less attention than he expected. When he had finished
+she said: "Yes, but what's to be done about it all? Will he get it
+back? What are we to do?"
+
+He explained that Vernon was having treatment from a specialist.
+Already, under hypnosis, part of the lost memory had returned. The
+whole process would not be long delayed. He did not enter into the
+technical details, judging rightly that these would have no interest
+for her.
+
+"And then he'll know--everything?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+She shrank back in her chair. He felt a sudden rush of pity.
+
+"He can't blame you, Nell. You didn't know--nobody could know. The
+report of his death was absolutely definite. It's an almost unique
+case. I've heard of one other. In most cases, of course, a report of
+death was contradicted almost immediately. Vernon loves you enough to
+understand and forgive."
+
+She said nothing but she put up both hands to cover her face.
+
+"We think--if you agree--that everything had better be kept quiet for
+the present. You'll tell Chetwynd, of course. And you and he and Vernon
+can--well, thrash it out together."
+
+"Don't! Don't! Don't go into details. Just let's leave it for the
+present--till I've seen Vernon."
+
+"Do you want to see him at once? Will you come up to town with me?"
+
+"No--I can't do that. Let him come here--to see me. Nobody will
+recognize him. The servants are all new."
+
+Sebastian said slowly: "Very well.... I'll tell him."
+
+Nell got up.
+
+"I--I--you must go away now, Sebastian. I can't bear any more. I can't
+indeed. It's all so dreadful. And only two days ago I was so happy and
+peaceful...."
+
+"But Nell, surely to have Vernon back again----"
+
+"Oh! yes, I didn't mean _that_. You don't understand. That's
+wonderful, of course. Oh! do go, Sebastian. It's awful of me turning
+you out like this, but I can't bear any more. You must go."
+
+Sebastian went. On the way back to town he wondered a good deal.
+
+
+                                  _2_
+
+Left alone, Nell went back to her bedroom and lay down on her bed,
+pulling the silk eiderdown tightly over her.
+
+So it was true after all. It _had_ been Vernon. She had told
+herself that it couldn't be--that she had made a ridiculous mistake.
+But she'd been uneasy ever since.
+
+What was going to happen? What would George say about it all? Poor
+George! He'd been so good to her.
+
+Of course there were women who'd married again, and then had found
+their first husbands were alive. Rather an awful position. She had
+never really been George's wife at all.
+
+Oh! it couldn't be true. Such things didn't happen. God wouldn't let----
+
+But perhaps she had better not think of God. It reminded her of those
+very unpleasant things that Jane had said the other day. That very same
+day.
+
+She thought with a rush of self pity: "I was so happy!"
+
+Was Vernon going to understand? Would he--perhaps--blame her? He'd
+want her, of course, to come back. Or wouldn't he, now that she and
+George.... What _did_ men think?
+
+There could be a divorce, of course, and then she could marry George.
+But that would make a lot of talk. How difficult everything was.
+
+She thought with a sudden shock: "But I _love_ Vernon. How can I
+contemplate a divorce and marrying George when I love Vernon? He's been
+given back to me--from the dead."
+
+She turned over restlessly on the bed. It was a beautiful Empire
+bed. George had bought it out of an old château in France. It was
+perfect and quite unique. She looked round the room: a charming room,
+everything in harmony--perfect taste, perfect unostentatious luxury.
+
+She remembered suddenly the horsehair sofa and the antimacassars in
+the furnished rooms at Wiltsbury.... Dreadful! But they had been happy
+there.
+
+But now? She looked round the room with new eyes. Of course, Abbots
+Puissants belonged to George. Or didn't it, now that Vernon had come
+back? Anyway, Vernon would be just as poor as ever. They couldn't
+afford to live here. There were all the things that George had done to
+it.... Thought after thought raced confusedly through her brain.
+
+She must write to George--beg him to come home. Just say it was
+urgent--nothing more. He was so clever. He might see a way.
+
+Or perhaps she wouldn't write to him--not till she had seen Vernon.
+Would Vernon be very angry? How terrible it all was.
+
+The tears came to her eyes. She sobbed: "It's unfair--it's unfair. I've
+never done anything. Why should this happen to me? Vernon will blame
+me, and I couldn't know. How could I know?"
+
+And again the thought flitted across her mind: "I _was_ so happy!"
+
+
+                                  _3_
+
+Vernon was listening, trying to understand what the doctor was saying
+to him. He looked across the table at him. A tall thin man, with eyes
+that seemed to see right into the centre of you and to read there
+things that you didn't even know about yourself.
+
+And he made you see all the things you didn't want to see. Made you
+bring things up out of the depths. He was saying:
+
+"Now that you have remembered, tell me again exactly how you saw the
+announcement of your wife's marriage."
+
+Vernon cried out: "Must we go over it again and again? It was all so
+horrible. I don't want to think of it any more."
+
+And then the doctor explained, gravely and kindly, but very
+impressively. It was because of that desire not to "think of it any
+more" that all this had come about. It must be faced now--thrashed out.
+Otherwise the loss of memory might return.
+
+They went all over it again.
+
+And then, when Vernon felt he could bear no more, he was told to lie
+down on a couch. The doctor touched his forehead and his limbs, told
+him that he was resting--was rested--that he would become strong and
+happy again....
+
+A feeling of peace came over Vernon.
+
+He closed his eyes....
+
+
+                                  _4_
+
+Vernon came down to Abbots Puissants three days later. He came in
+Sebastian Levinne's car. To the butler he gave his name as Mr. Green.
+Nell was waiting for him in the little white-panelled room where his
+mother had sat in the mornings. She came forward to meet him, forcing
+a conventional smile to her lips. The butler shut the door behind him
+just in time for her to stop short before offering him her hand.
+
+They looked at each other. Then Vernon said:
+
+"Nell...."
+
+She was in his arms. He kissed her--kissed her--kissed her....
+
+He let her go at last. They sat down. He was quiet, rather tragic,
+very restrained, but for that one wild greeting. He'd gone through so
+much--so much in these last few days.
+
+Sometimes he wished they'd left him alone--as George Green. It had been
+jolly being George Green.
+
+He said stammeringly: "It's all right, Nell. You mustn't think I blame
+you. I understand. Only it hurts. It hurts like hell! Naturally."
+
+She said: "I didn't mean----"
+
+He interrupted her.
+
+"I _know_, I tell you----I _know_! Don't talk about it. I
+don't want to hear about it. I don't want to think about it even." He
+added in a different tone: "They say that's my trouble. That's how it
+happened."
+
+She said, rather eagerly: "Tell me about it--about everything."
+
+"There isn't much to tell." He spoke without interest, abstractedly.
+"I was taken prisoner. How I got to be reported killed, I don't
+know. At least, I have a sort of vague idea. There was a fellow very
+like me--one of the Huns. I don't mean a double, or anything of that
+sort, but just a general superficial resemblance. My German's pretty
+rotten but I heard them commenting on it. They took my kit and my
+identification disc. I think the idea was for him to penetrate into
+our lines as me--we were being relieved by Colonial troops, and they
+knew it. The fellow would pass muster for a day or so and would gain
+the information he wanted. That's only an idea, but it explains why I
+wasn't returned in the list of prisoners and I was sent to a camp that
+was practically all French and Belgians. But none of that matters,
+does it? I suppose the Hun was killed getting through our lines and
+was buried as me. I had a pretty bad time in Germany--nearly died with
+some kind of fever on top of being wounded. Finally I escaped----Oh!
+it's a long story. I'm not going into all that now. I had the hell of
+a time--without food and water sometimes for days at a stretch. It was
+a sort of miracle that I came through--but I did. I got into Holland.
+I was exhausted and at the same time all strung up. And I could only
+think of one thing--getting back to you."
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"And then I saw it--in a beastly illustrated paper. Your marriage.
+It--it finished me. But I wouldn't face it. I kept on saying that it
+couldn't be true. I went out--I don't know where I went. Things got all
+mixed up in my mind.
+
+"There was a whacking great lorry coming down the road. I saw my
+chance--end it all, get out of it. I stepped out in front of it."
+
+"Oh, Vernon!" she shuddered.
+
+"And that _was_ the end. Of me as Vernon Deyre, I mean. When I
+came to there was just one name in my head--George. That lucky chap,
+George. George Green."
+
+"Why Green?"
+
+"A sort of fancy of mine when I was a child. And then the Dutch girl at
+the inn had asked me to look up a pal of hers whose name was Green and
+I'd written it down in a little book."
+
+"And you didn't remember anything?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Weren't you very frightened?"
+
+"No, not at all. I didn't seem to be worrying about anything." He added
+with lingering regret: "I was awfully happy and jolly."
+
+Then he looked across at her.
+
+"But that doesn't matter now. Nothing matters--but you."
+
+She smiled at him, but her smile was flickering and uncertain. He
+barely noticed it at the moment, but went on.
+
+"It's been rather hell--getting back, remembering things. All such
+beastly things. All the things that--really--I didn't want to face. I
+seem to have been a most awful coward all my life. Always turning away
+from things I didn't want to look at. Refusing to admit them."
+
+He got up suddenly and came across to her, dropping his head upon her
+knees.
+
+"Darling Nell, it's all right. I know I come first. I do, don't I?"
+
+She said: "Of course."
+
+Why did her voice sound so mechanical in her own ears? He did come
+first. Just now, with his lips on hers, she had been swept back again
+to those wonderful days at the beginning of the war. She had never felt
+about George like that ... drowned, carried away.
+
+"You say that so strangely--as though you didn't mean it."
+
+"Of course I mean it."
+
+"I'm sorry for Chetwynd--rotten luck for him. How has he taken it? Very
+hard?"
+
+"I haven't told him."
+
+"What?"
+
+She was moved to vindicate herself.
+
+"He's away--in Spain. I haven't got his address."
+
+"Oh! I see...."
+
+He paused.
+
+"It'll be rather rotten for you, Nell. But it can't be helped. We'll
+have each other."
+
+"Yes."
+
+Vernon looked around.
+
+"Chetwynd will have this place, anyway. I'm such an ungenerous beggar
+that I even grudge him that. But, damn it all, it _is_ my home.
+It's been in the family five hundred years. Oh! what does it all
+matter? Jane told me once that I couldn't get everything. I've got
+you--that's all that matters. We'll find some place. Even if it's only
+a couple of rooms, it will do."
+
+His arms stole up, closing round her. Why did she feel that cold dismay
+at those words, "A couple of rooms"?
+
+"Damn these things! They get in my way!"
+
+Impetuously, half laughing, he held up the string of pearls she wore.
+He switched them off--flung them on the floor. Her lovely pearls! She
+thought: "Anyway, I suppose I'll have to give them back." Another cold
+feeling. All those lovely jewels that George had given her.
+
+What a brute she was to go on thinking of things like that.
+
+He had seen something at last. He was kneeling upright, looking at her.
+
+"Nell, is--is anything the matter?"
+
+"No--of course not."
+
+She couldn't meet his eyes. She felt too ashamed.
+
+"There is something. Tell me."
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"It's nothing."
+
+She couldn't be poor again. She couldn't--she couldn't.
+
+"Nell, you must tell me."
+
+He mustn't know--he must never know what she was really like. She was
+so ashamed.
+
+"Nell, you do love me, don't you?"
+
+"Oh, yes!" The words came eagerly. _That_ at any rate was true.
+
+"Then what is it? I know there's something.... Ah!"
+
+He got up. His face had gone white. She looked up at him inquiringly.
+
+"Is it that?" he asked in a low voice. "It must be. You're going to
+have a child."
+
+She sat as though carved in stone. She had never thought of that. If it
+were true, it solved everything. Vernon would never know.
+
+"It _is_ that?"
+
+Again it seemed as though hours passed. Thoughts went whirling round in
+her brain. It was not herself, but something outside herself that at
+last made her bow her head ever so slightly.
+
+He moved a little away. He spoke in a hard dry voice.
+
+"That alters everything.... My poor Nell! You can't--_we_
+can't.... Look here, nobody knows--about me, I mean--except the doctor
+and Sebastian and Jane. They won't split. I was reported dead. I
+_am_ dead."
+
+She made a movement, but he held up a hand to stop her and backed away
+toward the door.
+
+"Don't say anything--for God's sake, don't say anything. Words will
+make it worse, I'm going. I daren't touch you or kiss you. I--good-bye."
+
+She heard the door open, made a movement as if to call out--but no
+sound came from her throat. The door shut again.
+
+There was still time. The car hadn't started.
+
+But still she didn't move.
+
+She had one moment of searing bitterness when she looked into herself
+and thought: "So that's what I'm really like."
+
+But she made no sound or movement.
+
+Four years of soft living fettered her will, stifled her voice, and
+paralyzed her body.
+
+
+
+
+                               chapter 4
+
+
+"Miss Harding to see you, madam."
+
+Nell started. Twenty-four hours had elapsed since her interview with
+Vernon. She had thought it was finished. And now Jane!
+
+She was afraid of Jane.
+
+She might refuse to see her.
+
+She said: "Show her up here."
+
+It was more private up here in her own sitting room.
+
+What a long time it was waiting. Had Jane gone away again? No, here she
+was.
+
+She looked very tall. Nell cowered down on the sofa. Jane had a wicked
+face--she had always thought so. There was a look on her face now as of
+an avenging Fury.
+
+The butler left the room. Jane stood towering over Nell. Then she flung
+back her head and laughed.
+
+"Don't forget to ask me to the christening," she said.
+
+Nell flinched. She said haughtily:
+
+"I don't know what you mean?"
+
+"It's a family secret at present, is it? Nell, you damned little liar,
+you're not going to have a child. I don't believe you ever will have a
+child--too much risk and pain. What made you think of telling Vernon
+such a peculiarly damnable lie?"
+
+Nell said sullenly: "I never told him. He--he guessed."
+
+"That's even more damnable."
+
+"I don't know what you mean, coming here and--and saying things like
+this."
+
+Her protest sounded weak--spiritless. For the life of her she couldn't
+put the necessary indignation into it. With anyone else--not with Jane.
+Jane had always been disagreeably clear-eyed. It was awful! If only
+Jane would go away.
+
+She rose to her feet, trying to sound decisive.
+
+"I don't know why you have come here. If it is only to make a scene...."
+
+"Listen, Nell. You're going to hear the truth. You chucked Vernon once
+before. He came to me. Yes--to me. He lived with me for three months.
+He was living with me when you came to my flat that day. Ah! that hurts
+you. You've still got a bit of raw womanhood left in you, I'm glad to
+see.
+
+"You took him from me then. He went to you and never gave me a thought.
+He's yours now if you want him. But I tell you this, Nell, if you let
+him down a second time, he'll come to me again. Oh! yes, he will.
+You've thought things about me in your mind--turned up your nose at me
+as 'a certain kind of woman.' Well, because of that, perhaps, I've got
+power. I know more about men than you will ever learn. I can get Vernon
+if I want him. And I do want him. I always have."
+
+Nell shuddered. She turned her face away, digging her nails into the
+palms of her hands.
+
+"Why do you tell me all this? You're a devil."
+
+"I tell it to you to hurt you! To hurt you like hell before it's too
+late. No, you shan't turn your head away. You shan't shrink away from
+what I'm telling you. You've got to look at me and see--yes, see--with
+your eyes and your heart and your brain.... You love Vernon with the
+last remaining corner of your miserable little soul. Think of him in my
+arms--think of his lips on mine, of his kisses burning my body.... Yes,
+you shall think of it.
+
+"Soon you won't mind even that. But you mind now.... Aren't you enough
+of a woman to jib at handing over the man you love to another woman? To
+a woman you hate? 'A present for Jane with love from Nell.'"
+
+"Go away," said Nell faintly. "Go away."
+
+"I'm going. It's not too late. You can undo the lie you told."
+
+"Go away.... Go away."
+
+"Do it soon--or you'll never do it." Jane paused at the door, looking
+back over her shoulder. "I came for Vernon's sake--not mine. I want
+him back. And I shall have him ..." she paused, "unless...."
+
+She went out.
+
+Nell sat with her hands clenched.
+
+She murmured fiercely: "She shan't have him. She shan't."
+
+She wanted Vernon. She wanted him. He had loved Jane once. He would
+love her again. What had she said? "... his lips on mine ... his kisses
+burning my...." Oh! God, she couldn't bear it. She started up--moved
+toward the telephone.
+
+The door opened. She turned slowly. George came in. He looked very
+normal and cheerful.
+
+"Hullo, sweetheart." He crossed the room and kissed her. "Here I
+am--back again. A nasty crossing, I'd rather have the Atlantic than the
+Channel any day."
+
+She had completely forgotten that George was coming home to-day! She
+couldn't tell him this minute--it would be too cruel. And besides, it
+was so difficult--to burst in with tragic news in the middle of a flow
+of banalities. This evening--later. In the meantime she would play her
+part.
+
+She returned his embrace mechanically, sat down and listened while he
+talked.
+
+"I've got a present for you, honey. Something that reminded me of you."
+
+He took a velvet case from his pocket.
+
+Inside, on a bed of white velvet, lay a big rose-coloured
+diamond--exquisite, flawless--depending from a long chain. Nell gave a
+little gasp of pleasure.
+
+He lifted the jewel from the case and slipped the chain over her
+head. She looked down. The exquisite rose-coloured stone blinked up
+at her from its resting place between her breasts. Something about it
+hypnotized her.
+
+He led her to the glass. She saw a golden-haired beautiful woman, very
+calm and elegant. She saw the waved and shingled hair, the manicured
+hands, the foamy negligee of soft lace, the cobweb-silk stockings
+and little embroidered mules. She saw the hard cold beauty of the
+rose-coloured diamond.
+
+And behind them she saw George Chetwynd--kindly, generous, deliciously
+safe.
+
+Dear George, she couldn't hurt him....
+
+Kisses.... What, after all, were kisses? You needn't think about them.
+Better not to think of them.
+
+Vernon ... Jane....
+
+She wouldn't think of them. For good or evil, she'd made her choice.
+There would be bad moments sometimes, but on the whole it would be for
+the best. Better for Vernon, too. If she weren't happy she couldn't
+make him happy.
+
+She said gently: "You are a dear to bring me such a lovely present.
+Ring for tea. We'll have it up here."
+
+"That will be fine. But weren't you going to telephone to someone? I
+interrupted you."
+
+She shook her head.
+
+"No," she said. "I've changed my mind."
+
+
+_2_
+
+            LETTERS FROM VERNON DEYRE TO SEBASTIAN LEVINNE
+
+    _Moscow._
+
+    Dear Sebastian:
+
+    Do you know that there was once a legend in Russia that concerned a
+    "nameless beast" that was coming?
+
+    I mention this not because of any political significance (by the
+    way, the Antichrist hysteria is curious, isn't it?) but because it
+    reminded me of my own terror of "the Beast." I've thought about the
+    Beast a great deal since coming to Russia--trying to get at its
+    true significance.
+
+    Because there's more in it than just being afraid of a piano. That
+    doctor in London opened my eyes to a great many things. I've begun
+    to see that all through my life I've been a coward. I think you've
+    known that, Sebastian. You wouldn't put it in that offensive way,
+    but you hinted as much to me once. I've run away from things....
+    Always I've run away from things.
+
+    And thinking it all over now, I see the Beast as something
+    symbolical--not a mere piece of furniture composed of wood and
+    wires. Don't mathematicians say that the future exists at the
+    same time as the past?--that we travel through time as we travel
+    through space?--from a thing that is to another thing that is?
+    Don't some even hold that remembering is a mere habit of the
+    mind--that we could remember forward as well as back if we had only
+    learned the trick of it? It sounds nonsense when I say it, but I
+    believe there is some theory of that kind.
+
+    I believe that there is some part of us that _does_ know the
+    future, that is always intimately aware of it.
+
+    That explains, doesn't it, why we should shrink sometimes? The
+    burden of our destiny is going to be heavy and we recoil from its
+    shadow. I tried to escape from music--but it got me. It got me at
+    that concert, in the same way that religion got those people at the
+    Salvation Army meeting.
+
+    It's a devilish thing--or is it godlike? If so it's an Old
+    Testament jealous God--all the things I've tried to cling to have
+    been swept away. Abbots Puissants ... Nell....
+
+    And, damn it all, what's left? Nothing. Not even the cursed thing
+    itself. I've no wish to write music. I hear nothing--feel nothing.
+    Will it ever come back. Jane says it will. She seems very sure. She
+    sends her love to you, by the way.
+
+                                                                 Yours,
+                                                                Vernon.
+
+
+                                  _3_
+
+    _Moscow._
+
+    You're an understanding devil, Sebastian. You don't complain that I
+    ought to have written you a description of samovars, the political
+    situation, and life in Russia generally. The country, of course,
+    is in a bloody muddle. What else could it be in? But it's jolly
+    interesting.... Love from Jane.
+
+                                                                Vernon.
+
+
+                                  _4_
+
+    _Moscow._
+
+    Dear Sebastian:
+
+    Jane was right to bring me here. Point No. 1, no one is likely to
+    come across me here and joyously proclaim my resurrection from
+    the dead. Point No. 2, this is about the most interesting place
+    in the world to be from my point of view. A kind of free-and-easy
+    laboratory where everyone is trying experiments of the most
+    dangerous kind. The whole world seems concerned with Russia from a
+    purely political point of view. Economic, starvation, morals, lack
+    of liberty, diseased and decadent children ... _etc._
+
+    But, amazing things are sometimes born out of vice and filth
+    and anarchy. The whole trend of Russian thought in art is
+    extraordinary--part of it the most utter childish drivel you ever
+    heard, and yet wonderful gleams peeping through, like shining flesh
+    through a beggar's rags.
+
+    The Nameless Beast--Collective Man. Did you ever see that plan for
+    a monument to the Communist Revolution? The Colossus of Iron? I
+    tell you, it stirs the imagination.
+
+    Machinery--an Age of Machinery.... How the Bolsheviks worship
+    anything to do with machinery--and how little they know about
+    it! That's why it's so wonderful to them, I suppose. Imagine a
+    real mechanic of Chicago composing a dynamic poem describing his
+    city as "... built upon a screw! Electro dynamo mechanical city!
+    Spiral-shaped on a steel disc. At every stroke of the hour Turning
+    round itself--Five thousand skyscrapers...." Anything more alien
+    from the spirit of America!
+
+    And yet, do you ever see a thing when you're too close to it?
+    It's the people who don't know machinery who see its soul and its
+    meaning. The Nameless Beast.... My Beast?... I wonder.
+
+    Collective Man--forming himself in turn into a vast machine. The
+    same herd instinct that saved the race of old coming out again in a
+    different form.
+
+    Life's becoming too difficult--too dangerous--for the individual.
+    What was it Dostoevsky says in one of his books?
+
+    "The flock will collect again and submit once more, and then it
+    will be for ever, for ever. We will give them a quiet modest
+    happiness."
+
+    Herd instinct.... I wonder.
+
+                                                                 Yours,
+                                                                Vernon.
+
+
+                                  _5_
+
+    _Moscow._
+
+    I have found the other passage in Dostoevsky. I think it is the one
+    you mean:
+
+    "And we alone, we who guard the mystery, we alone shall be unhappy.
+    There will be thousands of millions of happy children and only a
+    hundred thousand martyrs who have taken on themselves the curse of
+    good and evil."
+
+    You mean, and Dostoevsky meant, that there must always be
+    individualists. It is the individualists who carry on the torch.
+    Men welded into a vast machine must ultimately perish. For the
+    machine is soulless and will end as scrap iron.
+
+    Men worshipped stone and built Stonehenge--and to-day the men who
+    built it have perished and are unknown and Stonehenge stands.
+    And yet, by a paradox, the men are alive in you and me, their
+    descendants, and Stonehenge and what it stood for is dead. The
+    things that die endure, and the things that endure perish.
+
+    It is Man that goes on for ever. (Does he? Isn't that unwarrantable
+    arrogance? Yet we believe it!) And so, there must be individualists
+    behind the Machine. So Dostoevsky says and so you say. But then,
+    you're both Russians. As an Englishman I'm more pessimistic.
+
+    Do you know what that passage from Dostoevsky reminds me of?
+    My childhood. Mr. Green's hundred children--_and_ Poodle,
+    Squirrel, and Tree. Representatives of the hundred thousand.
+
+                                                                 Yours,
+                                                                Vernon.
+
+
+                                  _6_
+
+    _Moscow._
+
+    Dear Sebastian:
+
+    I suppose you're right. I never have thought much before. It seemed
+    to me an unprofitable exercise. In fact, I'm not sure I don't still
+    regard it as such.
+
+    The trouble is, you see, that I can't "say it in music." Damn it
+    all, why _can't_ I say it in music? Music's my job. I'm more
+    sure of that than ever. And yet--nothing doing.
+
+    It's hell.
+
+                                                                Vernon.
+
+
+                                  _7_
+
+    Dear Sebastian:
+
+    Haven't I mentioned Jane? What is there to say about her? She's
+    splendid. We both know that. Why don't you write to her yourself?
+
+                                                            Yours ever,
+                                                                Vernon.
+
+
+                                  _8_
+
+    Dear old Sebastian:
+
+    Jane says you may be coming out here. I wish to God you would. I'm
+    sorry I haven't written for six months--I never was one of the
+    world's ready letter writers.
+
+    Have you seen anything of Joe? I'm glad Jane and I looked her up
+    passing through Paris. Joe's staunch, she'll never split on us,
+    and I'm glad she at any rate knows. We never write to each other,
+    she and I, we never have. But I wondered if you'd heard anything.
+    I didn't think she looked awfully fit. Poor old Joe! She's made a
+    mess of things.
+
+    Have you heard anything of Tatlin's scheme for a monument to the
+    Third Internationale? To consist of a union of three great glass
+    chambers connected by a system of vertical axes and spirals. By
+    means of special machinery they would be kept in perpetual motion
+    but at different rates of speed.
+
+    And inside, I suppose, they'd sing hymns to a Holy Acetylene
+    Blowpipe!
+
+    Do you remember, one night, we were motoring back to town, and we
+    took the wrong turning somewhere amongst the tramlines of Lewisham,
+    and instead of making for the haunts of civilization we turned up
+    somewhere among the Surrey docks and through an opening in the
+    frowsy houses we saw a queer kind of cubist picture of cranes and
+    cloudy steam and iron girders? And immediately your artistic soul
+    bagged it for a drop scene--or whatever the technical term is.
+
+    My God, Sebastian! What a magnificent spectacle of machinery you
+    could build up--sheer effects and lighting, and masses of humans
+    with inhuman faces--mass, not individuals. You've something of the
+    kind in mind, haven't you?
+
+    The architect, Tatlin, said something that I think good and yet a
+    lot of nonsense:
+
+    "Only the rhythm of the metropolis, of factories and machines
+    together with the organization of the masses, can give the impulse
+    to the new art----"
+
+    And he goes on to speak of the "monument of the machine" the only
+    adequate expression of the pression.
+
+    You know, of course, all about the modern Russian theatre. That's
+    your job. I suppose Mayerhold is as marvellous as they say he is.
+    But can one mix up drama and propaganda?
+
+    All the same, it's exciting to arrive at a theatre and be compelled
+    at once to join a marching crowd--up and down, in strict step,
+    till the performance begins--and the scenery, composed of rocking
+    chairs and cannons and revolving bays and God knows what! It's
+    babyish--absurd--and yet one feels that baby has got hold of a
+    dangerous and rather interesting toy that in other hands....
+
+    _Your_ hands, Sebastian--you're a Russian. But thank heaven
+    and geography, no propagandist--just a showman pure and simple.
+
+    _The Rhythm of the metropolis_--made pictorial.
+
+    My God!--if I could give you the music. It's the music that's
+    needed.
+
+    Lord--their "noise orchestras"--their symphonies of factory sirens!
+    There was a show at Baku in 1922--batteries of artillery, machine
+    guns, choirs, naval fog horns. Ridiculous! Yes, but if they had a
+    composer....
+
+    No woman ever longed for a child as I long to produce music.
+
+    And I'm barren--sterile.
+
+                                                                Vernon.
+
+
+                                  _9_
+
+    Dear Sebastian:
+
+    It seems like a dream, your having come and gone. Will you really
+    do _The Tale of the Rogue Who Outwitted Three Other Rogues_? I
+    wonder.
+
+    I'm only just beginning to recognize what a howling success
+    you've made of things. I've at last grasped that you're simply
+    IT nowadays. Yes, found your National Opera House--God knows
+    it's time we had one. But what do you want with opera? It's
+    archaic--dead--ridiculous individual love affairs.
+
+    Music up to now seems to me like a child's drawing of a house--four
+    walls, a door, two windows, and a chimney pot. There you are--and
+    what more do you want?
+
+    At any rate Feinberg and Prokofiev do more than that.
+
+    Do you remember how we used to jeer at the cubists and futurists?
+    At least, I did. Now that I come to think of it, I don't believe
+    you agreed.
+
+    And then one day--at a cinema--I saw a view of a big city from the
+    air. Spires turning over, buildings bending--everything behaving as
+    one simply knew concrete and steel and iron couldn't behave! And
+    for the first time I got a glimmering of what old Einstein meant
+    when he talked about relativity.
+
+    We don't know anything about the shape of music. We don't know
+    anything about the shape of anything, for that matter--because
+    there's always one side open to space.
+
+    Some day you'll know what I mean--what music can mean--what I've
+    always known it meant.
+
+    What a mess that opera of mine was. All opera is a mess. Music
+    was never intended to be representational. To take a story and
+    write descriptive music to it is as wrong as to write a passage of
+    music--in the abstract so to speak--and then find an instrument
+    capable of playing it! When Stravinsky wrote a clarionet passage,
+    you can't even conceive of it as being played by anything else!
+
+    Music should be like mathematics--a pure science, untouched by
+    drama, or romanticism, or any emotion other than the pure emotion
+    which is the result of _sound_ divorced from ideas.
+
+    I've always known that in my heart. Music must be Absolute.
+
+    Not, of course, that I shall realize my ideal. To create pure sound
+    untouched by ideas is a counsel of perfection.
+
+    My music will be the music of machinery. I leave the dressing
+    of it to you. It's an age of choreography, and choreography will
+    reach heights we don't as yet dream of. I can trust you with the
+    visual side of my masterpiece as yet unwritten--and which in all
+    probability never will be written.
+
+    Music must be four dimensional--timbre, pitch, relative speed, and
+    periodicity.
+
+    I don't think even now we appreciate Schönberg enough. That clean
+    remorseless logic that is the spirit of to-day. He and he alone had
+    the courage to disregard tradition--to get down to bed rock, and
+    discover Truth.
+
+    He's the one man to my mind who matters. Even his scheme of score
+    writing will have to be adopted universally. It's absolutely
+    necessary if scores are going to be intelligible.
+
+    The thing I have against him is scorn of his instruments. He's
+    afraid of being a slave to them. He makes them serve him whether
+    they will or no.
+
+    I'm going to glorify my instruments. I'm going to give them what
+    they want--what they've always wanted.
+
+    Damn it all, Sebastian, _what is this strange thing, music_? I
+    know less and less.
+
+                                                                 Yours,
+                                                                Vernon.
+
+
+                                 _10_
+
+    I know I haven't written. I've been busy. Making experiments. Means
+    of expression for the Nameless Beast. In other words, instrument
+    making. Metals are jolly interesting. I'm working with alloys just
+    at present.
+
+    What a fascinating thing sound is.
+
+    Jane sends her love.
+
+    In answer to your question--No, I don't suppose I shall ever leave
+    Russia--not even to attend at your newly planned opera house,
+    disguised in my beard!
+
+    It's even more barbarous and beautiful now than when you saw it!
+    Full and flowing, the perfect temperamental Slav Beaver!
+
+    But in spite of the forest camouflage, here I am and here I stay,
+    till I am exterminated by one of the bands of wild children.
+
+                              Yours ever,
+                                Vernon.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+            TELEGRAM FROM VERNON DEYRE TO SEBASTIAN LEVINNE
+
+    Just heard Joe dangerously ill feared dying stranded in New York
+    Jane and I sailing _Resplendent_ hope see you London.
+
+
+
+
+                               chapter 5
+
+
+"Sebastian!"
+
+Joe started up in bed, then fell back weakly. She stared unbelievingly.
+Sebastian, big, fur-coated, calm, and omniscient, smiled placidly down
+at her.
+
+There was no sign in his face of the sudden pang her appearance had
+given him. Joe--poor little Joe!
+
+Her hair had grown--it was arranged in two short plaits, one over each
+shoulder. Her face was horribly thin, with a high hectic flush on
+each cheek bone. The bones of her shoulders showed through her thin
+nightdress.
+
+She looked like a feverish child. There was something childlike in her
+surprise, in her pleasure, in her eager questioning. The nurse had left
+them.
+
+Sebastian sat down by the bed and took Joe's thin hand in his.
+
+"Vernon wired me. I didn't wait for him. I caught the first boat."
+
+"To come to me?"
+
+"Of course."
+
+"Dear Sebastian!"
+
+Tears came into her eyes. Sebastian was alarmed and went on hastily:
+
+"Not that I shan't do a bit of business while I am over. I often come
+over on business, and as a matter of fact I can do one or two good
+deals just now."
+
+"Don't spoil it."
+
+"But it's true," said Sebastian, surprised.
+
+Joe began to laugh, but coughed instead. Sebastian watched anxiously,
+ready to call the nurse. He had been warned. But the fit passed.
+
+Joe lay there contentedly, her hand creeping into Sebastian's again.
+
+"Mother died this way," she whispered. "Poor Mother! I thought I was
+going to be so much wiser than she was, and I've made such a mess of
+things. Oh! such a mess of things."
+
+"Poor old Joe!"
+
+"You don't know what a mess I've made of things, Sebastian."
+
+"I can imagine it," said Sebastian. "I always thought you would."
+
+Joe was silent a minute, then she said: "You don't know what a comfort
+it is to see you, Sebastian. I have seen and known so many rotters. I
+didn't like your being strong and successful and cocksure--it annoyed
+me. But now--oh, it's wonderful!"
+
+He squeezed her hand.
+
+"There's no one else in the world who would have come--as you've
+come--miles--at once. Vernon, of course, but then he's a relation--a
+kind of brother. But you----"
+
+"I'm just as much a brother--more than a brother. Ever since Abbots
+Puissants I've been--well, ready to stand by if you wanted me."
+
+"Oh! Sebastian." Her eyes opened wide--happily. "I never dreamt that
+you'd feel like that still."
+
+He started ever so slightly. He hadn't meant that exactly. He had meant
+something that he couldn't explain--not at any rate to Joe. It was a
+feeling peculiarly and exclusively Jewish. The undying gratitude of
+the Jew who never forgets a benefit conferred. As a child he had been
+an outcast and Joe had stood by him--she had been willing to defy her
+world. The child Sebastian had never forgotten--would never forget. He
+would, as he had said, have gone to the ends of the earth if she had
+wanted him.
+
+She went on.
+
+"They moved me into this place--from that horrible ward. Was that you?"
+
+He nodded.
+
+"I cabled."
+
+Joe sighed.
+
+"You're so terribly efficient, Sebastian."
+
+"I'm afraid so."
+
+"But there's nobody like you--nobody. I've thought of you so often
+lately."
+
+"Have you?"
+
+He thought of the lonely years--the aching longing--the baffled desire.
+Why did things always come to you at the wrong time?
+
+She went on.
+
+"I never dreamt you'd still think about me. I always fancied that some
+day you and Jane----"
+
+A queer pang shot through him. _Jane_....
+
+He and Jane....
+
+He said gruffly: "Jane, to my mind, is one of the finest things God
+ever made. But she belongs body and soul to Vernon and always will."
+
+"I suppose so. But it's a pity. You and she are the strong ones. You
+belong together."
+
+They did, in a curious way. He knew what she meant.
+
+Joe said with a flickering smile: "This reminds me of the books one
+reads as a child. Edifying death-bed scenes. Friends and relations
+gathering round. Wan smiles of heroine."
+
+Sebastian had made up his mind. Why had he felt this wasn't love? It
+was. This passion of pure disinterested pity and tenderness--this deep
+affection lasting through the years. A thousand times better worth
+while than those stormy or tepid affairs that occurred with monotonous
+regularity--that punctuated his life without ever touching any real
+depths.
+
+His heart went out to the childlike figure. Somehow, he'd bring it off.
+
+He said gently: "There aren't going to be any death-bed scenes, Joe.
+You're going to get well and marry me."
+
+"Darling Sebastian! Tie you to a consumptive wife? Of course not."
+
+"Nonsense! You'll do one of two things--either get well or die. If you
+die you die, and there's an end of it. If you get cured you marry me.
+And no expense will be spared to cure you."
+
+"I'm pretty bad, Sebastian dear."
+
+"Possibly. But nothing is more uncertain than tubercle--any doctor
+will tell you so. You've been just letting yourself go. I think myself
+you'll get well. A long weary business, but it can be done."
+
+She looked at him. He saw the colour rising and falling in her thin
+cheeks. He knew then that she loved him, and a queer little stir of
+warmth woke round his heart. His mother had died two years ago. Since
+then no one had really cared.
+
+Joe said in a low voice: "Sebastian, do you really need me? I--I've
+made such a mess of things."
+
+He said with sincerity: "Need you? I'm the loneliest man on earth."
+
+And suddenly he broke down. It was a thing he had never done in his
+life--never thought he would do. He knelt by Joe's bed, his face
+buried, his shoulders heaving.
+
+Her hand stroked his head. He knew she was happy--her proud spirit
+appeased. Dear Joe--so impulsive, so warm-hearted, so wrong-headed. She
+was dearer to him than anyone on earth. They could help one another.
+
+The nurse came in--the visitor had been there long enough. She withdrew
+again for Sebastian to say good-bye.
+
+"By the way," he said, "That French fellow--what's his name?"
+
+"François? He's dead."
+
+"That's all right. You could have got a divorce, of course. But being a
+widow makes it easier."
+
+"You _do_ think I shall get well?"
+
+Pathetic, the way she said that!
+
+"Of course."
+
+The nurse reappeared and he took his departure. He called on the
+doctor--had a long talk. The doctor was not hopeful. But he agreed
+that there was a chance. They decided on Florida.
+
+Sebastian left the home. He walked along the street deep in thought. He
+saw a placard with "Terrible Disaster to _Resplendent_" on it, but
+it conveyed nothing to his mind.
+
+He was too busy with his own thoughts. What was really best for Joe? To
+live or to die? He wondered.
+
+She'd had such a rotten life. He wanted the best for her.
+
+He went to bed and slept heavily.
+
+
+                                  _2_
+
+He awoke to a vague uneasiness. There was something--something. For the
+life of him he couldn't put a name to it.
+
+It wasn't Joe. Joe was in the foreground of his mind. This was
+something in the background--shoved away--something that he hadn't been
+able to give consideration to at the time.
+
+He thought: "I shall remember presently." But he didn't.
+
+As he dressed he thought out the problem of Joe. He was all for moving
+her to Florida as soon as possible. Later, perhaps, Switzerland. She
+was very weak, but not too weak to be moved. As soon as she had seen
+Vernon and Jane....
+
+They were arriving--when? The _Resplendent_, wasn't it? The
+_Resplendent_....
+
+The razor he was holding dropped from his hand. He'd got it now! Before
+his eyes rose the vision of a newspaper placard.
+
+The _Resplendent_--Terrible Disaster.
+
+Vernon and Jane were on the _Resplendent_.
+
+He rang furiously. A few minutes later he was scanning the morning
+newspaper. There were now full details to hand. His eyes scanned them
+rapidly. The _Resplendent_ had struck an iceberg--the death
+roll--survivors.
+
+A list of names ... survivors. He found the name there of Groen, Vernon
+was alive anyway. Then he searched the other list and found at last
+what he was looking for, fearing--the name of Jane Harding.
+
+
+                                  _3_
+
+He stood quite still, staring at the news sheet in his hand. Presently
+he folded it up neatly, laid it on a side table and rang the bell. In
+a few minutes a curt order given to the bell hop sent his secretary
+hurrying to him.
+
+"I've got an appointment at ten o'clock I can't break. There are some
+things you've got to find out for me. Have the information ready for me
+when I return."
+
+He detailed the points succinctly. The fullest particulars as to the
+_Resplendent_ were to be collected, and certain radios were to be
+sent off.
+
+Sebastian telephoned himself to the hospital and warned them that
+no mention of the _Resplendent_ disaster was to be made to the
+patient. He had a few words with Joe herself which he managed to make
+normal and commonplace.
+
+He stopped at a florist's to send her some flowers and then went off
+to embark on a long day of meetings and business appointments. It is
+to be doubted if anyone noticed that the great Sebastian Levinne was
+unlike himself in the smallest detail. He had never been more shrewd in
+driving a bargain and his power of getting his own way was never more
+in evidence.
+
+It was six o'clock when he returned to the Biltmore.
+
+His secretary met him with all the information available. The survivors
+had been picked up by a Norwegian ship. They would be due in New York
+in three days' time.
+
+Sebastian nodded, his face unchanged. He gave further instructions.
+
+On the evening of the third day following that he returned to his
+hotel, to be met by the information that Mr. Groen had arrived and was
+installed in the suite adjoining his own.
+
+Sebastian strode there.
+
+Vernon was standing by the window. He turned round. Sebastian felt
+something like a shock. In some strange way he no longer recognized his
+friend. Something had happened to him.
+
+They stood staring at each other. Sebastian spoke first. He said the
+thing that all day had been present in his mind.
+
+"Jane's dead," he said.
+
+Vernon nodded--gravely--understandingly.
+
+"Yes," he said quietly. "Jane's dead--and I killed her."
+
+The old unemotional Sebastian revived and protested.
+
+"For God's sake, Vernon, don't take it like that. She came with
+you--naturally. Don't be morbid about it."
+
+"You don't understand," said Vernon. "You don't know what happened."
+
+He paused and then went on, speaking very quietly and collectedly.
+
+"I can't describe the thing. It happened quite suddenly, you
+know--in the middle of the night. There was very little time. The
+boat heeled over, you know, at an appalling angle. The two of them
+came together--slipping--sliding down the deck. They couldn't save
+themselves."
+
+"What two?"
+
+"Nell and Jane, of course."
+
+"What's Nell got to do with it?"
+
+"She was on board."
+
+"What?"
+
+"Yes. I didn't know. Jane and I were second class, of course, and I
+don't think we ever glanced at a passenger list. Yes, Nell and George
+Chetwynd were on board. That's what I'm telling you, if you wouldn't
+interrupt. It happened--a sort of nightmare, no time for life boats or
+anything. I was hanging onto a stanchion--or whatever you call it--to
+save myself from falling into the sea.
+
+"And they came drifting along the deck, those two, right by
+me--slipping, sliding--faster and faster--and the sea waiting for them
+below.
+
+"I'd no idea Nell was on board till I saw her drifting down to
+destruction, and crying out, '_Vernon!_'
+
+"There isn't time to think on these occasions, I tell you. One can
+just make an instinctive gesture. I could grab on to one or other of
+them--Nell or Jane. I grabbed Nell and held her, held her like grim
+death."
+
+"And Jane?"
+
+Vernon said quietly: "I can see her face still, looking at me as she
+went--down into that green swirl."
+
+"My God!" said Sebastian hoarsely.
+
+Then suddenly his impassivity forsook him. His voice rang out bellowing
+like a bull.
+
+"You saved Nell? You bloody fool! To save Nell--and let Jane drown.
+Why, Nell isn't worth the tip of Jane's little finger. Damn you!"
+
+"I know that."
+
+"You know it? Then----"
+
+"I tell you, it isn't what you _know_--it's some blind instinct
+that takes hold of you."
+
+"Damn you! Damn you!"
+
+"I'm damned all right. You needn't worry. I let Jane drown--and I love
+her."
+
+"Love her?"
+
+"Yes, I've always loved her. I see that now. Always, from the
+beginning, I was afraid of her--because I loved her. I was a coward
+there, like everywhere else--trying to escape from reality. I fought
+against her. I was ashamed of the power she had over me. I've taken her
+through hell.
+
+"And now I want her--I want her. Oh! you'll say that's like me, to want
+a thing as soon as it's out of my reach. Perhaps it's true--perhaps I
+am like that.
+
+"I only know that I love Jane--that I love her--and that she's gone
+from me for ever."
+
+He sat down on a chair and said in his normal tone: "I want to work.
+Get out of here, Sebastian, there's a good fellow."
+
+"My God, Vernon, I didn't think I could ever hate you----"
+
+Vernon repeated: "I want to work."
+
+Sebastian turned on his heel and left the room.
+
+
+                                  _4_
+
+Vernon sat very still.
+
+Jane....
+
+Horrible to suffer like this--to want anyone so much.
+
+Jane ... Jane....
+
+Yes, he'd always loved her. After that very first meeting he'd been
+unable to keep away. He'd been drawn toward her by something stronger
+than himself.
+
+Fool and coward to be afraid--always afraid. Afraid of any deep
+reality--of any violent emotion.
+
+And she had known--she had always known, and been unable to help
+him. What had she said: "Divided in time"? That first evening at
+Sebastian's party when she had sung:
+
+    "_I saw a Fairy lady there
+    With long white hands and drowning hair_...."
+
+Drowning hair ... no, no, not that. Queer she should have sung that
+song. And the statue of the drowned woman ... that was queer, too.
+
+What was the other thing she had sung that night?
+
+    "_J'ai perdu mon amie--elle est morte.
+    Tout s'en va cette fois, à jamais,
+    A jamais, pour toujours elle emporte
+    Le dernier des amours que j'aimais_...."
+
+He had lost Abbots Puissants, he had lost Nell.
+
+But with Jane, he had indeed lost "_le dernier des amours que
+j'aimais_."
+
+For the rest of his life he would be able to see only one woman--Jane.
+
+He loved Jane ... he loved her....
+
+And he'd tortured her, slighted her, finally abandoned her to that
+green evil sea.
+
+The statue in the South Kensington Museum....
+
+God!--he mustn't think of that.
+
+Yes, he'd think of everything. This time he wouldn't turn away.
+
+Jane ... Jane ... Jane....
+
+He wanted her. Jane....
+
+He'd never see her again.
+
+He'd lost everything now ... everything.
+
+Those days, months, years in Russia. Wasted years.
+
+Fool--to live beside her, to hold her body in his arms, and all the
+time to be afraid ... afraid of his passion for her.
+
+That old terror of the Beast....
+
+And suddenly, as he thought of the Beast, he knew....
+
+Knew that at last he had come into his heritage.
+
+
+                                  _5_
+
+It was like the day he had come back from the Titanic Concert. It was
+the vision he had had then. He called it vision for it seemed more that
+than sound. Seeing and hearing were one--curves and spirals of sound,
+ascending, descending, returning.
+
+And now he _knew_--he had the technical knowledge.
+
+He snatched at paper, jotted down brief scrawled hieroglyphics, a kind
+of frantic shorthand. There were years of work in front of him, but
+he knew that he should never again recapture this first freshness and
+clearness of vision.
+
+It must be so--and so: a whole weight of metal--brass--all the brass in
+the world.
+
+And those new glass sounds ... ringing, clear.
+
+He was happy.
+
+An hour passed ... two hours.
+
+For a moment he came out of his frenzy--remembered ... Jane!
+
+He felt sick--ashamed. Couldn't he mourn her for even one evening?
+There was something base--cruel--in the way he was using his sorrow,
+his desire--transmuting it into terms of sound.
+
+That was what it meant to be a creator--ruthlessness, using everything.
+
+And people like Jane were the victims.
+
+Jane....
+
+He felt torn in two--agony and wild exultation.
+
+He thought: "Perhaps women feel like this when they have a child."
+
+Presently he bent again over his sheets of paper, writing frenziedly,
+flinging them on the floor as he finished them.
+
+When the door opened he did not hear it. He was deaf to the rustle of a
+woman's dress. Only when a small frightened voice said, "Vernon," did
+he look up.
+
+With an effort he forced the abstracted look from his face.
+
+"Hullo," he said. "Nell."
+
+She stood there, twisting her hands together--her face white and
+ravaged. She spoke in breathless gasps.
+
+"Vernon ... I found out. They told me ... where you were ... and I
+came."
+
+He nodded.
+
+"Yes," he said. "You came?"
+
+Oboes--no, cut out oboes. Too soft a note. It must be strident--brazen.
+But harps--yes, he wanted the liquidness of harps--like water. You
+wanted water as a source of power.
+
+Bother! Nell was speaking. He'd have to listen.
+
+"Vernon, after that awful escape from death--I knew.... There's only
+one thing that matters--love. I've always loved you. I've come back to
+you--for always."
+
+"Oh!" he said stupidly.
+
+She had come nearer, was holding out her hands to him.
+
+He looked at her as if from a great distance. Really, Nell was
+extraordinarily pretty. He could well see why he had fallen in love
+with her. Queer, that he wasn't the least bit in love with her now. How
+awkward it all was. He did wish she would go away and let him get on
+with what he was doing. What about trombones? One could improve on a
+trombone....
+
+"Vernon!" Her voice was sharp--frightened. "Don't you love me any more?"
+
+It was really best to be truthful. He said with an odd formal
+politeness:
+
+"I'm awfully sorry. I--I'm afraid I don't. You see, I love Jane."
+
+"You're angry with me--because of that lie about the--the child."
+
+"What lie? About what child?"
+
+"Don't you even remember? I said I was going to have a child and it
+wasn't true.... Oh! Vernon, forgive me ... forgive me."
+
+"That's quite all right, Nell. Don't you worry. I'm sure everything's
+for the best. George is an awfully good chap and you're really happiest
+with him. And now, for God's sake, do go away. I don't want to be rude,
+but I'm most awfully busy. The whole thing will go if I don't pin it
+down."
+
+She stared at him.
+
+Then slowly she moved toward the door. She stopped, turned, flung out
+her hands toward him.
+
+"Vernon...."
+
+It was a last cry of despairing appeal.
+
+He did not even look up, only shook his head impatiently.
+
+She went out, shutting the door behind her.
+
+Vernon gave a sigh of relief.
+
+There was nothing now to come between him and his work.
+
+He bent over the table.
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78262 ***
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+<body>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78262 ***</div>
+
+<div class="titlepage">
+
+
+<h1>GIANTS' BREAD</h1>
+
+<p class="ph1">A NOVEL OF ROMANCE AND SUSPENSE BY<br>
+MARY WESTMACOTT<br>
+ALSO KNOWN<br>
+AS<br>
+AGATHA CHRISTIE</p>
+
+<p>Copyright 1930 by Doubleday, Doran &amp; Company</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p><i>Books by Mary Westmacott</i></p>
+
+<p>GIANTS' BREAD<br>
+UNFINISHED PORTRAIT<br>
+ABSENT IN THE SPRING<br>
+THE ROSE AND THE YEW TREE<br>
+A DAUGHTER'S A DAUGHTER<br>
+THE BURDEN</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap">
+
+<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
+
+<table>
+<tr><td class="tdc"><a href="#Prologue">Prologue</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdc">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdc"><a href="#Book_I">Book I</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;ABBOTS PUISSANTS</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#chapter_1I">chapter 1</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#chapter_2I">chapter 2</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#chapter_3I">chapter 3</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#chapter_4I">chapter 4</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#chapter_5I">chapter 5</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#chapter_6I">chapter 6</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#chapter_7I">chapter 7</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#chapter_8I">chapter 8</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdc">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdc"><a href="#Book_II">Book II</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;NELL</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#chapter_1II">chapter 1</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#chapter_2II">chapter 2</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#chapter_3II">chapter 3</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#chapter_4II">chapter 4</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#chapter_5II">chapter 5</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#chapter_6II">chapter 6</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#chapter_7II">chapter 7</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdc">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdc"><a href="#Book_III">Book III</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;JANE</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#chapter_1III">chapter 1</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#chapter_2III">chapter 2</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#chapter_3III">chapter 3</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#chapter_4III">chapter 4</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdc">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdc"><a href="#Book_IV">Book IV</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;WAR</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#chapter_1IV">chapter 1</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#chapter_2IV">chapter 2</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#chapter_3IV">chapter 3</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#chapter_4IV">chapter 4</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdc">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdc"><a href="#Book_V">Book V</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;GEORGE GREEN</td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#chapter_1V">chapter 1</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#chapter_2V">chapter 2</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#chapter_3V">chapter 3</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#chapter_4V">chapter 4</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#chapter_5V">chapter 5</a></td></tr>
+</table>
+
+<hr class="chap">
+
+<h2>GIANTS' BREAD</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="Prologue">Prologue</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>It was the opening night of London's new National Opera House and
+consequently an occasion. Royalty was there. The Press were there. The
+fashionable were there in large quantities. Even the musical, by hook
+and by crook, had managed to be there—mostly very high up in the final
+tier of seats under the roof.</p>
+
+<p>The musical composition given was <i>The Giant</i>, a new work by a hitherto
+unknown composer, Boris Groen. In the interval after the first part of
+the performance a listener might have collected the following scraps of
+conversation:</p>
+
+<p>"Quite divine, darling." "They say it's simply the—the—<i>the</i> latest!!
+Everything out of tune on purpose ... and you have to read Einstein in
+order to understand it...." "Yes, dear, I shall tell everyone it's too
+marvellous. But, privately, it does make one's head ache!"</p>
+
+<p>"Why can't they open a British opera house with a decent British
+composer? All this Russian tomfoolery!" Thus a peppery colonel.</p>
+
+<p>"Quite so," drawled his companion. "But, you see, there are no British
+composers. Sad, but there it is!"</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense—don't tell me, sir. They just won't give them a
+chance—that's what it is. Who is this fellow Levinne? A dirty foreign
+Jew. That's all he is!"</p>
+
+<p>A man near by, leaning against the wall half concealed by a curtain,
+permitted himself to smile—for he was Sebastian Levinne, sole owner of
+the National Opera House, familiarly known by the title of the World's
+Greatest Showman.</p>
+
+<p>He was a big man, rather too well covered with flesh. His face was
+yellow and impassive, his eyes beady and black, two enormous ears stood
+out from his head and were the joy of caricaturists.</p>
+
+<p>The surge of talk eddied past him.</p>
+
+<p>"Decadent ... morbid ... neurotic ... childish...."</p>
+
+<p>Those were critics.</p>
+
+<p>"Devastating ... too divine ... marvellous, my dear...."</p>
+
+<p>Those were women.</p>
+
+<p>"The thing's nothing but a glorified revue." "Amazing effects in the
+second part, I believe. Machinery, you know. This first part, 'Stone,'
+is only a kind of introduction. They say old Levinne has simply gone
+all out over this. Never been anything like it." "Music's pretty weird,
+isn't it?" "Bolshy idea, I believe. Noise orchestras, don't they call
+them?"</p>
+
+<p>Those were young men, more intelligent than the women, less prejudiced
+than the critics.</p>
+
+<p>"It won't catch on. A stunt, thath all. Yet, I don't know—there's a
+feeling for this cubist thtuff." "Levinne's shrewd." "Dropths money
+deliberately thometimes—but getth it back." "Cost...?" The voices
+dropped, hushed themselves mysteriously as sums of money were mentioned.</p>
+
+<p>Those were members of his own race. Sebastian Levinne smiled.</p>
+
+<p>A bell rang—slowly the crowd drifted and eddied back to their seats.</p>
+
+<p>There was a wait, filled with chattering and laughter—then the lights
+wavered and sank. The conductor mounted to his place. In front of him
+was an orchestra just six times as large as any Covent Garden orchestra
+and quite unlike an ordinary orchestra. There were strange instruments
+in it of shining metal like misshapen monsters, and in one corner an
+unaccustomed glitter of crystal. The conductor's baton was stretched
+out, then fell, and immediately there was a low rhythmic beating as of
+hammers on anvils. Every now and then a beat was missed—lost—and then
+came floating back taking its place out of turn, jostling the others.</p>
+
+<p>The curtain rose....</p>
+
+<p>At the back of a box on the second tier Sebastian Levinne stood and
+watched.</p>
+
+<p>This was no opera, as commonly understood. It told no story, featured
+no individuals. Rather was it on the scale of a gigantic Russian
+ballet. It contained spectacular effects. Strange and weird effects
+of lighting—effects that were Levinne's own inventions. His revues
+had for long been proclaimed as the last word in sheer spectacular
+sensation. Into this, more artist than producer, he had put the whole
+force of his imagination and experience.</p>
+
+<p>The prologue had represented Stone—Man's infancy.</p>
+
+<p>This—the body of the work—was a supreme pageant of
+machinery—fantastic, almost awful. Power houses, dynamos, factory
+chimneys, cranes, all merging and flowing. And men—armies of men—with
+cubist robot faces—defiling in patterns.</p>
+
+<p>The music swelled and eddied—a deep sonorous clamour came from the new
+strangely shaped metal instruments. A queer high sweet note sounded
+above it all, like the ringing of innumerable glasses.</p>
+
+<p>There was an Episode of Skyscrapers—New York seen upside down as from
+a circling aëroplane in the early dawn of morning. And the strange
+inharmonious rhythm beat ever more insistently, with increasing
+menacing monotony. It drew on through other episodes to its climax:
+a giant-seeming steel erection—thousands of steel faced men welded
+together into a Giant Collective Man.</p>
+
+<p>The Epilogue followed immediately. There was no interval, the lights
+did not go up.</p>
+
+<p>Only one side of the orchestra spoke. What was called in the new modern
+phrase "the Glass."</p>
+
+<p>Clarion ringing notes.</p>
+
+<p>The curtain dissolved into mist ... the mist parted ... the sudden
+glare made one wish to shield one's eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Ice—nothing but ice ... great bergs and glaciers ... shining.</p>
+
+<p>And on the top immense pinnacle a little figure—facing away from the
+audience toward the insufferable glare that represented the rising of
+the sun....</p>
+
+<p>The ridiculous puny figure of a man.</p>
+
+<p>The glare increased—to the whiteness of magnesium. Hands went
+instinctively to eyes with a cry of pain.</p>
+
+<p>The glass rang out—high and sweet—then crashed—and broke—literally
+broke—into tinkling fragments.</p>
+
+<p>The curtain dropped and the lights rose.</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian Levinne with an impassive face received various
+congratulations and side hits.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you've done it this time, Levinne. No half measures, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"A damned fine show, old man. Blessed if I know what it's all about,
+though."</p>
+
+<p>"The Giant, eh? That's true, we live in an age of machinery all right."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Mr. Levinne, it's simply too frightening for words! I shall dream
+of that horrid steel Giant."</p>
+
+<p>"Machinery as the Giant that devours, eh? Not far wrong, Levinne. We
+want to get back to Nature. Who's Groen? A Russian?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, who's Groen? He's a genius, whoever he is. The Bolshevists can
+boast they've produced one composer at last."</p>
+
+<p>"Too bad, Levinne, you've gone Bolshy. Collective Man. Collective
+Music, too."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Levinne, good luck to you. Can't say I like this damned
+caterwauling they call music nowadays, but it's a good show."</p>
+
+<p>Almost last came a little old man, slightly bent, with one shoulder
+higher than the other. He said with a very distinct utterance:</p>
+
+<p>"Like to give me a drink, Sebastian?"</p>
+
+<p>Levinne nodded. This little old man was Carl Bowerman, the most
+distinguished of English musical critics. They went together to
+Levinne's own sanctum.</p>
+
+<p>In Levinne's room they settled down in two armchairs. Levinne provided
+his guest with a whisky and soda. Then he looked across at him
+inquiringly. He was anxious for this man's verdict.</p>
+
+<p>"Well?"</p>
+
+<p>Bowerman did not reply for a minute or two. At last he said slowly:</p>
+
+<p>"I am an old man. There are things in which I take pleasure; there
+are other things—such as the music of to-day—which do not give me
+pleasure. But all the same I know genius when I meet it. There are a
+hundred charlatans—a hundred breakers down of tradition who think
+that by doing so they have accomplished something wonderful. And there
+is the hundred and first—a creator, a man who steps boldly into the
+future."</p>
+
+<p>He paused, then went on:</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I know genius when I meet it. I may not like it—but I recognize
+it. Groen, whoever he is, has genius.... <i>The music of to-morrow....</i>"</p>
+
+<p>Again he paused, and again Levinne did not interrupt, but waited.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know whether your venture will succeed or fail. I think
+succeed—but that will be mainly because of your personality. You have
+the art of forcing the public to accept what you want them to accept.
+You have a talent for success. You've made a mystery about Groen—part
+of your press campaign, I suppose."</p>
+
+<p>He looked at Sebastian keenly.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't want to interfere with your press campaign, but tell me one
+thing—Groen's an Englishman, isn't he?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. How did you know, Bowerman?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nationality in music is unmistakable. He has studied in the Russian
+revolutionary school, yes—but—well, as I said nationality is
+unmistakable. There have been pioneers before him—people who have
+tried tentatively the things he has accomplished. We've had our English
+school—Holst, Vaughan Williams, Arnold Bax. All over the world
+musicians have been drawing nearer to the new ideal—the Absolute in
+Music. This man is the direct successor of that boy who was killed in
+the war. What was his name? Deyre—Vernon Deyre. He had promise." He
+sighed. "I wonder, Levinne, how much we lost through the war."</p>
+
+<p>"It's difficult to say, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"It doesn't bear thinking of. No, it doesn't bear thinking of." He
+rose. "I mustn't keep you. You've a lot to do, I know." A faint smile
+showed on his face. "<i>The Giant!</i> You and Groen have your little joke
+all to yourselves, I fancy. Everyone takes it for granted the Giant is
+the Moloch of Machinery. They don't see that the real Giant is that
+pigmy figure—man. The individualist who endures through Stone and Iron
+and who, though civilization crumble and die, fights his way through
+yet another Glacial Age to rise in a new civilization of which we do
+not dream."</p>
+
+<p>His smile broadened.</p>
+
+<p>"As I grow older I am more and more convinced that there is nothing so
+pathetic, so ridiculous, so absurd, and so absolutely wonderful as Man."</p>
+
+<p>He paused by the doorway, his hand on the knob.</p>
+
+<p>"One wonders," he said, "what has gone to the making of a thing like
+the Giant? What produces it? What feeds it? Heredity shapes the
+instrument—environment polishes and rounds it off—sex wakens it....
+But there's more than that. There's its food.</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">"<i>Fee, fie, fo, fum,</i></div>
+    <div class="verse indent0"><i>I smell the blood of mortal Man.</i></div>
+    <div class="verse indent0"><i>Be he alive or be he dead,</i></div>
+    <div class="verse indent0"><i>I'll grind his bones to make my bread.</i></div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>"A cruel giant, genius, Levinne! A monster feeding on flesh and blood.
+I know nothing about Groen, yet I'd swear that he's fed his Giant with
+his own flesh and blood and perhaps the flesh and blood of others
+too.... Their bones ground to make the Giant's bread....</p>
+
+<p>"I'm an old man, Levinne. I have my fancies. We've seen the end
+to-night—I'd like to know the beginning."</p>
+
+<p>"Heredity—environment—sex," said Levinne slowly.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Just that. Not that I have any hopes of your telling me."</p>
+
+<p>"You think I—know?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sure you know."</p>
+
+<p>There was a silence.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Levinne at last, "I do know. I would tell you the whole
+story if I could ... but I cannot. There are reasons."</p>
+
+<p>He repeated slowly: "There are reasons."</p>
+
+<p>"A pity. It would have been interesting."</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder...."</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="Book_I">Book I</h2>
+</div>
+
+<h2>ABBOTS PUISSANTS</h2>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="chapter_1I">chapter 1</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>There were only three people of real importance in Vernon's world:
+Nurse, God, and Mr. Green.</p>
+
+<p>There were, of course, the nursemaids. Winnie, the present one, and
+behind her Jane and Annie and Sarah and Gladys. Those were all the ones
+that Vernon could remember, but there were lots more. Nursery maids
+never stayed long because they couldn't get on with Nurse. They hardly
+counted in Vernon's world.</p>
+
+<p>There was also a kind of twin deity called Mummy-Daddy mentioned by
+Vernon in his prayers and also connected with going down to dessert.
+They were shadowy figures, rather beautiful and wonderful—especially
+Mummy—but they again did not belong to the real world—Vernon's world.</p>
+
+<p>The things in Vernon's world were very real indeed. There was the
+drugget on the nursery floor, for instance. It was of green and white
+stripes and rather scrubbly to bare knees, and in one corner of it was
+a hole which Vernon used surreptitiously to make bigger by working
+his fingers round in it. There were the nursery walls where mauve
+irises twined themselves interminably upward round a pattern that was
+sometimes diamonds and sometimes, if you looked at it long enough,
+crosses. That seemed very interesting to Vernon and rather magical.</p>
+
+<p>There was a rocking horse against one wall, but Vernon seldom rode on
+it. There was a basket-work engine and some basket-work trucks which he
+played with a good deal. There was a low cupboard full of more or less
+dilapidated toys. On an upper shelf were the more delectable contents
+that you played with on a wet day or when Nurse was in an unusually
+good temper. The Paint Box was there and the Real Camel Hair Brushes
+and a heap of illustrated papers for Cutting Out. In fact, all the
+things that Nurse said were "that messy she couldn't abear them about."
+In other words, the best things.</p>
+
+<p>And in the centre of this realistic nursery universe, dominating
+everything, was Nurse herself. Person No. 1 of Vernon's Trinity. Very
+big and broad, very starched and crackling. Omniscient and omnipotent.
+You couldn't get the better of Nurse. She knew better than little boys.
+She frequently said so. Her whole lifetime had been spent looking after
+little boys (and incidentally little girls, too, but Vernon was not
+interested in them) and one and all they had grown up to be a Credit
+to her. She said so and Vernon believed her. He had no doubt that he
+also would grow up to be a Credit to her, though sometimes it didn't
+seem likely. There was something awe-inspiring about Nurse, but at the
+same time infinitely comfortable. She knew the answer to everything.
+For instance, Vernon propounded the riddle about the diamonds and the
+crosses on the wall paper.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! well," said Nurse, "there's two ways of looking at everything. You
+must have heard that."</p>
+
+<p>And as Vernon had heard her say much the same to Winnie one day, he was
+soothed and satisfied. On the occasion in question Nurse had gone on to
+say that there were always two sides to a question and in future Vernon
+always visualized a question as something like a letter A with crosses
+creeping up one side of it and diamonds going down the other.</p>
+
+<p>After Nurse, there was God. God was also very real to Vernon, mainly
+because he bulked so largely in Nurse's conversation. Nurse knew
+most things that you did, but God knew <i>everything</i>, and God was, if
+anything, more particular than Nurse. You couldn't see God, which,
+Vernon always felt, gave him rather an unfair advantage over you,
+because he could see you. Even in the dark he could see you. Sometimes,
+when Vernon was in bed at night, the thought of God looking down at him
+through the darkness used to give him a creepy feeling down the spine.</p>
+
+<p>But on the whole, God was an intangible person compared with Nurse.
+You could conveniently forget about him most of the time. That was,
+until Nurse lugged him deliberately into the conversation.</p>
+
+<p>Once Vernon essayed revolt.</p>
+
+<p>"Nurse, do you know what I shall do when I'm dead?"</p>
+
+<p>Nurse, who was knitting stockings, said: "One, two, three, four—there
+now, I've dropped a stitch. No, Master Vernon, I'm sure I don't."</p>
+
+<p>"I shall go to Heaven—I shall go to Heaven—and I shall go right up to
+God—right up to him I shall go, and I shall say: 'You're an 'orrible
+man and I 'ate you!'"</p>
+
+<p>Silence. It was done. He had said it. Unbelievable, unparalleled
+audacity! What would happen? What awful punishment terrestrial or
+celestial would descend upon him? He waited—breathless.</p>
+
+<p>Nurse had picked up the stitch. She looked at Vernon over the top of
+her spectacles. She was serene—unruffled.</p>
+
+<p>"It's not likely," she remarked, "that the Almighty will take any
+notice of what a naughty little boy says. Winnie, give me those
+scissors, if you please."</p>
+
+<p>Vernon retired crestfallen. It was no good. You couldn't down Nurse. He
+might have known.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>2</i></h3>
+
+<p>And then there was Mr. Green. Mr. Green was like God in that you
+couldn't see him, but to Vernon he was very real. He knew, for
+instance, exactly what Mr. Green looked like—of middle height, rather
+stout, a faint resemblance to the village grocer who sang an uncertain
+baritone in the village choir, bright-red cheeks and mutton-chop
+whiskers. His eyes were blue, a very bright blue. The great thing about
+Mr. Green was that he played—he loved playing. Whatever game Vernon
+thought of, that was just the game that Mr. Green loved to play. There
+were other points about him. He had, for instance, a hundred children.
+And three others. The hundred, in Vernon's mind, were kept intact, a
+joyous mob that raced down the yew alleys behind Vernon and Mr. Green.
+But the three others were different. They were called by the three most
+beautiful names that Vernon knew: Poodle, Squirrel and Tree.</p>
+
+<p>Vernon was, perhaps, a lonely little boy, but he never knew it.
+Because, you see, he had Mr. Green and Poodle, Squirrel, and Tree to
+play with.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>3</i></h3>
+
+<p>For a long time Vernon was undecided as to where Mr. Green's home was.
+It came to him quite suddenly that of course Mr. Green lived in the
+Forest. The Forest had always been fascinating to Vernon. One side of
+the Park bordered on it. There were high green palings and Vernon used
+to creep along them hoping for a crack that would let him see through.
+There were whisperings and sighings and rustlings all along, as though
+the trees were speaking to each other. Halfway down there was a door,
+but alas, it was always locked, so that Vernon could never see what it
+was really like inside the Forest.</p>
+
+<p>Nurse, of course, would never take him there. She was like all nurses
+and preferred a good steady walk along the road, and no messing your
+feet up with them nasty damp leaves. So Vernon was never allowed to go
+in the Forest. It made him think of it all the more. Some day he would
+take tea there with Mr. Green. Poodle and Squirrel and Tree were to
+have new suits for the occasion.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>4</i></h3>
+
+<p>The nursery palled on Vernon. It was too small. He knew all there
+was to know about it. The garden was different. It was really a very
+exciting garden. There were so many different bits of it. The long
+walks between the clipped yew hedges with their ornamental birds, the
+water garden with the fat goldfish, the walled fruit garden, the wild
+garden with its almond trees in springtime and the copse of silver
+birch trees with bluebells growing underneath, and best of all the
+railed-off bit where the ruins of the old Abbey were. That was the
+place where Vernon would have liked to be left to his own devices—to
+climb and explore. But he never was. The rest of the garden he did
+much as he liked in. Winnie was always sent out with him, but since by
+a remarkable coincidence they always seemed to encounter the second
+gardener, he could play his own games unhindered by too much kind
+attention on Winnie's part.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>5</i></h3>
+
+<p>Gradually Vernon's world widened. The twin star, Mummy-Daddy,
+separated, became two distinct people. Daddy remained nebulous, but
+Mummy became quite a personage. She often paid visits to the nursery to
+"play with my darling little boy." Vernon bore her visits with grave
+politeness, though it usually meant giving up the game that he himself
+was engaged upon and accepting one which was not, in his opinion,
+nearly so good. Lady visitors would sometimes come with her, and then
+she would squeeze Vernon tightly (which he hated) and cry.</p>
+
+<p>"It's so wonderful to be a mother! I never get used to it! To have a
+darling baby boy of one's very own!"</p>
+
+<p>Very red, Vernon would extricate himself from her embrace. Because he
+wasn't a baby boy at all. He was three years old.</p>
+
+<p>Looking across the room one day, just after a scene like the above,
+he saw his father standing by the nursery door with sardonic eyes,
+watching him. Their eyes met. Something seemed to pass between them:
+comprehension—a sense of kinship.</p>
+
+<p>His mother's friends were talking.</p>
+
+<p>"Such a pity, Myra, that he doesn't take after you. Your hair would be
+too lovely on a child."</p>
+
+<p>But Vernon had a sudden feeling of pride. He was like his father.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>6</i></h3>
+
+<p>Vernon always remembered the day that the American lady came to lunch.
+To begin with, because of Nurse's explanations about America which, as
+he realized later, she confused with Australia.</p>
+
+<p>He went down to dessert in an awe-stricken state. If this lady had been
+at home in her own country she would be walking about upside down with
+her head hanging down. Quite enough, this, to make him stare. And then,
+too, she used odd words for the simplest things.</p>
+
+<p>"Isn't he too cute? See here, honey, I've gotten a box of candy for
+you. Won't you come and fetch it?"</p>
+
+<p>Vernon came gingerly; accepted the present. The lady clearly didn't
+know what she was talking about. It wasn't candy, but good Edinburgh
+Rock.</p>
+
+<p>There were two gentlemen there also, one the husband of the American
+lady. This one said:</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know half a crown, my boy, when you see it?"</p>
+
+<p>And it presently turned out that the half crown was to be for his very
+own to keep. Altogether it was a wonderful day.</p>
+
+<p>Vernon had never thought very much about his home. He knew that it was
+bigger than the Vicarage where he sometimes went to tea, but he seldom
+played with any other children or went to their homes. So it came to
+him with a shock of wonder that day. The visitors were taken all over
+the house, and the American lady's voice rose ceaselessly.</p>
+
+<p>"My, if that isn't too wonderful! Did you ever see such a thing? Five
+hundred years, you say? Frank, listen to that. Henry the Eighth—if
+it isn't just like listening to English history. And the Abbey older
+still, you say?"</p>
+
+<p>They went everywhere, through the long picture gallery where faces
+strangely like Vernon's, with dark eyes set close together and narrow
+heads, looked out from the painted canvas arrogantly or with cold
+tolerance. There were meek women there in ruffs or with pearls twisted
+in their hair—the Deyre women had done best to be meek, married to
+wild lords who knew neither fear nor pity—who looked appraisingly at
+Myra Deyre, the last of their number, as she walked beneath them. From
+the picture gallery they went to the square hall, and from there to the
+Priest's Chamber.</p>
+
+<p>Vernon had been removed by Nurse long since. They found him again in
+the garden feeding the goldfish. Vernon's father had gone into the
+house to get the keys of the Abbey ruins. The visitors were alone.</p>
+
+<p>"My, Frank," said the American lady, "isn't it <i>too</i> wonderful? All
+these years. Handed down from father to son. Romantic, that's what I
+call it, just too romantic for anything. All these years. Just fancy!
+How is it done?"</p>
+
+<p>It was then that the other gentleman spoke. He was not much of a
+talker, so far Vernon had not heard him speak at all. But he now
+unclosed his lips and uttered one word—a word so enchanting, so
+mysterious, so delightful that Vernon never forgot it.</p>
+
+<p>"Brumagem," said the other gentleman.</p>
+
+<p>And before Vernon could ask him (as he meant to do) what that marvelous
+word meant, another diversion occurred.</p>
+
+<p>His mother came out of the house. There was a sunset behind her—a
+scene painter's sunset of crude gold and red. Against that background
+Vernon saw his mother—saw her for the first time—a magnificent woman
+with white skin and red-gold hair—a being like the pictures in his
+fairy book; saw her suddenly as something wonderful, wonderful and
+beautiful.</p>
+
+<p>He was never to forget that strange moment. She was his mother and
+she was beautiful and he loved her. Something hurt him inside, like a
+pain—only it wasn't a pain. And there was a queer booming noise inside
+his head—a thundering noise that ended up high and sweet like a bird's
+note. Altogether a very wonderful moment.</p>
+
+<p>And mixed up with it was that magic word <i>Brumagem</i>.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="chapter_2I">chapter 2</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>Winnie the nursemaid was going away. It all happened very suddenly. The
+other servants whispered together. Winnie cried. She cried and cried.
+Nurse gave her what she called a Talking To and after that Winnie cried
+more than ever. There was something terrible about Nurse; she seemed
+larger than usual and she crackled more. Winnie, Vernon knew, was going
+away because of Father. He accepted that fact without any particular
+interest or curiosity. Nursemaids did sometimes go away because of
+Father.</p>
+
+<p>His mother was shut in her room. She too was crying. Vernon could hear
+her through the door. She did not send for him and it did not occur to
+him to go to her. Indeed he was vaguely relieved. He hated the noise
+of crying, the gulping sound, the long-drawn sniffs, and it always
+happened so close to your ears. People who were crying always hugged
+you. Vernon hated those kinds of noises close to his ears. There was
+nothing in the world he hated more than the wrong sort of noise. It
+made you feel all curled up like a leaf in your middle. That was the
+jolly part about Mr. Green. He never made the wrong kind of noise.</p>
+
+<p>Winnie was packing her boxes. Nurse was in with her—a less awful Nurse
+now—almost a human Nurse.</p>
+
+<p>"Now you let this be a warning to you, my girl," said Nurse. "No
+carryings on in your next place."</p>
+
+<p>Winnie sniffed something about no real harm.</p>
+
+<p>"And no more there wouldn't be, I should hope, with Me in charge,"
+said Nurse. "A lot comes, I dare say of having red hair. Red-haired
+girls are always flighty, so my dear mother used to say. I'm not saying
+you're a bad girl. But what you've done is Unbecoming. Unbecoming—I
+can't say more than that."</p>
+
+<p>And, as Vernon had often noticed after using this particular phrase,
+she proceeded to say a good deal more. But he did not listen, for he
+was pondering on the word "unbecoming." Becoming, he knew, was a thing
+you said about a hat. Where did a hat come in?</p>
+
+<p>"What's unbecoming, Nurse?" he asked later in the day.</p>
+
+<p>Nurse, with her mouth full of pins, for she was cutting out a linen
+suit for Vernon, replied:</p>
+
+<p>"Unsuitable."</p>
+
+<p>"What's unsuitable?"</p>
+
+<p>"Little boys going on asking foolish questions," said Nurse with the
+deftness of a long professional career behind her.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>2</i></h3>
+
+<p>That afternoon Vernon's father came into the nursery. There was a queer
+furtive look about him—unhappy and defiant. He winced slightly before
+Vernon's round interested gaze.</p>
+
+<p>"Hullo, Vernon."</p>
+
+<p>"Hullo, Father."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm going to London. Good-bye, old chap."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you going to London because you kissed Winnie?" inquired Vernon
+with interest.</p>
+
+<p>His father uttered the kind of word that Vernon knew he was not suppose
+to hear—much less ever repeat. It was, he knew, a word that gentlemen
+used but little boys didn't. So great a fascination did that fact
+lend it that Vernon was in the habit of sending himself to sleep by
+repeating it over to himself in company with another forbidden word.
+The other word was Corsets.</p>
+
+<p>"Who the devil told you that?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nobody told me," said Vernon, after reflecting a minute.</p>
+
+<p>"Then how did you know?"</p>
+
+<p>"Didn't you, then?" inquired Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>His father crossed the room without answering.</p>
+
+<p>"Winnie kisses me sometimes," remarked Vernon. "But I don't like it
+much. I have to kiss her, too. The gardener kisses her a lot. He seems
+to like it. I think kissing's silly. Should I like kissing Winnie
+better if I was grown up, Father?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," his father said deliberately, "I think you would. Sons, you
+know, sometimes grow up very like their fathers."</p>
+
+<p>"I'd like to be like you," said Vernon. "You're a jolly good rider.
+Sam said so. He said there wasn't your equal in the county and that a
+better judge of horse flesh never lived." Vernon brought out the latter
+words rapidly. "I'd rather be like you than Mummy. Mummy gives a horse
+a sore back. Sam said so."</p>
+
+<p>There was a further pause.</p>
+
+<p>"Mummy's gotaheadacheanlyingdown," proceeded Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>"I know."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you said good-bye to her?"</p>
+
+<p>"No."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you going to? Because you'll have to be quick. That's the dogcart
+coming round now."</p>
+
+<p>"I expect I shan't have time."</p>
+
+<p>Vernon nodded wisely.</p>
+
+<p>"I dare say that would be a good plan. I don't like having to kiss
+people when they're crying. I don't like Mummy kissing me much anyway.
+She squeezes too hard and she talks in your ear. I think I'd almost
+rather kiss Winnie. Which would you, Father?"</p>
+
+<p>He was disconcerted by his father's abrupt withdrawal from the room.
+Nurse had come in a moment before. She stood respectfully aside to let
+the Master pass, and Vernon had a vague idea that she had managed to
+make his father uncomfortable.</p>
+
+<p>Katie, the under-housemaid, came in to lay tea. Vernon built bricks in
+the corner. The old peaceful nursery atmosphere closed round him again.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>3</i></h3>
+
+<p>There was a sudden interruption. His mother stood in the doorway. Her
+eyes were swollen with crying. She dabbed them with a handkerchief. She
+stood there theatrically miserable.</p>
+
+<p>"He's gone," she cried. "Without a word to me. Without a word. Oh! my
+little son. My little son."</p>
+
+<p>She swept across the floor and gathered Vernon in her arms. The tower,
+at least one story higher than any he had ever built before, crashed
+into ruins. His mother's voice, loud and distraught, burrowed into his
+ear.</p>
+
+<p>"My child—my little son—swear that you'll never forsake me. Swear
+it—swear it."</p>
+
+<p>Nurse came across to them.</p>
+
+<p>"There, ma'am, there, ma'am, don't take on so. You'd better get back to
+bed. Edith shall bring you a nice cup of hot tea."</p>
+
+<p>Her tone was authoritative—severe.</p>
+
+<p>His mother still sobbed and clasped him closer. Vernon's whole body
+began to stiffen in resistance. He could bear it a little while
+longer—a very little while longer—and he'd do anything Mummy wanted
+if only she'd let go of him.</p>
+
+<p>"You must make up to me, Vernon—make up to me for the suffering your
+father has caused me. Oh! my God, what shall I do?"</p>
+
+<p>Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Vernon was aware of Katie, silent,
+ecstatic, enjoying the scene.</p>
+
+<p>"Come along, ma'am," said Nurse. "You'll only upset the child."</p>
+
+<p>The authority in her voice was so marked this time that Vernon's mother
+succumbed to it. Leaning weakly on Nurse's arm, she allowed herself to
+be led from the room.</p>
+
+<p>Nurse returned a few minutes later very red in the face.</p>
+
+<p>"My," said Katie, "didn't she take on? Regular hysterics—that's what
+they call it! Well, this has been a to-do! You don't think she'll do
+a mischief to herself, do you? Those nasty ponds in the garden. The
+Master is a one—not that he hasn't a lot to put up with from Her. All
+them scenes and tantrums——"</p>
+
+<p>"That'll do, my girl," said Nurse. "You can get back to your work, and
+under-servants discussing a matter of this kind with their betters is
+a thing that I've never known take place in a gentleman's house. Your
+mother ought to have trained you better."</p>
+
+<p>With a toss of her head, Katie withdrew. Nurse moved round the nursery
+table, shifting cups and plates with unwonted sharpness. Her lips
+moved, muttering to herself.</p>
+
+<p>"Putting ideas into the child's head. I've no patience with it...."</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="chapter_3I">chapter 3</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>A new nursemaid came, a thin white girl with protruding eyes. Her name
+was Isabel, but she was called Susan as being More Suitable. This
+puzzled Vernon very much. He asked Nurse for an explanation.</p>
+
+<p>"There are names that are suitable to the gentry, Master Vernon, and
+names that are suitable for servants. That's all there is to it."</p>
+
+<p>"Then why is her real name Isabel?"</p>
+
+<p>"There are people who when they christen their children set themselves
+up to ape their betters."</p>
+
+<p>The word "ape" had a distracting influence on Vernon. Apes were
+monkeys. Did people christen their children at the Zoo?</p>
+
+<p>"I thought people were christened in church."</p>
+
+<p>"So they are, Master Vernon."</p>
+
+<p>Very puzzling. Why was everything so puzzling? Why were things more
+puzzling than they used to be? Why did one person tell you one thing
+and another person something quite different?</p>
+
+<p>"Nurse, how do babies come?"</p>
+
+<p>"You've asked me that before, Master Vernon. The little angels bring
+them in the night through the window."</p>
+
+<p>"That Am-am-am——"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't stammer, Master Vernon."</p>
+
+<p>"Amenkun lady who came—she said I was found under a gooseberry bush."</p>
+
+<p>"That's the way they do with American babies," said Nurse serenely.</p>
+
+<p>Vernon heaved a sigh of relief. Of course! He felt a throb of gratitude
+to Nurse. She always knew. She made the unsteady swaying universe stand
+still again. And she never laughed. His mother did. He had heard her
+say to other ladies: "He asks me the quaintest questions. Just listen
+to this.... Aren't children funny and adorable."</p>
+
+<p>But Vernon couldn't see that he was funny or adorable at all. He just
+wanted to know. You'd got to <i>know</i>. That was part of growing up. When
+you were grown up you knew everything and had gold sovereigns in your
+purse.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>2</i></h3>
+
+<p>The world went on widening.</p>
+
+<p>There were, for instance, uncles and aunts.</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Sydney was Mummy's brother. He was short and stout and had rather
+a red face. He had a habit of humming tunes and of rattling the money
+in his trouser pockets. He was fond of making jokes, but Vernon did
+not always think his jokes very funny.</p>
+
+<p>"Supposing," Uncle Sydney would say, "I were to put on your hat. Hey?
+What should I look like, do you think?"</p>
+
+<p>Curious, the questions grown-up people asked! Curious—and also
+difficult, because if there was one thing that Nurse was always
+impressing upon Vernon, it was that little boys must never make
+personal remarks.</p>
+
+<p>"Come now," said Uncle Sydney perseveringly. "What should I look like?
+There—" he snatched up the linen affair in question and balanced it on
+top of his head—"what do I look like, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>Well, if one must answer, one must. Vernon said politely and a little
+wearily:</p>
+
+<p>"I think you look rather silly."</p>
+
+<p>"That boy of yours has no sense of humour, Myra," said Uncle Sydney to
+his mother. "No sense of humour at all. A pity."</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Nina, Father's sister, was quite different.</p>
+
+<p>She smelt nice, like the garden on a summer's day, and she had a soft
+voice that Vernon liked. She had other virtues—she didn't kiss you
+when you didn't want to be kissed, and she didn't insist on making
+jokes. But she didn't come very often to Abbots Puissants.</p>
+
+<p>She must be, Vernon thought, very brave, because it was she who first
+made him realize that one could master the Beast.</p>
+
+<p>The Beast lived in the big drawing room. It had four legs and a shiny
+brown body. And it had a long row of what Vernon had thought, when
+he was very small, to be teeth. Great yellow shining teeth. From
+his earliest memory Vernon had been fascinated and terrified by the
+Beast. For if you irritated the Beast it made strange noises, an angry
+growling or a shrill angry wail—and somehow those noises hurt you more
+than anything in the world could. They hurt you right down in your
+inside. They made you shiver and feel sick, and they made your eyes
+sting and burn, and yet by some strange enchantment you couldn't go
+away.</p>
+
+<p>When Vernon had stories read to him about dragons he always thought of
+them as like the Beast. And some of the best games with Mr. Green were
+where they killed the Beast—Vernon plunging a sword into his brown
+shining body whilst the hundred children whooped and sang behind.</p>
+
+<p>Now that he was a big boy he knew better, of course. He knew that the
+Beast's name was Grand Piano, and that when you deliberately attacked
+its teeth, that was called "playingthepiano"! and that ladies did
+it after dinner to gentlemen. But in his inmost heart he was still
+afraid and dreamed sometimes of the Beast pursuing him up the nursery
+stairs—and he would wake up screaming.</p>
+
+<p>In his dreams the Beast lived in the Forest, and was wild and savage,
+and the noises it made were too terrible to be borne.</p>
+
+<p>Mummy sometimes did "playingthepiano," and that Vernon could just bear
+with difficulty. The Beast, he felt, would not really be waked up by
+what she was doing to it. But the day Aunt Nina played was different.</p>
+
+<p>Vernon had been conducting one of his imaginary games in a corner. He
+and Squirrel and Poodle were having a picnic and eating lobsters and
+chocolate éclairs.</p>
+
+<p>His Aunt Nina had not even noticed that he was in the room. She had sat
+down on the music stool and was playing idly.</p>
+
+<p>Fascinated, Vernon crept nearer and nearer. Nina looked up at last to
+see him staring at her, the tears running down his face and great sobs
+shaking his small body. She stopped.</p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter, Vernon?"</p>
+
+<p>"I 'ate it," sobbed Vernon. "I 'ate it. I 'ate it. It hurts me <i>here</i>."
+His hands clasped his stomach.</p>
+
+<p>Myra came into the room at that minute. She laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"Isn't it odd? That child simply hates music. So very queer."</p>
+
+<p>"Why doesn't he go away if he hates it?" said Nina.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't," sobbed Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>"Isn't it ridiculous?" said Myra.</p>
+
+<p>"I think it's rather interesting."</p>
+
+<p>"Most children are always wanting to strum on the piano. I tried to
+show Vernon chopsticks the other day, but he wasn't a bit amused."</p>
+
+<p>Nina remained staring at her small nephew thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<p>"I can hardly believe a child of mine can be unmusical," said Myra in
+an aggrieved voice. "I played quite difficult pieces when I was eight
+years old."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! well," said Nina vaguely. "There are different ways of being
+musical."</p>
+
+<p>Which, Myra thought, was so like the silly sort of thing the Deyre
+family would say. Either one was musical and played pieces, or one was
+not. Vernon clearly was not.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>3</i></h3>
+
+<p>Nurse's mother was ill. Strange unparalleled nursery catastrophe.
+Nurse, very red-faced and grim, was packing with the assistance of
+Susan Isabel. Vernon, troubled, sympathetic, but above all interested,
+stood near by, and out of his interest asked questions.</p>
+
+<p>"Is your mother very old, Nurse? Is she a hundred?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course not, Master Vernon! A hundred indeed!"</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think she is going to die?" continued Vernon, longing to be
+kind and understand.</p>
+
+<p>Cook's mother had been ill and died. Nurse did not answer. Instead she
+said sharply:</p>
+
+<p>"The boot bags out of the bottom drawer, Susan. Step lively now, my
+girl."</p>
+
+<p>"Nurse, will your mother——"</p>
+
+<p>"I haven't time to be answering questions, Master Vernon."</p>
+
+<p>Vernon sat down on the corner of a chintz-covered ottoman and gave
+himself up to reflection. Nurse had said that her mother wasn't a
+hundred, but she must, for all that, be very old. Nurse herself he
+had always regarded as terribly old. To think that there was a being
+of superior age and wisdom to Nurse was positively staggering. In a
+strange way it reduced Nurse herself to the proportions of a mere human
+being. She was no longer a figure secondary only to God himself.</p>
+
+<p>The universe shifted—values were readjusted. Nurse, God, and Mr.
+Green—all three receded, becoming vaguer and more blurred. Mummy, his
+father, even Aunt Nina—they seemed to matter more. Especially Mummy.
+Mummy was like the princesses with long beautiful golden hair. He
+would like to fight a dragon for Mummy—a brown shiny dragon like the
+Beast.</p>
+
+<p>What was the word—the magic word? Brumagem—that was it—Brumagem.
+An enchanting word! The Princess Brumagem! A word to be repeated over
+to himself softly and secretly at night at the same time as Damn and
+Corsets.</p>
+
+<p>But never, never, never must Mummy hear it, because he knew only too
+well that she would laugh—she always laughed, the kind of laugh that
+made you shrivel up inside and want to wriggle. And she would say
+things—she always said things, just the kind of things you hated.
+"Aren't children too <i>funny</i>?"</p>
+
+<p>And Vernon knew that he wasn't funny. He didn't like funny
+things—Uncle Sydney had said so. If only Mummy wouldn't....</p>
+
+<p>Sitting on the slippery chintz he frowned perplexedly. He had a sudden
+imperfect glimpse of two Mummies. One, the princess, the beautiful
+Mummy that he dreamed about, who was mixed up for him with sunsets and
+magic and killing dragons—and the other, the one who laughed and who
+said, "Aren't children too <i>funny</i>?" Only, of course, they were the
+same....</p>
+
+<p>He fidgeted and sighed. Nurse, flushed from the effort of snapping to
+her trunk, turned to him kindly.</p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter, Master Vernon?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing," said Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>You must always say, "Nothing." You could never tell. Because, if you
+did, no one ever knew what you meant....</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>4</i></h3>
+
+<p>Under the reign of Susan Isabel the nursery was quite different. You
+could be, and quite frequently were, naughty. Susan told you not to do
+things and you did them just the same! Susan would say: "I'll tell your
+mother." But she never did.</p>
+
+<p>Susan had at first enjoyed the position and authority she had in
+Nurse's absence. Indeed, but for Vernon, she would have continued
+to enjoy it. She used to exchange confidences with Katie, the
+under-housemaid.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't know what's come over him, I'm sure. He's like a little demon
+sometimes. And him so good and well behaved with Mrs. Pascal."</p>
+
+<p>To which Kate replied:</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! she's a oner, she is! Takes you up sharp, doesn't she?"</p>
+
+<p>And then they would whisper and giggle.</p>
+
+<p>"Who's Mrs. Pascal?" Vernon asked one day.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I never, Master Vernon! Don't you know your own nurse's name?"</p>
+
+<p>So Nurse was Mrs. Pascal. Another shock. She had always been just
+Nurse. It was rather as though you had been told that God's name was
+Mr. Robinson.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Pascal! Nurse! The more you thought of it, the more extraordinary
+it seemed. Mrs. Pascal—just like Mummy was Mrs. Deyre and Father was
+Mr. Deyre. Strangely enough, Vernon never cogitated on the possibility
+of a Mr. Pascal. (Not that there was any such person. The Mrs. was a
+tacit recognition of Nurse's position and authority.) Nurse stood alone
+in the same magnificence as Mr. Green, who in spite of the hundred
+children (and Poodle, Squirrel, and Tree) was never thought of by
+Vernon as having a Mrs. Green attached to him!</p>
+
+<p>Vernon's inquiring mind wandered in another direction.</p>
+
+<p>"Susan, do you like being called Susan? Wouldn't you like being called
+Isabel better?"</p>
+
+<p>Susan (or Isabel) gave her customary giggle.</p>
+
+<p>"It doesn't matter what I like, Master Vernon."</p>
+
+<p>"Why not?"</p>
+
+<p>"People have got to do what they're told in this world."</p>
+
+<p>Vernon was silent. He had thought the same until a few days ago. But he
+was beginning to perceive that it was not true. You needn't do as you
+were told. It all depended on who told you.</p>
+
+<p>It was not a question of punishment. He was continually being sat on
+chairs, stood in the corner, and deprived of sweets by Susan. Nurse, on
+the other hand, had only to look at him severely through her spectacles
+with a certain expression on her face, and anything but immediate
+capitulation was out of the question.</p>
+
+<p>Susan had no authority in her nature, and Vernon knew it. He had
+discovered the thrill of successful disobedience. Also, he liked
+tormenting Susan. The more worried and flustered and unhappy Susan got,
+the more Vernon liked it. He was, as was proper to his years, still in
+the Stone Age. He savoured the full pleasure of cruelty.</p>
+
+<p>Susan formed the habit of letting Vernon go out to play in the garden
+alone. Being an unattractive girl, she had not Winnie's reasons for
+liking the garden. And besides, what harm could possibly come to him?</p>
+
+<p>"You won't go near the ponds, will you, Master Vernon?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Vernon, instantly forming the intention to do so.</p>
+
+<p>"You'll play with your hoop like a good boy?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>The nursery was left in peace. Susan heaved a sigh of relief. She
+took from a drawer a paper-covered book entitled <i>The Duke and the
+Dairymaid</i>.</p>
+
+<p>Beating his hoop, Vernon made the tour of the walled fruit garden.
+Escaping from his control, the hoop leaped upon a small patch of earth
+which was at the moment receiving the meticulous attentions of Hopkins,
+the head gardener. Hopkins firmly and authoritatively ordered Vernon
+from the spot, and Vernon went. He respected Hopkins.</p>
+
+<p>Abandoning the hoop, Vernon climbed a tree or two. That is to say, he
+reached a height of perhaps six feet from the ground, employing all due
+precautions. Tiring of this perilous sport, he sat astride a branch and
+cogitated as to what to do next.</p>
+
+<p>On the whole, he thought the ponds. Susan having forbidden them, they
+had a distinct fascination. Yes, he would go to the ponds. He rose, and
+as he did so another idea came into his head, suggested by an unusual
+sight.</p>
+
+<p><i>The door into the Forest was open!</i></p>
+
+
+<h3><i>5</i></h3>
+
+<p>Such a thing had never happened before in Vernon's experience. Again
+and again he had secretly tried that door. Always it was locked.</p>
+
+<p>He crept up to it cautiously. The Forest! It stood a few steps away
+outside the door. You could plunge straightway into its cool green
+depths. Vernon's heart beat faster.</p>
+
+<p>He had always wanted to go into the Forest. Here was his chance. Once
+Nurse came back, any such thing would be out of the question.</p>
+
+<p>And still he hesitated. It was not any feeling of disobedience that
+held him back. Strictly speaking, he had never been forbidden to go
+into the Forest. His childish cunning was all ready with that excuse.</p>
+
+<p>No, it was something else. Fear of the unknown—of those dark leafy
+depths. Ancestral memories held him back.</p>
+
+<p>He wanted to go—but he didn't want to go. There might be Things
+there—Things like the Beast. Things that came up behind you—that
+chased you screaming....</p>
+
+<p>He moved uneasily from one foot to the other.</p>
+
+<p>But Things didn't chase you in the daytime. And Mr. Green lived in
+the Forest. Not that Mr. Green was as real as he used to be. Still,
+it would be rather jolly to explore and find a place where you would
+pretend Mr. Green did live. Poodle, Squirrel, and Tree would each have
+a house of his own—small leafy houses.</p>
+
+<p>"Come on, Poodle," said Vernon to an invisible companion. "Have you got
+your bow and arrow? That's right. We'll meet Squirrel inside."</p>
+
+<p>He stepped out jauntily. Beside him, plain to Vernon's inner eye, went
+Poodle dressed like the picture of Robinson Crusoe in his picture book.</p>
+
+<p>It was wonderful in the Forest—dim and dark and green. Birds sang and
+flew from branch to branch. Vernon continued to talk to his friend—a
+luxury he did not dare to permit himself often, since someone might
+overhear and say, "Isn't he too <i>funny</i>? He's pretending he's got
+another little boy with him." You had to be so very careful at home.</p>
+
+<p>"We'll get to the Castle by lunch time, Poodle. There are going to be
+roasted leopards. Oh! Hullo, here's Squirrel. How are you, Squirrel?
+Where's Tree?</p>
+
+<p>"I tell you what. I think it's rather tiring walking. I think we'll
+ride."</p>
+
+<p>Steeds were tethered to an adjacent tree. Vernon's was milk white,
+Poodle's was coal black—the colour of Squirrel's he couldn't quite
+decide.</p>
+
+<p>They galloped forward through the trees. There were deadly dangerous
+places, morasses. Snakes hissed at them and lions charged them. But the
+faithful steeds did all their riders required of them.</p>
+
+<p>How silly it was playing in the garden—or playing anywhere but <i>here</i>!
+He'd forgotten what it was like, playing with Mr. Green and Poodle,
+Squirrel, and Tree. How could you help forgetting things when people
+were always reminding you that you were a funny little boy playing
+make-believe?</p>
+
+<p>On strutted Vernon, now capering, now marching with solemn dignity. He
+was great, he was wonderful! What he needed, though he did not know it
+himself, was a tom-tom to beat whilst he sang his own praises.</p>
+
+<p>The Forest! He had always known it would be like this, and it was! In
+front of him suddenly appeared a crumbling moss covered wall. The wall
+of the Castle! Could anything be more perfect? He began to climb it.</p>
+
+<p>The ascent was easy enough really, though fraught with the most
+agreeable and thrilling possibilities of danger. Whether this was Mr.
+Green's Castle, or whether it was inhabited by an Ogre who ate human
+flesh, Vernon had not yet made up his mind. Either was an entrancing
+proposition. On the whole, he inclined to the latter, being at the
+moment in a warlike frame of mind. With a flushed face he reached the
+summit of the wall and looked over the other side.</p>
+
+<p>And here there enters into the story, for one brief paragraph, Mrs.
+Somers West, who was fond of romantic solitude (for short periods)
+and had bought Woods Cottage as being "delightfully remote from
+anywhere and really, if you know what I mean, in the very heart of the
+Forest—at one with Nature!" And since Mrs. Somers West, as well as
+being artistic, was musical, she had pulled down a wall, making two
+rooms into one, and had thus provided herself with sufficient space to
+house a grand piano.</p>
+
+<p>And at the identical moment that Vernon reached the top of the
+wall, several perspiring and staggering men were slowly propelling
+the aforesaid grand piano toward the window, since it wouldn't go
+in by the door. The garden of Woods Cottage was a mere tangle of
+undergrowth—wild Nature, as Mrs. Somers West called it. So that all
+Vernon saw was the Beast! The Beast, alive and purposeful, slowly
+crawling toward him, malign and vengeful....</p>
+
+<p>For a moment he stayed rooted to the spot. Then, with a wild cry, he
+fled. Fled along the top of the narrow crumbling wall. The Beast was
+behind him, pursuing him.... It was coming, he knew it. He ran—ran
+faster than ever. His foot caught in a tangle of ivy. He crashed
+downward—falling—falling....</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="chapter_4I">chapter 4</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>Vernon woke, after a long time, to find himself in bed. It was, of
+course, the natural place to be when you woke up, but what wasn't
+natural was to have a great hump sticking up in front of you in the
+bed. It was whilst he was staring at this that someone spoke to him.
+That someone was Dr. Coles, whom Vernon knew quite well.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, well," said Dr. Coles, "and how are we feeling?"</p>
+
+<p>Vernon didn't know how Dr. Coles was feeling. He himself was feeling
+rather sick and said so.</p>
+
+<p>"I dare say, I dare say," said Dr. Coles.</p>
+
+<p>"And I think I hurt somewhere," said Vernon. "I think I hurt very much."</p>
+
+<p>"I dare say, I dare say," said Dr. Coles again—not very helpfully,
+Vernon thought.</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps I'd feel better if I got up," said Vernon. "Can I get up?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not just now, I'm afraid," said the doctor. "You see, you've had a
+fall."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Vernon. "The Beast came after me."</p>
+
+<p>"Eh? What's that? The Beast? What Beast?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing," said Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>"A dog, I expect," said the doctor. "Jumped at the wall and barked. You
+mustn't be afraid of dogs, my boy."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not," said Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>"And what were you doing so far from home, eh? No business to be where
+you were."</p>
+
+<p>"Nobody told me not to," said Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>"Hum, hum, I wonder. Well, I'm afraid you've got to take your
+punishment. Do you know, you've broken your leg, my boy?"</p>
+
+<p>"Have I?" Vernon was gratified—enchanted. He had broken his leg. He
+felt very important.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, you'll have to lie here for a bit, and then it will mean crutches
+for a while. Do you know what crutches are?"</p>
+
+<p>Yes, Vernon knew. Mr. Jobber, the blacksmith's father, had crutches.
+And he was to have crutches! How wonderful!</p>
+
+<p>"Can I try them now?"</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Coles laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"So you like the idea? No. I'm afraid you'll have to wait a bit. And
+you must try and be a brave boy, you know. And then you'll get well
+quicker."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you," said Vernon politely. "I don't think I do feel very well.
+Can you take this funny thing out of my bed? I think it would be more
+comfortable then."</p>
+
+<p>But it seemed that the funny thing was called a cradle, and that it
+couldn't be taken away. And it seemed, too, that Vernon would not be
+able to move about in bed because his leg was all tied up to a long
+piece of wood. And suddenly it didn't seem a very nice thing to have a
+broken leg after all.</p>
+
+<p>Vernon's underlip trembled a little. He was not going to cry—no, he
+was a big boy and big boys didn't cry. Nurse said so. And then he
+knew that he wanted Nurse—wanted her badly. He wanted her reassuring
+presence, her omniscience, her creaking rustling majesty.</p>
+
+<p>"She'll be coming back soon," said Dr. Coles. "Yes, soon. In the
+meantime, this nurse is going to look after you—Nurse Frances."</p>
+
+<p>Nurse Frances moved into Vernon's range of vision and Vernon studied
+her in silence. She too was starched and crackling; that was all to the
+good. But she wasn't big like Nurse. She was thinner than Mummy—as
+thin as Aunt Nina. He wasn't sure....</p>
+
+<p>And then he met her eyes—steady eyes, more green than gray, and he
+felt, as most people felt, that with Nurse Frances things would be "all
+right."</p>
+
+<p>She smiled at him—but not in the way that visitors smiled. It was a
+grave smile, friendly but reserved.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sorry you feel sick," she said. "Would you like some orange juice?"</p>
+
+<p>Vernon considered the matter and said he thought he would. Dr. Coles
+went out of the room and Nurse Frances brought him the orange juice
+in a most curious-looking cup with a long spout. And it appeared that
+Vernon was to drink from the spout.</p>
+
+<p>It made him laugh, but laughing hurt him, and so he stopped. Nurse
+Frances suggested he should go to sleep again, but he said he didn't
+want to go to sleep.</p>
+
+<p>"Then I shouldn't go to sleep," said Nurse Frances. "I wonder if you
+can count how many irises there are on that wall? You start on the
+right side, and I'll start on the left side. You can count, can't you?"</p>
+
+<p>Vernon said proudly that he could count up to a hundred.</p>
+
+<p>"That is a lot," said Nurse Frances. "There aren't nearly as many
+irises as a hundred. I guess there are seventy-five. Now what do you
+guess?"</p>
+
+<p>Vernon guessed that there were fifty. There couldn't, he felt sure,
+possibly be more than that. He began to count, but somehow, without
+knowing it, his eyelids closed and he slept....</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>2</i></h3>
+
+<p>Noise ... noise and pain. He woke with a start. He felt hot, very
+hot, and there was a pain all down one side. And the noise was coming
+nearer. It was the noise that one always connected with Mummy.</p>
+
+<p>She came into the room like a whirlwind, a kind of cloak affair
+she wore swinging out behind her. She was like a bird—a great big
+bird—and like a bird, she swooped down upon him.</p>
+
+<p>"Vernon—my darling—Mummy's own darling! What have they done to you?
+How awful! How terrible! My child!"</p>
+
+<p>She was crying. Vernon began to cry too. He was suddenly frightened.
+Myra was moaning and weeping.</p>
+
+<p>"My little child. All I have in the world. God, don't take him from me.
+Don't take him from me! If he dies I shall die too!"</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Deyre——"</p>
+
+<p>"Vernon—Vernon—my baby——"</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Deyre—please!"</p>
+
+<p>There was crisp command in the voice rather than appeal.</p>
+
+<p>"Please don't touch him. You will hurt him."</p>
+
+<p>"Hurt him? I? His mother?"</p>
+
+<p>"You don't seem to realize, Mrs. Deyre, that his leg is broken, I must
+ask you, please, to leave the room."</p>
+
+<p>"You're hiding something from me. Tell me—tell me—will the leg have
+to be amputated?"</p>
+
+<p>A wail came from Vernon. He had not the least idea what "amputated"
+meant, but it sounded painful—and more than painful, terrifying. His
+wail broke into a scream.</p>
+
+<p>"He's dying!" cried Myra. "He's dying—and they won't tell me. But he
+shall die in my arms."</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Deyre——"</p>
+
+<p>Somehow Nurse Frances had got between his mother and the bed. She was
+holding his mother by the shoulder. Her voice had the tone that Nurse's
+had had when speaking to Katie, the under-housemaid.</p>
+
+<p>"Mrs. Deyre, listen to me. You must control yourself. You <i>must</i>!" Then
+she looked up. Vernon's father was standing in the doorway. "Mr. Deyre,
+please take your wife away. I cannot have my patient excited and upset."</p>
+
+<p>His father nodded—a quiet understanding nod. He just looked at Vernon
+once and said: "Bad luck, old chap. I broke an arm once."</p>
+
+<p>The world became suddenly less terrifying. Other people broke legs and
+arms. His father had hold of his mother's shoulder, he was leading her
+toward the door, speaking to her in a low voice. She was protesting,
+arguing, her voice high and shrill with emotion.</p>
+
+<p>"How can you understand? You've never cared for the child like I have.
+It takes a mother. How can I leave my child to be looked after by a
+stranger? He needs his mother.... You don't understand. I <i>love</i> him.
+There's nothing like a mother's care—everyone says so."</p>
+
+<p>"Vernon darling"—she broke from her husband's clasp, came back toward
+the bed—"you want me, don't you? You want Mummy?"</p>
+
+<p>"I want Nurse," sobbed Vernon. "I want Nurse."</p>
+
+<p>He meant his own Nurse, not Nurse Frances.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" said Myra. She stood there quivering.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, my dear," said Vernon's father gently. "Come away."</p>
+
+<p>She leaned against him, and together they passed from the room. Faint
+words floated back into the room.</p>
+
+<p>"My own child, to turn from me to a stranger."</p>
+
+<p>Nurse Frances smoothed the sheet and suggested a drink of water.</p>
+
+<p>"Nurse is coming back very soon," she said. "We'll write to her to-day,
+shall we? You shall tell me what to say."</p>
+
+<p>A queer new feeling surged over Vernon—a sort of odd gratitude.
+Somebody had actually understood....</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>3</i></h3>
+
+<p>When Vernon, later, was to look back upon his childhood, this one
+period was to stand out quite clearly from the rest. "The time I broke
+my leg" marked a distinct era.</p>
+
+<p>He was to appreciate, too, various small incidents that were accepted
+by him at the time as a matter of course. For instance, a rather stormy
+interview that took place between Dr. Coles and his mother. Naturally
+this did not take place in Vernon's sick room, but Myra's raised voice
+penetrated closed doors. Vernon heard indignant exclamations of "I
+don't know what you mean by upsetting him.... I consider I ought to
+nurse my own child.... Naturally I was distressed—I'm not one of these
+people who simply have no heart—no heart at all. Look at Walter—never
+turned a hair!"</p>
+
+<p>There were many skirmishes too, not to say pitched battles, fought
+between Myra and Nurse Frances. In these cases Nurse Frances always
+won, but at a certain cost. Myra Deyre was wildly and furiously jealous
+of what she called "the paid nurse." She was forced to submit to Dr.
+Coles's dictums, but she did so with a bad grace and with an overt
+rudeness that Nurse Frances never seemed to notice.</p>
+
+<p>In after years Vernon remembered nothing of the pain and tedium that
+there must have been. He remembered only happy days of playing and
+talking as he had never played and talked before. For in Nurse Frances
+he found a grown-up who didn't think things "funny" or "quaint."
+Somebody who listened sensibly and who made serious and sensible
+suggestions. To Nurse Frances he was able to speak of Poodle, Squirrel,
+and Tree, and of Mr. Green and the hundred children. And instead of
+saying "What a <i>funny</i> game!" Nurse Frances merely inquired whether
+the hundred children were girls or boys—an aspect of the matter which
+Vernon had never thought of before. But he and Nurse Frances decided
+that there were fifty of each, which seemed a very fair arrangement.</p>
+
+<p>If sometimes, off his guard, he played his make-believe games aloud,
+Nurse Frances never seemed to notice or to think it unusual. She had
+the same calm comfortableness of old Nurse about her, but she had
+something that mattered far more to Vernon: the gift of answering
+questions—and he knew, instinctively, that the answers were always
+true. Sometimes she would say, "I don't know that myself," or, "You
+must ask someone else. I'm not clever enough to tell you that." There
+was no pretense of omniscience about her.</p>
+
+<p>Sometimes, after tea, she would tell Vernon stories. The stories were
+never the same two days running—one day they would be about naughty
+little boys and girls, and the next day they would be about enchanted
+princesses. Vernon liked the latter kind best. There was one in
+particular that he loved, about a princess in a tower with golden hair
+and a vagabond prince in a ragged green hat. The story ended up in a
+forest, and it was possibly for that reason that Vernon liked it so
+much.</p>
+
+<p>Sometimes there would be an extra listener. Myra used to come in and
+be with Vernon during the early afternoon when Nurse Frances had her
+time off, but Vernon's father used sometimes to come in after tea when
+the stories were going on. Little by little it became a habit. Walter
+Deyre would sit in the shadows just behind Nurse Frances's chair, and
+from there he would watch, not his child, but the story-teller. One
+day Vernon saw his father's hand steal out and close gently over Nurse
+Frances's wrist.</p>
+
+<p>And then something happened which surprised him very much. Nurse
+Frances got up from her chair.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid we must turn you out for this evening, Mr. Deyre," she said
+quietly. "Vernon and I have things to do."</p>
+
+<p>This astonished Vernon very much, because he couldn't think what those
+things were. He was still more puzzled when his father got up also and
+said in a low voice:</p>
+
+<p>"I beg your pardon."</p>
+
+<p>Nurse Frances bent her head a little, but remained standing. Her eyes
+met Walter Deyre's steadily. He said quietly:</p>
+
+<p>"Will you believe that I am really sorry, and let me come to-morrow?"</p>
+
+<p>After that, in some way that Vernon could not have defined, his
+father's manner was different. He no longer sat so near Nurse Frances.
+He talked more to Vernon and occasionally they all three played a
+game—usually Old Maid, for which Vernon had a wild passion. They were
+happy evenings enjoyed by all three.</p>
+
+<p>One day, when Nurse Frances was out of the room, Walter Deyre said
+abruptly:</p>
+
+<p>"Do you like that nurse of yours, Vernon?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nurse Frances? I like her lots. Don't you, Father?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Walter Deyre, "I do."</p>
+
+<p>There was a sadness in his voice which Vernon felt.</p>
+
+<p>"Is anything the matter, Father?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing that can be put right. The horse that gets left at the post
+never has much chance of making good—and the fact that it's the
+horse's own fault doesn't make matters any better. But that's double
+Dutch to you, old man. Anyway, enjoy your Nurse Frances while you've
+got her. There aren't many of her sort knocking about."</p>
+
+<p>And then Nurse Frances came back and they played Animal Grab.</p>
+
+<p>But Walter Deyre's words had set Vernon's mind to work. He tackled
+Nurse Frances next morning.</p>
+
+<p>"Aren't you going to be here always?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. Only till you get well—or nearly well."</p>
+
+<p>"Won't you stay always? I'd like you to."</p>
+
+<p>"But, you see, that's not my work. My work is to look after people who
+are ill."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you like doing that?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, very much."</p>
+
+<p>"Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you see, everyone has some particular kind of work that they
+like doing and that suits them."</p>
+
+<p>"Mummy hasn't."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, she has. Her work is to look after this big house and see
+that everything goes right, and to take care of you and your father."</p>
+
+<p>"Father was a soldier once. He told me that if ever there was a war
+he'd go and be a soldier again."</p>
+
+<p>"Are you very fond of your father, Vernon?"</p>
+
+<p>"I love Mummy best, of course. Mummy says little boys always love
+their mothers best. I like <i>being</i> with Father, of course, but that's
+different. I expect it's because he's a man. What shall I be when I
+grow up, do you think? I want to be a sailor."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps you'll write books."</p>
+
+<p>"What about?"</p>
+
+<p>Nurse Frances smiled a little.</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps about Mr. Green, and Poodle and Squirrel and Tree."</p>
+
+<p>"But everyone would say that that was silly."</p>
+
+<p>"Little boys wouldn't think so. And besides, when you grow up you will
+have different people in your head—like Mr. Green and the children,
+only grown-up people. And then you could write about them."</p>
+
+<p>Vernon thought for a long time, then he shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>"I think I'll be a soldier like Father. Most of the Deyres have been
+soldiers, Mummy says. Of course you have to be very brave to be a
+soldier, but I think I would be brave enough."</p>
+
+<p>Nurse Frances was silent a moment. She was thinking of what Walter
+Deyre had said of his small son:</p>
+
+<p>"He's a plucky little chap—absolutely fearless. Doesn't know what fear
+is! You should see him on his pony."</p>
+
+<p>Yes, Vernon was fearless enough in one sense. He had the power of
+endurance, too. He had borne the pain and discomfort of his broken leg
+unusually well for so young a child.</p>
+
+<p>But there was another kind of fear. She said slowly after a minute or
+two:</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me again how you fell off the wall that day."</p>
+
+<p>She knew all about the Beast, and had been careful to display no
+ridicule. She listened now to Vernon, and as he finished she said
+gently:</p>
+
+<p>"But you've known for quite a long time, haven't you, that it isn't a
+real Beast? That it's only a thing made of wood and wires."</p>
+
+<p>"I do <i>know</i>," said Vernon. "But I don't dream it like that. And when I
+saw it in the garden coming at me——"</p>
+
+<p>"You ran away—which was rather a pity, wasn't it? It would have been
+much better to have stayed and <i>looked</i>. Then you'd have seen the men,
+and would have known just what it was. It's always a good thing to
+<i>look</i>. Then you can run away afterward if you still want to—but you
+usually don't. And Vernon, I'll tell you something else."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes?"</p>
+
+<p>"Things are never so frightening in front of you as they are behind
+you. Remember that. Anything seems frightening when it's behind your
+back and you can't see it. That's why it's always better to turn and
+face things—and then very often you find they are nothing at all."</p>
+
+<p>Vernon said thoughtfully: "If I'd turned round I wouldn't have broken
+my leg, would I?"</p>
+
+<p>"No."</p>
+
+<p>Vernon sighed.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't mind having broken my leg very much. It has been very nice
+having you to play with."</p>
+
+<p>He thought Nurse Frances murmured "Poor child" under her breath, but
+that, of course, was absurd. She said smiling:</p>
+
+<p>"I've enjoyed it too. Some of my ill people don't like to play."</p>
+
+<p>"You really do like playing, don't you?" said Vernon. "So does Mr.
+Green."</p>
+
+<p>He added rather stiffly, for he felt shy:</p>
+
+<p>"Please don't go away very soon, will you?"</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>4</i></h3>
+
+<p>But as it happened, Nurse Frances went away much sooner than she
+might have done. It all happened very suddenly, as things in Vernon's
+experience always did.</p>
+
+<p>It started very simply—something that Myra offered to do for Vernon
+and that he said he would rather have done by Nurse Frances.</p>
+
+<p>He was on crutches now for a short and painful time every day, enjoying
+the novelty of it very much. He soon got tired, however, and was ready
+to go back to bed. To-day his mother had suggested his doing so, saying
+she would help him. But Vernon had been helped by her before. Those big
+white hands of hers were strangely clumsy. They hurt where they meant
+to help. He shrank from her well-meant efforts. He said he would wait
+for Nurse Frances, who never hurt.</p>
+
+<p>The words came out with the tactless honesty of children, and in a
+minute Myra Deyre was at white heat.</p>
+
+<p>Nurse Frances came in two or three minutes later to be received with a
+flood of reproach.</p>
+
+<p>Turning the boy against his own mother—cruel—wicked. They were all
+alike—everyone was against her. She had nothing in the world but
+Vernon and now he was being turned against her too.</p>
+
+<p>So it went on—a ceaseless stream. Nurse Frances bore it patiently
+enough, without surprise or rancour. Mrs. Deyre, she knew, was that
+kind of woman. Scenes were a relief to her. And hard words, Nurse
+Frances reflected with grim humour, can only harm if the utterer is
+dear to you. She was sorry for Myra Deyre for she realized how much
+real unhappiness and misery lay behind these hysterical outbursts.</p>
+
+<p>It was an unfortunate moment for Walter Deyre to choose to enter
+the nursery. For a moment or two he stood surprised, then he flushed
+angrily.</p>
+
+<p>"Really, Myra, I'm ashamed of you. You don't know what you're saying."</p>
+
+<p>She turned on him furiously.</p>
+
+<p>"I know what I'm saying well enough. And I know what you've been doing.
+Slinking in here every day—I've seen you. Always making love to some
+woman or other. Nursemaids, hospital nurses—it's all one to you."</p>
+
+<p>"Myra—be quiet!"</p>
+
+<p>He was really angry now. Myra Deyre felt a throb of fear. But she
+hurled her last piece of invective.</p>
+
+<p>"You're all alike, you hospital nurses. Flirting with other women's
+husbands. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Before the innocent
+child too—putting all sorts of things into his head. But you'll go out
+of my house. Yes, you'll go right out—and I shall tell Dr. Coles what
+I think of you."</p>
+
+<p>"Would you mind continuing this edifying scene elsewhere?" Her
+husband's voice was as she hated it most—cold and sneering. "Hardly
+judicious in front of your innocent child, is it? I apologize, Nurse,
+for what my wife has been saying. Come, Myra."</p>
+
+<p>She went—beginning to cry—weakly frightened at what she had done. As
+usual, she had said more than she meant.</p>
+
+<p>"You're cruel," she sobbed. "Cruel. You'd like me to be dead. You hate
+me."</p>
+
+<p>She followed him out of the room. Nurse Frances put Vernon to bed. He
+wanted to ask questions but she talked of a dog, a big St. Bernard that
+she had had when she was a little girl, and he was so much interested
+that he forgot everything else.</p>
+
+<p>Much later that evening Vernon's father came to the nursery. He looked
+white and ill. Nurse Frances rose and came to where he stood in the
+doorway.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know what to say. How can I apologize—the things my wife
+said——"</p>
+
+<p>Nurse Frances replied in a quiet matter-of-fact voice:</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! it's quite all right. I understand. I think, though, that I had
+better go as soon as it can be arranged. My being here makes Mrs.
+Deyre unhappy, and then she works herself up."</p>
+
+<p>"If she knew how wide of the mark her wild accusations are. That she
+should insult <i>you</i>——"</p>
+
+<p>Nurse Frances laughed—not, perhaps, very convincingly.</p>
+
+<p>"I always think it's absurd when people complain about being insulted,"
+she said cheerfully. "Such a pompous word, isn't it? Please don't worry
+or think I mind. You know, Mr. Deyre, your wife is——"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes?"</p>
+
+<p>Her voice changed. It was grave and sad.</p>
+
+<p>"A very unhappy and lonely woman."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think that is entirely my fault?"</p>
+
+<p>There was a pause. She lifted her eyes—those steady green eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," she said, "I do."</p>
+
+<p>He drew a long breath.</p>
+
+<p>"No one else but you would have said that to me. You——I suppose
+it's courage in you that I admire so much——your absolutely fearless
+honesty. I'm sorry for Vernon that he should lose you before he need."</p>
+
+<p>She said gravely: "Don't blame yourself for things you needn't. This
+has not been your fault."</p>
+
+<p>"Nurse Frances." It was Vernon, eagerly from bed. "I don't want you to
+go away. Don't go away, please—not to-night."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course not," said Nurse Frances. "We've got to talk to Dr. Coles
+about it."</p>
+
+<p>Nurse Frances left three days later. Vernon wept bitterly. He had lost
+the first real friend he had ever had.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="chapter_5I">chapter 5</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>The years from five to nine remained somewhat dim in Vernon's memory.
+Things changed—but so gradually as not to matter. Nurse did not
+return to her reign over the nursery. Her mother had had a stroke and
+was quite helpless and she was obliged to remain and look after her.</p>
+
+<p>Instead, a Miss Robbins was installed as nursery governess. A creature
+so extraordinarily colourless that Vernon could never afterward even
+recall what she looked like. He must have become somewhat out of hand
+under her régime for he was sent to school just after his eighth
+birthday. On his first holidays he found his cousin Josephine installed.</p>
+
+<p>On her few visits to Abbots Puissants, Nina had never brought her
+small daughter with her. Indeed her visits had become rarer and rarer.
+Vernon, knowing things without thinking about them, as children do, was
+perfectly well aware of two facts. One, that his father did not like
+Uncle Sydney but was always exceedingly polite to him. Two, that his
+mother did not like Aunt Nina and did not mind showing it. Sometimes,
+when Nina was sitting talking to Walter in the garden, Myra would join
+them, and in the momentary pause that nearly always followed she would
+say:</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose I'd better go away again. I see I'm in the way. No, thank
+you, Walter [this in answer to a protest, gently murmured], I can see
+plainly enough when I'm not wanted."</p>
+
+<p>She would move away, biting her lip, nervously clasping and unclasping
+her hands, tears in her brown eyes. And, very quietly, Walter Deyre
+would raise his eyebrows.</p>
+
+<p>One day Nina broke out: "She's impossible! I can't speak to you for ten
+minutes without an absurd scene. Walter, why did you do it? Why <i>did</i>
+you do it?"</p>
+
+<p>Vernon remembered how his father had looked round, gazing up at the
+house, then letting his eyes sweep far afield to where the ruins of the
+old Abbey just showed.</p>
+
+<p>"I cared for the place," he said slowly. "In the blood, I suppose. I
+didn't want to let it go."</p>
+
+<p>There had been a brief silence and then Nina had laughed—a queer short
+laugh.</p>
+
+<p>"We're not a very satisfactory family," she said. "We've made a pretty
+good mess of things, you and I."</p>
+
+<p>There was another pause and then his father had said: "Is it as bad as
+that?"</p>
+
+<p>Nina had drawn in her breath with a sharp hiss. She nodded.</p>
+
+<p>"Pretty well. I don't think, Walter, that I can go on much longer. Fred
+hates the sight of me. Oh! we behave very prettily in public—no one
+would guess—but my God, when we're alone!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but my dear girl...."</p>
+
+<p>And then, for a while, Vernon heard no more. Their voices were lowered,
+his father seemed to be arguing with his aunt. Finally his voice rose
+again.</p>
+
+<p>"You can't take a mad step like that. It's not even as though you cared
+for Anstey. You don't."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose not—but he's crazy about me."</p>
+
+<p>His father said something that sounded like Social Ostriches. Nina
+laughed again.</p>
+
+<p>"That? We'd neither of us care."</p>
+
+<p>"Anstey would in the end."</p>
+
+<p>"Fred would divorce me—only too glad of the chance. Then we could
+marry."</p>
+
+<p>"Even then——"</p>
+
+<p>"Walter on the social conventions! It has its humorous side!"</p>
+
+<p>"Women and men are very different," said Vernon's father dryly.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! I know—I know. But anything's better than this everlasting
+misery. Of course, at the bottom of it all is that I still care for
+Fred—I always did. And he never cared for me."</p>
+
+<p>"There's the kid," said Walter Deyre. "You can't go off and leave her?"</p>
+
+<p>"Can't I? I'm not much of a mother, you know. As a matter of fact, I'd
+take her with me. Fred wouldn't care. He hates her as much as he hates
+me."</p>
+
+<p>There was another pause, a long one this time. Then Nina said slowly:</p>
+
+<p>"What a ghastly tangle human beings can get themselves into. And in
+your case and mine, Walter, it's all our own fault. We're a nice
+family! We bring bad luck to ourselves and to anyone we have anything
+to do with."</p>
+
+<p>Walter Deyre got up. He filled a pipe abstractedly, then moved slowly
+away. For the first time Nina noticed Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>"Hullo, child," she said. "I didn't see you were there. How much did
+you understand of all that, I wonder?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know," said Vernon vaguely, shifting from foot to foot.</p>
+
+<p>Nina opened a chain bag, took out a tortoise-shell case, and extracted
+a cigarette which she proceeded to light. Vernon watched her,
+fascinated. He had never seen a woman smoke.</p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter?" said Nina.</p>
+
+<p>"Mummy says," said Vernon, "that no nice woman would ever smoke. She
+said so to Miss Robbins."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! well," said Nina. She puffed out a cloud of smoke. "I expect she
+was quite right. I'm not a nice woman, you see, Vernon."</p>
+
+<p>Vernon looked at her, vaguely distressed.</p>
+
+<p>"I think you're very pretty," he said rather shyly.</p>
+
+<p>"That's not the same thing." Nina's smile widened. "Come here, Vernon."</p>
+
+<p>He came obediently. Nina put her hands on his shoulders and looked him
+over quizzically. He submitted patiently. He never minded being touched
+by Aunt Nina. Her hands were light—not clutching like his mother's.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Nina, "you're a Deyre—very much so. Rough luck on Myra,
+but there it is."</p>
+
+<p>"What does that mean?" said Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>"It means that you're like your father's family and not like your
+mother's—worse luck for you."</p>
+
+<p>"Why worse luck for me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because the Deyres, Vernon, are neither happy nor successful. And they
+can't make good."</p>
+
+<p>What funny things Aunt Nina said! She said them half laughingly, so
+perhaps she didn't mean them. And yet, somehow, there was something in
+them that, though he didn't understand, made him afraid.</p>
+
+<p>"Would it be better," he said suddenly, "to be like Uncle Sydney?"</p>
+
+<p>"Much better. Much much better."</p>
+
+<p>Vernon considered.</p>
+
+<p>"But then," he said slowly, "if I was like Uncle Sydney——"</p>
+
+<p>He stopped, trying to get his thoughts into words.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, well?"</p>
+
+<p>"If I was Uncle Sydney I should have to live at Larch Hurst—and not
+here."</p>
+
+<p>Larch Hurst was a stoutly built red brick villa near Birmingham where
+Vernon had once been taken to stay with Uncle Sydney and Aunt Carrie.
+It had three acres of superb pleasure grounds, a rose garden, a
+pergola, a goldfish tank, and two excellently fitted bathrooms.</p>
+
+<p>"And wouldn't you like that?" asked Nina, still watching him.</p>
+
+<p>"No!" said Vernon. A great sigh broke from him, heaving his small
+chest. "I want to live <i>here</i>—always, always, always!"</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>2</i></h3>
+
+<p>Soon after this something queer happened about Aunt Nina. His mother
+began to speak of her and his father managed to hush her down with a
+sideways glance at himself. He carried away only a couple of phrases:
+"It's that poor child I'm so sorry for. You've only got to look at Nina
+to see she's a Bad Lot and always will be."</p>
+
+<p>The poor child, Vernon knew, was his cousin Josephine, whom he had
+never seen, but to whom he sent presents at Christmas and duly
+received others in return. He wondered why Josephine was "poor" and
+why his mother was sorry for her, and also why Aunt Nina was a Bad
+Lot—whatever that meant. He asked Miss Robbins, who got very pink and
+told him he mustn't talk about "things like that." Things like what?
+Vernon wondered.</p>
+
+<p>However, he didn't think much more about it till four months later,
+when the matter was mentioned once more. This time no one noticed
+Vernon's presence—feelings were running too high for that. His mother
+and father were in the middle of a vehement discussion. His mother, as
+usual, was vociferous, excited. His father was very quiet.</p>
+
+<p>"Disgraceful!" Myra was saying. "Within three months of running away
+with one man to go off with another. It shows her up in her true light.
+I always knew what she was like. Men, men, men, nothing but men!"</p>
+
+<p>"You're welcome to any opinion you choose, Myra. That's not the point.
+I knew perfectly how it would strike you."</p>
+
+<p>"And anyone else too, I should think! I can't understand you, Walter.
+You call yourself an old family and all that——"</p>
+
+<p>"We are an old family," he put in quietly.</p>
+
+<p>"I should have thought you'd have minded a bit about the honour of your
+name. She's disgraced it—and if you were a real man you'd cast her off
+utterly as she deserves."</p>
+
+<p>"Traditional scene from the melodrama, in fact."</p>
+
+<p>"You always sneer and laugh! Morals mean nothing to you—absolutely
+nothing."</p>
+
+<p>"At the minute, as I've been trying to make you understand, it's not
+a question of morals. It's a question of my sister being destitute.
+I must go out to Monte Carlo and see what can be done. I should have
+thought anyone in their senses would see that."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you. You're not very polite, are you? And whose fault is it
+she's destitute, I should like to know? She had a good husband——"</p>
+
+<p>"No—not that."</p>
+
+<p>"At any rate, he married her."</p>
+
+<p>It was his father who flushed this time. He said, in a very low voice:</p>
+
+<p>"I can't understand you, Myra. You're a good woman—a kind honourable
+upright woman—and yet you can demean yourself to make a nasty mean
+taunt like that."</p>
+
+<p>"That's right! Abuse me! I'm used to it! You don't mind what you say to
+me."</p>
+
+<p>"That's not true. I try to be as courteous as I can."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. And that's partly why I hate you—you never do say right out.
+Always polite and sneering—your tongue in your cheek. All this keeping
+up appearances—why should one, I should like to know? Why should I
+care if everyone in the house knows what I feel?"</p>
+
+<p>"I've no doubt they do—thanks to the carrying power of your voice."</p>
+
+<p>"There you are—sneering again. At any rate I've enjoyed telling you
+what I think of your precious sister. Running away with one man, going
+off with a second—and why can't the second man keep her, I should like
+to know? Or is he tired of her already?"</p>
+
+<p>"I've already told you, but you didn't listen. He's threatened with
+galloping consumption—has had to throw up his job. He's no private
+means."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! Nina brought her pigs to a bad market that time."</p>
+
+<p>"There's one thing about Nina—she's never been actuated by motives of
+gain. She's a fool, a damned fool, or she wouldn't have got herself
+into this mess. But it's always her affections that run away with her
+common sense. It's the deuce of a tangle. She won't touch a penny from
+Fred. Anstey wants to make her an allowance—she won't hear of it. And,
+mind you, I agree with her. There are things one can't do. But I've
+certainly got to go and see to things. I'm sorry if it annoys you, but
+there it is."</p>
+
+<p>"You never do anything I want! You hate me! You do this on purpose to
+make me miserable. But there's one thing. You don't bring this precious
+sister of yours under this roof while I'm here. I'm not accustomed to
+meeting that kind of woman. You understand?"</p>
+
+<p>"You make your meaning almost offensively clear."</p>
+
+<p>"If you bring her here, I go back to Birmingham."</p>
+
+<p>There was a faint flicker in Walter Deyre's eyes, and suddenly Vernon
+realized something that his mother did not. He had understood very
+little of the actual words of the conversation though he had grasped
+the essentials. Aunt Nina was ill or unhappy somewhere and Mummy was
+angry about it. She had said that if Aunt Nina came to Abbots Puissants
+she would go back to Uncle Sydney at Birmingham. She had meant that
+as a threat—but Vernon knew that his father would be very pleased
+if she did go back to Birmingham. He knew it quite certainly and
+uncomprehendingly. It was like some of Miss Robbins's punishments, like
+not speaking for half an hour. She thought you minded that as much as
+not having jam for tea, and fortunately she had never discovered that
+you didn't really mind it at all—in fact rather enjoyed it.</p>
+
+<p>Walter Deyre walked up and down the room. Vernon watched him, puzzled.
+That his father was fighting out a battle in his own mind, he knew. But
+he couldn't understand what it was all about.</p>
+
+<p>"Well?" said Myra.</p>
+
+<p>She was rather beautiful just at that moment—a great big woman,
+magnificently proportioned, her head thrown back and the sunlight
+streaming in on her golden-red hair. A fit mate for some Viking
+seafarer.</p>
+
+<p>"I made you the mistress of this house, Myra," said Walter Deyre. "If
+you object to my sister coming to it, naturally she will not come."</p>
+
+<p>He moved toward the door. There he paused and looked back at her.
+"If Llewellyn dies—which seems almost certain—Nina must try to get
+some kind of a job. Then there will be the child to think of. Do your
+objections apply to her?"</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think I want a girl in my home who will turn out like her
+mother?"</p>
+
+<p>His father said quietly: "Yes or No would have been quite sufficient
+answer."</p>
+
+<p>He went out. Myra stood staring after him. Tears stood in her eyes and
+began to fall. Vernon did not like tears. He edged toward the door—but
+not in time.</p>
+
+<p>"Darling, come to me."</p>
+
+<p>He had to come. He was enfolded—hugged. Fragments of phrases
+reiterated in his ears:</p>
+
+<p>"You'll make up to me—you, my own boy. You shan't be like
+them—horrid, sneering. You won't fail me—you'll never fail me—will
+you? Swear it—my boy, my own boy!"</p>
+
+<p>He knew it all so well. He said what was wanted of him—Yes and No in
+the right places. How he hated the whole business! It always happened
+so close to your ears.</p>
+
+<p>That evening after tea Myra was in quite another mood. She was writing
+a letter at her writing table and looked up gaily as Vernon entered.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm writing to Daddy. Perhaps, very soon, your Aunt Nina and your
+cousin Josephine will come to stay. Won't that be lovely?"</p>
+
+<p>But they didn't come. Myra said to herself that really Walter was
+incomprehensible. Just because she'd said a few things she really
+didn't mean....</p>
+
+<p>Vernon was not very surprised, somehow. He hadn't thought they would
+come.</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Nina had said she wasn't a nice woman—but she was very pretty.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="chapter_6I">chapter 6</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>If Vernon had been capable of summing up the events of the next few
+years, he could best have done it in one word—scenes! Everlasting and
+ever-recurring scenes.</p>
+
+<p>And he began to notice a curious phenomenon. After each scene his
+mother looked larger and his father looked smaller. Emotional storms of
+reproach and invective exhilarated Myra mentally and physically. She
+emerged from them refreshed; soothed—full of good will toward all the
+world.</p>
+
+<p>With Walter Deyre it was the opposite. He withdrew into himself, every
+sensitive fibre in his nature shrinking from the onslaught. The faint
+polite sarcasm that was his weapon of defence never failed to goad his
+wife to the utmost fury. His quiet weary self-control exasperated her
+as nothing else could have done.</p>
+
+<p>Not that she was lacking for very real grounds of complaint. Walter
+Deyre spent less and less time at Abbots Puissants. When he did return
+his eyes had baggy pouches under them and his hand shook. He took
+little notice of Vernon, and yet the child was always conscious of an
+underlying sympathy. It was tacitly understood that Walter should not
+"interfere" with the child. A mother was the person who should have the
+say. Apart from supervising the boy's riding, Walter stood aside. Not
+to do so would have roused fresh matter for discussion and reproach.
+He was ready to admit that Myra had all the virtues and was a most
+careful and attentive mother.</p>
+
+<p>And yet he sometimes had the feeling that he could give the boy
+something that she could not. The trouble was that they were both
+shy of each other. To neither of them was it easy to express his
+feelings—a thing Myra would have found incomprehensible. They remained
+gravely polite to each other.</p>
+
+<p>But when a scene was in progress Vernon was full of silent sympathy. He
+knew exactly how his father was feeling—knew how that loud angry voice
+hurt the ears and the head. He knew, of course, that Mummy must be
+right—Mummy was always right, that was an article of belief not to be
+questioned—but all the same, he was unconsciously on his father's side.</p>
+
+<p>Things went from bad to worse—came to a crisis. Mummy remained
+locked in her room for two days—servants whispered delightedly in
+corners—and Uncle Sydney arrived on the scene to see what he could do.</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Sydney undoubtedly had a soothing influence over Myra. He walked
+up and down the room, jingling his money as of old, and looking stouter
+and more rubicund than ever.</p>
+
+<p>Myra poured out her woes.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes, I know," said Uncle Sydney, jingling hard. "I know, my dear
+girl. I'm not saying you haven't had a lot to put up with. You have.
+Nobody knows that better than I do. But there's give and take, you
+know. Give and take. That's married life in a nutshell—give and take."</p>
+
+<p>There was a fresh outburst from Myra.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not sticking up for Deyre," said Uncle Sydney. "Not at all. I'm
+just looking at the whole thing as a man of the world. Women lead
+sheltered lives and they don't look at these things as men do—quite
+right that they shouldn't. You're a good woman, Myra, and it's always
+hard for a good woman to understand these things. Carrie's just the
+same."</p>
+
+<p>"What has Carrie got to put up with, I should like to know?" cried
+Myra. "<i>You</i> don't go off racketing round with disgusting women. <i>You</i>
+don't make love to the servants."</p>
+
+<p>"N-no," said her brother. "No, of course not. It's the principle of the
+thing I'm talking about. And mind you, Carrie and I don't see eye to
+eye over everything. We have our tiffs—why, sometimes we don't speak
+to each other for two days on end. But bless you, we make it up again,
+and things go on better than before. A good row clears the air—that's
+what I say. But there must be give and take. And no nagging afterward.
+The best man in the world won't stand nagging."</p>
+
+<p>"I never nag," said Myra tearfully, and believed it. "How can you say
+such a thing?"</p>
+
+<p>"Now don't get the wind up, old girl. I'm not saying you do. I'm just
+laying down general principles. And remember, Deyre's not our sort.
+He's kittle cattle—the touchy sensitive kind. A mere trifle sets them
+off."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't I know it?" said Myra bitterly. "He's impossible. Why did I ever
+marry him?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you know, Sis, you can't have it both ways. It was a good match.
+I'm bound to admit it was a good match. Here you are, living in a swell
+place, knowing all the county, as good as anybody short of royalty. My
+word, if poor old Dad had lived, how proud he'd have been! And what I'm
+getting at is this—everything's got its seamy side. You can't have the
+halfpence without one or two of the kicks as well. They're decadent,
+these old families, that's what they are—decadent, and you've just
+got to face the fact. You've just got to sum up the situation in a
+businesslike way—advantages, so and so; disadvantages, ditto. It's the
+only way. Take my word for it, it's the only way."</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't marry him for the sake of 'advantages,' as you call it,"
+said Myra. "I hate this place. I always have. It's because of Abbots
+Puissants he married me—not for myself."</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense, Sis, you were a jolly pretty girl—and still are," he added
+gallantly.</p>
+
+<p>"Walter married me for the sake of Abbots Puissants," said Myra
+obstinately. "I tell you I know it."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, well," said her brother. "Let's leave the past alone."</p>
+
+<p>"You wouldn't be so calm and cold-blooded about it if you were me,"
+said Myra bitterly. "Not if you had to live with him. I do everything
+I can think of to please him—and he only sneers and treats me like
+this."</p>
+
+<p>"You nag him," said Sydney. "Oh! yes, you do. You can't help it."</p>
+
+<p>"If only he'd answer back! If he'd say something—instead of just
+sitting there."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but that's the kind of fellow he is. You can't alter people
+in this world to suit your fancy. I can't say I care for the chap
+myself—too ladida for me. Why, if you put him in to run a concern it
+would be bankrupt in a fortnight! But I'm bound to say he's always been
+very polite and decent to me. Quite the gentleman. When I've run across
+him in London he's taken me to lunch at that swell club of his, and if
+I didn't feel too comfortable there that wasn't his fault. He's got his
+good points."</p>
+
+<p>"You're so like a man," said Myra. "Carrie would understand! He's been
+unfaithful to me, I tell you. Unfaithful!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, well," said Uncle Sydney, with a great deal of jingling and his
+eyes on the ceiling. "Men will be men."</p>
+
+<p>"But Syd, you never——"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course not," said Uncle Sydney hastily. "Of course not—of course
+not. I'm speaking generally, Myra—generally, you understand."</p>
+
+<p>"It's all finished," said Myra. "No woman could stand more than I've
+stood. And now it's the end. I never want to see him again."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" said Uncle Sydney. He drew a chair to the table and sat down with
+the air of one prepared to talk business. "Then let's get down to brass
+tacks. You've made up your mind? What is it you do want to do?"</p>
+
+<p>"I tell you I never want to see Walter again!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes," said Uncle Sydney patiently. "We're taking that for
+granted. Now what do you want? A divorce?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" Myra was taken aback. "I hadn't thought...."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, we must get the thing put on a businesslike footing. I doubt if
+you'd get a divorce. You've got to prove cruelty, you know, as well,
+and I doubt if you could do that."</p>
+
+<p>"If you knew the suffering he's caused me——"</p>
+
+<p>"I daresay. I'm not denying it. But you want something more than that
+to satisfy the law. And there's no desertion. If you wrote to him to
+come back he'd come, I suppose?"</p>
+
+<p>"Haven't I just told you I never want to see him again?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes, yes. You women do harp on a thing so. We're looking at the
+thing from a business point of view now. I don't think a divorce will
+wash."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't want a divorce."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, what do you want, a separation?"</p>
+
+<p>"So that he could go and live with that abandoned creature in London?
+Live with her altogether? And what would happen to me, I should like to
+know?"</p>
+
+<p>"Plenty nice houses near me and Carrie. You'd have the boy with you
+most of the time, I expect."</p>
+
+<p>"And let Walter bring disgusting women into this very house, perhaps?
+No, indeed, I don't intend to play into his hands like that!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, dash it all Myra, what do you want?"</p>
+
+<p>Myra began to cry again.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm so miserable, Syd, I'm so miserable. If only Walter were
+different!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, he isn't—and he never will be. You must just make up your mind
+to it, Myra. You've married a fellow who's a bit of a Don Jooan—and
+you've got to try and take a broad-minded view of it. You're fond of
+the chap. Kiss and make friends—that's what I say. We're none of us
+perfect. Give and take—that's the thing to remember—give and take."</p>
+
+<p>His sister continued to weep quietly.</p>
+
+<p>"Marriage is a ticklish business," went on Uncle Sydney in a ruminative
+voice. "Women are too good for us, not a doubt of it."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose," said Myra in a tearful voice, "one ought to forgive and
+forgive—again and again."</p>
+
+<p>"That's the spirit," said Uncle Sydney. "Women are angels and men
+aren't, and women have got to make allowances. Always have had to and
+always will."</p>
+
+<p>Myra's sobs grew less. She was seeing herself now in the rôle of the
+forgiving angel.</p>
+
+<p>"It isn't as if I didn't do everything I could," she sobbed. "I run
+the house and I'm sure nobody could be a more devoted mother."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course you are," said Uncle Sydney. "And that's a fine youngster
+of yours. I wish Carrie and I had a boy. Four girls—it's a bit thick.
+Still, as I always say to her: 'Better luck next time, old girl.' We
+both feel sure it's going to be a boy this time."</p>
+
+<p>Myra was diverted.</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't know. When is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"June."</p>
+
+<p>"How is Carrie?"</p>
+
+<p>"Suffering a bit with her legs—swelled, you know. But she manages to
+get about a fair amount. Why, hullo, here's that young shaver. How long
+have you been here, my boy?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! a long time," said Vernon. "I was here when you came in."</p>
+
+<p>"You're so quiet," complained his uncle. "Not like your cousins. I'm
+sure the racket they make is almost too much to bear sometimes. What's
+that you've got there?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's an engine," said Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>"No, it isn't," said Uncle Sydney. "It's a milk cart!"</p>
+
+<p>Vernon was silent.</p>
+
+<p>"Hey," said Uncle Sydney. "Isn't it a milk cart?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Vernon. "It's an engine."</p>
+
+<p>"Not a bit of it. It's a milk cart. That's funny, isn't it? You say
+it's an engine and I say it's a milk cart. I wonder which of us is
+right?"</p>
+
+<p>Since Vernon knew that he was, it seemed hardly necessary to reply.</p>
+
+<p>"He's a solemn child," said Uncle Sydney, turning to his sister. "Never
+sees a joke. You know, my boy, you'll have to get used to being teased
+at school."</p>
+
+<p>"Shall I?" said Vernon, who couldn't see what that had to do with it.</p>
+
+<p>"A boy who can take teasing with a laugh, that's the sort of boy who
+gets on in the world," said Uncle Sydney, and jingled his money again,
+stimulated by a natural association of ideas.</p>
+
+<p>Vernon stared at him thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<p>"What are you thinking about?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing," said Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>"Take your engine on the terrace, dear," said Myra.</p>
+
+<p>Vernon obeyed.</p>
+
+<p>"Now I wonder how much that little chap took in of what we were talking
+about?" said Sydney to his sister.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! he wouldn't understand. He's too little."</p>
+
+<p>"H'm," said Sydney. "I don't know. Some children take in a lot—my
+Ethel does. But then she's a very wide-awake child."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think Vernon ever notices anything," said Myra. "It's rather a
+blessing in some ways."</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>2</i></h3>
+
+<p>"Mummy," said Vernon later, "what's going to happen in June?"</p>
+
+<p>"In June, darling?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes—what you and Uncle Sydney were talking about."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! that——" Myra was momentarily discomposed. "Well, you see—it's a
+great secret."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes?" said Vernon eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>"Uncle Sydney and Aunt Carrie hope that in June they will have a dear
+little baby boy. A boy cousin for you."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" said Vernon, disappointed. "Is that all?"</p>
+
+<p>After a minute or two he said:</p>
+
+<p>"Why are Aunt Carrie's legs swelled?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! well—you see—she has been rather overtired lately."</p>
+
+<p>Myra dreaded more questions. She tried to remember what she and Sydney
+had actually said.</p>
+
+<p>"Mummy?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, dear."</p>
+
+<p>"Do Uncle Sydney and Aunt Carrie want to have a baby boy?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, of course."</p>
+
+<p>"Then why do they wait till June? Why don't they have it now?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because, Vernon, God knows best. And God wants them to have it in
+June."</p>
+
+<p>"That's a long time to wait," said Vernon. "If I were God I'd send
+people things at once, as soon as they wanted them."</p>
+
+<p>"You mustn't be blasphemous, dear," said Myra gently.</p>
+
+<p>Vernon was silent. But he was puzzled. What was blasphemous? He rather
+thought that it was the same word Cook had used speaking of her
+brother. She had said he was a most—something—man and hardly ever
+touched a drop! She had spoken as though such an attitude was highly
+commendable. But evidently Mummy didn't seem to think the same about it.</p>
+
+<p>Vernon added an extra prayer that evening to his usual petition of "God
+bless Mummy and Daddy and makemeagooboy armen."</p>
+
+<p>"Dear God," he prayed. "Will you send me a puppy in June!—or July
+would do if you are very busy."</p>
+
+<p>"Now why in June?" said Miss Robbins. "You <i>are</i> a funny little boy. I
+should have thought you would have wanted the puppy now."</p>
+
+<p>"That would be blamafous," said Vernon, and eyed her reproachfully.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>3</i></h3>
+
+<p>Suddenly the world became very exciting. There was a war—in South
+Africa—and Father was going to it!</p>
+
+<p>Everyone was excited and upset. For the first time, Vernon heard of
+some people called the Boers. They were the people that Father was
+going to fight.</p>
+
+<p>His father came home for a few days. He looked younger and more alive
+and a great deal more cheerful. He and Mummy were quite nice to each
+other and there weren't any scenes or quarrels.</p>
+
+<p>Once or twice, Vernon thought, his father squirmed uneasily at some of
+the things his mother said. Once he said irritably:</p>
+
+<p>"For God's sake, Myra, don't keep talking of brave heroes laying down
+their lives for their country. I can't stand that sort of cant."</p>
+
+<p>But his mother had not got angry. She only said:</p>
+
+<p>"I know you don't like me saying it. But it's <i>true</i>."</p>
+
+<p>On the last evening before he left, Vernon's father called to his
+small son to go for a walk with him. They strolled all round the place,
+silently at first, and then Vernon was emboldened to ask questions.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you glad you're going to the war, Father?"</p>
+
+<p>"Very glad."</p>
+
+<p>"Is it fun?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not what you'd call fun, I expect. But it is in a way. It's
+excitement, and then, too, it takes you away from things—right away."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose," said Vernon thoughtfully, "there aren't any ladies at the
+war?"</p>
+
+<p>Walter Deyre looked sharply at his son, a slight smile hovering on his
+lips. Uncanny, the way the boy sometimes hit the nail on the head quite
+unconsciously.</p>
+
+<p>"That makes for peace, certainly," he said gravely.</p>
+
+<p>"Will you kill a good many people, do you think?" inquired Vernon
+interestedly.</p>
+
+<p>His father replied that it was impossible to tell accurately beforehand.</p>
+
+<p>"I hope you will," said Vernon, anxious that his father should shine.
+"I hope you'll kill a hundred."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, old man."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose——" began Vernon, and then stopped.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes?" said Walter Deyre encouragingly.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose—sometimes—people do get killed in war."</p>
+
+<p>Walter Deyre understood the ambiguous phrase.</p>
+
+<p>"Sometimes," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't think you will, do you?"</p>
+
+<p>"I might. It's all in the day's work, you know."</p>
+
+<p>Vernon considered the phrase thoughtfully. The feeling that underlay it
+came dimly to him.</p>
+
+<p>"Would you mind if you were, Father?"</p>
+
+<p>"It might be the best thing," said Walter Deyre, more to himself than
+to the child.</p>
+
+<p>"I hope you won't," said Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you."</p>
+
+<p>His father smiled a little. Vernon's wish had sounded so politely
+conventional. But he did not make the mistake Myra would have done, of
+thinking the child unfeeling.</p>
+
+<p>They had reached the ruins of the Abbey. The sun was just setting.
+Father and son looked round and Walter Deyre drew in his breath with a
+little intake of pain. Perhaps he might never stand here again.</p>
+
+<p>"I've made a mess of things," he thought to himself.</p>
+
+<p>"Vernon?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Father?"</p>
+
+<p>"If I am killed Abbots Puissants will belong to you. You know that,
+don't you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Father."</p>
+
+<p>Silence again. So much that he would have liked to say—but he wasn't
+used to saying things. These were the things that one didn't put into
+words. Odd, how strangely at home he felt with that small person, his
+son. Perhaps it had been a mistake not to have got to know the boy
+better. They might have had some good times together. He was shy of the
+boy—and the boy was shy of him. And yet, somehow, they were curiously
+in harmony. They both of them disliked saying things.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm fond of the old place," said Walter Deyre. "I expect you will be
+too."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Father."</p>
+
+<p>"Queer to think of the old monks—catching their fish—fat fellows.
+That's how I always think of them—comfortable chaps."</p>
+
+<p>They lingered a few minutes longer.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said Walter Deyre, "we must be getting home. It's late."</p>
+
+<p>They turned. Walter Deyre squared his shoulders. There was a
+leavetaking to be got through—an emotional one, if he knew Myra—and
+he rather dreaded it. Well, it would soon be over. Good-byes were
+painful things—better if one made no fuss about them, but then of
+course Myra would never see it that way.</p>
+
+<p>Poor Myra! She'd had a rotten deal on the whole. A fine-looking
+creature, but he'd married her really for the sake of Abbots
+Puissants—and she had married him for love. That was the root of the
+whole trouble.</p>
+
+<p>"Look after your mother, Vernon," he said suddenly. "She's been very
+good to you, you know."</p>
+
+<p>He rather hoped, in a way, that he wouldn't come back. It would be best
+so. Vernon had his mother.</p>
+
+<p>And yet, at that thought, he had a queer traitorous feeling. As though
+he were deserting the boy....</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>4</i></h3>
+
+<p>"Walter," cried Myra, "you haven't said good-bye to Vernon."</p>
+
+<p>Walter looked across at his son, standing there wide-eyed.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-bye, old chap. Have a good time."</p>
+
+<p>"Good-bye, Father."</p>
+
+<p>That was all. Myra was scandalized. Had he no love for the boy? He
+hadn't even kissed him. How queer they were—the Deyres. So casual.
+Strange, the way they had nodded to each other across the width of the
+room. So alike....</p>
+
+<p>"But Vernon," said Myra to herself, "shall not grow up like his father."</p>
+
+<p>On the walls around her Deyres looked down and smiled sardonically.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="chapter_7I">chapter 7</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>Two months after his father sailed for South Africa Vernon went to
+school. It had been Walter Deyre's wish and arrangement, and Myra,
+at the moment, was disposed to regard any wish of his as law. He was
+her soldier and her hero, and everything else was forgotten. She was
+thoroughly happy at this time. Knitting socks for the soldiers, urging
+on energetic campaigns of "white feather," sympathizing and talking
+with other women whose husbands had also gone to fight the wicked
+ungrateful Boers.</p>
+
+<p>She felt exquisite pangs parting with Vernon. Her darling—her baby—to
+go so far away from her. What sacrifices mothers had to make! But it
+had been his father's wish.</p>
+
+<p>Poor darling, he was sure to be most terribly homesick! She couldn't
+bear to think of it.</p>
+
+<p>But Vernon was not homesick. He had no real passionate attachment to
+his mother. All his life he was to be fondest of her when away from
+her. His escape from her emotional atmosphere was felt by him as a
+relief.</p>
+
+<p>He had a good temperament for school life. He had an aptitude for
+games, a quiet manner, and an unusual amount of physical courage. After
+the dull monotony of life under the reign of Miss Robbins, school was a
+delightful novelty. Like all the Deyres, he had the knack of getting on
+with people. He made friends easily.</p>
+
+<p>But the reticence of the child who so often answered "Nothing" clung to
+him. Except with one or two people, that reticence was to go through
+life with him. His school friends were people with whom he shared
+"doing things." His thoughts he was to keep to himself and share with
+only one person. That person came into his life very soon.</p>
+
+<p>On his very first holidays he found Josephine.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>2</i></h3>
+
+<p>Vernon was welcomed by his mother with an outburst of demonstrative
+affection. Already rather self-conscious about such things, he bore it
+manfully. Myra's first raptures over, she said:</p>
+
+<p>"There's a lovely surprise for you, darling. Who do you think is here?
+Your cousin Josephine, Aunt Nina's little girl. She has come to live
+with us. Now, isn't that nice?"</p>
+
+<p>Vernon wasn't quite sure. It needed thinking over. To gain time, he
+said:</p>
+
+<p>"Why has she come to live with us?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because her mother has died. It's terribly sad for her and we must be
+very, very kind to her to make up."</p>
+
+<p>"Is Aunt Nina dead?"</p>
+
+<p>He was sorry Aunt Nina was dead. Pretty Aunt Nina with her curling
+cigarette smoke.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. You can't remember her, of course, darling."</p>
+
+<p>He didn't say that he remembered her perfectly. Why should one say
+things?</p>
+
+<p>"She's in the schoolroom, darling. Go and find her and make friends."</p>
+
+<p>Vernon went slowly. He didn't know whether he was pleased or not. A
+girl! He was at the age to despise girls. Rather a nuisance having a
+girl about. On the other hand, it would be jolly having <i>someone</i>. It
+depended what the kid was like. One would have to be decent to her if
+she'd just lost her mother.</p>
+
+<p>He opened the schoolroom door and went in. Josephine was sitting on the
+window sill swinging her legs. She stared at him, and Vernon's attitude
+of kindly condescension fell from him.</p>
+
+<p>She was a squarely built child of about his own age. She had dead
+black hair cut very straight across her forehead. Her jaw stuck out
+a little in a determined way. She had a very white skin and enormous
+eyelashes. Although she was two months younger than Vernon, she had the
+sophistication of twice his years—a kind of mixture of weariness and
+defiance.</p>
+
+<p>"Hullo," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"Hullo," said Vernon, rather feebly.</p>
+
+<p>They went on looking at each other, suspiciously, as is the manner of
+children and dogs.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose you're my cousin Josephine," said Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but you'd better call me Joe. Everyone does."</p>
+
+<p>"All right—Joe."</p>
+
+<p>There was a pause. To bridge it, Vernon whistled.</p>
+
+<p>"Rather jolly, coming home," he observed at last.</p>
+
+<p>"It's an awfully jolly place," said Joe.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! do you like it?" said Vernon, warming to her.</p>
+
+<p>"I like it awfully. Better than any of the places I've lived."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you lived in a lot of places?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! yes. At Coombes first—when we were with Father. And then at Monte
+Carlo with Colonel Anstey. And then at Toulon with Arthur—and then a
+lot of Swiss places because of Arthur's lungs. And then I went to a
+convent for a bit after Arthur died. Mother couldn't be bothered with
+me just then. I didn't like it much—the nuns were so silly. They made
+me have a bath in my chemise. And then, after Mother died, Aunt Myra
+came and fetched me here."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm awfully sorry—about your mother, I mean," said Vernon awkwardly.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Joe. "It's rotten in a way—though much the best thing for
+her."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" said Vernon, rather taken aback.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't tell Aunt Myra," said Joe. "Because I think she's rather easily
+shocked by things—rather like the nuns. You have to be careful what
+you say to her. Mother didn't care for me an awful lot, you know. She
+was frightfully kind and all that—but she was always soppy about some
+man or other. I heard some people say so in the hotel, and it was quite
+true. She couldn't help it, of course. But it's a very bad plan. I
+shan't have anything to do with men when I grow up."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" said Vernon. He was still feeling very young and awkward beside
+this amazing person.</p>
+
+<p>"I liked Colonel Anstey best," said Joe reminiscently. "But of course
+Mother only ran away with him to get away from Father. We stayed at
+much better hotels with Colonel Anstey. Arthur was very poor. If I ever
+do get soppy about a man when I grow up, I shall take care that he's
+rich. It makes things so much easier."</p>
+
+<p>"Wasn't your father nice?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Father was a devil—Mother said so. He hated us both."</p>
+
+<p>"But why?"</p>
+
+<p>Joe wrinkled her straight black brows in perplexity.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't quite know. I think—I think it was something to do with <i>me</i>
+coming. I think he had to marry Mother because she was going to have
+me—something like that—and it made him angry."</p>
+
+<p>They looked at each other, solemn and perplexed.</p>
+
+<p>"Uncle Walter's in South Africa, isn't he?" went on Joe.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. I've had three letters from him at school. Awfully jolly letters."</p>
+
+<p>"Uncle Walter's a dear. I loved him. He came out to Monte Carlo, you
+know."</p>
+
+<p>Some memory stirred in Vernon. Of course, he remembered now. His father
+had wanted Joe to come to Abbots Puissants then.</p>
+
+<p>"He arranged for me to go to the convent," said Joe. "Reverend Mother
+thought he was lovely—a true type of high-born English gentleman—such
+a funny way of putting it."</p>
+
+<p>They both laughed a little.</p>
+
+<p>"Let's go out in the garden. Shall we?" said Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, let's. I say, I know where there are four different nests—but
+the birds have all flown away."</p>
+
+<p>They went out together, amicably discussing birds' eggs.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>3</i></h3>
+
+<p>To Myra, Joe was a perplexing child. She had nice manners, answered
+promptly and politely when spoken to, and submitted to caresses without
+returning them. She was very independent and gave the maid off to
+attend to her little or nothing to do. She could mend her own clothes
+and keep herself neat and tidy without any outside urging. She was,
+in fact, the sophisticated hotel child whom Myra had never happened
+to come across. The depths of her knowledge would have horrified and
+shocked her aunt.</p>
+
+<p>But Joe was shrewd and quick-witted, well used to summing up the people
+with whom she came in contact. She refrained carefully from "shocking
+Aunt Myra." She had for her something closely akin to a kindly contempt.</p>
+
+<p>"Your mother," she said to Vernon, "is very good—but she's a little
+stupid too, isn't she?"</p>
+
+<p>"She's very beautiful," said Vernon hotly.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, she is," agreed Joe. "All but her hands. Her hair's lovely. I
+wish I had red-gold hair."</p>
+
+<p>"It comes right down below her waist," said Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>He found Joe a wonderful companion, quite unlike his previous
+conception of "girls." She hated dolls, never cried, was as strong if
+not stronger than he was, and was always ready and willing for any
+dangerous sport. Together they climbed trees, rode bicycles, fell
+and cut and bumped themselves, and ended up by taking a wasp's nest
+together, with a success due more to luck than skill.</p>
+
+<p>To Joe, Vernon could talk and did. She opened up to him a strange new
+world, a world where people ran away with other people's husbands and
+wives, a world of dancing and gambling and cynicism. She had loved her
+mother with a fierce protective tenderness that almost reversed the
+rôles.</p>
+
+<p>"She was too soft," said Joe. "I'm not going to be soft. People are
+mean to you if you are. Men are beasts anyway, but if you're a beast to
+them first, they're all right. All men are beasts."</p>
+
+<p>"That's a silly thing to say, and I don't think it's true."</p>
+
+<p>"That's because you're going to be a man yourself."</p>
+
+<p>"No, it isn't. And anyway I'm not a beast."</p>
+
+<p>"No, but I daresay you will be when you're grown up."</p>
+
+<p>"But, look here, Joe, you'll have to marry someone some day, and you
+won't think your husband a beast."</p>
+
+<p>"Why should I marry anyone?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well—girls do. You don't want to be an old maid like Miss Crabtree."</p>
+
+<p>Joe wavered. Miss Crabtree was an elderly spinster who was very active
+in the village and who was very fond of "the dear children."</p>
+
+<p>"I shouldn't be the kind of old maid Miss Crabtree is," she said
+weakly. "I should—oh! I should do things. Play the violin, or write
+books, or paint some marvellous pictures."</p>
+
+<p>"I hope you won't play the violin," said Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>"That's really what I should like to do best. Why do you hate music so,
+Vernon?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know. I just do. It makes me feel all horrible inside."</p>
+
+<p>"How queer! It gives me a nice feeling. What are you going to do when
+you grow up?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! I don't know. I'd like to marry someone very beautiful and live at
+Abbots Puissants and have lots of horses and dogs."</p>
+
+<p>"How dull!" said Joe. "I don't think that would be exciting a bit."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know that I want things to be very exciting," said Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>"I do," said Joe. "I want things to be exciting the whole time without
+ever stopping."</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>4</i></h3>
+
+<p>Joe and Vernon had few other children to play with. The Vicar, whose
+children Vernon had played with when he was younger, had gone to
+another living, and his successor was unmarried. Most of the children
+of families in the same position as the Deyres lived too far away for
+more than a very occasional visit.</p>
+
+<p>The only exception was Nell Vereker. Her father, Captain Vereker, was
+agent to Lord Coomberleigh. He was a tall stooping man, with very
+pale blue eyes and a hesitating manner. He had good connections but
+was inefficient generally. His wife made up in efficiency for what he
+lacked. She was a tall commanding woman, still handsome. Her hair was
+very golden and her eyes were very blue. She had pushed her husband
+into the position he held, and in the same way she pushed herself into
+the best houses of the neighbourhood. She had birth but, like her
+husband, no money. Yet she was determined to make a success of life.</p>
+
+<p>Both Vernon and Joe were bored to death by Nell Vereker. She was a thin
+pale child with fair straggly hair. Her eyelids and the tip of her
+nose were faintly tinged with pink. She was no good at anything. She
+couldn't run and she couldn't climb. She was always dressed in starched
+white muslin and her favourite games were dolls' tea parties.</p>
+
+<p>Myra was very fond of Nell. "Such a thorough little lady," she used to
+say. Vernon and Joe were kindly and polite when Mrs. Vereker brought
+Nell to tea. They tried to think of games she would like, and they used
+to give whoops of delight when at last she departed, sitting up very
+straight beside her mother in the hired carriage.</p>
+
+<p>It was in Vernon's second holidays, just after the famous episode of
+the wasp's nest, that the first rumours came about Deerfields.</p>
+
+<p>Deerfields was the property adjoining Abbots Puissants. It belonged to
+old Sir Charles Alington. Some friends of Mrs. Deyre's came to lunch
+and the subject came up for discussion.</p>
+
+<p>"It's quite true. I had it from an absolutely authentic source. It's
+been sold to these people.... Yes—<i>Jews!</i> Oh! of course—enormously
+wealthy.... Yes, a fancy price, I believe. Levinne, the name is....
+No, Russian Jews, so I heard.... Oh! of course <i>quite</i> impossible. Too
+bad of Sir Charles, I say.... Yes, of course there's the Yorkshire
+property as well, and I hear he's lost a lot of money lately.... No, no
+one will call. Naturally."</p>
+
+<p>Joe and Vernon were pleasurably excited. All titbits about Deerfields
+were carefully stored up. At last the strangers arrived and moved in.
+There was more talk of the same kind.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! absolutely impossible, Mrs. Deyre.... Just as we thought.... One
+wonders what they think they are doing.... What do they expect?...
+I dare say they'll sell the place and move away.... Yes, there is a
+family. A boy. About your Vernon's age, I believe."</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder what Jews are like," said Vernon to Joe. "Why does everyone
+dislike them? We thought one boy at school was a Jew, but he eats bacon
+for breakfast, so he can't be."</p>
+
+<p>The Levinnes proved to be a very Christian brand of Jew. They appeared
+in church on Sunday, having taken a whole pew. The interest of the
+congregation was breathless. First came Mr. Levinne—very round and
+stout, tightly frock-coated—an enormous nose and a shining face. Then
+Mrs.—an amazing sight. Colossal sleeves! Hour-glass figure! Chains
+of diamonds! An immense hat decorated with feathers and black tightly
+curling ringlets underneath it! With them was a boy rather taller than
+Vernon with a long yellow face and protruding ears.</p>
+
+<p>A carriage and pair was waiting for them when service was over. They
+got into it and drove away.</p>
+
+<p>"Well!" said Miss Crabtree.</p>
+
+<p>Little groups formed, talking busily.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>5</i></h3>
+
+<p>"I think it's rotten," said Joe.</p>
+
+<p>She and Vernon were in the garden together.</p>
+
+<p>"What's rotten?"</p>
+
+<p>"Those people."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you mean the Levinnes?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Why should everyone be so horrid about them?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said Vernon, trying to be strictly impartial, "they did look
+queer, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I think people are beasts."</p>
+
+<p>Vernon was silent. Joe, a rebel by force of circumstances, was always
+putting a new point of view before him.</p>
+
+<p>"That boy," continued Joe. "I dare say he's awfully jolly, even though
+his ears do stick out."</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder," said Vernon. "It would be jolly to have someone else. Kate
+says they're making a swimming pool at Deerfields."</p>
+
+<p>"They must be frightfully, frightfully rich," said Joe.</p>
+
+<p>Riches meant little to Vernon. He had never thought about them.</p>
+
+<p>The Levinnes were the great topic of conversation for some time. The
+improvements they were making at Deerfields! The workmen they had had
+down from London!</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Vereker brought Nell to tea one day. As soon as she was in the
+garden with the children she imparted news of fascinating importance.</p>
+
+<p>"They've got a motor car."</p>
+
+<p>"A motor car?"</p>
+
+<p>Motor cars were almost unheard of then. One had never been seen in the
+Forest. Storms of envy shook Vernon. A motor car!</p>
+
+<p>"A motor car <i>and</i> a swimming pool," he murmured.</p>
+
+<p>It was too much.</p>
+
+<p>"It's not a swimming pool," said Nell. "It's a sunk garden."</p>
+
+<p>"Kate says it's a swimming pool."</p>
+
+<p>"Our gardener says it's a sunk garden."</p>
+
+<p>"What is a sunk garden?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know," confessed Nell. "But it is one."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't believe it," said Joe. "Who'd want a silly sort of thing like
+that when they could have a swimming pool?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, that's what our gardener says."</p>
+
+<p>"I know," said Joe. A wicked look came into her eyes. "Let's go and
+see."</p>
+
+<p>"What?"</p>
+
+<p>"Let's go and see for ourselves."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! but we couldn't," said Nell.</p>
+
+<p>"Why not? We can creep up through the woods."</p>
+
+<p>"Jolly good idea," said Vernon. "Let's."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't want to," said Nell. "Mother wouldn't like it, I know."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! don't be a spoilsport, Nell. Come on."</p>
+
+<p>"Mother wouldn't like it," repeated Nell.</p>
+
+<p>"All right. Wait here, then. We won't be long."</p>
+
+<p>Tears gathered slowly in Nell's eyes. She hated being left. She stood
+there sullenly, twisting her frock between her fingers.</p>
+
+<p>"We won't be long," Vernon repeated.</p>
+
+<p>He and Joe ran off. Nell felt she couldn't bear it.</p>
+
+<p>"Vernon!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes?"</p>
+
+<p>"Wait for me. I'm coming too."</p>
+
+<p>She felt heroic as she made the announcement. Joe and Vernon did not
+seem particularly impressed by it. They waited with obvious impatience
+for her to come up with them.</p>
+
+<p>"Now then," said Vernon, "I'm leader. Everyone to do as I say."</p>
+
+<p>They climbed over the Park palings and reached the shelter of the
+trees. Speaking in whispers under their breath, they flitted through
+the undergrowth, drawing nearer and nearer toward the house. Now it
+rose before them, some way ahead to the right.</p>
+
+<p>"We'll have to get farther still and keep a bit more up-hill."</p>
+
+<p>They followed him obediently. And then suddenly a voice broke on their
+ears, speaking from a little behind them to the left.</p>
+
+<p>"You're trethpassing," it said.</p>
+
+<p>They turned—startled. The yellow-faced boy with the large ears
+stood there. He had his hands in his pockets, and was surveying them
+superciliously.</p>
+
+<p>"You're trethpassing," he said again.</p>
+
+<p>There was something in his manner that awoke immediate antagonism.
+Instead of saying, as he had meant to say, "I'm sorry," Vernon said,
+"Oh!"</p>
+
+<p>He and the other boy looked at each other—the cool measuring glance of
+two adversaries in a duel.</p>
+
+<p>"We come from next door," said Joe.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you?" said the boy. "Well, you'd better go back there. My father
+and mother don't want you in here."</p>
+
+<p>He managed to be unbearably offensive as he said this. Vernon,
+unpleasantly conscious of being in the wrong, flushed angrily.</p>
+
+<p>"You might manage to speak politely," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"Why should I?" said the boy.</p>
+
+<p>He turned as a footstep sounded coming through the undergrowth.</p>
+
+<p>"Is that you, Sam?" he said. "Just turn these trethpassing kids off the
+place, will you?"</p>
+
+<p>The keeper, who had stepped out beside him, grinned and touched his
+forehead. The boy strolled away, as though he had lost all interest.
+The keeper turned to the children and put on a ferocious scowl.</p>
+
+<p>"Out of it, you young varmints! I'll turn the dogs loose on you unless
+you're out of here in double-quick time."</p>
+
+<p>"We're not afraid of dogs," said Vernon haughtily as he turned to
+depart.</p>
+
+<p>"Ho, you're not, h'aren't you? Well, then, I've got a rhinoHoceras here
+and I'm a-going to loose that this minute."</p>
+
+<p>He stalked off. Nell gave a terrified pull at Vernon's arm.</p>
+
+<p>"He's gone to get it," she cried. "Oh! hurry—hurry!"</p>
+
+<p>Her alarm was contagious. So much had been retailed about the Levinnes
+that the keeper's threat seemed a perfectly likely one to the children.
+With one accord they ran for home. They plunged in a bee line, pushing
+their way through the undergrowth. Vernon and Joe led. A piteous cry
+arose from Nell.</p>
+
+<p>"Vernon—Vernon! Oh! do wait. I've got stuck."</p>
+
+<p>What a nuisance Nell was! She couldn't run or do anything. He turned
+back, gave her frock a vigorous pull to free it from the brambles with
+which it was entangled (a good deal to the frock's detriment), and
+hauled her to her feet.</p>
+
+<p>"Come on, do."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm so out of breath. I can't run any more. Oh! Vernon, I'm so
+frightened."</p>
+
+<p>"Come <i>on</i>."</p>
+
+<p>Hand in hand, he pulled her along. They reached the Park palings,
+scrambled over....</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>6</i></h3>
+
+<p>"We-ell," said Joe, fanning herself with a very dirty linen hat. "That
+<i>was</i> an adventure."</p>
+
+<p>"My frock's all torn," said Nell. "What shall I do?"</p>
+
+<p>"I hate that boy," said Vernon. "He's a beast."</p>
+
+<p>"He's a beastly beast," agreed Joe. "We'll declare war on him. Shall
+we?"</p>
+
+<p>"Rather!"</p>
+
+<p>"What shall I do about my frock?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's very awkward their having a rhinoceros," said Joe thoughtfully.
+"Do you think Tom Boy would go for it if we trained him to?"</p>
+
+<p>"I shouldn't like Tom Boy to be hurt," said Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>Tom Boy was the stable dog, a great favourite of his. His mother had
+always vetoed a dog in the house, so Tom Boy was the nearest Vernon had
+got to having a dog of his own.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know what Mother will say about my frock."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, bother your frock, Nell! It's not the sort of frock for playing in
+the garden, anyway."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll tell your mother it's my fault," said Vernon impatiently. "Don't
+be so like a girl."</p>
+
+<p>"I am a girl," said Nell.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, so is Joe a girl. But she doesn't go on like you do. She's as
+good as a boy any day."</p>
+
+<p>Nell looked ready to cry, but at that minute they were called from the
+house.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sorry, Mrs. Vereker," said Vernon. "I'm afraid I've torn Nell's
+frock."</p>
+
+<p>There were reproaches from Myra, civil disclaimers from Mrs. Vereker.
+When Nell and her mother had gone Myra said:</p>
+
+<p>"You must not be so rough, Vernon darling. When a little girl friend
+comes to tea you must take great care of her."</p>
+
+<p>"Why have we got to have her to tea? We don't like her. She spoils
+everything."</p>
+
+<p>"Vernon! Nell is such a dear little girl."</p>
+
+<p>"She isn't, Mother. She's awful."</p>
+
+<p>"Vernon!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, she is. I don't like her mother either."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't like Mrs. Vereker much," said Myra. "I always think she's a
+very hard woman. But I can't think why you children don't like Nell.
+Mrs. Vereker tells me she's absolutely devoted to you, Vernon."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I don't want her to be."</p>
+
+<p>He escaped with Joe.</p>
+
+<p>"War," he said. "That's what it is—war! I dare say that Levinne boy is
+really a Boer in disguise. We must plan out our campaign. Why should he
+come and live next door to us and spoil everything?"</p>
+
+<p>The kind of guerilla warfare that followed occupied Vernon and Joe
+in a most pleasurable fashion. They invented all kinds of methods
+of harassing the enemy. Concealed in trees, they pelted him with
+chestnuts. They stalked him with pea shooters. They outlined a hand in
+red paint and crept secretly up to the house one night after dark and
+left it on the doorstep with the word "Revenge" printed at the bottom
+of the sheet of paper.</p>
+
+<p>Sometimes their enemy retaliated in kind. He, too, had a pea shooter,
+and it was he who laid in wait for them one day with a garden hose.</p>
+
+<p>Hostilities had been going on for nearly ten days when Vernon came upon
+Joe sitting on a tree stump looking unusually despondent.</p>
+
+<p>"Hullo! What's up? I thought you were going to stalk the enemy with
+those squashy tomatoes Cook gave us."</p>
+
+<p>"I was. I mean I did."</p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter, Joe?"</p>
+
+<p>"I was up a tree and he came right by underneath. I could have got him
+beautifully."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you mean to say you didn't?"</p>
+
+<p>"No."</p>
+
+<p>"Why ever not?"</p>
+
+<p>Joe's face became very red and she began to speak very fast.</p>
+
+<p>"I couldn't. You see, he didn't know I was there, and he looked—oh!
+Vernon, he looked so awfully <i>lonely</i>—as though he were simply hating
+things. You know, it must be pretty beastly having no one to do things
+with."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but——"</p>
+
+<p>Vernon paused to adjust his ideas.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you remember how we said it was all rotten?" went on Joe.
+"People being so beastly about the Levinnes, and now we're being as
+beastly as anyone."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but he was beastly to <i>us</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps he didn't mean to be."</p>
+
+<p>"That's nonsense."</p>
+
+<p>"No, it isn't. Look at the way dogs bite you if they're afraid or
+suspicious. I expect he just expected us to be beastly to him, and
+wanted to start first. Let's be friends."</p>
+
+<p>"You can't be in the middle of a war."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, you can. We'll make a white flag, and then you march with it and
+demand a parley, and see if you can't agree upon honourable terms of
+peace."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said Vernon, "I don't mind if we do. It would be a change,
+anyway. What shall we use for a flag of truce—my handkerchief or your
+pinafore?"</p>
+
+<p>Marching with the flag of truce was rather exciting. It was not long
+before they encountered the enemy. He stared in complete surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"What's up?" he said.</p>
+
+<p>"We want a parley," said Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I'm agreeable," said the other boy, after a moment's pause.</p>
+
+<p>"What we want to say is this," said Joe. "If you'll agree, we'd like to
+be friends."</p>
+
+<p>They looked from one to the other.</p>
+
+<p>"Why do you want to be friends?" he asked suspiciously.</p>
+
+<p>"It seems a bit silly," said Vernon, "living next door and not being
+friends, doesn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Which of you thought of that first?"</p>
+
+<p>"I did," said Joe.</p>
+
+<p>She felt those small jet-black eyes boring into her. What a queer boy
+he was. His ears seemed to stick out more than ever.</p>
+
+<p>"All right," said the boy, "I'd like to."</p>
+
+<p>There was a minute's embarrassed pause.</p>
+
+<p>"What's your name?" said Joe.</p>
+
+<p>"Sebastian."</p>
+
+<p>There was just the faintest lisp, so little as hardly to be noticed.</p>
+
+<p>"What a funny name. Mine's Joe and this is Vernon. He's at school. Do
+you go to school?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. I'm going to Eton later."</p>
+
+<p>"So am I," said Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>Again a faint tide of hostility rose between them. Then it ebbed
+away—never to return.</p>
+
+<p>"Come and see our swimming pool," said Sebastian. "It's rather jolly."</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="chapter_8I">chapter 8</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>The friendship with Sebastian Levinne prospered and throve apace. Half
+the zest of it lay in the secrecy that had to be adopted. Vernon's
+mother would have been horrified if she had guessed at anything of the
+kind. The Levinnes would certainly not have been horrified—but their
+gratification might have led to equally dire results.</p>
+
+<p>School time passed on leaden wings for poor Joe, cooped up with a daily
+governess who arrived every morning and who subtly disapproved of her
+outspoken and rebellious pupil. Joe lived only for the holidays. As
+soon as they came she and Vernon would set off to a secret meeting
+place where there was a convenient gap in a hedge. They had invented
+a code of whistles and many unnecessary signals. Sometimes Sebastian
+would be there before time—lying on the bracken, his yellow face and
+jutting ears looking strangely at variance with his knickerbocker suit.</p>
+
+<p>They played games, but they also talked—how they talked! Sebastian
+told them stories of Russia. They learned of the persecution of
+Jews—of pogroms! Sebastian himself had never been in Russia, but he
+had lived for years amongst other Russian Jews and his own father had
+narrowly escaped with his life in a pogrom. Sometimes he would say
+sentences in Russian to please Vernon and Joe. It was all entrancing.</p>
+
+<p>"Everybody hates us down here," said Sebastian. "But it doesn't matter.
+They won't be able to do without us because my father is so rich. You
+can buy everything with money."</p>
+
+<p>He had a certain queer arrogance about him.</p>
+
+<p>"You can't buy everything," objected Vernon. "Old Nicoll's son has
+come home from the war without a leg. Money couldn't make his leg grow
+again."</p>
+
+<p>"No," admitted Sebastian. "I didn't mean things like that. But money
+would get you a very good wooden leg and the best kind of crutches."</p>
+
+<p>"I had crutches once," said Vernon. "It was rather fun. And I had an
+awfully nice nurse to look after me."</p>
+
+<p>"You see, you couldn't have had that if you hadn't been rich."</p>
+
+<p>Was he rich? He supposed he was. He'd never thought about it.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish I was rich," said Joe.</p>
+
+<p>"You can marry me when you grow up," said Sebastian, "and then you will
+be."</p>
+
+<p>"It wouldn't be nice for Joe if nobody came to see her," objected
+Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>"I wouldn't mind that a bit," said Joe. "I wouldn't care what Aunt Myra
+or anybody said. I'd marry Sebastian if I wanted to."</p>
+
+<p>"People will come and see her then," said Sebastian. "You don't
+realize. Jews are frightfully powerful. My father says people can't
+do without them. That's why Sir Charles Alington had to sell us
+Deerfields."</p>
+
+<p>A sudden chill came over Vernon. He felt without putting the thought
+into words that he was talking to a member of an enemy race. But he
+felt no antagonism toward Sebastian. That was over long ago. He and
+Sebastian were friends—somehow he was sure they always would be.</p>
+
+<p>"Money," said Sebastian, "isn't just buying things. It's ever so
+much more than that. And it isn't only having power over people.
+It's—it's—being able to get together lots of beauty."</p>
+
+<p>He made a queer un-English gesture with his hands.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean," said Vernon, "by 'get together'?"</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian didn't know what he meant. The words had just come.</p>
+
+<p>"Anyway," said Vernon, "things aren't beauty."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, they are. Deerfields is beautiful—but not nearly so beautiful as
+Abbots Puissants."</p>
+
+<p>"When Abbots Puissants belongs to me," said Vernon, "you can come and
+stay there as much as ever you like. We're always going to be friends,
+aren't we? No matter what anyone says?"</p>
+
+<p>"We're always going to be friends," said Sebastian.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>2</i></h3>
+
+<p>Little by little the Levinnes made headway. The church needed a new
+organ—Mr. Levinne presented it with one. Deerfields was thrown open
+on the occasion of the choir boys' outing and strawberries and cream
+provided. A large donation was given to the Primrose League. Turn where
+you would, you came up against the opulence and the kindness of the
+Levinnes.</p>
+
+<p>People began to say: "Of course they're impossible—but Mrs. Levinne is
+wonderfully <i>kind</i>."</p>
+
+<p>And they said other things.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! of course—<i>Jews!</i> But perhaps it is absurd of one to be
+prejudiced. Some very good people have been Jews."</p>
+
+<p>It was rumoured that the Vicar had said: "Including Jesus Christ," in
+answer. But nobody really believed that. The Vicar was unmarried, which
+was very unusual, and had odd ideas about Holy Communion, and sometimes
+preached very incomprehensible sermons, but nobody believed that he
+would have said anything really sacrilegious.</p>
+
+<p>It was the Vicar who introduced Mrs. Levinne to the Sewing Circle which
+met twice a week to provide comforts for our brave soldiers in South
+Africa. And meeting her twice a week there certainly made it awkward.</p>
+
+<p>In the end, Lady Coomberleigh, softened by the immense donation
+to the Primrose League, took the plunge and called. And where Lady
+Coomberleigh led, everybody followed.</p>
+
+<p>Not that the Levinnes were ever admitted to intimacy. But they were
+officially accepted, and people were heard saying:</p>
+
+<p>"She's a very <i>kind</i> woman—even if she does wear impossible clothes
+for the country."</p>
+
+<p>But that, too, followed. Mrs. Levinne was adaptable like all her race.
+A very short time elapsed before she appeared in even tweedier tweeds
+than her neighbours.</p>
+
+<p>Joe and Vernon were solemnly bidden to tea with Sebastian Levinne.</p>
+
+<p>"We must go this once, I suppose," said Myra sighing. "But we need
+never get really intimate. What a queer-looking boy he is. You won't be
+rude to him, will you, Vernon darling?"</p>
+
+<p>The children solemnly made the official acquaintance of Sebastian. It
+amused them very much.</p>
+
+<p>But the sharp-witted Joe fancied that Mrs. Levinne knew more about
+their friendship than Aunt Myra did. Mrs. Levinne wasn't a fool. She
+was like Sebastian.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>3</i></h3>
+
+<p>Walter Deyre was killed a few weeks before the war ended. His end was
+a gallant one. He was shot when going back to rescue a wounded comrade
+under heavy fire. He was awarded a posthumous V. C. and the letter his
+colonel wrote to Myra was treasured by her as her dearest possession.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>Never [wrote the Colonel] have I known anyone so fearless of danger.
+His men adored him and would have followed him anywhere. He has risked
+his life again and again in the gallantest way. You can indeed be
+proud of him.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Myra read that letter again and again. She read it to all her friends.
+It wiped away the faint sting that her husband had left no last word or
+letter for her.</p>
+
+<p>"But, being a Deyre, he wouldn't," she said to herself.</p>
+
+<p>Yet Walter Deyre had left a letter "in case I should be killed." But
+it was not to Myra and she never knew of it. She was grief-stricken,
+but happy. Her husband was hers in death as he had never been in life,
+and with her easy power of making things as she wished them to be, she
+began to weave a convincing romance of her wonderfully happy married
+life.</p>
+
+<p>It is difficult to say how Vernon was affected by his father's death.
+He felt no actual grief—was rendered even more stolid by his mother's
+obvious wish for him to display emotion. He was proud of his father—so
+proud that it almost hurt—yet he understood what Joe had meant when
+she said that it was better for her mother to be dead. He remembered
+very clearly that last evening walk with his father—the things he had
+said—the feeling there had been between them.</p>
+
+<p>His father, he knew, hadn't really wanted to come back. He was sorry for
+his father—he always had been. He didn't know why.</p>
+
+<p>It was not grief he felt for his father—it was more a kind of
+heart-gripping loneliness. Father was dead—Aunt Nina was dead. There
+was Mother, of course, but that was different.</p>
+
+<p>He couldn't satisfy his mother—he never had been able to. She was
+always hugging him, crying over him, telling him they must be all in
+all to each other now. And he couldn't, he just couldn't, say the
+things she wanted him to say. He couldn't even put his arms round her
+neck and hug her back.</p>
+
+<p>He longed for the holidays to be over. His mother, with her red eyes
+and her widow's weeds of the heaviest crape—somehow she overpowered
+things.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Flemming, the lawyer from London, came down to stay, and Uncle
+Sydney came from Birmingham. He stayed two days. At the end of them
+Vernon was summoned to the library.</p>
+
+<p>The two men were sitting at the long table. Myra was sitting in a low
+chair by the fire, her handkerchief to her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, my boy," said Uncle Sydney, "we've got something to talk to you
+about. How would you like to come and live near your Aunt Carrie and me
+at Birmingham?"</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you," said Vernon, "but I'd rather live here."</p>
+
+<p>"A bit gloomy, don't you think?" said his uncle. "Now I've got my eye
+on a jolly house—not too big, thoroughly comfortable. There'll be your
+cousins near for you to play with in the holidays. It's a very good
+idea, I think."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sure it is," said Vernon politely. "But I'd really like being here
+best, thank you."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! H'm," said Uncle Sydney. He blew his nose and looked questioningly
+at the lawyer, who assented to the look with a slight nod.</p>
+
+<p>"It's not quite so simple as that, old chap," said Uncle Sydney. "I
+think you're quite old enough to understand if I explain things to
+you. Now that your father's dead—er—passed from us, Abbots Puissants
+belongs to you."</p>
+
+<p>"I know," said Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>"Eh? How do you know? Servants been talking?"</p>
+
+<p>"Father told me before he went away."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" said Uncle Sydney, rather taken aback. "Oh!—I see. Well, as I
+say, Abbots Puissants belongs to you, but a place like this takes a lot
+of money to run—paying wages and things like that—you understand? And
+then there are some things called Death Duties. When anyone dies you
+have to pay out a lot of money to the government.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, your father wasn't a rich man. When his father died, and he came
+into this place, he had so little money that he thought he'd have to
+sell it."</p>
+
+<p>"Sell it?" burst out Vernon incredulously.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, it's not entailed."</p>
+
+<p>"What's entailed?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Flemming explained carefully and clearly.</p>
+
+<p>"But—but—you aren't going to sell it now?"</p>
+
+<p>Vernon gazed at him with agonizing imploring eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly not," said Mr. Flemming. "The estate is left to you, and
+nothing can be done until you are of age—that means twenty-one, you
+know."</p>
+
+<p>Vernon breathed a sigh of relief.</p>
+
+<p>"But you see," continued Uncle Sydney, "there isn't enough money to
+go on living here. As I say, your father would have had to sell it.
+But he met your mother and married her, and fortunately she had enough
+money to—to keep things going. But your father's death has made a lot
+of difference. For one thing, he has left certain—er—debts which your
+mother insists on paying."</p>
+
+<p>There was a sniff from Myra. Uncle Sydney's tone was embarrassed and he
+hurried on.</p>
+
+<p>"The common-sense thing to do is to let Abbots Puissants for a term of
+years—till you are twenty-one, in fact. By then, who knows? Things
+may—er—change for the better. Naturally your mother will be happier
+living near her own relations. You must think of your mother, you know,
+my boy."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Vernon. "Father told me to."</p>
+
+<p>"So that's settled—eh?"</p>
+
+<p>How cruel they were, thought Vernon. Asking him—when he could see that
+there was nothing to ask him about. They could do as they liked. They
+meant to. Why call him in here and <i>pretend</i>!</p>
+
+<p>Strangers would come and live in Abbots Puissants.</p>
+
+<p>Never mind! Some day he would be twenty-one.</p>
+
+<p>"Darling," said Myra. "I'm doing it all for you. It would be so sad
+here without Daddy, wouldn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>She held out her arms, but Vernon pretended not to notice. He walked
+out of the room, saying with difficulty:</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, Uncle Sydney, so much, for telling me."</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>4</i></h3>
+
+<p>He went out into the garden and wandered on till he came to the old
+Abbey. He sat down with his chin in his hands.</p>
+
+<p>"Mother <i>could</i>!" he said to himself. "If she liked, she <i>could</i>! She
+wants to go and live in a horrid red brick house with pipes on it like
+Uncle Sydney's. She doesn't like Abbots Puissants—she never has. But
+she needn't pretend it's all for me. That's not true. She says things
+that aren't true. She always has...."</p>
+
+<p>He sat there smouldering with indignation.</p>
+
+<p>"Vernon—Vernon—I've been looking for you everywhere. I couldn't
+think what had become of you. What's the matter?"</p>
+
+<p>It was Joe. He told her. Here was someone who would understand and
+sympathize. But Joe startled him.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, why not? Why shouldn't Aunt Myra go and live in Birmingham if
+she wants to? I think you're beastly. Why should she go on living here
+just so that you should be here in the holidays? It's <i>her</i> money. Why
+shouldn't she spend it on doing as <i>she</i> likes?"</p>
+
+<p>"But Joe, Abbots Puissants——"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, what's Abbots Puissants to Aunt Myra? In her heart of hearts
+she feels about it just like you feel about Uncle Sydney's house in
+Birmingham. Why should she pinch and scrape to live here if she doesn't
+want to? If your father had made her happier here, perhaps she would
+want to—but he didn't. Mother said so once. I don't like Aunt Myra
+terribly—I know she's good and all that, but I don't love her—but I
+<i>can</i> be fair. It's <i>her</i> money. You can't get away from that!"</p>
+
+<p>Vernon looked at her. They were antagonists. Both had their point of
+view and neither could see the other's. They were both ablaze with
+indignation.</p>
+
+<p>"I think women have a rotten time," said Joe. "And I'm on Aunt Myra's
+side."</p>
+
+<p>"All right," said Vernon, "be on her side! I don't care."</p>
+
+<p>Joe went away. He stayed there, sitting on the ruined wall of the old
+Abbey.</p>
+
+<p>For the first time he questioned life.... Things weren't <i>sure</i>. How
+could you tell what was going to happen?</p>
+
+<p><i>When he was twenty-one....</i></p>
+
+<p>Yes, but you couldn't be <i>sure</i>! You couldn't be <i>safe</i>!</p>
+
+<p>Look at the time when he was a baby. Nurse, God, Mr. Green! How
+absolutely fixed they had seemed. And now they had all gone.</p>
+
+<p>At least, God was still there, he supposed. But it wasn't the same
+God—not the same God at all.</p>
+
+<p>What would have happened to everything by the time he was twenty-one?
+<i>What, strangest thought of all, would have happened to himself?</i></p>
+
+<p>He felt terribly alone. Father, Aunt Nina—both dead. Only Uncle
+Sydney and Mummy—and they weren't—didn't—belong. He paused,
+confused. There was Joe! Joe understood. But Joe was queer about some
+things.</p>
+
+<p>He clenched his hands. No everything would be all right.</p>
+
+<p><i>When he was twenty-one....</i></p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="Book_II">Book II</h2>
+</div>
+
+<h2>NELL</h2>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="chapter_1II">chapter 1</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>The room was full of cigarette smoke. It eddied and drifted about,
+forming a thin blue haze. Through it came the sound of three voices
+occupied with the betterment of the human race and the encouragement of
+art—especially art that defied all known conventions.</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian Levinne, leaning back against the ornate marble mantelpiece
+of his mother's town house, spoke didactically, gesticulating with
+the long yellow hand that held his cigarette. The tendency to lisp
+was still there, but very faint. His yellow Mongolian face, his
+surprised-looking ears, were much the same as they had been at eleven
+years old. At twenty-two he was the same Sebastian, sure of himself,
+perspective, with the same love of beauty and the same unemotional and
+unerring sense of values.</p>
+
+<p>In front of him, reclining in two immense leather-covered arm chairs,
+were Vernon and Joe. Very much alike these two, cast in the same
+sharply accentuated black and white mould. But, as of old, Joe's was
+the more aggressive personality, energetic, rebellious, vehement.
+Vernon, an immense length, lay back slothfully in his chair. His long
+legs rested on the back of another chair. He was blowing smoke rings
+and smiling thoughtfully to himself. He occasionally contributed grunts
+to the conversation, or a short lazy sentence.</p>
+
+<p>"That wouldn't pay," Sebastian had just said decisively.</p>
+
+<p>As he had half expected, Joe was roused at once to the point of
+virulence.</p>
+
+<p>"Who wants a thing to <i>pay</i>? It's so—so <i>rotten</i>—that point of view!
+Treating everything from a commercial standpoint. I hate it."</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian said calmly: "That's because you've got such an incurably
+romantic view of life. You like poets to starve in garrets, and artists
+to toil unrecognized, and sculptors to be applauded after they are
+dead."</p>
+
+<p>"Well—that's what happens. Always!"</p>
+
+<p>"No, not <i>always</i>. Very often, perhaps. But it needn't be as often as
+it is. That's my point. The world never likes anything new—but I say
+it could be made to. Taken the right way, it could be made to. But
+you've got to know just what will go down and what won't."</p>
+
+<p>"That's compromise," murmured Vernon indistinctly.</p>
+
+<p>"It's common sense! Why should I lose money by backing my judgment?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Sebastian," cried Joe, "you—you——"</p>
+
+<p>"Jew!" said Sebastian calmly. "That's what you mean. Well, we Jews have
+got taste—we know when a thing is fine and when it isn't. We don't go
+by the fashion—we back our own judgment, and we're <i>right</i>! People
+always see the money side of it, but the other's there too."</p>
+
+<p>Vernon grunted. Sebastian went on:</p>
+
+<p>"There are two sides to what we're talking about—there are the people
+who are thinking of new things, new ways of doing old things, new
+thoughts altogether, and who can't get their chance because people are
+afraid of anything new. And there are the other people—the people
+who know what the public has always wanted and who go on giving it
+to them, because it's safe and there's a sure profit. But there's a
+third way—to find things that are new and beautiful and take a chance
+on them. That's what I'm going to do. I'm going to run a picture
+gallery in Bond Street—I signed the deeds yesterday—and a couple of
+theatres—and later I want to run a weekly of some kind on entirely
+different lines from anything that has been done before. And what's
+more, I'm going to make the whole thing <i>pay</i>. There are all sorts of
+things that I admire, that a cultivated few would admire—but I'm not
+going out for those. Anything I run's going to be a popular success.
+Dash it all, Joe, don't you see that half the fun of the thing is
+<i>making</i> it pay? It's justifying yourself by success."</p>
+
+<p>Joe shook her head, unconvinced.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you really going to have all those things?" said Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>Both the cousins looked at Sebastian with a tinge of envy. Queer, and
+rather wonderful, to be in old Sebastian's position. His father had
+died some years before. Sebastian, at twenty-two, was master of so many
+millions that it took one's breath away to think about them.</p>
+
+<p>The friendship with Sebastian, begun all those years ago at Abbots
+Puissants, had endured and strengthened. He and Vernon had been friends
+at Eton, they were at the same college at Cambridge. In the holidays
+the three had always managed to spend a good deal of time together.</p>
+
+<p>"What about sculpture?" asked Joe suddenly. "Is that included?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course. Are you still keen about taking up modelling?"</p>
+
+<p>"Rather. It's the only thing I really care about."</p>
+
+<p>A derisive hoot of laughter came from Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, and what will it be this time next year? You'll be a frenzied
+poet or something."</p>
+
+<p>"It takes one some time to find one's true vocation," said Joe with
+dignity. "But I'm really in earnest this time."</p>
+
+<p>"You always are," said Vernon. "However, thank heaven you've given up
+that damned violin."</p>
+
+<p>"Why do you hate music so, Vernon?"</p>
+
+<p>"Dunno—I always have."</p>
+
+<p>Joe turned back to Sebastian. Unconsciously her voice took on a
+different note. It sounded ever so faintly constrained.</p>
+
+<p>"What do you think of Paul la Marre's work? Vernon and I went to his
+studio last Sunday."</p>
+
+<p>"No guts," said Sebastian succinctly.</p>
+
+<p>A slight flush rose in Joe's cheek.</p>
+
+<p>"That's simply because you don't understand what he's aiming at. I
+think he's wonderful."</p>
+
+<p>"Anæmic," said Sebastian, unperturbed.</p>
+
+<p>"Sebastian, I think you're perfectly hateful sometimes. Just because La
+Marre has the courage to break away from tradition——"</p>
+
+<p>"That's not it at all," said Sebastian. "A man can break away from
+tradition by modelling a Stilton cheese and calling it his idea of a
+nymph bathing. But if he can't convince you and impress you by doing
+so, he's failed. Just doing things differently to anyone else isn't
+genius. Nine times out of ten it's aiming at getting cheap notoriety."</p>
+
+<p>The door opened and Mrs. Levinne looked in.</p>
+
+<p>"Tea'th ready, dearths," she said, and beamed on them.</p>
+
+<p>Jet dangled and twinkled on her immense bust. A large black hat with
+feathers sat on top of her elaborately arranged coiffure. She looked
+the complete symbol of material prosperity. Her eyes dwelt adoration on
+Sebastian.</p>
+
+<p>They got up, and prepared to follow her. Sebastian said in a low voice
+to Joe:</p>
+
+<p>"Joe—you're not angry, are you?"</p>
+
+<p>There was suddenly something young and pathetic about his voice—a
+pleading in it that exposed him as immature and vulnerable. A moment
+ago he had been the master spirit laying down the law in complete
+self-confidence.</p>
+
+<p>"Why should I be angry?" said Joe coldly.</p>
+
+<p>She moved toward the door without looking at him. Sebastian's eyes
+rested on her wistfully. She had that dark magnetic beauty that matures
+early. Her skin was dead white, and her eyelashes so thick and dark
+that they looked like jet against the even colour of her cheeks. There
+was magic in her way of moving, something languorous and passionate
+that was wholly unconscious as yet of its own appeal. Although she was
+the youngest of the three, just past her twentieth birthday, she was
+at the same time the oldest. To her Vernon and Sebastian were boys,
+and she despised boys. That queer doglike devotion of Sebastian's
+irritated her. She liked men of experience, men who could say exciting,
+half-understood things. She lowered her white eyelids for a moment,
+remembering Paul la Marre.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>2</i></h3>
+
+<p>Mrs. Levinne's drawing room was a curious mixture of sheer blatant
+opulence and an almost austere good taste. The opulence was due
+to her—she liked velvet hangings and rich cushions and marble and
+gilding—the taste was Sebastian's. It was he who had torn down a
+medley of pictures from the wall and substituted two of his own
+choosing. His mother was reconciled to their plainness, as she called
+it, by the immense price that had been paid for them. The old Spanish
+leather screen was one of her son's presents to her—so was the
+exquisite <i>cloisonné</i> vase.</p>
+
+<p>Seated behind an unusually massive silver tea tray, Mrs. Levinne raised
+the teapot with two hands and made conversational inquiries, lisping
+slightly.</p>
+
+<p>"And how'th your dear mother? She never comes to town nowadays. You
+tell her from me she'll be getting rusty."</p>
+
+<p>She laughed, a good-natured fat wheezy chuckle.</p>
+
+<p>"I've never regretted having this town hou'th as well as a country
+one. Deerfields is all very well, but one wantth a bit of life. And of
+course Sebastian will be home soon for good—and that full of schemes
+as he ith! Well, well, his father was much the same. Went into deals
+against everybody'th advice, and instead of losing his money he doubled
+and trebled it every time. A thmart fellow, my poor Yakob."</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian thought to himself: "I wish she wouldn't. That's just the
+sort of remark Joe always hates. Joe's always against me nowadays...."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Levinne went on: "I've got a box for <i>Kings in Arcady</i> on
+Wednesday night. What about it, my dearth? Will you come?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm awfully sorry, Mrs. Levinne," said Vernon. "I wish we could. But
+we're going down to Birmingham to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! you're going home."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>Why hadn't he said "going home?" Why did it sound so fantastic in his
+ears? There was only one home, of course—Abbots Puissants. Home! A
+queer word, so many meanings to it. It reminded him of the ridiculous
+words of a song that one of Joe's young men used to bray out (What a
+damnable thing music was!) while he fingered his collar and looked at
+her sentimentally. "Home, love, is where the heart is, where'er the
+heart may be...."</p>
+
+<p>But in that case his home ought to be in Birmingham where his mother
+was.</p>
+
+<p>He experienced that faint feeling of disquietude that always came over
+him when he thought of his mother. He was very fond of her, naturally.
+Mothers, of course, were hopeless people to explain things to, they
+never understood. But he <i>was</i> very fond of her—it would be unnatural
+if he wasn't. As she so often said, he was all she had.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly a little imp seemed to jump in Vernon's brain. The imp said
+suddenly and unexpectedly: "What rot you are talking! She's got the
+house, and the servants to talk to and bully, and friends to gossip
+with, and her own people all round her. She'd miss all that far more
+than she'd miss you. She loves you, but she's relieved when you go back
+to Cambridge—and even then she's not as relieved as you are!"</p>
+
+<p>"Vernon!" It was Joe's voice, sharp with annoyance. "What are you
+thinking of? Mrs. Levinne was asking about Abbots Puissants—if it's
+still let?"</p>
+
+<p>How fortunate that when people said "What <i>are</i> you thinking about?"
+they didn't in the least mean that they wanted to know! Still, you
+could always say "Nothing much," just as when you were small you had
+said "Nothing."</p>
+
+<p>He answered Mrs. Levinne's questions, promised to deliver her various
+messages to his mother.</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian saw them to the door, they said a final good-bye and walked
+out into the London streets. Joe sniffed the air ecstatically.</p>
+
+<p>"How I love London! You know, Vernon, my mind's made up. I'm coming up
+to London to study. I'm going to tackle Aunt Myra about it this time.
+And I won't live with Aunt Ethel, either. I'm going to be on my own."</p>
+
+<p>"You can't do that, Joe. Girls don't."</p>
+
+<p>"They <i>do</i>. I could share rooms with another girl or girls. But to live
+with Aunt Ethel, always asking me where I'm going, and who with—I
+just can't stand it. And anyway she hates me being a suffragette."</p>
+
+<p>The Aunt Ethel they referred to was Aunt Carrie's sister, an aunt by
+courtesy only. They were staying with her at the present moment.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! and that reminds me," went on Joe. "You've got to do something for
+me, Vernon."</p>
+
+<p>"What?"</p>
+
+<p>"To-morrow afternoon Mrs. Cartwright's taking me to that Titanic
+Concert as a special treat."</p>
+
+<p>"Well?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I don't want to go—that's all."</p>
+
+<p>"You can make some excuse or other, I suppose."</p>
+
+<p>"It's not so easy as that. You see, Aunt Ethel's got to think I've gone
+to the concert. I don't want her ferreting out where I am going."</p>
+
+<p>Vernon gave a whistle.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! So that's it? What are you really up to, Joe? Who is it this time?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's La Marre, if you really want to know."</p>
+
+<p>"That bounder."</p>
+
+<p>"He's not a bounder. He's wonderful—you don't know how wonderful he
+is."</p>
+
+<p>Vernon grinned.</p>
+
+<p>"No, indeed I don't. I don't like Frenchmen."</p>
+
+<p>"You're so horribly insular. But it doesn't matter whether you like him
+or not. He's going to motor me down to the country to a friend's house
+where his <i>chef d'œuvre</i> is. I do so want to go, and you know perfectly
+that Aunt Ethel would never let me."</p>
+
+<p>"You oughtn't to go racketing about the country with a fellow like
+that."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be an ass, Vernon. Don't you know that I can look after myself?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! I suppose so."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not one of those silly girls who know nothing about anything."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't see, though, where <i>I</i> come in."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you see," Joe displayed a trace of anxiety, "you're to go to the
+concert."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I won't do anything of the kind. You know I hate music."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! You must, Vernon. It's the only way. If I say I can't go she'll
+ring up Aunt Ethel and suggest one of the girls coming instead, and
+then the fat will be in the fire. But if you just turn up instead of
+me—I'm to meet her at the Albert Hall—and give some weak excuse,
+everything will be all right. She's very fond of you—she likes you
+heaps better than me."</p>
+
+<p>"But I loathe music."</p>
+
+<p>"I know, but you can just bear it for one afternoon. An hour and a
+half. That's all it will be."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Damn it all, Joe, I don't want to."</p>
+
+<p>His hand shook with irritation. Joe stared at him.</p>
+
+<p>"You are <i>funny</i> about music, Vernon! I've never known anyone who sort
+of—well, hates it like you. Most people just don't care for it. But I
+do think you might go—you know <i>I</i> always do things for <i>you</i>."</p>
+
+<p>"All right," said Vernon abruptly.</p>
+
+<p>It was no good. It had got to be. Joe and he always stood together.
+After all, as she had said, it would only be an hour and a half. Why
+should he feel that he had taken a momentous decision? His heart felt
+like lead—right down in his boots. He didn't want to go—oh! He didn't
+want to go!</p>
+
+<p>Like a visit to the dentist—best not to think about it. He forced his
+mind away to other things. Joe looked up sharply as she heard him give
+vent to a chuckle.</p>
+
+<p>"What is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I was thinking of you as a kid—so grand about saying you were never
+going to have anything to do with men. And now it's always men with
+you, one after the other. You fall in and out of love about once a
+month."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be so horrid, Vernon. Those were just silly girls' fancies. La
+Marre says if you have any temperament that always happens—but the
+real grand passion is quite different when it comes."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, don't go and have a grand passion for La Marre."</p>
+
+<p>Joe did not answer. Presently she said:</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not like Mother. Mother was—was so <i>soft</i> about men. She gave
+in to them—would do anything for anyone she was fond of. I'm not like
+that."</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Vernon, after thinking for a moment. "No, I don't think you
+are. You won't make a mess of your life in the same way she did. But
+you might make a mess of it in a different way."</p>
+
+<p>"What sort of a way?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't quite know. Going and marrying someone you thought you had
+a grand passion for, just because everyone else disliked him, and
+then spending your life fighting him. Or deciding to go and live with
+someone just because you thought Free Love was a fine idea."</p>
+
+<p>"So it is."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! I am not saying it isn't—though, as a matter of fact, I really
+think it is anti-social myself. But you're always the same. If anyone
+forbids you anything you always want to do it—quite irrespective of
+whether you really want to. I haven't put that well, but you know what
+I mean."</p>
+
+<p>"What I really want is to <i>do</i> something! To be a great sculptor."</p>
+
+<p>"That's because you've got a pash for La Marre."</p>
+
+<p>"It isn't. Oh! Vernon, why will you be so trying? I've <i>always</i> wanted
+to do something—always—always! I used to say so at Abbots Puissants."</p>
+
+<p>"It's odd," said Vernon thoughtfully. "Old Sebastian used to say then
+very much what he says now. Perhaps one doesn't change as much as one
+thinks."</p>
+
+<p>"You were going to marry someone very beautiful and live at Abbots
+Puissants always," said Joe with slight scorn. "You don't still feel
+that to be your life's ambition, do you?"</p>
+
+<p>"One might do worse," said Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>"Lazy—downright lazy!"</p>
+
+<p>Joe looked at him in unconcealed impatience. She and Vernon were so
+alike in some ways, and so different in others!</p>
+
+<p>Vernon was thinking: "Abbots Puissants. In a year I shall be
+twenty-one."</p>
+
+<p>They were passing a Salvation Army meeting. Joe stopped. A thin
+white-faced man was standing on a box. His voice, high and raucous,
+came echoing across to them:</p>
+
+<p>"Why won't you be saved? Why won't you? Jesus wants you! Jesus wants
+<i>you</i>!" Tremendous emphasis on the <i>you</i>. "Yes, brothers and sisters,
+and I'll tell you something more. <i>You want Jesus.</i> You won't admit it
+to yourselves, you turn your back on him, you're afraid—that's what it
+is, you're afraid, because you want him so badly—you want him and you
+don't know!" His arms waved, his white face shone with ecstasy. "But
+you will know—you <i>will</i> know. There are things that you can't run
+away from for ever." He spoke slowly, almost menacingly. "<i>I say unto
+you, this very night shall thy soul be required of thee.</i>"</p>
+
+<p>Vernon turned away with a slight shiver. A woman on the outskirts of
+the crowd gave a hysterical sob.</p>
+
+<p>"Disgusting," said Joe, her nose very much in the air. "Indecent and
+hysterical! For my part, I can't see how any rational being can be
+anything but an atheist."</p>
+
+<p>Vernon smiled to himself, though he said nothing. He was remembering
+the time, a year ago, when Joe had risen every day to attend early
+service and had insisted on eating a boiled egg with some ostentation
+on Fridays, and had sat spellbound listening to the somewhat
+uninteresting but strictly dogmatical sermons of handsome Father
+Cuthbert at the Church of St. Bartholemew which was reputed to be so
+"high" that Rome itself could do no more.</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder," he said aloud, "what it would feel like to be 'saved'?"</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>3</i></h3>
+
+<p>It was half-past six on the following afternoon when Joe returned from
+her stolen day's pleasure. Her Aunt Ethel met her in the hall.</p>
+
+<p>"Where's Vernon?" inquired Joe, in case she might be asked how she had
+liked the concert.</p>
+
+<p>"He came in about half an hour ago. He said there was nothing the
+matter, but somehow I don't think he's very well."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" Joe stared. "Where is he? In his room? I'll go up and see."</p>
+
+<p>"I wish you would, dear. Really he didn't look well at all."</p>
+
+<p>Joe ran quickly up the stairs, gave a perfunctory rap on Vernon's door,
+and walked in. Vernon was sitting on his bed, and something in his
+appearance gave Joe a shock. She had never seen Vernon look quite like
+this.</p>
+
+<p>"Vernon, what's the matter?"</p>
+
+<p>He didn't answer. He had the dazed look of someone who has undergone a
+terrible shock. It was as though he were too far away to be reached by
+mere words.</p>
+
+<p>"Vernon." She shook him by the shoulder. "What <i>is</i> the matter with
+you?"</p>
+
+<p>He heard her this time.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing."</p>
+
+<p>"There must be something. You're looking—you're looking——"</p>
+
+<p>Words failed her to express how he was looking. She left it at that.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing," he repeated dully.</p>
+
+<p>She sat down on the bed beside him.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me," she said gently but authoritatively.</p>
+
+<p>A long shuddering sigh broke from Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>"Joe, do you remember that man yesterday?"</p>
+
+<p>"Which man?"</p>
+
+<p>"That Salvation Army chap—those cant phrases he used. And that one—a
+fine one—from the Bible: <i>This night shall thy soul be required of
+thee.</i> I said afterward I wondered what it would be like to be saved.
+Just idly. Well, I <i>know</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>Joe stared at him. <i>Vernon!</i> Oh! But such a thing was impossible.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you mean—do you mean——" Difficult, somehow, to get the words.
+"Do you mean you've 'got religion'—suddenly—like people do?"</p>
+
+<p>She felt it was ridiculous as she said it. She was relieved when he
+gave a sudden spurt of laughter.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Religion?</i> Good God, no! Or is it that for some people? I wonder....
+No, I mean——" he hesitated, brought the word out at last very softly,
+almost as though he dared not speak it: "<i>Music.</i>"</p>
+
+<p>"Music?" She was still utterly at sea.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Joe, do you remember Nurse Frances?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nurse Frances? No, I don't think I do. Who was she?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course you wouldn't. It was before you came—the time I broke my
+leg. I've always remembered something she said to me. About not being
+in a hurry to run away from things before you've had a good look. Well,
+that's what happened to me to-day. I couldn't run away any longer—I
+just had to look. Joe, music's the most wonderful thing in the world."</p>
+
+<p>"But—but—you've always said——"</p>
+
+<p>"I know. That's why it's been such an awful shock. Not that I mean
+music is so wonderful <i>now</i>—but it <i>could</i> be—if you had it as it
+was meant to be! Little bits of it are ugly—it's like going up to a
+picture and seeing a nasty gray smear of paint—but go to a distance
+and it falls into its place as the most wonderful shadow. It's got
+to be a <i>whole</i>. I still think one violin's ugly, and a piano's
+beastly—but useful in a way, I suppose. But oh! Joe, music could be so
+wonderful—I know it could."</p>
+
+<p>Joe was silent, bewildered. She understood now what Vernon meant by
+his opening words. His face had the queer dreamy exaltation that one
+associated with religious fervour. And yet she was a little frightened.
+His face had always expressed so little. Now, she thought, it expressed
+too much. It was a worse face or a better face, just as you chose to
+look on it.</p>
+
+<p>He went on talking, hardly to her, more to himself.</p>
+
+<p>"There were nine orchestras, you know. All massed. Sound can be
+glorious if you get enough of it. I don't mean just loudness—it shows
+more when it's soft. But there must be enough. I don't know what they
+played—nothing, I think, that was real. But it showed one—it showed
+one——"</p>
+
+<p>He turned queer bright excited eyes upon her.</p>
+
+<p>"There's so much to know—to learn. I don't want to play things—never
+that. But I want to know about every instrument there is. What it can
+do, what are its limitations, what are its possibilities. And the
+notes, too. There are notes they don't use—notes that they ought to
+use. I know there are. Do you know what music's like now, Joe? It's
+like the little sturdy Norman pillars in the crypt of Gloucester
+Cathedral. It's at its beginnings, that's all."</p>
+
+<p>He sat silent, leaning forward dreamily.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I think you've gone quite mad," said Joe.</p>
+
+<p>She tried on purpose to make her voice sound practical and matter of
+fact. But, in spite of herself, she was impressed. That white-hot
+conviction. And she had always thought Vernon rather a slow
+coach—reactionary, prejudiced, unimaginative.</p>
+
+<p>"I've got to begin to learn. As soon as ever I can. Oh! it's awful—to
+have wasted twenty years!"</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense," said Joe. "You couldn't have studied music when you were an
+infant in a cot."</p>
+
+<p>He smiled at that. He was coming out of his trance by degrees.</p>
+
+<p>"You think I'm mad? I suppose it must sound like that. But I'm not.
+And oh! Joe, it's the most awful <i>relief</i>. As though you had been
+pretending for years, and now you needn't pretend any more. I've been
+horribly afraid of music—always. Now——"</p>
+
+<p>He sat up, squared his shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm going to work—work like a nigger. I'm going to know the ins and
+outs of every instrument. By the way, there must be more instruments
+in the world—many more. There ought to be a kind of waily thing—I've
+heard it somewhere. You'd want ten—fifteen of those. And about fifty
+harps."</p>
+
+<p>He sat there, planning composedly details that to Joe sounded sheer
+nonsense. Yet it was evident that to his inner vision some event was
+perfectly clear.</p>
+
+<p>"It'll be supper time in ten minutes," Joe reminded him timidly.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Will it? What a nuisance. I want to stay here and think and hear
+things in my head. Tell Aunt Ethel I've got a headache or that I've
+been frightfully sick. As a matter of fact, I think I <i>am</i> going to be
+sick."</p>
+
+<p>And somehow that impressed Joe more than anything else. It was a
+homely familiar happening. When anything upset you very much, either
+pleasurably or otherwise, you always wanted to be sick! She had felt
+that herself, often.</p>
+
+<p>She stood in the door hesitating. Vernon had relapsed into abstraction
+again. How queer he looked! Quite different. As though—as though—Joe
+sought for the words she wanted—as though he had suddenly come alive.</p>
+
+<p>She was a little frightened.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="chapter_2II">chapter 2</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>Carey Lodge was the name of Myra's house. It was about eight miles from
+Birmingham.</p>
+
+<p>A subtle depression always weighed down Vernon's spirits as he got near
+Carey Lodge. He hated the house, hated its solid comfort, its thick
+bright-red carpets, its lounge hall, the carefully selected sporting
+prints that hung in the dining room, the superabundance of knick-knacks
+that filled the drawing room. And yet, was it so much those things he
+hated as the facts that stood behind them?</p>
+
+<p>He questioned himself, trying for the first time to be honest with
+himself. Wasn't it the truth that he hated his mother being so at home
+there, so placidly content? He liked to think of her in terms of Abbots
+Puissants—liked to think of her as being, like himself, an exile.</p>
+
+<p>And she wasn't! Abbots Puissants had been to her what a foreign kingdom
+might be to a queen consort. She had felt important there, and pleased
+with herself. It had been new and exciting. But it hadn't been home.</p>
+
+<p>Myra greeted her son with extravagant affection as always. He
+wished she wouldn't. In some way it made it harder than ever for
+him to respond. When he was away from her he pictured himself being
+affectionate to his mother. When he was with her all that illusion
+faded away.</p>
+
+<p>Myra Deyre had altered a good deal since leaving Abbots Puissants. She
+had grown much stouter. Her beautiful golden-red hair was flecked with
+gray. The expression of her face was different, it was at once more
+satisfied and more placid. There was now a strong resemblance between
+her and her brother Sydney.</p>
+
+<p>"You've had a good time in London? I'm so glad. It's so exciting to
+have my fine big son back with me—I've been telling everybody how
+excited I am. Mothers are foolish creatures, aren't they?"</p>
+
+<p>Vernon thought they were rather—then was ashamed of himself.</p>
+
+<p>"Very jolly to see you, Mother," he mumbled.</p>
+
+<p>Joe said: "You're looking splendidly fit, Aunt Myra."</p>
+
+<p>"I've not really been very well, dear. I don't think Dr. Grey quite
+understands my case. I hear there's a new doctor—Dr. Littleworth—just
+bought Dr. Armstrong's practice. They say he is wonderfully clever.
+I'm sure it's my heart—and it's all nonsense Dr. Grey saying it's
+indigestion."</p>
+
+<p>She was quite animated. Her health was always an absorbing topic to
+Myra.</p>
+
+<p>"Mary's gone—the housemaid, you know. I was really very disappointed
+in that girl. After all I did for her."</p>
+
+<p>It went on and on. Joe and Vernon listened perfunctorily. Their minds
+were full of conscious superiority. Thank heaven they belonged to a
+new and enlightened generation, far above this insistence on domestic
+details! For them, a new and splendid world opened out. They were
+deeply, poignantly sorry for the contented creature who sat there
+chattering to them.</p>
+
+<p>Joe thought: "Poor—poor Aunt Myra! So terribly female! Of course
+Uncle Walter got bored with her. Not her fault! A rotten education,
+and brought up to believe that domesticity was all that mattered. And
+here she is, still young really—at least not too terribly old—and
+all she's got to do it to sit in the house and gossip, and think about
+servants, and fuss about her health. If she'd only been born twenty
+years later she could have been happy and free and independent all her
+life."</p>
+
+<p>And out of her intense pity for her unconscious aunt she answered
+gently and pretended an interest that she certainly did not feel.</p>
+
+<p>Vernon thought: "Was Mother always like this? Somehow she didn't seem
+so at Abbots Puissants. Or was I too much of a kid to notice? It's
+rotten of me to criticize her when she's been so good to me always.
+Only I wish she wouldn't treat me still as though I were about six
+years old. Oh, well, I suppose she can't help it. I don't think I shall
+ever marry."</p>
+
+<p>And suddenly he jerked out abruptly, urged thereto by intense
+nervousness:</p>
+
+<p>"I say, Mother. I'm thinking of taking music at Cambridge."</p>
+
+<p>There, it was out! He had said it.</p>
+
+<p>Myra, distracted from her account of the Armstrongs' cook, said vaguely:</p>
+
+<p>"But darling, you always were so unmusical. You used to be quite
+unreasonable about it."</p>
+
+<p>"I know," said Vernon gruffly. "But one changes one's mind about things
+sometimes."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I'm very glad, dear. I used to play quite brilliant pieces
+myself when I was a young girl. But one never keeps up anything when
+one marries."</p>
+
+<p>"I know. It's a wicked shame," said Joe hotly. "I don't mean to
+marry—but if I did I'd never give up my own career. And that reminds
+me, Aunt Myra, I've just got to go to London to study if I'm ever going
+to be any good at modelling."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sure Mr. Bradford——"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, damn Mr. Bradford! I'm sorry, Aunt Myra, but you don't understand.
+I've got to study—<i>hard</i>. And I must be on my own. I could share
+diggings with another girl——"</p>
+
+<p>"Joe, darling, don't be so absurd." Myra laughed. "I need my little Joe
+here. I always look on you as my daughter, you know, Joe dear."</p>
+
+<p>Joe wriggled.</p>
+
+<p>"I really am in earnest, Aunt Myra. It's my whole life."</p>
+
+<p>This tragic utterance only made her aunt laugh more.</p>
+
+<p>"Girls often think like that. Now don't let's spoil this happy evening
+by quarrelling."</p>
+
+<p>"But will you really seriously consider it?"</p>
+
+<p>"We must see what Uncle Sydney says."</p>
+
+<p>"It's nothing to do with him. He's not <i>my</i> uncle. Surely, if I like, I
+can take my own money."</p>
+
+<p>"It isn't exactly your own money, Joe. Your father sends it to me as
+an allowance for you—though I'm sure I would be willing to have you
+without any allowance at all—and knows you are well and safely looked
+after with me."</p>
+
+<p>"Then I suppose I'd better write to Father."</p>
+
+<p>She said it valiantly, but her heart sank. She had seen her father
+twice in ten years, and the old antagonism held between them. The
+present plan doubtless commended itself to Major Waite. At the cost of
+a few hundreds a year, the problem of his daughter was lifted off his
+hands. But Joe had no money of her own. She doubted very much if her
+father would make her any allowance at all if she broke away from Aunt
+Myra and insisted on leading her own life.</p>
+
+<p>Vernon murmured to her: "Don't be so damned impatient, Joe. Wait till
+I'm twenty-one."</p>
+
+<p>That cheered her a little. One could always depend on Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>Myra asked Vernon about the Levinnes. Was Mrs. Levinne's asthma any
+better? Was it true that they spent almost all of their time in London
+nowadays?</p>
+
+<p>"No, I don't think so. Of course, they don't go down to Deerfields much
+in the winter, but they were there all the autumn. It'll be jolly to
+have them next door when we go back to Abbots Puissants, won't it?"</p>
+
+<p>His mother started, and said in a flustered sort of voice: "Oh!
+yes—very nice."</p>
+
+<p>She added almost immediately: "Your Uncle Sydney is coming round to
+tea. He's bringing Enid. By the way, I don't have late dinner any more.
+I really think it suits me better to have a good sit-down meal at six."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" said Vernon, rather taken aback.</p>
+
+<p>He had an unreasoning prejudice against those meals. He disliked
+the juxtaposition of tea and scrambled eggs and rich plum cake. Why
+couldn't his mother have proper meals like other people? Of course,
+Uncle Sydney and Aunt Carrie always had high tea. Bother Uncle Sydney!
+All this was his fault.</p>
+
+<p>His thought stopped—checked. All what? He couldn't answer—didn't
+quite know. But anyway, when he and his mother went back to Abbots
+Puissants everything would be different.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>2</i></h3>
+
+<p>Uncle Sydney arrived very soon—very bluff and hearty, a little stouter
+than of old. With him came Enid, his third daughter. The two eldest
+were married, and the two youngest were in the schoolroom.</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Sydney was full of jokes and fun. Myra looked at her brother
+admiringly. Really, there was nobody like Syd! He made things go.</p>
+
+<p>Vernon laughed politely at his uncle's jokes, which he privately
+thought both stupid and boring.</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder where you buy your tobacco in Cambridge," said Uncle
+Sydney. "From a pretty girl, I'll be bound. Ha! Ha! Myra, the boy's
+blushing—actually blushing."</p>
+
+<p>"Stupid old fool!" thought Vernon disdainfully.</p>
+
+<p>"And where do <i>you</i> buy your tobacco, Uncle Sydney?" said Joe,
+valiantly entering the lists.</p>
+
+<p>"Ha! Ha!" trumpeted Uncle Sydney. "That's a good one! You're a smart
+girl, Joe. We won't tell your Aunt Carrie the answer to that, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>Enid said very little but giggled a good deal.</p>
+
+<p>"You ought to write to your cousin," said Uncle Sydney. "He'd like a
+letter, wouldn't you, Vernon?"</p>
+
+<p>"Rather," said Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>"There you are," said Uncle Sydney. "What did I tell you, Miss? The
+child wanted to, but was shy. She's always thought a lot of you,
+Vernon. But I mustn't tell tales out of school, hey, Enid?"</p>
+
+<p>Later, after the heavy composite meal was ended, he talked to Vernon at
+some length of the prosperity of Bent's.</p>
+
+<p>"Booming, my boy, booming."</p>
+
+<p>He went into long financial explanations: profits had doubled, he was
+extending the premises—and so on and so on.</p>
+
+<p>Vernon much preferred this style of conversation. Not being the
+least interested, he could abstract his attention. An encouraging
+monosyllable from time to time was all that was needed.</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Sydney talked on, developing the fascinating theme of the Power
+and Glory of Bent's, World without End, Amen.</p>
+
+<p>Vernon thought about the book on musical instruments which he had
+bought that morning and read coming down in the train. There was a
+terrible lot to know. Oboes—he felt he was going to have ideas about
+oboes. And violas—yes, certainly, violas.</p>
+
+<p>Uncle Sydney's talk made a pleasant accompaniment, like a remote double
+bass.</p>
+
+<p>Presently Uncle Sydney said he must be getting along. There was more
+facetiousness—should or should not Vernon kiss Enid good-night?</p>
+
+<p>How idiotic people were! Thank goodness he'd soon be able to get up to
+his own room!</p>
+
+<p>Myra heaved a happy sigh as the door closed.</p>
+
+<p>"Dear me!" she murmured. "I wish your father had been here. We've had
+such a happy evening. He would have enjoyed it."</p>
+
+<p>"A jolly good thing he wasn't," said Vernon. "I don't remember that he
+and Uncle Sydney ever hit it off really well."</p>
+
+<p>"You were only a little boy. They were the greatest of friends, and
+your father was always happy when I was. Oh, dear, how happy we were
+together!"</p>
+
+<p>She raised a handkerchief to her eyes. Vernon stared at her. For a
+moment he thought: "This is the most magnificent loyalty." And then
+suddenly: "No, it isn't. She really believes it."</p>
+
+<p>Myra went on in a soft reminiscent tone:</p>
+
+<p>"You were never really fond of your father, Vernon. I think it must
+have grieved him sometimes. But then you were so devoted to me. It was
+quite ridiculous."</p>
+
+<p>Vernon said suddenly and violently, and with a strange feeling that he
+was defending his father by saying so:</p>
+
+<p>"Father was a brute to you."</p>
+
+<p>"Vernon, how dare you say such a thing? Your father was the best man in
+the world."</p>
+
+<p>She looked at him defiantly. He thought: "She's seeing herself
+being heroic. 'How wonderful a woman's love can be—protecting her
+dead'—that sort of thing. Oh! I hate it all. I hate it all."</p>
+
+<p>He mumbled something, kissed her, and went up to bed.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>3</i></h3>
+
+<p>Later in the evening Joe tapped at his door and was bidden to enter.
+Vernon was sitting sprawled out in a chair. The book on musical
+instruments lay on the floor beside him.</p>
+
+<p>"Hullo, Joe. God, what a beastly evening!"</p>
+
+<p>"Did you mind it so much?"</p>
+
+<p>"Didn't you? It's all wrong. What an ass Uncle Sydney is. Those idiotic
+jokes! It's all so cheap."</p>
+
+<p>"H'm," said Joe. She sat down thoughtfully on the bed and lit a
+cigarette.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you agree?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes—at least I do in a way."</p>
+
+<p>"Spit it out," said Vernon encouragingly.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, what I mean is, <i>they're</i> happy enough."</p>
+
+<p>"Who?"</p>
+
+<p>"Aunt Myra. Uncle Sydney. Enid. They're a united happy lot, thoroughly
+content with one another. It's we who are wrong, Vernon. You and
+I. We've lived here all these years—but we don't belong. That's
+why—we've got to get out of it."</p>
+
+<p>Vernon nodded thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Joe, you're right. We've got to get out of it." He smiled
+happily, because the way was so clear. Twenty-one.... Abbots
+Puissants.... Music.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="chapter_3II">chapter 3</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>"Do you mind just going over that once more, Mr. Flemming?"</p>
+
+<p>"Willingly."</p>
+
+<p>Precise, dry, even, word after word fell from the old lawyer's lips.
+His meaning was clear and unmistakable! Too much so! It didn't leave a
+loophole for doubt.</p>
+
+<p>Vernon listened. His face was very white, his hands grasped the arms of
+the chair in which he was sitting.</p>
+
+<p>It couldn't be true—it <i>couldn't</i>! And yet, after all, hadn't Mr.
+Flemming said very much the same, years ago? Yes, but then there had
+been the magic words "twenty-one" to look forward to. "Twenty-one"
+which by a blessed miracle was to make everything right. Instead of
+which:</p>
+
+<p>"Mind you, the position is infinitely improved from what it was at the
+time of your father's death, but it is no good pretending we are out of
+the wood. The mortgage...."</p>
+
+<p>Surely, surely, they had never mentioned a mortgage? Well, it wouldn't
+have been much use, he supposed, to a boy of nine. No good trying to
+get round it. The plain truth was that he couldn't afford to live at
+Abbots Puissants.</p>
+
+<p>He waited till Mr. Flemming had finished and then said: "But if my
+mother...."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! of course. If Mrs. Deyre were prepared to...." He left the
+sentence unfinished, paused, and then added: "But, if I may say so,
+every time that I have had the pleasure of seeing Mrs. Deyre she has
+seemed to me to be very settled—very settled indeed. I suppose you
+know that she bought the freehold of Carey Lodge two years ago?"</p>
+
+<p>Vernon hadn't known it. He saw plainly enough what it meant. Why hadn't
+his mother told him? Hadn't she had the courage? He had always taken
+it for granted that she would come back with him to Abbots Puissants,
+not so much because he longed for her presence there, as because it
+was—quite naturally—her home.</p>
+
+<p>But it wasn't her home. It never could be in the sense that Carey Lodge
+was her home.</p>
+
+<p>He could appeal to her, of course. Beg her, for his sake, because he
+wanted it so much.</p>
+
+<p>No, a thousand times no! You couldn't beg favours from people you
+didn't really love. And he didn't really love his mother. He didn't
+believe he ever really had. Queer and sad and a little dreadful, but
+there it was.</p>
+
+<p>If he never saw her again, would he mind? Not really. He would like to
+know that she was well and happy—cared for. But he wouldn't miss her,
+would never feel a longing for her presence. Because, in a queer way,
+he didn't really <i>like</i> her. He disliked the touch of her hands, always
+had to take a hold on himself before kissing her good-night. He'd never
+been able to tell her anything—she never understood or knew what he
+was feeling. She had been a good loving mother—and he didn't even like
+her! Rather horrible, he supposed, most people would say....</p>
+
+<p>He said quietly to Mr. Flemming: "You are quite right. I am sure my
+mother would not wish to leave Carey Lodge."</p>
+
+<p>"Now, there are one or two alternatives open to you, Mr. Deyre. Major
+Salmon, who, as you know, has rented it furnished all these years, is
+anxious to buy——"</p>
+
+<p>"No!" The word burst from Vernon like a pistol shot.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Flemming smiled.</p>
+
+<p>"I was sure you would say that. And I must confess I am glad. There
+have been—er—Deyres at Abbots Puissants for, let me see, nearly five
+hundred years. Nevertheless, I should be failing in my duty if I didn't
+point out to you that the price offered is a good one, and that if,
+later, you should decide to sell, it may not be easy to find a suitable
+purchaser."</p>
+
+<p>"It's out of the question."</p>
+
+<p>"Very good. Then the best thing, I think, is to try and let once
+more. Major Salmon definitely wants to buy a place, so it will mean
+finding a new tenant. But I dare say we shall have no great difficulty.
+The point is, how long do you want to let for? To let the place for
+another long term of years is, I should say, not very desirable. Life
+is very uncertain. Who knows, in a few years the state of affairs may
+have—er—changed very considerably, and you may be in a position to
+take up residence there yourself."</p>
+
+<p>"So I shall, but not the way you think, you old dunderhead," thought
+Vernon. "It'll be because I've made a name for myself in music—not
+because Mother is dead. I'm sure I hope she'll live to be ninety."</p>
+
+<p>He exchanged a few more words with Mr. Flemming, then rose to go.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid this has been rather a shock to you," said the old lawyer
+as he shook hands.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes—just a bit. I've been building castles in the air, I suppose."</p>
+
+<p>"You're going down to spend your twenty-first birthday with your
+mother, I suppose?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"You might talk things over with your uncle, Mr. Bent. A very shrewd
+man of business. He has a daughter about your age, I think?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Enid. The two eldest are married, and the two youngest are at
+school. Enid's about a year younger than I am."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! very pleasant to have a cousin of one's own age. I dare say you
+will see a good deal of her."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! I don't suppose I shall," said Vernon vaguely.</p>
+
+<p>Why should he be seeing a lot of Enid? She was a dull girl. But of
+course Mr. Flemming didn't know that.</p>
+
+<p>Funny old chap. What on earth was there to put on such a sly knowing
+expression about?</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>2</i></h3>
+
+<p>"Well, Mother, I don't seem to be exactly the young heir!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! well, dear, you mustn't worry. Things arrange themselves, you
+know. You must have a good talk with your Uncle Sydney."</p>
+
+<p>Silly! What good could a talk with his Uncle Sydney do him?</p>
+
+<p>Fortunately the matter was not referred to again. The extraordinary
+surprise was that Joe had been allowed to have her way. She was
+actually in London—somewhat dragoned and chaperoned, it is true—but
+still she had got her way.</p>
+
+<p>His mother seemed always to be whispering mysteriously to friends.
+Vernon caught her at it one day.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes ... quite inseparable, they were ... so I thought it wiser ... it
+would be such a pity...." And what Vernon called the "other tabby" said
+something about "First cousins ... most unwise...." and his mother,
+with a suddenly heightened colour and raised voice, had said: "Oh! I
+don't think in <i>every</i> case."</p>
+
+<p>"Who were first cousins?" asked Vernon later. "What was all the mystery
+about?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mystery, darling? I don't know what you mean."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you shut up when I came in. I wondered what it was all about?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! nothing interesting. Some people you don't know."</p>
+
+<p>She looked rather red and confused.</p>
+
+<p>Vernon wasn't curious. He asked no more.</p>
+
+<p>He missed Joe most frightfully. Carey Lodge was pretty deadly without
+her. For one thing, he saw more of Enid than he ever had before. She
+was always coming in to see Myra, and Vernon would find himself let
+in for taking her to roller skate at the new rink, or for some deadly
+party or other.</p>
+
+<p>Myra told Vernon that it would be nice if he asked Enid up to Cambridge
+for May Week. She was so persistent about it that Vernon gave in. After
+all, it didn't matter. Sebastian would have Joe and he himself didn't
+much care. Dancing was rather rot. Everything was rot that interfered
+with music.</p>
+
+<p>The evening before his departure Uncle Sydney came to Carey Lodge
+and Myra pushed Vernon into the study with him and said, "Your Uncle
+Sydney's come to have a little talk with you, Vernon."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Bent hemmed and hawed for a minute or two and then, rather
+surprisingly, came straight to the point. Vernon had never liked his
+uncle as much. His facetious manner had been entirely laid aside.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm coming straight out with what I want to say, my boy—but I don't
+want you interrupting till I've finished. See?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Uncle Sydney."</p>
+
+<p>"The long and short of it is just this. <i>I want you to come into
+Bent's.</i> Now remember what I said—no interruptions! I know you've
+never thought of such a thing, and I dare say the idea isn't very
+congenial to you now. I'm a plain man, and I can face facts as well as
+anyone. If you'd got a good income and could live at Abbots Puissants
+like a gentleman, there wouldn't be any question of the thing. Well,
+I accept that. You're like your father's people. But for all that,
+you've got good Bent blood in your veins, my boy, and blood's bound to
+tell.</p>
+
+<p>"I've got no son of my own. I'm willing—if you're willing—to look
+upon you as a son. The girls are provided for, and handsomely provided
+for at that. And mind you, it won't be a case of toiling for life. I'm
+not unreasonable—and I realize just as much as you do what that place
+of yours stands for. You're a young fellow. You go into the business
+when you come down from Cambridge—mind you, you go into it from the
+bottom. You'll start at a moderate salary and work up. If you want
+to retire before you're forty, well, you can do so. Please yourself.
+You'll be a rich man by then, and you'll be able to run Abbots
+Puissants as it should be run.</p>
+
+<p>"You'll marry young, I hope. Excellent thing, young marriages.
+Your eldest boy succeeds to the place, the younger sons find a
+first-class business to step into where they can show what they're
+made of. I'm proud of Bent's—as proud of Bent's as you are of Abbots
+Puissants—that's why I understand your feeling about the old place. I
+don't want you to have to sell it. Let it go out of the family after
+all these years—that would be a shame. Well, there's the offer."</p>
+
+<p>"It's most awfully good of you, Uncle Sydney——" began Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>His uncle threw up a large square hand and stopped him.</p>
+
+<p>"We'll leave it at that, if you please. I don't want an answer now. In
+fact, I won't have one. When you come down from Cambridge—that's time
+enough."</p>
+
+<p>He rose.</p>
+
+<p>"Kind of you to ask Enid up for May Week. Very excited about it, she
+is. If you knew what that girl thought of you, Vernon, you'd be quite
+conceited. Ah! well, girls will be girls."</p>
+
+<p>Laughing boisterously, he slammed the front door.</p>
+
+<p>Vernon remained in the hall frowning. It was really jolly decent of
+Uncle Sydney—<i>jolly</i> decent.</p>
+
+<p>Not that he was going to accept. All the money in the world wouldn't
+tear him from music.</p>
+
+<p>And, somehow, he would have Abbots Puissants as well.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>3</i></h3>
+
+<p>May Week!</p>
+
+<p>Joe and Enid were at Cambridge. Vernon had been let in for Ethel, too,
+as chaperon. The world seemed largely composed of Bents just at present.</p>
+
+<p>Joe had burst out at once with: "Why on earth did you ask Enid?"</p>
+
+<p>He had answered: "Oh! Mother went on about it—it doesn't really
+matter."</p>
+
+<p>Nothing mattered to Vernon just then except one thing. Joe talked
+privately to Sebastian about that.</p>
+
+<p>"Is Vernon really in earnest about this music business? Will he ever be
+any good? I suppose it's just a passing craze?"</p>
+
+<p>But Sebastian was unexpectedly serious.</p>
+
+<p>"It's extraordinarily interesting, you know," he said. "As far as I can
+make out, what Vernon is aiming at is something entirely revolutionary.
+He's mastering now what you might call the main facts, and mastering
+them at an extraordinary rate. Old Coddington admits that, though of
+course he snorts at Vernon's ideas—or would if Vernon ever let out
+about them. The person who's interested is old Jeffries—mathematics!
+He says Vernon's ideas of music are fourth dimensional.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know if Vernon will ever pull it off—or whether he'll be
+considered as a harmless lunatic. The border line is very narrow,
+I imagine. Old Jeffries is very enthusiastic. But not in the least
+encouraging. He points out, quite rightly, that to attempt to discover
+something new and force it on the world is always a thankless task, and
+that in all probability the truths that Vernon is discovering won't
+be accepted for at least another two hundred years. He's a queer old
+codger. Sits about thinking of imaginary curves in space—that sort of
+thing.</p>
+
+<p>"But I see his point. Vernon isn't creating something new. He's
+discovering something that's already there. Rather like a scientist.
+Jeffries says that Vernon's dislike of music as a child is perfectly
+understandable. To his ear music's incomplete—it's like a picture
+out of drawing. The whole perspective is wrong. It sounds to Vernon
+like—I suppose—a primitive savage's music would sound to us—Mostly
+unendurable discord.</p>
+
+<p>"Jeffries is full of queer ideas. Start him off on squares and cubes
+and geometrical figures and the speed of light and he goes quite mad.
+He writes to a German fellow called Einstein. The queer thing is that
+he isn't a bit musical, and yet he can see—or says he can—exactly
+what Vernon is driving at."</p>
+
+<p>Joe cogitated deeply.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," she said at last, "I don't understand a word of all this. But
+it looks as though Vernon might make a success of it all."</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian was discouraging.</p>
+
+<p>"I wouldn't say that. Vernon may be a genius—and that's quite a
+different thing. Nobody welcomes genius. On the other hand, he may
+be just slightly mad. He sounds mad enough sometimes when he gets
+going—and yet, somehow, I've always got a kind of feeling that he's
+right—that in some odd way he knows what he's talking about."</p>
+
+<p>"You've heard about Uncle Sydney's offer?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Vernon seems to be turning it down very light-heartedly, and yet,
+you know, it's a good thing."</p>
+
+<p>"You wouldn't have him accept it?" flamed out Joe.</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian remained provokingly cool.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know. It needs thinking about. Vernon may have wonderful
+theories about this music business—there's nothing to show that he's
+ever going to be able to put them into practice."</p>
+
+<p>"You're maddening," said Joe, turning away.</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian annoyed her nowadays. All his cool analytical faculties
+seemed to be uppermost. If he had enthusiasms, he hid them carefully.</p>
+
+<p>And to Joe, just now, enthusiasm seemed the most necessary thing in the
+world. She had a passion for lost causes, for minorities. She was a
+passionate champion of the weak and oppressed.</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian she felt, was only interested in successes. She accused
+him in her own mind of judging everyone and everything by a monetary
+standard. Most of the time they were together they fought and bickered
+incessantly.</p>
+
+<p>Vernon, too, seemed separated from her. Music was the only thing he
+wanted to talk about, and even then on lines that were not familiar to
+her.</p>
+
+<p>His preoccupation was entirely with instruments—their scope and
+power—and the violin which Joe herself played seemed the instrument
+in which he was least interested. Joe was quite unfitted to talk about
+clarionets, trombones, and bassoons. Vernon's ambition in life seemed
+to be to form friendships with players of these instruments so as to be
+able to acquire some practical as opposed to theoretical knowledge.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you know any bassoon players?"</p>
+
+<p>Joe said she didn't.</p>
+
+<p>Vernon said that she might as well make herself useful and try and pick
+up some musical friends. "Even a French horn would do," he said kindly.</p>
+
+<p>He drew an experimental finger round the edge of his finger bowl. Joe
+shuddered and clapped both hands to her ears. The sound increased in
+volume. Vernon smiled dreamily and ecstatically.</p>
+
+<p>"One ought to be able to catch that and harness it. I wonder how it
+could be done. It's a lovely round sound, isn't it? Like a circle."</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian took the finger bowl forcibly away from him, and he wandered
+round the room and rang various goblets experimentally.</p>
+
+<p>"Nice lot of glasses in this room," he said appreciatively.</p>
+
+<p>"You're drowning sailors," said Joe.</p>
+
+<p>"Can't you be satisfied with bells and a triangle?" asked Sebastian.
+"And a little gong to beat."</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Vernon. "I want glass.... Let's have the Venetian and
+the Waterford together.... I'm glad you have these esthetic tastes,
+Sebastian. Have you got a common glass that I can smash?—all the
+tinkling fragments. Wonderful stuff—glass!"</p>
+
+<p>"Symphony of goblets," said Joe scathingly.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, why not? I suppose somebody once pulled a bit of catgut tight
+and found it made a squawky noise, and somebody once blew through a
+reed and liked it. I wonder when they first thought of making things
+of brass and metal. I dare say some book tells you."</p>
+
+<p>"Columbus and the egg. You and Sebastian's glass goblets. Why not a
+slate and a slate pencil?"</p>
+
+<p>"If you've got one...."</p>
+
+<p>"Isn't he too funny?" giggled Enid. And that stopped the
+conversation—for the time, at any rate.</p>
+
+<p>Not that Vernon really minded her presence. He was far too wrapped up
+in his ideas to be sensitive about them. Enid and Ethel were welcome to
+laugh as much as they chose.</p>
+
+<p>But he was slightly disturbed by the lack of harmony between Joe and
+Sebastian. The three of them had always been such a united trio.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think this 'living your own life' stunt agrees with Joe," said
+Vernon to his friend. "She's like an angry cat most of the time. I
+can't think why Mother agreed. She was dead against it about six months
+ago. I can't imagine what made her change her mind, can you?"</p>
+
+<p>A smile creased Sebastian's long yellow face.</p>
+
+<p>"I could make a guess," he said.</p>
+
+<p>"What?"</p>
+
+<p>"I shan't say. In the first place, I may be wrong, and in the second
+place I should hate to interfere with the (possibly) normal course of
+events."</p>
+
+<p>"That's your tortuous Russian mind."</p>
+
+<p>"I dare say."</p>
+
+<p>Vernon didn't insist. He was much too lazy to probe for reasons that
+weren't given him.</p>
+
+<p>Day succeeded day. They danced, breakfasted, drove at incredibly fast
+speeds through the countryside, sat and smoked and talked in Vernon's
+rooms, danced again. It was a point of honour not to sleep. At five in
+the morning they went on the river.</p>
+
+<p>Vernon's right arm ached. Enid fell to his share and she was a heavy
+partner. Well, it didn't matter. Uncle Sydney had seemed pleased, and
+he was a decent old boy. Jolly good of him to make that offer. What a
+pity it was that he (Vernon) was not more of a Bent and less of a Deyre.</p>
+
+<p>A vague memory stirred in his mind—somebody saying, "The Deyres,
+Vernon, are neither happy nor successful. They can't make good."
+Who was it who had said that? A woman's voice, it had been, in a
+garden—and there had been curling cigarette smoke....</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian's voice said: "He's going to sleep. Wake up, you blighter!
+Chuck a chocolate at him, Enid."</p>
+
+<p>A chocolate whizzed past his head. Enid's voice said with a giggle:</p>
+
+<p>"I can't throw straight for nuts."</p>
+
+<p>She giggled again as though she thought it very funny. Tiresome
+girl—always giggling. Besides, her teeth stuck out.</p>
+
+<p>He heaved himself over onto his side. Not usually very appreciative of
+the beauties of Nature, this morning he was struck by the beauty of the
+world. The pale gleaming river, here and there on the banks a flowering
+tree.</p>
+
+<p>The boat drifted slowly down stream ... a queer silent enchanted world.
+Because, he supposed, there were no human beings about. It was, when
+you came to think of it, an excess of human beings who spoiled the
+world. Always chattering and talking and giggling, and asking you what
+you were thinking of when all you wanted was to be let alone.</p>
+
+<p>He always remembered feeling that as a kid. If they'd only let him
+alone! He smiled to himself as he remembered the ridiculous games he
+had been in the habit of inventing. Mr. Green! He remembered Mr. Green
+perfectly. And those three playmates—what were their names, now?</p>
+
+<p>A funny child's world—a world of dragons and princesses and strangely
+concrete realities mixed up with them. There had been a story someone
+had told him—a ragged prince with a little green hat and a princess in
+a tower whose hair when she combed it was so golden that it could be
+seen in four kingdoms.</p>
+
+<p>He raised his head a little, looked along the river bank. There was a
+punt tied up under some trees. Four people in it—but Vernon only saw
+one.</p>
+
+<p>A girl in a pink evening frock with hair like spun gold standing under
+a tree laden with pink blossom.</p>
+
+<p>He looked and he looked.</p>
+
+<p>"Vernon." Joe kicked him correctively. "You're not asleep because your
+eyes are open. You've been spoken to four times."</p>
+
+<p>"Sorry. I was looking at that lot over there. That's rather a pretty
+girl, don't you think so?"</p>
+
+<p>He tried to make his tone light—casual. Inside him a riotous voice was
+saying: "Pretty? She's lovely. She's the most lovely girl in the world.
+I'm going to get to know her. I've got to know her. I'm going to marry
+her...."</p>
+
+<p>Joe heaved herself up on her elbows, looked, uttered an exclamation.</p>
+
+<p>"Why!" she exclaimed. "I do believe—yes, I'm sure it is. It's Nell
+Vereker."</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>4</i></h3>
+
+<p>Impossible; It couldn't be. Nell Vereker? Pale scraggy Nell, with her
+pink nose and her inappropriate starched dresses. Surely it couldn't
+be. Was Time capable of that kind of practical joke? If so, one
+couldn't be sure of anything. That long-ago Nell, and this Nell—they
+were two different people.</p>
+
+<p>The whole world felt dreamlike. Joe was saying:</p>
+
+<p>"If that's Nell, I really must speak to her. Let's go across."</p>
+
+<p>And then the greetings, exclamations, surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"Why, of course. Joe Waite. And Vernon! It's years ago, isn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>Very soft her voice was. Her eyes smiled into his—a trifle shyly.
+Lovely—lovely—lovelier even than he had thought. Tongue-tied fool,
+why couldn't he say anything? Something brilliant, witty, arresting.
+How blue her eyes were with their long soft golden-brown lashes. She
+was like the blossom above her head—untouched, springlike.</p>
+
+<p>A great wave of despondency swept over him. She would never marry him.
+Was it likely? A great clumsy tongue-tied creature such as he was.
+She was talking to him. Heavens! he must try and listen to what she
+said—answer intelligently.</p>
+
+<p>"We left very soon after you did. Father gave up his job."</p>
+
+<p>An echo came into his head of past gossip:</p>
+
+<p><i>Vereker got the sack. Hopelessly incompetent—it was bound to come.</i></p>
+
+<p>Her voice went on—such a lovely voice. You wanted to listen to it
+instead of to the words.</p>
+
+<p>"We live in London now. Father died five years ago."</p>
+
+<p>He said, feeling idiotic, "Oh! I say, I'm sorry, awfully sorry."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll give you our address. You must come and see us."</p>
+
+<p>He blundered out hopes of meeting her that evening. What dance was she
+going to? She told him. No good there. The night after—thank goodness!
+they'd be at the same. He said hurriedly:</p>
+
+<p>"Look here. You've got to save me a dance or two—you must—we've not
+seen each other for years."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! but can I?" Her voice was doubtful.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll fix it somehow. Leave it to me."</p>
+
+<p>It was over all too soon. Good-byes were said. They were going upstream
+again.</p>
+
+<p>Joe said in an incredibly matter-of-fact tone, "Well, isn't that
+strange? Who would ever have thought that Nell Vereker would have
+turned out so good-looking? I wonder if she's as much of an ass as
+ever."</p>
+
+<p>Sacrilege! He felt oceans removed from Joe. Joe couldn't see anything
+at all.</p>
+
+<p><i>Would</i> Nell ever marry him? <i>Would</i> she? Probably she'd never look at
+him. All sorts of fellows must be in love with her.</p>
+
+<p>He felt terribly despondent. Black misery swept over him.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>5</i></h3>
+
+<p>He was dancing with her. Never had he imagined that he could be so
+happy. She was like a feather, a rose leaf in his arms. She was wearing
+a pink dress again—a different one. It floated out all round her.</p>
+
+<p>If life could only go on like this for ever ... for ever....</p>
+
+<p>But of course, life never did. In what seemed to Vernon like one
+second, the music stopped. They were sitting together on two chairs.</p>
+
+<p>He wanted to say a thousand things to her—but he didn't know how to
+begin. He heard himself saying foolish things about the floor and the
+music.</p>
+
+<p>Fool—unutterable fool! In a few minutes another dance would begin. She
+would be swept away from him. He must make some plan—some arrangement
+to meet her again.</p>
+
+<p>She was talking—desultory in-between-dance talk. London—the season.
+Horrible to think of—she was going to dances night after night—three
+dances a night sometimes. And here was he tied by the leg. She would
+marry someone—some rich clever amusing fellow would snap her up.</p>
+
+<p>He mumbled something about being in town—she gave him their address.
+Mother would be so pleased to see him again. He wrote it down.</p>
+
+<p>The music struck up. He said desperately: "Nell—I say, I do call you
+Nell, don't I?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why, of course." She laughed. "Do you remember hauling me over the
+palings that day we thought the rhinoceros was after us?"</p>
+
+<p>And he had thought her a nuisance, he remembered. Nell! A nuisance!</p>
+
+<p>She went on: "I used to think you were wonderful then, Vernon."</p>
+
+<p>She had, had she? But she couldn't think him wonderful now. His mood
+drooped to despondency once more.</p>
+
+<p>"I—I was an awful little rotter, I expect," he mumbled.</p>
+
+<p>Why couldn't he be intelligent and clever and say witty things?</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! you were a dear. Sebastian hasn't changed much, has he?"</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian. She called him Sebastian. Well, after all, he supposed she
+would—since she called him Vernon. What a lucky thing it was that
+Sebastian cared for nobody but Joe. Sebastian with his money and his
+brains. Did Nell like Sebastian? he wondered.</p>
+
+<p>"One would know his ears anywhere," said Nell with a laugh.</p>
+
+<p>Vernon felt comforted. He had forgotten Sebastian's ears. No girl who
+had noticed Sebastian's ears could go falling in love with him. Poor
+old Sebastian! Rather rough luck to be handicapped with those ears.</p>
+
+<p>He saw Nell's partner arriving. He blurted out quickly and hurriedly:</p>
+
+<p>"I say, it's wonderful to have seen you again, Nell. Don't forget me,
+will you? I shall be turning up in town. It's—it's been awfully jolly
+seeing you again. (Oh! damn, I said that before!) I mean—it's been
+simply ripping. You don't know. But you won't forget, will you?"</p>
+
+<p>She was gone from him. He saw her whirling round in Barnard's arms. She
+couldn't like Barnard surely, could she? Barnard was such an absolute
+ass.</p>
+
+<p>Her eyes met his over Barnard's shoulder. She smiled.</p>
+
+<p>He was in Heaven again. She liked him—he knew she liked him. She had
+smiled....</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>6</i></h3>
+
+<p>May Week was over. Vernon was sitting at a table writing.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>Dear Uncle Sydney:</p>
+
+<p>I've thought over your offer, and I'd like to come into Bent's if you
+still want me. I'm afraid I shall be rather useless but I will try all
+I know. I still think it's most awfully good of you.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>He paused. Sebastian was walking up and down restlessly. His pacing
+disturbed Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>"For goodness' sake, sit down," he said irritably. "What's the matter
+with you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing."</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian sat down with unusual mildness. He filled and lighted a pipe.
+From behind a sheltering haze of smoke, he spoke:</p>
+
+<p>"I say, Vernon. I asked Joe to marry me that last night. She turned me
+down."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! rough luck," said Vernon, trying to bring his mind back and be
+sympathetic. "Perhaps she'll change her mind," he said vaguely. "They
+say girls do."</p>
+
+<p>"It's this damned money," said Sebastian angrily.</p>
+
+<p>"What damned money?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mine. Joe always said she would marry me when we were kids together.
+She likes me—I'm sure she does. And now—everything I say or do always
+seems to be wrong. If I were only persecuted, or looked down on, or
+socially undesirable, I believe she'd marry me like a shot. But she's
+always got to be on the losing side. It's a ripping quality in a way,
+but you can carry it to a pitch where it's damned illogical. Joe is
+illogical."</p>
+
+<p>"Hm," said Vernon vaguely.</p>
+
+<p>He was selfishly intent on his own affairs. It seemed to him curious
+that Sebastian should be so keen on marrying Joe. There were lots of
+other girls who would suit him just as well. He reread his letter and
+added another sentence:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>I will work like a nigger.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="chapter_4II">chapter 4</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>"We want another man," said Mrs. Vereker.</p>
+
+<p>Her eyebrows, slightly enhanced by art, drew together in a straight
+line as she frowned.</p>
+
+<p>"It's too annoying young Wetherill failing us," she added.</p>
+
+<p>Nell nodded apathetically. She was sitting on the arm of a chair, not
+yet dressed. Her golden hair hung in a stream over the pale pink kimono
+she was wearing. She looked very lovely and very young and defenseless.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Vereker, sitting at her inlaid desk, frowned still more and bit
+the end of her penholder thoughtfully. The hardness that had always
+been noticeable was now accentuated and, as it were, crystallized. This
+was a woman who had battled steadily and unceasingly through life and
+was now engaged in a supreme struggle. She lived in a house the rent
+of which she could not afford to pay and she dressed her daughter in
+clothes she could not afford to buy. She got things on credit—not,
+like some others, by cajolery, but by sheer driving power. She never
+appealed to her creditors, she browbeat them.</p>
+
+<p>And the result was that Nell went everywhere and did everything that
+other girls did and was better dressed while doing so.</p>
+
+<p>"Mademoiselle is lovely," said the dressmakers, and their eyes would
+meet Mrs. Vereker's in a glance of understanding.</p>
+
+<p>A girl so beautiful, so well turned out, would marry probably in her
+first season, certainly in her second—and then a rich harvest would be
+reaped. They were used to taking risks of this kind—Mademoiselle was
+lovely, Madame her mother was a woman of the world and a woman, they
+could see, who was accustomed to success in her undertakings. She would
+assuredly see to it that her daughter made a good match and did not
+marry a nobody.</p>
+
+<p>Nobody but Mrs. Vereker knew the difficulties, the setbacks, the
+galling defeats of the campaign she had undertaken.</p>
+
+<p>"There is young Earnescliff," she said thoughtfully. "But he is really
+too much of an outsider—and not even money to recommend him."</p>
+
+<p>Nell looked at her pink polished nails.</p>
+
+<p>"What about Vernon Deyre?" she suggested. "He wrote he was coming up to
+town this week-end."</p>
+
+<p>"He would do," said Mrs. Vereker. She looked sharply at her daughter.
+"Nell, you're not—you're not allowing yourself to become foolish about
+that young man, are you? We seem to have seen a great deal of him
+lately."</p>
+
+<p>"He dances well," said Nell. "And he's frightfully useful."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Mrs. Vereker. "Yes. It's a pity."</p>
+
+<p>"What's a pity?"</p>
+
+<p>"That he hasn't got a few more of this world's goods. He'll have to
+marry money if he's ever going to be able to keep up Abbots Puissants.
+It's mortgaged, you know. I found that out. Of course, when his mother
+dies.... But she's one of those large healthy women who go on living
+till they're eighty or ninety. And besides, she may marry again. No,
+Vernon Deyre is hopeless considered as a <i>parti</i>. He's very much in
+love with you, too, poor boy."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think so?" said Nell in a low voice.</p>
+
+<p>"Anyone can see it. It sticks out all over him—it always does with
+boys of that age. Well, they've got to go through calf love, I suppose.
+But no foolishness on your part, Nell."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Mother, he's only a boy—a very nice boy, but a boy."</p>
+
+<p>"He's a good-looking boy," said her mother dryly. "I'm only warning
+you. Being in love is a painful process when you can't have the man you
+want. And worse——"</p>
+
+<p>She stopped. Nell knew well enough how her thoughts ran on. Captain
+Vereker had once been a handsome blue-eyed impecunious young subaltern.
+Her mother had been guilty of the folly of marrying him for love. She
+had lived to rue the day bitterly. A weak man, a failure, a drunkard.
+Disillusionment enough there in all conscience.</p>
+
+<p>"Someone devoted is always useful," said Mrs. Vereker, reverting to
+her utilitarian standpoint. "He mustn't, of course, spoil your chances
+with other men. But you're too wise to let him monopolize you to that
+extent. Yes, write and ask him to drive down to Ranelagh and dine with
+us there on Sunday next."</p>
+
+<p>Nell nodded. She got up and went to her own room, flung off the
+trailing kimono and started dressing. With a stiff brush she brushed
+out the long golden hair before coiling it round her small lovely head.</p>
+
+<p>The window was open. A sooty London sparrow chirped and sang with the
+arrogance of his kind.</p>
+
+<p>Something caught at Nell's heart. Oh! why was everything so—so——</p>
+
+<p>So what? She didn't know—couldn't put into words the feeling that
+surged over her. Why couldn't things be nice instead of nasty? It would
+be just as easy for God.</p>
+
+<p>Nell never thought much about God, but she knew, of course, that he was
+there. Perhaps, somehow or other, God would make everything come right
+for her.</p>
+
+<p>There was something childlike about Nell Vereker on that summer's
+morning in London.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>2</i></h3>
+
+<p>Vernon was in the seventh heaven. He had had the luck to meet Nell in
+the park that morning, and now there was a whole glorious rapturous
+evening! So happy was he that he almost felt affectionate toward Mrs.
+Vereker.</p>
+
+<p>Instead of saying to himself, "That woman is a gorgon!" as he usually
+did, he found himself thinking: "She may not be so bad after all.
+Anyway, she's very fond of Nell."</p>
+
+<p>At dinner he studied the other members of the party. There was an
+inferior girl dressed in green, a being not to be mentioned in the same
+breath with Nell, and there was a tall dark man, a Major Somebody,
+whose evening dress was very faultless and who talked about India a
+lot. An insufferably conceited being—Vernon hated him. Boasting and
+swaggering and showing off! A cold hand closed round his heart. Nell
+would marry this blighter and go away to India. He knew it, he simply
+knew it. He refused a course that was handed to him and gave the girl
+in green a hard time, so monosyllabic were his responses to her efforts.</p>
+
+<p>The other man was older—very old to Vernon. A rather wooden figure,
+very upright. Gray hair, blue eyes, a square determined face. It turned
+out that he was an American, though no one would have known it, for he
+had no trace of accent.</p>
+
+<p>He spoke stiffly and a little punctiliously. He sounded rich. A very
+suitable companion for Mrs. Vereker, Vernon thought him. She might even
+marry him, and then, perhaps, she would cease worrying Nell and making
+her lead this insane life....</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Chetwynd seemed to admire Nell a good deal, which was only natural,
+and he paid her one or two rather old-fashioned compliments. He sat
+between her and her mother.</p>
+
+<p>"You must bring Miss Nell to Dinard this summer, Mrs. Vereker," he
+said. "You really must. Quite a party of us going. Wonderful place."</p>
+
+<p>"It sounds delightful, Mr. Chetwynd, but I don't know whether we can
+manage it. We seem to have promised so many people for visits and one
+thing and another."</p>
+
+<p>"I know you're always so much in request that it's hard to get hold of
+you. I hope your daughter's not listening when I congratulate you on
+being the mother of the beauty of the season."</p>
+
+<p>"And I said to the syce...."</p>
+
+<p>This from Major Dacre.</p>
+
+<p>All the Deyres had been soldiers. Why wasn't he a soldier, thought
+Vernon, instead of being in business in Birmingham? Then he laughed
+to himself. Absurd to be so jealous. What could be worse than to be a
+penniless subaltern? There would be no hope of Nell then.</p>
+
+<p>Americans were rather long-winded—he was getting tired of the sound of
+Chetwynd's voice. If only dinner could come to an end! If he and Nell
+could wander together under the trees.</p>
+
+<p>Wandering with Nell wasn't easy. He was foiled by Mrs. Vereker. She
+asked him questions about his mother and Joe, kept him by her side. He
+was no match for her in tactics. He had to stay there, answer, pretend
+he liked it.</p>
+
+<p>There was only one crumb of comfort. Nell was walking with the old
+boy—not with Dacre.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly they encountered friends. Everyone stood talking. It was his
+chance. He found his way to Nell's side.</p>
+
+<p>"Come with me—do. Quickly—now."</p>
+
+<p>He had done it! He had got her away from the others. He was hurrying
+so that she had almost to run to keep up with him, but she didn't say
+anything—didn't protest or make a joke about it.</p>
+
+<p>The voices sounded from farther and farther away. He could hear other
+sounds now—the hurried unevenness of Nell's breathing. Was that
+because they had walked so fast? He didn't somehow think it was.</p>
+
+<p>He slowed up. They were alone now—alone in the world. They couldn't
+have been more alone, he felt, on a desert island.</p>
+
+<p>He must say something—something ordinary and commonplace. Otherwise
+she might think of going back to the others, and he couldn't bear
+that. Lucky she didn't know how his heart was beating—in great throbs,
+right up in his throat somewhere.</p>
+
+<p>He said abruptly: "I've gone into my uncle's business, you know."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I know. Do you like it?"</p>
+
+<p>A cool sweet voice. No trace of agitation in it now.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't like it much. I expect I shall get to, though."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose it will be more interesting when you understand it more."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't see how it ever could be. It's making the shanks of buttons,
+you know."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! I see—no, that doesn't sound very thrilling."</p>
+
+<p>There was a pause, and then she said, very softly: "Do you hate it very
+much, Vernon?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid I do."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm awfully sorry. I—I understand just how you feel."</p>
+
+<p>If someone understood, it made the whole world different. Adorable
+Nell! He said unsteadily:</p>
+
+<p>"I say, that's—that's most awfully sweet of you."</p>
+
+<p>Another pause—one of those pauses that are heavy with the weight of
+latent emotion. Nell seemed to take fright. She said rather hurriedly:</p>
+
+<p>"Weren't you—I mean I thought you were taking up music?"</p>
+
+<p>"I was, I—I gave that up."</p>
+
+<p>"But why? Isn't that the most awful pity?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's the thing I wanted to do most in the world. But it's no good.
+I've got to make some money somehow." Should he tell her? Was this the
+moment? No, he daren't—he simply daren't. He blundered on quickly:
+"You see, Abbots Puissants—you remember Abbots Puissants?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course. Why, Vernon, we were talking about it the other day."</p>
+
+<p>"Sorry. I'm stupid to-night. Well, you see I want awfully to live there
+again some day."</p>
+
+<p>"I think you're wonderful."</p>
+
+<p>"Wonderful?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. To give up everything you cared about and set to as you are
+doing. It's splendid!"</p>
+
+<p>"It's ripping of you to say that. It makes—oh! you don't know what a
+difference it makes."</p>
+
+<p>"Does it?" said Nell in a very low voice. "I'm glad."</p>
+
+<p>She thought to herself: "I ought to go back. Oh! I ought to go back.
+Mother will be very angry about this. What am I doing? I ought to go
+back and listen to George Chetwynd, but he's so <i>dull</i>. Oh! God, don't
+let Mother be very cross."</p>
+
+<p>And she walked on by Vernon's side. She felt out of breath.
+Strange—what was the matter with her? If only Vernon would say
+something. What was he thinking about?</p>
+
+<p>She said in a would-be-detached voice: "How's Joe?"</p>
+
+<p>"Very artistic at present. I thought perhaps you might have been seeing
+something of each other as you were both in town?"</p>
+
+<p>"I've seen her once, I think. That's all." She paused and then added,
+rather diffidently: "I don't think Joe likes me."</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense! Of course she does."</p>
+
+<p>"No, she thinks I'm frivolous, that I only care for social
+things—dances and parties."</p>
+
+<p>"Nobody who really knew you could think that."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know. I feel awfully—well, stupid sometimes."</p>
+
+<p>"You? Stupid?"</p>
+
+<p>That warm incredulous voice. Darling Vernon! He did think her nice,
+then. Her mother had been right.</p>
+
+<p>They came to a little bridge across some water. They walked onto it,
+stood there side by side, leaning over, looking down on the water below.</p>
+
+<p>Vernon said in a choked kind of voice: "It's jolly here."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>It was coming—it was coming. She couldn't have defined what she meant,
+but that was the feeling. The world standing still, gathering itself
+for a leap and a spring.</p>
+
+<p>"Nell...."</p>
+
+<p>Why did her knees feel so shaky? Why did her voice sound so far away?</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>Was that queer little "Yes" hers?</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Nell...."</p>
+
+<p>He had got to tell her. He must.</p>
+
+<p>"I love you so.... I do love you so...."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you?"</p>
+
+<p>It couldn't be her speaking. What an idiotic thing to say!</p>
+
+<p>"Do you?" Her voice sounded stiff and unnatural.</p>
+
+<p>His hand found hers. His hand was hot—hers was cold. They both shook.</p>
+
+<p>"Could you—do you—do you think you could ever manage to love me?"</p>
+
+<p>She answered, hardly knowing what she was saying: "I don't know."</p>
+
+<p>They continued to stand there like dazed children, hand in hand, lost
+in a kind of rapture that was almost fear.</p>
+
+<p>Something must happen soon. They didn't know what.</p>
+
+<p>Out of the darkness two figures appeared—a hoarse laugh, a girl's
+giggle.</p>
+
+<p>"So here you are! What a romantic spot!"</p>
+
+<p>The green girl and that ass Dacre. Nell said something, a saucy
+something—said it with the utmost self-possession. Women were
+wonderful. She moved out into the moonlight—calm, detached, at ease.
+They all walked together, talking, chaffing each other. They found
+George Chetwynd with Mrs. Vereker on the lawn. He looked very glum,
+Vernon thought.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Vereker was distinctly nasty to him. Her manner when bidding him
+good-bye was quite offensive.</p>
+
+<p>He didn't care. All he wanted was to get away and lose himself in an
+orgy of remembrance.</p>
+
+<p>He'd told her—he'd told her. He'd asked her whether she loved
+him—yes, he had dared to do that—and instead of laughing at him she
+had said, "<i>I don't know</i>."</p>
+
+<p>But that meant—that meant.... Oh, it was incredible! Nell, fairy-like
+Nell, so wonderful, so inaccessible, loved him—or, at least, she was
+willing to love him.</p>
+
+<p>He wanted to walk on and on through the night. Instead he had to
+catch the midnight train to Birmingham. Damn! If he could only have
+walked—walked—till morning.</p>
+
+<p>With a little green hat and a magic flute like the prince in that tale!</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly he saw the whole thing in music—the high tower and princess's
+cascade of golden hair, and the eerie haunting tune of the prince's
+pipe which called the princess out from her tower.</p>
+
+<p>Insensibly, this music was more in accordance with recognized canons
+than Vernon's original conception had been. It was adapted to the
+limits of known dimensions, though at the same time the inner vision
+remained unaltered. He heard the music of the tower—the round globular
+music of the princess's jewels, and the gay wild lawless strain of the
+vagabond prince: "Come out, my love, come out...."</p>
+
+<p>He walked through the bare drab streets of London as through an
+enchanted world. The black mass of Paddington Station loomed up before
+him.</p>
+
+<p>In the train he didn't sleep. Instead, on the back of an envelope,
+he wrote microscopic notes: "Trumpets ... French horns ... Cor
+Anglais," and alongside them lines and curves that to his understanding
+represented what he heard.</p>
+
+<p>He was happy.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>3</i></h3>
+
+<p>"I'm ashamed of you. What can you be thinking of?"</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Vereker was very angry. Nell stood before her, dumb and lovely.</p>
+
+<p>Her mother uttered a few more virulent and incisive words, then turned
+and left the room without saying good-night.</p>
+
+<p>Ten minutes later, as Mrs. Vereker completed her preparations for the
+night, she suddenly laughed to herself—a grim chuckle.</p>
+
+<p>"I needn't have been so angry with the child. As a matter of fact, it
+will do George Chetwynd good. Wake him up. He needed prodding."</p>
+
+<p>She turned out her light and slept, satisfied.</p>
+
+<p>Nell lay awake. Again and again she went over the evening, trying to
+recapture each feeling, each word that had been spoken.</p>
+
+<p>What had Vernon said? What had she answered? Queer that she couldn't
+remember.</p>
+
+<p>He had asked her whether she loved him. What had she said to that?
+She couldn't tell. But in the darkness the scene rose up before her
+eyes. She felt her hand in Vernon's, heard his voice, husky and ill
+assured.... She shut her eyes, lost in a hazy delicious dream.</p>
+
+<p>Life was so lovely—so lovely.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="chapter_5II">chapter 5</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>"Then you can't love me!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! but Vernon, I do. If you'd only try and understand."</p>
+
+<p>They faced each other desperately, bewildered by this sudden rift
+between them—by the queer unexpected vagaries of life. One minute they
+had been so near that each thought even had seemed to be shared by the
+other. Now they were poles apart, angry and hurt by the other's lack of
+comprehension.</p>
+
+<p>Nell turned away with a little gesture of despair and sank down on a
+chair.</p>
+
+<p>Why was it all like this? Why couldn't things stay as they ought to
+be, as you had felt they were going to be for ever? That evening at
+Ranelagh—and the night afterward when she had lain awake wrapped in a
+happy dream. Enough that night just to know that she was loved. Why,
+even her mother's scathing words had failed to upset her. They had come
+from so far away. The couldn't penetrate that shining web of misty
+dream.</p>
+
+<p>She had wakened up happy the next morning. Her mother had been
+pleasant, had said nothing more. Wrapped in her secret thoughts, Nell
+had gone through the day doing all the usual things: chattering with
+friends, walking in the park, lunching, teaing, dancing. Nobody, she
+was sure, could have noticed anything different, and yet all the time
+she herself had been conscious of that one deep strand underneath
+everything else. Just for a minute, sometimes, she would lose the
+thread of what she was saying, she would remember.... "Oh! Nell, I do
+love you so...." The moonlight on the dark water. His hand in hers....
+A little shiver and she would recall herself hastily, chatter, laugh.
+Oh! how happy one could be—how happy she had been.</p>
+
+<p>Then she had wondered if, perhaps, he would write. She had watched for
+the post, her heart giving little throbs whenever the postman knocked.
+It had come the second day. She had hidden it beneath a pile of others,
+kept it till she went up to bed, then opened it with a beating heart.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>Oh, Nell—oh, darling Nell! Did you really mean it? I've written three
+letters to you and torn them up. I'm so afraid of saying something
+that might make you angry. Because perhaps you didn't mean it after
+all. But you did, didn't you? You are so lovely, Nell, and I do love
+you so dreadfully. I'm always thinking about you, the whole time. I
+make awful mistakes at the office just because I'm thinking about you.
+But oh, Nell, I will work so hard! I want so dreadfully to see you.
+When can I come up to town? I must see you. Darling, darling, Nell, I
+want to say such lots and lots of things and I can't in a letter, and
+anyway perhaps I'm boring you. Write and tell me when I can see you.
+Very soon, please. I shall go mad if I can't see you very soon.</p>
+
+<p class="ph3">Yours ever,<br>
+
+Vernon.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>She had read it again and again, put it under her pillow when she
+slept, read it again the next morning. She had been so happy, so
+dreadfully happy. It was not till the day after that she had written to
+him. When the pen was in her hand she had felt stiff and awkward. She
+hadn't known what to say.</p>
+
+<p>Dear Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>Was that silly? Ought she to say Dearest Vernon? Oh! no, she
+couldn't—she couldn't.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>Dear Vernon. Thank you for your letter.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>A long pause. She bit the stem of her penholder and gazed in an
+agonized way at the wall in front of her.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>A party of us are going to the Howards' dance on Friday. Will you dine
+here first and come with us? Eight o'clock.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>A longer pause. She'd got to say something—she wanted to say
+something. She bent over and wrote hastily:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>I want to see you too—very much. Yours, Nell.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>He had written back:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>Dear Nell, I'd love to come on Friday. Thanks ever so much.</p>
+
+<p class="ph3">Yours, Vernon.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>A little panic had swept over her when she read it. Had she offended
+him? Did he think she ought to have said more in her letter? Happiness
+fled. She lay awake, miserable, uncertain, hating herself in case it
+had been her fault.</p>
+
+<p>Then had come Friday night. The moment she saw him she knew it was
+all right. Their eyes met across the room. The world changed back to
+radiant happiness again.</p>
+
+<p>They did not sit near each other at dinner. It was not till the third
+dance at the Howards' that they were able really to speak to each
+other. They moved round the crowded room, gyrating in a deep-toned
+sentimental waltz. He whispered:</p>
+
+<p>"I haven't asked for too many dances, have I?"</p>
+
+<p>"No."</p>
+
+<p>Queer how absolutely tongue-tied it made her feel being with Vernon.
+He held her just a minute longer when the music stopped. His fingers
+tightened over hers. She looked at him and smiled. They were both
+deliriously happy. In a few minutes he was dancing with another girl,
+talking airily in her ear. Nell was dancing with George Chetwynd. Once
+or twice her eyes met Vernon's and they both smiled very faintly. Their
+secret was so wonderful.</p>
+
+<p>At his next dance with her his mood had changed.</p>
+
+<p>"Nell, darling, isn't there anywhere I can talk to you? I've got such
+heaps of things I want to say. What a ridiculous house this is—nowhere
+to go."</p>
+
+<p>They tried the stairs, mounting higher and higher as you do in London
+houses. Still, it seemed impossible to get away from people. Then they
+saw a tiny iron ladder that led to the roof.</p>
+
+<p>"Nell, let's get up there? Could you? Would it ruin your dress?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't care about my dress."</p>
+
+<p>Vernon went up first, unbolted the trap door, climbed out, and knelt
+down to help Nell. She climbed through safely.</p>
+
+<p>They were alone, looking down on London. Insensibly they drew nearer to
+each other. Her hand found its way into his.</p>
+
+<p>"Nell—darling...."</p>
+
+<p>"Vernon...."</p>
+
+<p>Her voice could only whisper.</p>
+
+<p>"It <i>is</i> true? You do love me?"</p>
+
+<p>"I do love you."</p>
+
+<p>"It's too wonderful to be true. Oh! Nell, I do so want to kiss you."</p>
+
+<p>She turned her face to his. They kissed—rather shakily and timidly.</p>
+
+<p>"Your face is so soft and lovely," murmured Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>Oblivious of dirt and smuts, they sat down on a little ledge. His arms
+went round her, held her. She turned her face to his kisses.</p>
+
+<p>"I do love you so, Nell. I love you so much that I'm almost afraid to
+touch you."</p>
+
+<p>She didn't understand that—it seemed queer. She drew a little closer
+to him. The magic of the night was made complete by their kisses....</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>2</i></h3>
+
+<p>They woke from a happy dream. "Oh! Vernon, I believe we've been here
+<i>ages</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>Conscience-stricken, they hurried to the trap door. On the landing
+below, Vernon surveyed Nell anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid you've been sitting on an awful lot of smuts, Nell."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! have I? How awful."</p>
+
+<p>"It's my fault, darling. But oh! Nell, it was worth it, wasn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>She smiled up at him, gently, happily.</p>
+
+<p>"It was worth it," she said softly.</p>
+
+<p>As they went down the stairs she said with a little laugh:</p>
+
+<p>"What about all the things you wanted to say? Lots and lots of them."</p>
+
+<p>They both laughed in perfect understanding. They reëntered the dancing
+room rather sheepishly. They had missed six dances.</p>
+
+<p>A lovely evening. Nell had gone to sleep and dreamed of more kisses.</p>
+
+<p>And then, Saturday morning, Vernon had rung up.</p>
+
+<p>"I want to talk to you. Can I come round?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Vernon dear, you can't. I'm going out now to meet people. I can't
+get out of it."</p>
+
+<p>"Why not?"</p>
+
+<p>"I mean I wouldn't know what to say to Mother."</p>
+
+<p>"You haven't told her anything?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, <i>no</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>The vehemence of that "Oh, <i>no</i>!" had checked Vernon. He thought: "Poor
+little darling. Of course she hasn't." He said: "Hadn't I better do
+that? I'll come round now."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! no, Vernon, not until we've talked."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, when can we talk?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know. I'm lunching with people and going to a matinée and to
+the theatre again to-night. If you'd only told me you were going to be
+up this week-end I'd have arranged something."</p>
+
+<p>"What about to-morrow?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, there's church——"</p>
+
+<p>"That'll do! Don't go to church. Say you've got a headache or
+something. I'll come round. We can talk then, and when your mother
+comes back from church I can have it out with her."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Vernon, I don't think I can——"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, you can. I'm going to ring off now before you can make any more
+excuses. At eleven to-morrow."</p>
+
+<p>He rang off. He hadn't even told Nell where he was staying. She admired
+him for this masculine decision even while it caused her anxiety. She
+was afraid he was going to spoil everything.</p>
+
+<p>And now here they were, in the middle of a heated discussion. Nell had
+begged him to say nothing to her mother.</p>
+
+<p>"It will spoil everything. We shan't be allowed to."</p>
+
+<p>"Shan't be allowed to what?"</p>
+
+<p>"See each other or anything."</p>
+
+<p>"But Nell darling, I want to marry you. And you want to marry me, don't
+you? I want to marry you awfully soon."</p>
+
+<p>She had her first feeling of exasperation then. Couldn't he see things
+as they were? He was talking like a mere boy.</p>
+
+<p>"But, Vernon, we haven't any money."</p>
+
+<p>"I know. But I'm going to work awfully hard. You won't mind being poor,
+will you, Nell?"</p>
+
+<p>She said No since it was expected of her, but she was conscious that
+she did not say it whole heartedly. It was dreadful being poor. Vernon
+didn't know how dreadful it was. She suddenly felt years and years
+older and more experienced than he. He was talking like a romantic
+boy—he didn't know what things were really like.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Vernon, can't we just go on as we are? We're so happy now."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course we're happy—but we could be happier still. I want to be
+really engaged to you—I want everyone to know that you belong to me."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't see that that makes any difference."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose it doesn't. But I want to have a right to see you, instead
+of being miserable about you going round with chaps like that ass,
+Dacre."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Vernon, you're not jealous?"</p>
+
+<p>"I know I oughtn't to be. But you don't really know how lovely you are,
+Nell! Everyone must be in love with you. I believe even that solemn old
+American fellow is."</p>
+
+<p>Nell changed colour slightly.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I think you'll spoil everything," she murmured.</p>
+
+<p>"You think your mother will be horrid to you about it? I'm awfully
+sorry. I'll tell her it's all my fault. And after all, she's got to
+know. I expect she'll be disappointed because she probably wanted you
+to marry someone rich. That's quite natural. But it doesn't really make
+you happy, being rich, does it?"</p>
+
+<p>Nell said suddenly in a hard desperate little voice:</p>
+
+<p>"You talk like that, but what do you know about being poor?"</p>
+
+<p>Vernon was astonished.</p>
+
+<p>"But I am poor."</p>
+
+<p>"No, you're not. You've been to schools and universities and in the
+holidays you've lived with your mother who's rich. You don't know
+anything at all about it. You don't know——"</p>
+
+<p>She stopped in despair. She wasn't clever with words. How could she
+paint the picture she knew so well? The shifts, the struggles, the
+evasions, the desperate fight to keep up appearances, the ease with
+which friends dropped you if you "couldn't keep up with things," the
+slights, the snubs—worse, the galling patronage! In Captain Vereker's
+lifetime, and since his death, it had always been the same. You could,
+of course, live in a cottage in the country and never see anyone, never
+to go to dances like other girls, never have pretty clothes, live
+within your income and rot away slowly! Either way was pretty beastly.
+It was so unfair—one ought to have money. And always marriage lay
+ahead of you clearly designated as the way of escape. No more striving
+and snubs and subterfuges.</p>
+
+<p>You didn't think of it as marrying for money. Nell, with the boundless
+optimism of youth, had always pictured herself falling in love
+with a nice rich man. And now she had fallen in love with Vernon
+Deyre. Her thoughts hadn't gone as far as marriage. She was just
+happy—wonderfully happy.</p>
+
+<p>She almost hated Vernon for dragging her down from the clouds. And she
+resented his easy taking for granted of her readiness to face poverty
+for his sake. If he'd put it differently. If he'd said: "I oughtn't to
+ask you—but do you think you <i>could</i> for my sake?" Something like that.</p>
+
+<p>So that she could feel that her sacrifice was being appreciated. For,
+after all, it <i>was</i> a sacrifice! She didn't want to be poor—she hated
+the idea of being poor. She was afraid of it. Vernon's contemptuous
+unworldly attitude infuriated her. It was so easy not to care about
+money when you'd never felt the lack of it. And Vernon hadn't. He
+wasn't aware of the fact, but there it was. He'd lived softly and
+comfortably and well.</p>
+
+<p>He said now in an astonished kind of way: "Oh! Nell, surely you
+wouldn't mind being poor?"</p>
+
+<p>"I've been poor, I tell you. I know what it's like."</p>
+
+<p>She felt years and years older than Vernon. He was a child—a baby!
+What did he know of the difficulties of getting credit? Of the money
+that she and her mother already owed? She felt suddenly terribly lonely
+and miserable. What was the good of men? They said wonderful things to
+you, they loved you, but did they ever try to understand? Vernon wasn't
+trying now. He was just saying condemnatory things, showing her how she
+had fallen in his estimation.</p>
+
+<p>"If you say that you can't love me."</p>
+
+<p>She replied helplessly: "You don't understand."</p>
+
+<p>They gazed at each other hopelessly. What had happened? Why were things
+like this between them?</p>
+
+<p>"You don't love me," repeated Vernon angrily.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Vernon, I do, I do...."</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly, like an enchantment, their love swept over them again. They
+clung together, kissing. They felt that age-long lovers' delusion
+that everything <i>must</i> come right because they loved. It was Vernon's
+victory. He still insisted on telling Mrs. Vereker. Nell opposed him
+no longer. His arms round her, his lips on hers ... she couldn't go on
+arguing. Better to give oneself up to the joy of being loved, to say:
+"Yes—yes darling, if you like ... anything you like."</p>
+
+<p>Yet, almost unknown to herself, under her love was a faint resentment.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>3</i></h3>
+
+<p>Mrs. Vereker was a clever woman. She was taken by surprise but she did
+not show it, and she adopted a different line from any that Vernon had
+pictured her taking. She was faintly derisively amused.</p>
+
+<p>"So you children think you are in love with one another? Well, well!"</p>
+
+<p>She listened to Vernon with such an expression of kindly irony that
+despite himself his tongue flustered and tripped.</p>
+
+<p>She gave a faint sigh as he subsided into silence.</p>
+
+<p>"What it is to be young! I feel quite envious. Now, my dear boy,
+just listen to me. I'm not going to forbid the banns or do anything
+melodramatic. If Nell really wants to marry you she shall. I don't
+say I won't be very disappointed if she does. She's my only child. I
+naturally hope that she will marry someone who can give her the best
+of everything, and surround her with every luxury and comfort. That, I
+think, is only natural."</p>
+
+<p>Vernon was forced to agree. Mrs. Vereker's reasonableness was extremely
+disconcerting, being so unexpected.</p>
+
+<p>"But, as I say, I'm not going to forbid the banns. What I do stipulate
+is that Nell should be thoroughly sure that she really knows her own
+mind. You agree to that, I'm sure?"</p>
+
+<p>Vernon agreed to that with an uneasy feeling of being entangled in a
+mesh from which he was presently not going to be able to escape.</p>
+
+<p>"Nell is very young. This is her first season. I want her to have every
+chance of being sure that she does like you better than any other man.
+If you agree between yourselves that you are engaged, that is one
+thing—a public announcement of your engagement is another. I could not
+agree to that. Any understanding between yourselves must be kept quite
+secret. I think you will see that that is only fair. Nell must be given
+every chance to change her mind if she wants to."</p>
+
+<p>"She doesn't want to!"</p>
+
+<p>"Then there is certainly no reason for objecting. As a gentleman you
+can hardly act otherwise. If you agree to these stipulations I will put
+no obstacle in the way of your seeing Nell."</p>
+
+<p>"But, Mrs. Vereker, I want to marry Nell quite soon."</p>
+
+<p>"And what exactly do you propose to marry on?"</p>
+
+<p>Vernon told her the salary he was getting from his uncle and explained
+the position in regard to Abbots Puissants.</p>
+
+<p>When he had finished she spoke. She gave a brief and succinct résumé of
+house rent, servants' wages, the cost of clothes, alluded delicately
+to possible perambulators, and then contrasted the picture with Nell's
+present position.</p>
+
+<p>Vernon was like the Queen of Sheba—no spirit was left in him. He was
+beaten by the relentless logic of facts. A terrible woman, Nell's
+mother—implacable. But he saw her point. He and Nell would have to
+wait. He must, as Mrs. Vereker said, give her every chance of changing
+her mind. Not that she would, bless her lovely heart!</p>
+
+<p>He essayed one last venture.</p>
+
+<p>"My uncle might increase my salary. He has spoken to me several times
+on the advantages of early marriages. He seems very keen on the
+subject."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" Mrs. Vereker was thoughtful for a minute or two. "Has he any
+daughters of his own?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, five, and the two oldest are married already."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Vereker smiled. A simple boy. He had quite misunderstood the point
+of her question. Still, she had found out what she wanted to know.</p>
+
+<p>"We'll leave it like that, then," she said.</p>
+
+<p>A clever woman!</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>4</i></h3>
+
+<p>Vernon left the house in a restless mood. He wanted badly to talk to
+someone sympathetic. He thought of Joe, then shook his head. He and Joe
+had almost quarrelled about Nell. Joe despised Nell as what she called
+a "regular empty-headed society girl." She was unfair and prejudiced.
+As a passport to Joe's favour, you had to have short hair, wear art
+smocks, and live in Chelsea.</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian, on the whole, was the best person. Sebastian was always
+willing to see your point of view, and he was occasionally unusually
+useful with his matter-of-fact common-sense point of view. A very sound
+fellow, Sebastian.</p>
+
+<p>Rich, too. How queer things were! If only he had Sebastian's money
+he could probably marry Nell to-morrow. Yet, with all that money,
+Sebastian couldn't get hold of the girl he wanted. Rather a pity. He
+wished Joe would marry Sebastian instead of some rotter or other who
+called himself artistic.</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian, alas, was not at home. Vernon was entertained by Mrs.
+Levinne. Strangely enough, he found a kind of comfort in her bulky
+presence. Funny fat old Mrs. Levinne with her jet and her diamonds and
+her greasy black hair managed to be more understanding than his own
+mother.</p>
+
+<p>"You mustn't be unhappy, my dear," she said. "I can see you are. It's
+some girl, I suppose? Ah, well, well, Sebastian is just the same about
+Joe. I tell him he must be patient. Joe's just kicking up her heels at
+present. She'll settle down soon and begin to find out what it is she
+really does want."</p>
+
+<p>"It would be awfully jolly if she married Sebastian. I wish she would.
+It would keep us all together."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes—I'm very fond of Joe myself. Not that I think she's really the
+wife for Sebastian—they'd be too far away to understand each other.
+I'm old-fashioned, my dear. I'd like my boy to marry one of our own
+people. It always works out best. The same interests, and the same
+instincts, and Jewish women are good mothers. Well, well, it may come;
+if Joe is really in earnest about not marrying him. And the same thing
+with you, Vernon. There are worse things than marrying a cousin."</p>
+
+<p>"Me? Marry Joe?"</p>
+
+<p>Vernon stared at her in utter astonishment. Mrs. Levinne laughed, a fat
+good-natured chuckle that shook her various chins.</p>
+
+<p>"Joe? No, indeed. It's your cousin Enid I'm talking about. That's the
+idea at Birmingham, isn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! no—at least—I'm sure it isn't."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Levinne laughed again.</p>
+
+<p>"I can see that you, at any rate, have never thought of it till this
+minute. But it would be a wise plan, you know—that is, if the other
+girl won't have you. Keeps the money in the family."</p>
+
+<p>Vernon went away with his brain tingling. All sorts of things fell into
+line. Uncle Sydney's chaff and hints. The way Enid was always being
+thrust at him. That, of course, was what Mrs. Vereker had been hinting
+at. They wanted him to marry Enid! Enid!</p>
+
+<p>Another memory came back to him. His mother and some old friend of
+hers whispering together. Something about first cousins. A sudden idea
+occurred to him. That was why Joe had been allowed to go to London. His
+mother had thought that he and Joe might....</p>
+
+<p>He gave a sudden shout of laughter. He and Joe! It showed how
+little his mother had ever understood. He could never, under any
+circumstances, imagine himself falling in love with Joe. They were
+exactly like brother and sister and always would be. They had the same
+sympathies, the same sharp divergences and differences of opinion. They
+were cast in the same mould, devoid of any glamour and romance for each
+other.</p>
+
+<p>Enid! So this was what Uncle Sydney was after. Poor old Uncle Sydney,
+doomed to disappointment—but he shouldn't have been such an ass.</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps, though, he was jumping to conclusions. Perhaps it wasn't Uncle
+Sydney—only his mother. Women were always marrying you to someone in
+their minds. Anyway, Uncle Sydney would soon know the truth.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>5</i></h3>
+
+<p>The interview between Vernon and his uncle wasn't very satisfactory.
+Uncle Sydney was both annoyed and upset, though he tried to conceal the
+fact from Vernon. He was uncertain at first which line to take and made
+one or two vague sallies in different directions.</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense, all nonsense, much too young to marry. Packet of nonsense."</p>
+
+<p>Vernon reminded his uncle of his own words.</p>
+
+<p>"Pooh!—I didn't mean this kind of marriage. Society girl—I know what
+they are."</p>
+
+<p>Vernon broke out hotly.</p>
+
+<p>"Sorry, my boy, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. But that kind of
+girl wants to marry money. You'll be no use to her for many years to
+come."</p>
+
+<p>"I thought perhaps——"</p>
+
+<p>Vernon paused. He felt ashamed, uncomfortable.</p>
+
+<p>"That I'd set you up with a large income, hey? Is that what the young
+lady suggested? Now, I put it to you, my boy, would that be business?
+No, I see that you know it isn't."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't feel that I'm even worth what you give me, Uncle Sydney."</p>
+
+<p>"Pooh, pooh, I wasn't saying that. You're doing very well for a start.
+I'm sorry about this affair—it will upset you. My advice to you is,
+give the whole thing up. Much the best thing to do."</p>
+
+<p>"I can't do that, Uncle Sydney."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, it's not my business. By the way, have you talked it over with
+your mother? No? Well, you have a good talk with her. See if she
+doesn't say the same as I do. I bet she will. And remember the old
+saying: a boy's best friend is his mother—hey?"</p>
+
+<p>Why did Uncle Sydney say such idiotic things? He always had as far as
+Vernon could remember back. And yet he was a shrewd and clever business
+man.</p>
+
+<p>Well, there was nothing for it. He must buckle to—and wait. The first
+misty enchantment of love was wearing off. It could be hell as well as
+heaven. He wanted Nell so badly—so badly.</p>
+
+<p>He wrote to her:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>Darling, there is nothing for it. We must be patient and wait. At any
+rate we'll see each other often. Your mother was really very decent
+about it—much more so than I thought she'd be. I do quite see the
+force of all she said. It's only fair that you should be free to see
+if you like anyone better than me. But you won't, will you, darling? I
+know you won't. We're going to love each other for ever and ever. And
+it won't matter how poor we are ... the tiniest place with you....</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="chapter_6II">chapter 6</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>Nell was relieved by her mother's attitude. She had feared
+recriminations, reproaches. Insensibly she always shrank from harsh
+words or any kind of scene. Sometimes she thought to herself bitterly:
+"I'm a coward. I can't stand up to things."</p>
+
+<p>She was definitely afraid of her mother. She had been dominated by her
+always, from the first moment she could remember. Mrs. Vereker had
+the hard imperious character which can rule most weaker natures with
+whom it comes in contact. And Nell was the more easily subdued because
+she understood well enough that her mother loved her and that it was
+because of that love that she was so determined that Nell should have
+the happiness out of life that she herself had failed to get.</p>
+
+<p>So Nell was immeasurably relieved when her mother uttered no
+reproaches, merely observed:</p>
+
+<p>"If you're determined to be foolish, well, there it is. Most girls have
+some little love affair or other which comes to nothing in the end. I
+haven't much patience with this sentimental nonsense myself. The boy
+can't possibly afford to marry for years to come and you'll only make
+yourself very unhappy. But you must please yourself."</p>
+
+<p>In spite of herself, Nell was influenced by this contemptuous attitude.
+She hoped against hope that Vernon's uncle might perhaps do something.
+Vernon's letter dashed her hopes.</p>
+
+<p>They must wait—and perhaps wait a very long time.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>2</i></h3>
+
+<p>In the meantime Mrs. Vereker had her own methods. One day she asked
+Nell to go and see an old friend—a girl who had married some few years
+ago. Amelie King had been a brilliant dashing creature whom Nell, as
+a schoolgirl, had admired enviously. She might have made a very good
+marriage, but to everyone's surprise she had married a struggling young
+man and had disappeared from her own particular gay world.</p>
+
+<p>"It seems unkind to drop old friends," said Mrs. Vereker. "I'm sure
+Amelie would be pleased if you went to see her, and you're not doing
+anything this afternoon."</p>
+
+<p>So Nell went off obediently to call on Mrs. Horton at 35 Glenster
+Gardens, Ealing.</p>
+
+<p>It was a hot day. Nell took the District Railway and inquired her way
+from Ealing Broadway Station when she got there.</p>
+
+<p>Glenster Gardens proved to be about a mile from the station—a long
+depressing road of little houses, all exactly alike. The door of No.
+35 was opened by a frowsy-looking maid with a dirty apron and Nell was
+shown into a small drawing room. There were one or two nice old pieces
+of furniture in it and the cretonnes and curtains were of an attractive
+pattern though very faded, but the place was very untidy and littered
+with children's toys and odd bits of mending. A child's fretful wail
+rose from somewhere in the house as the door opened and Amelie came in.</p>
+
+<p>"Nell, why how nice of you! I haven't seen you for years."</p>
+
+<p>Nell had quite a shock on seeing her. Could this be the well-turned-out
+attractive Amelie? Her figure had got sloppy, her blouse was shapeless
+and evidently homemade, and her face was tired and worried, with all
+the old dash and sparkle gone out of it.</p>
+
+<p>She sat down and they talked. Presently Nell was taken to see the two
+children, a boy and a girl, the younger a baby in a cot.</p>
+
+<p>"I ought to take them out now," said Amelie, "but really I'm too
+tired this afternoon. You don't know how tired one can get pushing a
+perambulator all the way up from the shops as I did this morning."</p>
+
+<p>The boy was an attractive child, the baby girl looked sickly and
+peevish.</p>
+
+<p>"It's partly her teeth," said Amelie. "And then her digestion is weak,
+the doctor says. I do wish she wouldn't cry so at night. It's annoying
+for Jack, who needs his sleep after working all day."</p>
+
+<p>"You don't have a nurse?"</p>
+
+<p>"Can't afford it, my dear. We have the half-wit—that's what we call
+the girl who opened the door to you. She's a complete idiot, but she
+comes cheap and she really will set to and do some work, which is more
+than most of them will do. A general servant hates coming anywhere
+where there are children."</p>
+
+<p>She called out: "Mary, bring some tea," and led the way back to the
+drawing room.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! dear, Nell, do you know I almost wish you hadn't come to see me.
+You look so smart and cool—you remind me of all the fun one used to
+have in the old days. Tennis and dancing and golf and parties."</p>
+
+<p>Nell said timidly: "But you're happy...."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! of course. I'm only enjoying a grumble. Jack's a dear, and then
+there are the children, only sometimes—well, one is really too tired
+to care for anyone or anything. I feel I'd sell my nearest and dearest
+for a tiled bathroom and bath salts and a maid to brush my hair and
+lovely silken garments to slip into. And then you hear some rich idiot
+holding forth on how money doesn't bring happiness. Fools!"</p>
+
+<p>She laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me some news, Nell. I'm so out of things nowadays. You can't keep
+up if you have no money. I never see any of the old crowd."</p>
+
+<p>They gossiped a little. So and So was married, So and So had had a row
+with her husband, So and So had got a new baby, and about So and So
+there was the most terrible scandal.</p>
+
+<p>Tea was brought, rather untidily, with smeary silver and thick bread
+and butter. As they were finishing, the front door was opened with a
+key and a man's voice sounded from the hall fretful and irritable.</p>
+
+<p>"Amelie—I say, it is too bad. I only ask you to do one thing and you
+go and forget it. This parcel has never been taken down to Jones's. You
+said you would."</p>
+
+<p>Amelie ran out to him in the hall. There was a quick interchange of
+whispers. She brought him into the drawing room where he greeted Nell.
+The child in the nursery began to wail again.</p>
+
+<p>"I must go to her," said Amelie, and hurried away.</p>
+
+<p>"What a life!" said Jack Horton. He was still very good-looking though
+his clothes were distinctly shabby and there were bad-tempered lines
+coming round his mouth. He laughed as though it were a great joke.
+"You've found us at sixes and sevens, Miss Vereker. We always are.
+Traveling to and fro in trains this weather is very trying—and no
+peace in the home when you get there!"</p>
+
+<p>He laughed again and Nell laughed too, politely. Amelie came back
+holding the child in her arms. Nell rose to go. They came with her to
+the door. Amelie sent messages to Mrs. Vereker and waved her hand.</p>
+
+<p>At the gate Nell looked back and caught the expression on Amelie's
+face. A hungry envious look.</p>
+
+<p>In spite of herself Nell's heart sank. Was this the inevitable end? Did
+poverty kill love?</p>
+
+<p>She reached the main road and was walking along it in the direction of
+the station when an unexpected voice made her start.</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Nell, by all that's wonderful!"</p>
+
+<p>A big Rolls-Royce had drawn up to the curb. George Chetwynd sat behind
+the wheel smiling at her.</p>
+
+<p>"If this isn't too good to be true! I thought I saw a girl who was
+mighty like you—from the back view anyhow—so I slowed down to have
+a look at her face, and it was your very self. Are you going back to
+town? Because if so, step in."</p>
+
+<p>Nell stepped in obediently and settled herself contentedly beside the
+driver. The car glided forward smoothly, gathering power. A heavenly
+sensation, Nell thought—effortless, delightful.</p>
+
+<p>"And what are you doing in Ealing?"</p>
+
+<p>"I've been to see some friends."</p>
+
+<p>Moved by some obscure prompting, she described her visit. Chetwynd
+listened sympathetically, nodding his head from side to side, all the
+while driving the car with the perfection of a master.</p>
+
+<p>"If that isn't too bad," he said sympathetically. "You know, I hate
+to think of that poor girl. Women ought to be taken care of—to have
+their lives made easy for them. They ought to be surrounded with
+everything they want."</p>
+
+<p>He looked at Nell and said kindly: "It's upset you, I can see. You must
+have a very soft heart, Miss Nell."</p>
+
+<p>Nell looked at him with a sudden warming of her heart. She did like
+George Chetwynd. There was something so kind and reliable and strong
+about him. She liked his rather wooden face, and the way his graying
+hair grew back from his temples. She liked the square upright way he
+sat and the firm precision of his hands on the wheel. He looked the
+kind of man who could deal with any emergency, a man on whom you could
+<i>depend</i>. The brunt of things would always be on his shoulders, not on
+yours. Oh! yes, she liked George. He was a nice person to meet when you
+were tired at the end of a bothering day.</p>
+
+<p>"Is my tie crooked?" he asked suddenly without looking round.</p>
+
+<p>Nell laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"Was I staring? I'm afraid I was."</p>
+
+<p>"I felt the glance. What were you doing—sizing me up?"</p>
+
+<p>"I believe I was."</p>
+
+<p>"And I suppose I've been found utterly wanting."</p>
+
+<p>"No, very much the other way about."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't say these nice things—which I'm sure you don't mean. You
+excited me so much that I nearly collided with a tram then."</p>
+
+<p>"I never say things I don't mean."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you? I wonder now." His voice altered, "There's something I've
+wanted to say to you for a long time. This is a funny place to say it,
+but I'm going to take the plunge here and now. Will you marry me, Nell?
+I want you very badly."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" Nell was startled. "Oh! no, I couldn't."</p>
+
+<p>He shot a quick glance at her before returning to his task of steering
+through the traffic. He slowed down a little.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you mean that, I wonder? I know I'm too old for you——"</p>
+
+<p>"No—you're not—I mean, it's not that."</p>
+
+<p>A little smile twisted his mouth.</p>
+
+<p>"I must be twenty years older than you, Nell, at least. It's a lot,
+you know. But I do honestly believe that I could make you happy.
+Queerly enough, I'm sure of it."</p>
+
+<p>Nell didn't answer for a minute or two. Then she said rather weakly:
+"Oh! but really, I couldn't."</p>
+
+<p>"Splendid! You said it much less decidedly that time."</p>
+
+<p>"But indeed——"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not going to bother you any more just now. We'll take it that
+you've said No this time. But you aren't always going to say No, Nell.
+I can afford to wait quite a long time for what I want to have. Some
+day you'll find yourself saying Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I shan't."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, you will, dear. There's no one else, is there? Ah! but I know
+there isn't."</p>
+
+<p>Nell didn't answer. She told herself that she didn't know what to say.
+She had tacitly promised her mother that nothing should be said about
+her engagement.</p>
+
+<p>And yet somewhere, deep down, she felt ashamed.</p>
+
+<p>George Chetwynd began cheerfully to talk of various outside topics.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="chapter_7II">chapter 7</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>August was a difficult month for Vernon. Nell and her mother were in
+Dinard. He wrote to her and she to him, but her letters told him little
+or nothing of what he wanted to know. She was having a gay time, he
+gathered, and enjoying herself though longing for Vernon to be there.</p>
+
+<p>Vernon's work was of the purely routine order. It required little
+intelligence. You needed to be careful and methodical, that was all.
+His mind, free from other distractions, swung back to its secret love,
+music.</p>
+
+<p>He had formed the idea of writing an opera and had taken for his theme
+the half-forgotten fairy story of his youth. It was now bound up in his
+mind with Nell—the whole strength of his love for her flowed into
+this new channel.</p>
+
+<p>He worked feverishly. Nell's words about his living comfortably with
+his mother had rankled, and he had insisted on having rooms of his own.
+The ones he had found were very cheap, but they gave him an unexpected
+sense of freedom. At Carey Lodge he would never have been able to
+concentrate. His mother would have been, he knew, forever fussing after
+him, urging him to come to bed. Here, in Arthur Street, he could, and
+often did, sit up till five in the morning if he liked.</p>
+
+<p>He got very thin and haggard-looking. Myra worried about his health and
+urged patent restoratives upon him. He assured her curtly that he was
+all right. He told her nothing of what he was doing. Sometimes he would
+be full of despair over his work, at others a sudden sense of power
+would rush over him as he knew that some small infinitesimal fragment
+was good.</p>
+
+<p>Occasionally he went to town and spent a week-end with Sebastian, and
+on two occasions Sebastian came down to Birmingham. Sebastian was
+Vernon's most valued stand-by at this time. His sympathy was real and
+not assumed and it had a twofold character. He was interested as a
+friend and also from his own professional standpoint. Vernon had an
+enormous respect for Sebastian's judgment in all things artistic. He
+would play excerpts on the piano he had hired, explaining as he did so
+the proper orchestration. Sebastian listened, nodding very quietly,
+speaking little. At the end he would say:</p>
+
+<p>"It's going to be good, Vernon. Get on with it."</p>
+
+<p>He never uttered a word of destructive criticism, for in his belief
+such a word might be fatal. Vernon needed encouragement and nothing but
+encouragement.</p>
+
+<p>He said one day: "Is this what you meant to do at Cambridge?"</p>
+
+<p>Vernon considered for a minute.</p>
+
+<p>"No," he said at last. "At least, it's not what I meant originally.
+After that concert, you know. It's gone again—the thing I saw then.
+Perhaps it'll come back again sometime. This is, I suppose, the usual
+sort of thing, conventional—and all that. But here and there I've got
+what I mean into it."</p>
+
+<p>"I see."</p>
+
+<p>To Joe, Sebastian said plainly what he thought.</p>
+
+<p>"Vernon calls this the 'usual sort of thing,' but as a matter of fact
+it isn't. It's entirely unusual. The whole orchestration is conducted
+on an unusual plan. What it is, though, is immature. Brilliant but
+immature."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you told him so?"</p>
+
+<p>"Good Lord, no. One disparaging word and he'd shrivel up and consign
+the whole thing to the waste-paper basket. I know these people. I'm
+spoon feeding him with praise at present. We'll have the pruning knife
+and the garden syringe later. I've mixed my metaphors, but you know
+what I mean."</p>
+
+<p>In early September Sebastian gave a party to meet Herr Radmaager, the
+famous composer. Vernon and Joe were bidden to attend.</p>
+
+<p>"Only about a dozen of us," said Sebastian. "Anita Quarll, whose
+dancing I'm interested in—she's a rotten little devil, though.
+Jane Harding—you'll like her. She's singing in this English Opera
+business. Wrong vocation—she's an actress, not a singer. You and
+Vernon—Radmaager—two or three others. Radmaager will be interested in
+Vernon—he's well disposed toward the younger generation."</p>
+
+<p>Both Joe and Vernon were elated.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think I'll ever do anything, Joe? Really do anything, I mean."</p>
+
+<p>Vernon sounded dispirited.</p>
+
+<p>"Why not?" said Joe valiantly.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know. Everything I've done just lately is rotten. I started
+all right. But now I'm stale as stale. I'm tired before I start."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose that's because you work all day."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose it is."</p>
+
+<p>He was silent for a minute or two and then said: "It'll be wonderful
+meeting Radmaager. He's one of the few men who writes what I call
+music. I wish I could talk to him about what I really think—but it
+would be such awful cheek."</p>
+
+<p>The party was of an informal character. Sebastian had a large studio,
+empty save for a dais, a grand piano, and a large quantity of cushions
+thrown down at random about the floor. At one end was a hastily put
+trestle table and on this were piled viands of all descriptions.</p>
+
+<p>You collected what you wanted and then pitched your cushion. When Joe
+and Vernon arrived a girl was dancing—a small red-haired girl with a
+lithe sinewy body. Her dancing was ugly but alluring.</p>
+
+<p>She finished to loud applause and leaped down from the dais.</p>
+
+<p>"Bravo, Anita," said Sebastian. "Now then, Vernon and Joe, have you got
+what you want? That's right. You'd better sink down gracefully by Jane.
+This is Jane."</p>
+
+<p>They sank down as bidden. Jane was a tall creature with a beautiful
+body and a mass of very dark brown hair coiled low on her neck. Her
+face was too broad for beauty and her chin too sharp. Her eyes were
+deep-set and green. She was about thirty, Vernon thought. He found her
+disconcerting, but attractive.</p>
+
+<p>Joe began to talk to her eagerly. Her enthusiasm for sculpture had been
+waning of late. She had always had a high soprano voice and she was now
+coquetting with the idea of becoming an opera singer.</p>
+
+<p>Jane Harding listened sympathetically enough, emitting a faintly amused
+monosyllable from time to time. Finally she said:</p>
+
+<p>"If you like to come round to my flat, I'll try your voice, and I can
+tell you in two minutes just what your voice is good for."</p>
+
+<p>"Would you really? That's awfully kind of you."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! not at all. You can trust me. You can't trust someone who makes
+their living by teaching to tell you the truth."</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian came up and said: "What about it, Jane?"</p>
+
+<p>She got up from the floor—rather a beautiful movement. Then, looking
+round, she said in the curt voice of command one would use to a dog:</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Hill."</p>
+
+<p>A small man, rather like a white worm, bustled forward with an
+ingratiating twist of the body. He followed her up to the dais.</p>
+
+<p>She sang a French song Vernon had never heard before.</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">"<i>J'ai perdu mon amie—elle est morte,</i></div>
+    <div class="verse indent0"><i>Tout s'en va cette fois à jamais,</i></div>
+    <div class="verse indent0"><i>A jamais, pour toujours elle emporte</i></div>
+    <div class="verse indent0"><i>Le dernier des amours que j'aimais.</i></div>
+  </div>
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">"<i>Pauvre nous! Rien ne m'a crié l'heure</i></div>
+    <div class="verse indent0"><i>Où là-bas se nouait son linceul</i></div>
+    <div class="verse indent0"><i>On m'a dit, 'Elle est morte!' Et tout seul</i></div>
+    <div class="verse indent0"><i>Je répète, 'Elle est morte!' Et je pleure....</i>"</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>Like most people who heard Jane Harding sing, Vernon was quite unable
+to criticize the voice. She created an emotional atmosphere—the voice
+was only an instrument. The sense of overwhelming loss, of dazed grief,
+the final relief of tears.</p>
+
+<p>There was applause. Sebastian murmured: "Enormous emotional
+power—that's it."</p>
+
+<p>She sang again. This time it was a Norwegian song about falling snow.
+There was no emotion in her voice whatsoever—it was like the white
+flakes of the snow: monotonous, exquisitely clear, finally dying away
+to silence on the last line.</p>
+
+<p>In response to applause she sang yet a third song. Vernon sat up,
+suddenly alert.</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">"<i>I saw a Fairy lady there</i></div>
+    <div class="verse indent0"><i>With long white hands and drowning hair</i></div>
+    <div class="verse indent0"><i>And oh! her face was wild and sweet,</i></div>
+    <div class="verse indent0"><i>Was sweet and wild and wild and strange and fair....</i>"</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>It was like a spell laid on the room—the sense of magic, of terrified
+enchantment. Jane's face was thrust forward. Her eyes looked out, past
+beyond—seeing—frightened yet fascinated.</p>
+
+<p>There was a sigh as she finished. A stout burly man with white hair <i>en
+brosse</i> pushed his way to Sebastian.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! my good Sebastian, I have arrived. I will talk to that young
+lady—at once, immediately."</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian went with him across the room to Jane. Herr Radmaager took
+her by both hands. He looked at her earnestly,</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," he said at last. "Your physique is good. I should say that both
+the digestion and the circulation were excellent. You will give me your
+address and I will come and see you. Is it not so?"</p>
+
+<p>Vernon thought: "These people are mad."</p>
+
+<p>But he noticed that Jane Harding seemed to take it as a matter of
+course. She wrote her address, talked to Radmaager for a few minutes
+longer, then came and rejoined Joe and Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>"Sebastian is a good friend," she remarked. "He knows that Herr
+Radmaager is looking for a Solveig for his new opera, <i>Peer Gynt</i>. That
+is why he asked me here to-night."</p>
+
+<p>Joe got up and went to talk to Sebastian. Vernon and Jane Harding were
+left alone.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me," said Vernon stammering a little. "That song you sang——"</p>
+
+<p>"Frosted snow?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, the last one. I—I heard it years ago—when I was a kid."</p>
+
+<p>"How curious, I thought it was a family secret."</p>
+
+<p>"A hospital nurse sang it to me when I broke my leg. I always loved it,
+but never thought I should hear it again."</p>
+
+<p>Jane Harding said thoughtfully: "I wonder now. Could that have been my
+Aunt Frances?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, that was her name. Nurse Frances. Was she your aunt? What's
+happened to her?"</p>
+
+<p>"She died a good many years ago. Diphtheria, caught from a patient."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! I'm sorry." He paused, hesitated, then blundered on, "I've always
+remembered her. She was—she was a wonderful friend to me as a kid."</p>
+
+<p>He caught Jane's green eyes looking at him, a steady kindly glance, and
+he knew at once of whom she had reminded him the first moment he saw
+her. She was like Nurse Frances.</p>
+
+<p>She said quietly: "You write music, don't you? Sebastian told me about
+you."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes—at least, I try to."</p>
+
+<p>He stopped, hesitated again. He thought: "She's terribly attractive. Do
+I like her? Why am I afraid of her?"</p>
+
+<p>He felt suddenly excited and exalted. He could do things—he <i>knew</i> he
+could do things....</p>
+
+<p>"Vernon!"</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian was calling him. He got up. Sebastian presented him to
+Radmaager. The great man was kindly and sympathetic.</p>
+
+<p>"I am interested," he said, "in what I hear about your work from my
+young friend here." He laid his hand on Sebastian's shoulder. "He is
+very astute, my young friend. In spite of his youth, he is seldom
+wrong. We will arrange a meeting and you shall show me your work."</p>
+
+<p>He moved on. Vernon was left quivering with excitement. Did he really
+mean it? He went back to Jane. She was smiling. Vernon sat down by
+her. A sudden wave of depression succeeded the exhilaration. What was
+the good of it all? He was tied, hand and foot, to Uncle Sydney and
+Birmingham. You couldn't write music unless you gave your whole time,
+your whole thoughts, your whole soul to it.</p>
+
+<p>He felt injured—miserable—yearning for sympathy. If only Nell were
+here. Darling Nell who always understood.</p>
+
+<p>He looked up and found Jane Harding watching him.</p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter?" she said.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish I were dead," said Vernon bitterly.</p>
+
+<p>Jane raised her eyebrows slightly.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," she said, "if you walk up to the top of this building and jump
+off, you can be."</p>
+
+<p>It was hardly the answer that Vernon had expected. He looked up
+resentfully, but her cool kindly glance disarmed him.</p>
+
+<p>"There's only one thing I care about in the whole world," he said
+passionately. "I want to write music. I <i>could</i> write music. And
+instead of that I'm stuck in a beastly business that I hate. Grinding
+away day after day! It's too sickening."</p>
+
+<p>"Why do you do it if you don't like it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because I have to."</p>
+
+<p>"I expect you want to really—otherwise you wouldn't," said Jane
+indifferently.</p>
+
+<p>"Haven't I told you that I want to write music more than anything else
+in the world?"</p>
+
+<p>"Then why don't you do it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because I can't, I tell you."</p>
+
+<p>He felt exasperated with her. She didn't seem to understand at all. Her
+view on life seemed to be that if you wanted to do anything, you just
+went and did it.</p>
+
+<p>He began pouring out things. Abbots Puissants, the concert, his uncle's
+offer, and then—Nell.</p>
+
+<p>When he had finished she said: "You do expect life to be rather a fairy
+story, don't you?"</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"Just that. You want to be able to live in the house of your
+forefathers, and to marry the girl you love, and to grow immensely
+rich, and to be a great composer. I dare say you might manage to do one
+of those four things if you give your whole mind to it. But it's not
+likely that you'll have everything, you know. Life isn't like a penny
+novelette."</p>
+
+<p>He hated her for the moment. And yet, even while he hated, he was
+attracted. He felt again the curious emotional atmosphere that she had
+created when singing. He thought to himself: "A magnetic field, that's
+what it is." And then again: "I don't like her. I'm afraid of her."</p>
+
+<p>A long-haired young man came up and joined them. He was a Swede, but he
+spoke excellent English.</p>
+
+<p>"Sebastian tells me that you will write the music of the future," he
+said to Vernon. "I have theories about the future. Time is only another
+dimension of space. You can move to and fro in time as you can move
+to and fro in space. Half your dreams are only confused memories of
+the future. And as you can be separated from your dear ones in space,
+so you can be separated from them in time, and that is the greatest
+tragedy there is or can be."</p>
+
+<p>Since he was clearly mad, Vernon paid no attention. He was not
+interested in theories of space and time. But Jane Harding leaned
+forward.</p>
+
+<p>"To be separated in time," she said. "I never thought of that."</p>
+
+<p>Encouraged, the Swede went on. He talked of time, and of ultimate
+space, and of time one, and of time two. Whether Jane was interested or
+not, Vernon did not know. She looked straight in front of her and did
+not appear to be listening. The Swede went on to time three and Vernon
+escaped.</p>
+
+<p>He joined Joe and Sebastian. Joe was being enthusiastic on the subject
+of Jane Harding.</p>
+
+<p>"I think she's wonderful. Don't you, Vernon? She's asked me to go and
+see her. I wish I could sing like that."</p>
+
+<p>"She's an actress, not a singer," said Sebastian. "A good sort, Jane.
+She's had rather a tragic life. For five years she lived with Boris
+Androv, the sculptor."</p>
+
+<p>Joe glanced over in Jane's direction with enhanced interest. Vernon
+felt suddenly young and crude. He could still see those enigmatical
+slightly mocking green eyes. He heard that amused ironical voice. <i>You
+do expect life to be a fairy story, don't you?</i> Hang it all, that hurt!</p>
+
+<p>And yet he had an immense desire to see her again.</p>
+
+<p>Should he ask her if he might?</p>
+
+<p>No, he couldn't.</p>
+
+<p>Besides, he was so seldom in town.</p>
+
+<p>He heard her voice behind him—a singer's voice, slightly husky.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-night, Sebastian. Thank you."</p>
+
+<p>She moved toward the door, looked over her shoulder at Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>"Come and see me some time," she said carelessly. "Your cousin has got
+my address."</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="Book_III">Book III</h2>
+</div>
+
+<h2>JANE</h2>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="chapter_1III">chapter 1</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>Jane Harding had a flat at the top of a block of mansions overlooking
+the river in Chelsea.</p>
+
+<p>Here, on the evening following the party, came Sebastian Levinne.</p>
+
+<p>"I've fixed it up, Jane," he said. "Radmaager is coming here to see you
+sometime to-morrow. He prefers to do that, it seems."</p>
+
+<p>"'Come, tell me how you live, he cried,'" quoted Jane. "Well, I'm
+living very nicely and respectably, entirely alone! Do you want
+something to eat, Sebastian?"</p>
+
+<p>"If there is anything?"</p>
+
+<p>"There are scrambled eggs and mushrooms, anchovy toast and black coffee
+if you'll sit here peaceably while I get them."</p>
+
+<p>She put the cigarette box and the matches beside him and left the room.
+In a quarter of an hour the meal was ready.</p>
+
+<p>"I like coming to see you, Jane," said Sebastian. "You never treat me
+as a bloated young Jew to whom only the flesh pots of the Savoy would
+make appeal."</p>
+
+<p>Jane smiled without speaking.</p>
+
+<p>Presently she said: "I like your girl, Sebastian."</p>
+
+<p>"Joe?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Joe."</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian said gruffly: "What—what do you really think of her?"</p>
+
+<p>Again Jane paused before answering.</p>
+
+<p>"So young," she said at last. "So terribly young."</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian chuckled.</p>
+
+<p>"She'd be very angry if she heard you."</p>
+
+<p>"Probably." After a minute she said: "You care for her very much, don't
+you, Sebastian?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. It's odd, isn't it, Jane, how little all the things you've got
+matter? I've got practically all the things I want, except Joe, and Joe
+is all that matters. I can see what a fool I am, but it doesn't make
+a bit of difference! What's the difference between Joe and a hundred
+other girls? Very little. And yet she's the only thing in the world
+that matters to me just now."</p>
+
+<p>"Partly because you can't get her."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps. But I don't think that's so entirely."</p>
+
+<p>"Neither do I."</p>
+
+<p>"What do you think of Vernon?" asked Sebastian after a pause.</p>
+
+<p>Jane changed her position, shading her face from the fire.</p>
+
+<p>"He's interesting," she said slowly, "partly, I think, because he is so
+completely unambitious."</p>
+
+<p>"Unambitious, do you think?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. He wants things made easy."</p>
+
+<p>"If so, he'll never do anything in music. You want driving power for
+that."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, you want driving power. But music will be the power that drives
+<i>him</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian looked up, his face alight and appreciative.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know, Jane," he said, "I believe you're right!"</p>
+
+<p>She smiled but made no answer.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish I knew what to make of the girl he's engaged to," said
+Sebastian.</p>
+
+<p>"What is she like?"</p>
+
+<p>"Pretty. Some people might call it lovely—but I'd call it pretty. She
+does the things that other people do, and does them very sweetly. She's
+not a cat. I'm afraid—yes, I am afraid now that she definitely cares
+for Vernon."</p>
+
+<p>"You needn't be afraid. Your pet genius won't be turned aside or held
+down. That doesn't happen. I'm more than ever sure, every day I live,
+that that doesn't happen."</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing would turn <i>you</i> aside, Jane, but then you have got driving
+power."</p>
+
+<p>"And yet, do you know, Sebastian, I believe I should be more easily
+'turned aside,' as you call it, than your Vernon? I know what I want
+and go for it—he doesn't know what he wants, or rather doesn't want
+it, but <i>it</i> goes for <i>him</i>.... And that <i>It</i>, whatever It is, <i>will</i>
+be served—no matter at what cost."</p>
+
+<p>"Cost to whom?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! I wonder...."</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian rose.</p>
+
+<p>"I must go. Thanks for feeding me, Jane."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you for what you've done for me with Radmaager. You're a very
+good friend, Sebastian. And I don't think success will ever spoil you."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! success...." He held out his hand.</p>
+
+<p>She laid both hands on his shoulders and kissed him.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear, I hope you will get your Joe. But if not I am quite sure you
+will get everything else!"</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>2</i></h3>
+
+<p>Herr Radmaager did not come to see Jane Harding for nearly a fortnight.
+He arrived without warning of any kind at half-past ten in the morning.
+He stumped into the flat without a word of apology and looked around
+the walls of the sitting room.</p>
+
+<p>"It is you who have furnished and papered this? Yes?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"You live here alone?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"But you have not always lived alone?"</p>
+
+<p>"No."</p>
+
+<p>Radmaager said unexpectedly: "That is good." Then he said commandingly:
+"Come here."</p>
+
+<p>He took her by both arms, and drew her toward the window. There he
+looked her over from head to foot. He pinched the flesh of her arm
+between finger and thumb, opened her mouth and looked down her throat,
+and finally put a large hand on each side of her waist.</p>
+
+<p>"Breathe in—good! Now out—sharply."</p>
+
+<p>He took a tape measure out of his pocket, made her repeat the two
+movements, passing the tape measure round her each time. Finally
+he pocketed it and put it away. Neither he nor Jane seemed to see
+anything curious in the proceedings.</p>
+
+<p>"It is well," said Radmaager. "Your chest is excellent, your throat
+is strong. You are intelligent—since you have not interrupted me. I
+can find many singers with a better voice than yours—your voice is
+very true, very beautiful, but it is not clear, a silver thread. If
+you force it, it will go—and where will you be then, I ask you? The
+music you sing now is absurd—if you were not pig-headed as the devil
+you would not sing those rôles. Yet I respect you because you are an
+artist."</p>
+
+<p>He paused, then went on:</p>
+
+<p>"Now listen to me. My music is beautiful and it will not hurt your
+voice. When Ibsen created Solveig he created the most wonderful woman
+character that has ever been created. My opera will stand and fall
+by its Solveig—and it is not sufficient to have a singer. There are
+Cavarossi, Mary Montner, Jeanne Dorta—all hope to sing Solveig. But I
+will not have it. What are they? Unintelligent animals with marvelous
+vocal chords. For my Solveig I must have a perfect instrument, an
+instrument with intelligence. You are a young singer—as yet unknown.
+You shall sing at Covent Garden next year in my <i>Peer Gynt</i> if you
+satisfy me. Now listen...."</p>
+
+<p>He sat down at Jane's piano and began to play—queer rhythmic
+monotonous notes.</p>
+
+<p>"It is the snow, you comprehend—the Northern snow. That is what your
+voice must be like—the snow. It is white like damask—and the pattern
+runs through it. But the pattern is in the music, not in your voice."</p>
+
+<p>He went on playing. Endless monotony, endless repetition, and yet
+suddenly the something that was woven through it caught your ear—what
+he had called the pattern.</p>
+
+<p>He stopped.</p>
+
+<p>"Well?"</p>
+
+<p>"It will be very difficult to sing."</p>
+
+<p>"Quite right. But you have an excellent ear. You wish to sing
+Solveig—yes?"</p>
+
+<p>"Naturally. It's the chance of a lifetime. If I can satisfy you."</p>
+
+<p>"I think you can." He got up again, laid his hands on her shoulders.
+"How old are you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Thirty-three."</p>
+
+<p>"And you have been very unhappy—that is so?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"How many men have you lived with?"</p>
+
+<p>"One."</p>
+
+<p>"And he was not a good man?"</p>
+
+<p>Jane answered evenly: "He was a very bad one."</p>
+
+<p>"I see. Yes, it is that which is written in your face. Now listen to
+me. All that you have suffered, all that you have enjoyed, you will
+put it into my music—not with abandon, not with unrestraint, but
+with controlled and disciplined force. You have intelligence and you
+have courage. Without courage nothing can ever be accomplished. Those
+without courage turn their backs on life. You will never turn your back
+on life. Whatever comes you will stand there facing it with your chin
+up and your eyes very steady.... But I hope, my child, that you will
+not be too much hurt."</p>
+
+<p>He turned away.</p>
+
+<p>"I will send on the score," he said over his shoulder. "And you will
+study it."</p>
+
+<p>He stumped out of the room and the flat door banged.</p>
+
+<p>Jane sat down by the table. She stared at the wall in front of her with
+unseeing eyes. Her chance had come.</p>
+
+<p>She murmured very softly to herself: "I'm afraid."</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>3</i></h3>
+
+<p>For a whole week Vernon debated the question of whether he should
+or should not take Jane at her word. He could get up to town at the
+week-end—but then perhaps Jane would be away. He felt miserably
+self-conscious and shy. Perhaps by now she had forgotten that she had
+asked him.</p>
+
+<p>He let the week-end go by. He felt that certainly by now she would have
+forgotten him. Then he got a letter from Joe in which she mentioned
+having seen Jane twice. That decided Vernon. At six o'clock on the
+following Saturday he rang the bell of Jane's flat.</p>
+
+<p>Jane herself opened it. Her eyes opened a little wider when she saw
+who it was. Otherwise she displayed no surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"Come in," she said. "I'm finishing my practising. But you won't mind."</p>
+
+<p>He followed her into a long room whose windows overlooked the river.
+It was very empty. A grand piano, a divan, a couple of chairs and
+walls that were papered with a wild riot of bluebells and daffodils.
+One wall alone was papered in sober dark green and on it hung a single
+picture—a queer study of bare tree trunks. Something about it reminded
+Vernon of his early adventures in the Forest.</p>
+
+<p>On the music stool was the little man like a white worm.</p>
+
+<p>Jane pushed a cigarette box toward Vernon, said in her brutal
+commanding voice, "Now, Mr. Hill," and began to walk up and down the
+room.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Hill flung himself upon the piano. His hands twinkled up and down
+it with marvellous speed and dexterity. Jane sang. Most of the time
+<i>sotto voce</i>, almost under her breath. Occasionally she would take a
+phrase full pitch. Once or twice she stopped with an exclamation of
+what sounded like furious impatience, and Mr. Hill was made to repeat
+from several bars back.</p>
+
+<p>She broke off quite suddenly by clapping her hands. She crossed to the
+fireplace, pushed the bell, and turning her head addressed Mr. Hill for
+the first time as a human being.</p>
+
+<p>"You'll stay and have some tea, won't you, Mr. Hill?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Hill was afraid he couldn't. He twisted his body apologetically
+several times and sidled out of the room. A maid brought in black
+coffee and hot buttered toast, which appeared to be Jane's conception
+of afternoon tea.</p>
+
+<p>"What was that you were singing?"</p>
+
+<p>"Electra—Richard Strauss."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! I liked it. It was like dogs fighting."</p>
+
+<p>"Strauss would be flattered. All the same, I know what you mean. It is
+combative."</p>
+
+<p>She pushed the toast toward him and added: "Your cousin's been here
+twice."</p>
+
+<p>"I know. She wrote and told me."</p>
+
+<p>He felt tongue-tied and uncomfortable. He had wanted so much to come,
+and now that he was here he didn't know what to say. Something about
+Jane made him uncomfortable. He blurted out at last:</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me truthfully—would you advise me to chuck work altogether and
+stick to music?"</p>
+
+<p>"How can I possibly tell? I don't know what you want to do."</p>
+
+<p>"You spoke like that the other night. As though everyone can do just
+what they like."</p>
+
+<p>"So they can. Not always, of course—but very nearly always. If you
+want to murder someone, there is really nothing to stop you. But you
+will be hanged afterwards—naturally."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't want to murder anyone."</p>
+
+<p>"No, you want your fairy story to end happily. Uncle dies and
+leaves you all his money. You marry your lady love and live at
+Abbots—whatever it's called—happily ever afterward."</p>
+
+<p>Vernon said angrily: "I wish you wouldn't laugh at me."</p>
+
+<p>Jane was silent a minute, then she said in a different voice: "I wasn't
+laughing at you. I was doing something I'd no business to do—trying to
+interfere."</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean, trying to interfere?"</p>
+
+<p>"Trying to make you face reality, and forgetting that you
+are—what—about eight years younger than I am?—and that your time for
+that hasn't yet come."</p>
+
+<p>He thought suddenly: "I could say anything to her—anything at all. She
+wouldn't always answer the way I wanted her to, though."</p>
+
+<p>Aloud he said: "Please go on. I'm afraid it's very egotistical, my
+talking about myself like this, but I'm so worried and unhappy. I want
+to know what you meant when you said the other evening that of the four
+things I wanted, I could get any one of them but not all together."</p>
+
+<p>Jane considered a minute.</p>
+
+<p>"What did I mean exactly? Why, just this. To get what you want, you
+must usually pay a price or take a risk—sometimes both. For instance,
+I love music—a certain kind of music. My voice is suitable for a
+totally different kind of music. It's an unusually good concert
+voice—not an operatic one, except for very light opera. But I've sung
+in Wagner, in Strauss—in all the things I like. I haven't exactly
+paid a price—but I take an enormous risk. My voice may give out any
+minute. I know that. I've looked the fact in the face and I've decided
+that the game is worth the candle.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, in your case, you mentioned four things. For the first, I suppose
+that if you remain in your uncle's business for a sufficient number
+of years you will grow rich without any further trouble. That's not
+very interesting. Secondly, you want to live at Abbots Puissants. You
+could do that to-morrow if you married a girl with money. Then the girl
+you're fond of, the girl you want to marry——"</p>
+
+<p>"Can I get her to-morrow?" asked Vernon. He spoke with a kind of angry
+irony.</p>
+
+<p>"I should say so—quite easily."</p>
+
+<p>"How?"</p>
+
+<p>"By selling Abbots Puissants. It is yours to sell, isn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but I couldn't do that. I couldn't—I couldn't...." Jane leaned
+back in her chair and smiled.</p>
+
+<p>"You prefer to go on believing that life is a fairy story?"</p>
+
+<p>"There must be some other way."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, of course there is another. Probably the simplest. There's
+nothing to stop you both going out to the nearest Registry Office.
+You've both got the use of your limbs."</p>
+
+<p>"You don't understand. There are hundreds of difficulties in the way.
+I couldn't ask Nell to face a life of poverty. She doesn't want to be
+poor."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps she can't."</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean by 'can't'?"</p>
+
+<p>"Just that. Can't. Some people can't be poor, you know."</p>
+
+<p>Vernon got up, walked twice up and down the room. Then he came back,
+dropped on the hearth rug beside Jane's chair, and looked up at her.</p>
+
+<p>"What about the fourth thing? Music? Do you think I could ever do that?"</p>
+
+<p>"That I can't say. Wanting mayn't be any use there. But if it does
+happen, I expect it will swallow up all the rest. They'll all
+go—Abbots Puissants, money, the girl. My dear, I don't feel life's
+going to be easy for you. Ugh! A goose is walking over my grave. Now
+tell me something about this opera Sebastian Levinne says you are
+writing."</p>
+
+<p>When he had finished telling her, it was nine o'clock. They both
+exclaimed and went out to a little restaurant together. As he said
+good-bye afterward his first diffidence returned.</p>
+
+<p>"I think you are one of the—the nicest people I ever met. You will
+let me come again and talk, won't you? If I haven't bored you too
+frightfully."</p>
+
+<p>"Any time you like. Good-night."</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>4</i></h3>
+
+<p>Myra wrote to Joe:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>Dearest Josephine:</p>
+
+<p>I am so worried about Vernon and this woman he is always going up to
+town to see—some opera singer or other. Years older than he is. It's
+so dreadful the way women like that get hold of boys. I am terribly
+worried and don't know what to do about it. I have spoken to your
+Uncle Sydney, but he was not very helpful about it and just said that
+boys will be boys. But I don't want <i>my</i> boy to be like that. I was
+wondering, dear Joe, if it would be any good my seeing this woman and
+begging her to leave my boy alone. Even a <i>bad</i> woman would listen
+to a mother, I think. Vernon is too young to have his life ruined. I
+really don't know what to do. I seem to have no influence over Vernon
+nowadays.</p>
+
+<p class="ph3">With much love,<br>
+Your affectionate<br>
+Aunt Myra.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Joe showed this letter to Sebastian.</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose she means Jane," said Sebastian. "I'd rather like to see an
+interview between them. Frankly, I think Jane would be amused."</p>
+
+<p>"It's too silly," said Joe hotly. "I wish to goodness Vernon <i>would</i>
+fall in love with Jane. It would be a hundred times better for him than
+being in love with that silly stick of a Nell."</p>
+
+<p>"You don't like Nell, do you, Joe?"</p>
+
+<p>"You don't like her either."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! yes, I do, in a way. She doesn't interest me very much, but I can
+quite see the attraction. In her own way, she's quite lovely."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, in a chocolate-box way."</p>
+
+<p>"She doesn't attract me, because to my mind there's nothing there to
+attract as yet. The real Nell hasn't happened. Perhaps she never will.
+I suppose to some people that is very attractive because it opens out
+all sorts of possibilities."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I think Jane is worth ten of Nell! The sooner Vernon gets over
+his silly calf love for Nell and falls in love with Jane instead, the
+better it will be."</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian lit a cigarette and said slowly: "I'm not sure that I agree
+with you."</p>
+
+<p>"Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, it's not very easy to explain. But, you see, Jane is a real
+person—very much so. To be in love with Jane might be a whole-time
+job. We're agreed, aren't we, that Vernon is very possibly a genius?
+Well, I don't think a genius wants to be married to a real person.
+He wants to be married to someone rather negligible—someone whose
+personality won't interfere. Now it may sound cynical, but that's
+what will probably happen if Vernon marries Nell. At the moment she
+represents—I don't quite know what to call it—what's that line?
+'The apple tree, the singing and the gold....' Something like that.
+Once he's married to her, that will go. She'll just be a nice pretty
+sweet-tempered girl whom, naturally, he loves very much. But she won't
+<i>interfere</i>. She'll never get between him and his work—she hasn't got
+sufficient personality. Now Jane might. She wouldn't mean to, but she
+might. It isn't Jane's beauty that attracts you—it's herself. She
+might be absolutely fatal to Vernon."</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said Joe, "I don't agree with you. I think Nell's a silly
+little ass and I should hate to see Vernon married to her. I hope it
+will all come to nothing."</p>
+
+<p>"Which is much the likeliest thing to happen," said Sebastian.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="chapter_2III">chapter 2</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>Nell was back in London. Vernon came up to see her the day after her
+return. She noticed the change in him at once. He looked haggard,
+excited. He said abruptly:</p>
+
+<p>"Nell, I'm going to chuck Birmingham."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>What?</i>"</p>
+
+<p>"Listen while I tell you...."</p>
+
+<p>He talked eagerly, excitedly. His music—he'd got to give himself up to
+it. He told her of the opera.</p>
+
+<p>"Listen, Nell. This is you—in your tower—with your golden hair
+hanging down and shining—shining in the sun."</p>
+
+<p>He went to the piano, began to play, explaining as he did so.
+"Violins—you see—and this is all for harps ... and these are the
+round jewels...."</p>
+
+<p>He played what seemed to Nell to be a series of rather ugly discords.
+She privately thought it all hideous. Perhaps it would sound
+differently played by an orchestra.</p>
+
+<p>But she loved him—and because she loved him, everything he did must be
+right. She smiled and said:</p>
+
+<p>"It's lovely, Vernon."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you really like it, Nell? Oh! sweetheart—you are so wonderful. You
+always understand. You're so sweet about everything."</p>
+
+<p>He came across to her, knelt down and buried his face on her lap.</p>
+
+<p>"I love you so ... I love you so."</p>
+
+<p>She stroked his dark head.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me the story of it."</p>
+
+<p>"Shall I? Well, you see, there's a princess in a tower with golden
+hair, and kings and knights come from all over the world to try and get
+her to marry them. But she's too haughty to look at any of them—the
+real good old fairy-story touch. And at last one comes—a kind of
+gypsy fellow—very ragged, with a little green hat on his head and a
+kind of pipe he plays on. And he sings and says that he has the biggest
+kingdom of anyone because his kingdom is the whole world—and that
+there are no jewels like his jewels, which are dewdrops. And they say
+he's mad and throw him out. But that night when the princess is lying
+in bed she hears him playing his song in the castle garden and she
+listens.</p>
+
+<p>"Then there's an old Jew pedlar man in the town and he offers the
+fellow gold and riches with which to win the princess, but the gypsy
+laughs and says, What could he give in exchange? And the old man says
+his green hat and the pipe he plays on, but the gypsy says he will
+never part with those.</p>
+
+<p>"He plays in the palace garden every night. There's an old bard in the
+palace and he tells a tale of how a hundred years ago a prince of the
+royal house was bewitched by a gypsy maid and wandered forth and was
+never seen again. And the princess listens to it, and at last one night
+she gets up and comes to the window. And the gypsy tells her to leave
+all her robes and jewels behind and to come out in a simple white gown.
+But she thinks in her heart that it's as well to be on the safe side,
+so she puts a pearl in the hem of her skirt, and she comes out, and
+they go off in the moonlight while he sings. But the pearl in her dress
+weighs her down and she can't keep up. And he goes on, not realizing
+that she's left behind....</p>
+
+<p>"I've told this very badly, like a story, but that's the end of the
+first act—his going off in the moonlight and her left behind weeping.
+There are three scenes. The castle hall, the market place, and the
+palace garden outside her window."</p>
+
+<p>"Won't that be very expensive—in the way of scenery, I mean?"
+suggested Nell.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know—I hadn't thought—oh! it can be managed, I expect."
+Vernon was irritated by these prosaic details.</p>
+
+<p>"Now the second act is near the market place. There is a girl there
+mending dolls—with black hair hanging down round her face. The gypsy
+comes along, and asks her what she's doing, and she says she's mending
+the children's toys—she's got the most wonderful needle and thread in
+the world. He tells her all about the princess and how he's lost her
+again, and he says he's going to the old Jew pedlar to sell his hat and
+his pipe, and she warns him not to—but he says he must.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish I could tell things better. I'm just giving you the story
+now—not the way I've divided it up, because I'm not exactly sure
+myself yet about that. I've got the music—that's the great thing:
+the heavy empty palace music—and the noisy clattering market-place
+music—and the princess—like that line of poetry, 'a singing stream
+in a silent vale,' and the doll mender all trees and dark woods like
+the Forest used to sound at Abbots Puissants; you know, enchanted and
+mysterious and a little frightening ... I think you'll have to have
+some instruments specially tuned for it.... Well, I won't go into that,
+it wouldn't interest you—it's too technical.</p>
+
+<p>"Where was I? Oh! yes, he turns up at the palace—as a great king this
+time—all clanking swords and horse trappings and blazing jewels,
+and the princess is overjoyed and they're going to be married and
+everything's all right. But he begins to get pale and weary, worse
+every day, and when anyone asks him what is the matter, he says,
+'Nothing.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Like you when you were a little boy at Abbots Puissants," said Nell
+smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"Did I say that? I don't remember. Well, then the night before the
+wedding he can't bear it any more, and he steals away from the palace
+and down to the market and wakes up the old Jew and says he must
+have back his hat and his pipe. He'll give back everything he got in
+exchange. The old Jew laughs, and throws down the hat, torn across, and
+the pipe, broken, at the prince's feet.</p>
+
+<p>"He's broken-hearted—the bottom knocked out of the world—and he
+wanders away with them in his hand, till he comes to where the doll
+mender is sitting with her feet tucked up under her, and he tells her
+what has happened and she tells him to lie down and sleep. And when he
+wakes in the morning there are his green hat and his pipe, mended so
+beautifully that no one could tell they had been mended.</p>
+
+<p>"And then he laughs for joy, and she goes to a cupboard and pulls out a
+similar little green hat and a pipe, and they go out together through
+the forest, and just as the sun rises on the edge of the forest, he
+looks at her and remembers. He says, 'Why, a hundred years ago I left
+my palace and my throne for love of you.' And she says, 'Yes. But
+because you were afraid you hid a piece of gold in the lining of your
+doublet, and the gleam of it enchanted your eyes and we lost each
+other. But now the whole world is ours and we will wander through it
+together for ever and ever.'"</p>
+
+<p>Vernon stopped. He turned an enthusiastic face upon Nell. "It ought to
+be lovely, the end ... so lovely. If I can get into the music what I
+see and hear: the two of them in their little green hats ... playing
+their pipes ... and the forest and the sun rising...."</p>
+
+<p>His face grew dreamy and ecstatic. He seemed to have forgotten Nell.</p>
+
+<p>Nell herself felt indescribable sensations sweep over her. She was
+afraid of this queer rapt Vernon. He had talked of music before to her,
+but never with this strange exalted passion. She knew that Sebastian
+Levinne thought Vernon might do wonderful things someday, but she
+remembered lives she had read of musical geniuses, and suddenly she
+wished with all her heart that Vernon might not have this marvellous
+gift. She wanted him as he had been heretofore, her eager boyish lover,
+the two of them wrapped in their common dream.</p>
+
+<p>The wives of musicians were always unhappy: she had read that
+somewhere. She didn't want Vernon to be a great musician. She wanted
+him to make some money quickly and live with her at Abbots Puissants.
+She wanted a sweet sane normal everyday life. Love—and Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>This thing—this kind of possession—was <i>dangerous</i>. She was sure it
+was dangerous.</p>
+
+<p>But she couldn't damp Vernon's ardour. She loved him far too much
+for that. She said, trying to make her voice sound sympathetic and
+interested:</p>
+
+<p>"What an unusual fairy story! Do you mean to say you've remembered it
+from ever since you were a child?"</p>
+
+<p>"More or less. I thought of it again that morning on the river at
+Cambridge—just before I saw you standing under that tree. Darling, you
+were so lovely—so lovely.... You always will be lovely, won't you? I
+couldn't bear it if you weren't. What idiotic things I am saying! And
+then, after that night at Ranelagh, that wonderful night when I told
+you that I loved you, all the music came pouring into my mind. Only
+I couldn't remember the story clearly—only really the bit about the
+tower.</p>
+
+<p>"But I've had marvellous luck. I've met a girl who is actually the
+niece of the hospital nurse who told me the story. And she remembered
+it perfectly and helped me to get it quite clearly again. Isn't it
+extraordinary the way things happen?"</p>
+
+<p>"Who is she, this woman?"</p>
+
+<p>"She's really rather a wonderful person, I think. Awfully nice and
+frightfully clever. She's a singer—Jane Harding. She sings Electra and
+Brunhild and Isolde with the new English Opera Company, and she may
+sing at Covent Garden next year. I met her at a party of Sebastian's. I
+want you to meet her. I'm sure you'd like her awfully."</p>
+
+<p>"How old is she? Young?"</p>
+
+<p>"Youngish—about thirty, I should think. She has an awfully queer
+effect on one. In a way you almost dislike her, and yet she makes you
+feel you can do things. She's been very good to me."</p>
+
+<p>"I dare say."</p>
+
+<p>Why did she say that? Why should she feel an unreasoning prejudice
+against this woman—this Jane Harding?</p>
+
+<p>Vernon was staring at her with rather a puzzled expression.</p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter, darling? You said that so queerly."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know." She tried to laugh. "A goose walking over my grave,
+perhaps."</p>
+
+<p>"Funny," said Vernon frowning. "Somebody else said that just lately."</p>
+
+<p>"Lots of people say it," said Nell laughing. She paused and then said:
+"I'd—I'd like to meet this friend of yours very much, Vernon."</p>
+
+<p>"I know. I want her to meet you. I've talked a lot about you to her."</p>
+
+<p>"I wish you wouldn't. Talk about me, I mean. After all, we promised
+Mother no one should know."</p>
+
+<p>"Nobody outside—but Sebastian knows and Joe."</p>
+
+<p>"That's different. You've known them all your life."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, of course. I'm sorry. I didn't think. I didn't say we were
+engaged, or tell your name or anything. You're not cross, are you, Nell
+darling?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course not."</p>
+
+<p>Even in her own ears her voice sounded hard. Why was life so horribly
+difficult? She was afraid of this music. Already it had made Vernon
+chuck up a good job. <i>Was</i> it the music? Or was it Jane Harding?</p>
+
+<p>She thought to herself desperately: "I wish I'd never met Vernon. I
+wish I'd never loved him. I wish—oh! I wish I didn't love so much. I'm
+afraid. I'm afraid...."</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>2</i></h3>
+
+<p>It was over! the plunge was taken! There was unpleasantness, of course.
+Uncle Sydney was furious; not, Vernon was forced to confess, without
+reason. There were scenes with his mother—tears—recriminations. A
+dozen times he was on the point of giving way, and yet, somehow or
+other, he didn't.</p>
+
+<p>He had a curious sense of desolation all the time. He was alone in this
+thing. Nell, because she loved him, agreed to all he said, but he was
+uncomfortably conscious that his decision had grieved and disturbed
+her, and might even shake her faith in the future. Sebastian thought
+the move premature. For the time being, he would have advised making
+the best of two worlds. Not that he said so. Sebastian never gave
+advice to anybody. Even the staunch Joe was doubtful. She realized that
+for Vernon to sever his connection with the Bents was serious, and she
+had not the real faith in Vernon's musical future which would have made
+her heartily applaud the step.</p>
+
+<p>So far in his life, Vernon had never had the courage to set himself
+definitely in opposition to everybody. When it was all over, and he
+was settled in the very cheap rooms which were all he could afford in
+London, he felt as one might who had overcome invincible odds. Then,
+and not till then, he went to see Jane Harding.</p>
+
+<p>He had held boyish imaginary conversations with her in his mind.</p>
+
+<p>"I have done what you told me."</p>
+
+<p>"Splendid! I knew you had the courage really."</p>
+
+<p>He was modest, she applauded. He was sustained and uplifted by her
+praise.</p>
+
+<p>The reality, as always, fell out quite differently. His intercourse
+with Jane always did. He was always holding imaginary conversations
+with Jane in his mind, and the reality was always totally different.</p>
+
+<p>In this case, when he announced, with due modesty, what he had done,
+she seemed to take it as a matter of course, with nothing particularly
+heroic about it. She said:</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you must have wanted to do it or you wouldn't have done it."</p>
+
+<p>He felt baffled, almost angry. A curious sense of constraint always
+came over him in Jane's presence. He could never be wholly natural with
+her. He had so much he wanted to say—but he found it difficult to say.
+He was tongue-tied—embarrassed. And then suddenly, for no reason,
+it seemed, the cloud would lift and he would be talking happily and
+easily, saying the things that came into his head.</p>
+
+<p>He thought: "Why am I so embarrassed with her? <i>She's</i> natural enough."</p>
+
+<p>It worried him. From the first moment he had met her, he had felt
+disturbed—afraid. He resented the effect she had on him and yet he was
+unwilling to admit how strong that effect was.</p>
+
+<p>An attempt to bring about a friendship between her and Nell failed.
+Vernon could feel that behind the outward cordiality that politeness
+dictates there was very little real feeling.</p>
+
+<p>When he asked Nell what she thought of Jane, she answered: "I like her
+very much. I think she's most interesting."</p>
+
+<p>He was more awkward approaching Jane, but she helped him.</p>
+
+<p>"You want to know what I think of your Nell? She is lovely—and very
+sweet."</p>
+
+<p>He said: "And you really think you'll be friends?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, of course not. Why should we?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, but——"</p>
+
+<p>He stammered, taken aback.</p>
+
+<p>"Friendship is not a kind of equilateral triangle. If A likes B and
+loves C, then C and B <i>et cetera, et cetera</i>.... We've nothing in
+common, your Nell and I. She, too, expects life to be a fairy story,
+and is just beginning to be afraid, poor child, that it mayn't be,
+after all. She's a Sleeping Beauty waking in the forest. Love, to her,
+is something very wonderful and very beautiful."</p>
+
+<p>"Isn't it that to you?"</p>
+
+<p>He had to ask. He wanted to know so badly. So often, so often, he'd
+wondered about Boris Androv, about those five years.</p>
+
+<p>She looked at him with a face from which all expression had died out.</p>
+
+<p>"Some day—I'll tell you."</p>
+
+<p>He wanted to say, "Tell me now," but he didn't. He said instead:</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me, Jane, what is life to you?"</p>
+
+<p>She paused a minute and then said: "A difficult, dangerous, but
+endlessly interesting adventure."</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>3</i></h3>
+
+<p>At last he was able to work. He began to appreciate to the full the
+joys of freedom. There was nothing to fray his nerves, nothing to
+dissipate his energy. It could flow, all in one steady stream, into
+his work. There were few distractions. At the moment, he had only just
+enough money to keep body and soul together. Abbots Puissants was still
+unlet....</p>
+
+<p>The autumn passed and most of the winter. He saw Nell once or twice a
+week, stolen unsatisfactory meetings. They were both conscious of the
+loss of the first fine rapture. She questioned him closely about the
+progress of the opera. How was it going? When did he expect it would be
+finished? What chances were there of its being produced?</p>
+
+<p>Vernon was vague as to all these practical aspects. He was concerned at
+the moment only with the creative side. The opera was getting itself
+born slowly, with innumerable pangs and difficulties, with a hundred
+setbacks owing to Vernon's own lack of experience and technique. His
+conversation was mostly of instrumental difficulties or possibilities.
+He went out with odd musicians who played in orchestras. Nell went to
+many concerts and was fond of music but it is doubtful if she could
+have told an oboe from a clarionet. She'd always imagined a horn and a
+French horn to be much the same thing. The technical knowledge needed
+in score writing appalled her, and Vernon's indifference to how and
+when the opera would be produced made her uneasy.</p>
+
+<p>He hardly realized himself how much his uncertain answers depressed and
+alienated Nell. He was startled one day when she said to him—indeed,
+not so much said as wailed:</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Vernon, don't try me too hard. It's so difficult—so difficult. I
+must have some hope. You don't understand."</p>
+
+<p>He looked at her astonished.</p>
+
+<p>"But Nell, it's all right <i>really</i>. It's only a question of being
+patient."</p>
+
+<p>"I know, Vernon. I shouldn't have said that, but you see——"</p>
+
+<p>She paused.</p>
+
+<p>"It makes it so much more difficult for me, darling," said Vernon, "if
+I feel that you're unhappy."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! I'm not—I won't be."</p>
+
+<p>But underneath, choked down, that old feeling of resentment lifted its
+head again. Vernon didn't understand or care how difficult things were
+for her. He never had the faintest conception of her difficulties.
+He would, perhaps, have called them silly, or trivial. They were, in
+one sense, but in another they weren't—since the sum total of them
+went to make up her life. Vernon didn't see or realize that she was
+fighting a battle—fighting it all the time. She could never relax. If
+he could only realize that, give her a word of cheer, show her that he
+understood the difficult position in which she was placed. But he never
+would see.</p>
+
+<p>A devastating sense of loneliness swept over Nell. Men were like
+that—they never understood or cared. Love—that seemed to solve
+everything. But really it didn't solve anything at all. She almost
+hated Vernon. Selfishly absorbed in his work, disliking her to be
+unhappy because it upset <i>him</i>....</p>
+
+<p>She thought: "Any <i>woman</i> would understand."</p>
+
+<p>And, moved by some obscure impulse, she went of her own accord to see
+Jane Harding.</p>
+
+<p>Jane was in, and if she was surprised to see Nell, she did not show it.
+They talked for some time of desultory things. Yet Nell had a feeling
+that Jane was waiting and watching, biding her time.</p>
+
+<p>Why had she come? She didn't know. She feared and distrusted
+Jane—perhaps that was why! Jane was her enemy. Yes, but she had a fear
+that her enemy had a wisdom denied to her. Jane (she put it to herself)
+was clever. She was, very possibly, bad—yes, she was sure Jane was
+bad—but somehow or other one might learn from her.</p>
+
+<p>She began rather blunderingly. Did Jane think that Vernon's music was
+likely to be successful—that is to say, successful <i>soon</i>? She tried
+in vain to keep a quaver out of her voice.</p>
+
+<p>She felt Jane's cool green eyes upon her.</p>
+
+<p>"Things getting difficult?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, you see——"</p>
+
+<p>It tumbled out, a great deal of it: the shifts, the difficulties,
+the unspoken force of her mother's silent pressure, a dimly veiled
+reference to Someone, name not given, Someone who understood and was
+kind and was rich.</p>
+
+<p>How easy to say these things to a woman—even a woman like Jane, who
+couldn't know anything about them. Women understood—they didn't pooh
+pooh trifles and make everything out to be unimportant.</p>
+
+<p>When she had finished, Jane said: "It's a little hard on you. When you
+first met Vernon you had no idea of this music business."</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't think it would be like this," said Nell bitterly.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, it's no good going back to what you didn't think, is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose not." Nell felt vaguely annoyed at Jane's tone. "Oh!" she
+broke out. "You feel, of course, that everything ought to give way to
+his music—that he's a genius—that I ought to be glad to make any
+sacrifice."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I don't," said Jane, "I don't think any of those things. I don't
+know what good geniuses are, or works of art either. Some people are
+born with a feeling that they matter more than anything else, and some
+people aren't. It's impossible to say who's right. The best thing for
+you would be to persuade Vernon to give up music, sell Abbots Puissants
+and settle down with you on the proceeds. But I do know this, that
+you haven't an earthly chance of getting him to give up music. These
+things, genius, art, whatever you like to call them, are much stronger
+than you are. You might just as well be King Canute on the seashore.
+You can't turn back Vernon from music."</p>
+
+<p>"What can I do?" said Nell hopelessly.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, you can either marry this other man you were talking of and be
+reasonably happy, or you can marry Vernon and be actively unhappy with
+periods of bliss."</p>
+
+<p>Nell looked at her.</p>
+
+<p>"What would you do?" she whispered.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! I should marry Vernon and be unhappy, but then some of us like
+taking our pleasures sadly."</p>
+
+<p>Nell got up. She stood in the doorway looking back at Jane who had not
+moved. She was lying back against the wall, smoking a cigarette, her
+eyes half closed. She looked a little like a cat, or a Chinese idol. A
+sudden wave of fury came over Nell.</p>
+
+<p>"I hate you," she cried. "You're taking Vernon away from me.
+Yes—<i>you</i>. You're bad—evil. I know it, I can feel it. You're a bad
+woman."</p>
+
+<p>"You're jealous," said Jane quietly.</p>
+
+<p>"You admit then, there's something to be jealous of? Not that Vernon
+loves you. He doesn't. He never would. It's you who want to get hold of
+him."</p>
+
+<p>There was silence—a pulsating silence. Then, without moving, Jane
+laughed. Nell hurried out of the flat, hardly knowing what she was
+doing.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>4</i></h3>
+
+<p>Sebastian came very often to see Jane. He usually came after dinner,
+ringing up first to find out if she would be at home. They both found a
+curious pleasure in each other's company. To Sebastian Jane recounted
+her struggles with the rôle of Solveig, the difficulties of the music,
+the difficulty of pleasing Radmaager, the still greater difficulty of
+pleasing herself. To Jane Sebastian imparted his ambitions, his present
+plans, his future vague ideals.</p>
+
+<p>One evening, after they had both been silent after a long spell of
+talking, he said:</p>
+
+<p>"I can talk to you better than anyone I know, Jane. I don't quite know
+why, either."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, in a way, we're both the same kind of person, aren't we?"</p>
+
+<p>"Are we?"</p>
+
+<p>"I think so. Not superficially, perhaps, but fundamentally. We both
+like truth. I think, as far as one can say that of oneself, we both see
+things as they are."</p>
+
+<p>"And you think most people don't?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course they don't. Nell Vereker, for instance. She sees things as
+they've been shown her, as she hopes they are."</p>
+
+<p>"A slave of convention, you mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but it works both ways. Joe, for instance, prides herself on
+being unconventional, but that makes just as much for narrowness and
+prejudice."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, if you're 'agin' everything irrespective of what it is. Joe is
+like that. She <i>must</i> be a rebel. She never really examines a thing on
+its merits. And that's what damns me so hopelessly in her eyes. I'm
+successful, and she admires failures. I'm rich, so she'd gain instead
+of lose if she married me. And being a Jew doesn't count against you
+much nowadays."</p>
+
+<p>"It's even fashionable," said Jane laughing.</p>
+
+<p>"And yet, do you know, Jane, I always have a queer feeling that Joe
+really likes me."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps she does. She's the wrong age for you, Sebastian. That Swede
+at your party said something wonderfully true—about separation in
+time being worse than separation in space. If you're the wrong age for
+a person, nothing keeps you apart so hopelessly. You may be made for
+one another, but be born at the wrong time for each other. Does that
+sound nonsense? I believe when she's about thirty-five, Joe could love
+you—the real essential you—madly. It'll take a woman to love you,
+Sebastian, not a girl."</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian was looking into the fire. It was a cold February day, and
+there were logs piled up on the coals. Jane hated gas fires.</p>
+
+<p>"Have you ever wondered, Jane, why we don't fall in love with each
+other, you and I? Platonic friendship doesn't usually work. And
+you're very attractive. There's a lot of the siren about you—quite
+unconscious, but it's there."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps we should under normal conditions."</p>
+
+<p>"Aren't we under normal conditions? Oh! wait a minute—I know what you
+mean. You mean, the line's already engaged."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. If you didn't love Joe——"</p>
+
+<p>"And if you——"</p>
+
+<p>He stopped.</p>
+
+<p>"Well?" said Jane. "You knew, didn't you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I suppose so. You don't mind talking about it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not in the least. If a thing's there, what does it matter if you talk
+of it or not?"</p>
+
+<p>"Are you one of the people, Jane, who believe that if you want a thing
+enough you can make it happen?"</p>
+
+<p>Jane considered.</p>
+
+<p>"No—I don't think I am. So many things happen to you naturally that
+it keeps you busy without—well, looking for things as well. When a
+thing's offered you, you've got to choose whether you'll accept it or
+refuse it. That's destiny. And when you've made your choice you must
+abide by it without looking back."</p>
+
+<p>"That's the spirit of Greek tragedy. You've got Electra into your
+bones, Jane." He picked up a book from the table. "<i>Peer Gynt?</i> You're
+steeping yourself in Solveig, I see."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. It's more her opera than Peer's. You know, Sebastian, Solveig
+is a wonderfully fascinating character—so impassive, so calm, and
+yet so utterly certain that her love for Peer is the only thing in
+heaven or earth. She knows that he wants and needs her though he never
+tells her so, she is abandoned and deserted by him, and manages to
+turn that desertion into a crowning proof of his love. By the way,
+that Whitsuntide music of Radmaager's is perfectly glorious. You know:
+'Blessed is he who has made my life blessed!' To show that the love of
+a man can turn into a kind of impassioned nun is difficult but rather
+wonderful."</p>
+
+<p>"Is Radmaager pleased with you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Sometimes he is. Yesterday, on the other hand, he consigned my soul to
+hell and shook me till my teeth rattled. He was perfectly right, too. I
+sang it all wrong—like a melodramatic stage-struck girl. It's got to
+be sheer force of will—restraint. Solveig must be so soft and gentle
+but really so terribly strong. It's like Radmaager said the first day.
+Snow—smooth snow—with a wonderful clear design running through it."</p>
+
+<p>She went on to talk of Vernon's work.</p>
+
+<p>"It's almost finished, you know. I want him to show it to Radmaager."</p>
+
+<p>"Will he?"</p>
+
+<p>"I think so. Have you seen it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Parts of it only."</p>
+
+<p>"What do you think of it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'll hear what you think of it first, Jane. Your judgment's as good as
+mine any day where music is concerned."</p>
+
+<p>"It's crude. There's too much in it—too much good stuff. He hasn't
+learned how to handle his material, but the material is there—masses
+and masses of it. Do you agree?"</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian nodded.</p>
+
+<p>"Absolutely. I'm more sure than ever that Vernon is going to—well,
+revolutionize things. But there's a nasty time coming. He'll have to
+face the fact that what he's written isn't, when all's said and done, a
+commercial proposition."</p>
+
+<p>"You mean, it couldn't be produced?"</p>
+
+<p>"That's what I mean."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>You</i> could produce it."</p>
+
+<p>"You mean, out of friendship?"</p>
+
+<p>"That's what I meant."</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian got up and began to pace up and down.</p>
+
+<p>"To my way of thinking, that's unethical," he said at last.</p>
+
+<p>"And also you don't like losing money."</p>
+
+<p>"Quite true."</p>
+
+<p>"But you could afford to lose a certain amount without—well, noticing
+it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I always notice losing money. It affects—well, my pride."</p>
+
+<p>Jane nodded.</p>
+
+<p>"I understand that. But I don't think, Sebastian, that you need lose
+money."</p>
+
+<p>"My dear Jane——"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't argue with me till you know what I'm arguing about. You're going
+to produce a certain amount of what the world calls 'highbrow' stuff
+at the little Holborn theatre, aren't you? Well, this summer—say the
+beginning of July—produce <i>The Princess in the Tower</i> for—say—two
+weeks. Don't produce it from the point of view of an opera (don't tell
+Vernon this, by the way—but there, you wouldn't. You're not an idiot)
+but from the point of view of a musical spectacular play. Unusual
+scenery and weird lighting effects—you're keen on lighting, I know.
+The Russian ballet—that's what you've got to aim at; that's the—the
+<i>tone</i> of it. Have good singers, but attractive ones to look at as
+well. And now, putting modesty in the background, I'll tell you this.
+I'll make a success of it for you."</p>
+
+<p>"You—as the princess?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, my dear child, as the doll mender. It's a weird character—a
+character that will attract and arrest. The music of the doll mender is
+the best thing Vernon has done. Sebastian, you've always said I could
+act. They're going to let me sing at Covent Garden this season because
+I can act. I shall make a hit. I know I can act—and acting counts for
+a lot in opera. I can—I can <i>sway</i> people. I can make them <i>feel</i>.
+Vernon's opera will need licking into shape from the dramatic point of
+view. Leave that to me. From the musical side, you and Radmaager may be
+able to make suggestions—if he'll take them. Musicians are the devil
+to deal with, as we all know. The thing can be done, Sebastian."</p>
+
+<p>She leaned forward, her face vivid and impressive. Sebastian's face
+grew more impassive, as it always did when he was thinking hard. He
+looked appraisingly at Jane, weighing her, not from the personal
+standpoint, but from the impersonal. He believed in Jane, in her
+dynamic force, inner magnetism, in her wonderful power of communicating
+emotion over the footlights.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll think it over," he said quietly. "There's something in what you
+say."</p>
+
+<p>Jane laughed suddenly,</p>
+
+<p>"And you'll be able to get me very cheap, Sebastian," she said.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall expect to," said Sebastian gravely. "My Jewish instincts must
+be appeased somehow. You're putting this thing over on me, Jane—don't
+imagine that I don't know it!"</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="chapter_3III">chapter 3</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>At last "The Princess in the Tower" was finished. Vernon suffered from
+a tremendous wave of reaction. The whole thing was rotten—hopeless.
+Best to chuck it into the fire.</p>
+
+<p>Nell's sweetness and encouragement were like manna to him at this time.
+She had that wonderful instinct for always saying the words he longed
+to hear. But for her, as he constantly told her, he would have given
+way to despair long ago.</p>
+
+<p>He had seen less of Jane during the winter. She had been on tour
+with the English Opera Company part of the time. When she sang in
+<i>Electra</i> in Birmingham, he went down for it. He was tremendously
+impressed—loved both the music and Jane's impersonation of Electra.
+That ruthless will, that determined: "Say naught but dance on!" She
+gave the impression of being more spirit than flesh. He was conscious
+that her voice was really too weak for the part, but somehow it didn't
+seem to matter. She <i>was</i> Electra—that fanatical fiery spirit of
+relentless doom.</p>
+
+<p>He stayed a few days with his mother—days which he found trying and
+difficult. He went to see his Uncle Sydney and was received coldly.
+Enid was engaged to be married to a solicitor, and Uncle Sydney was not
+too pleased about it.</p>
+
+<p>Nell and her mother were away for Easter. On their return Vernon rang
+up and said he must see her immediately. He arrived with a white face
+and burning eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Nell, do you know what I've heard? Everyone has been saying that you
+are going to marry George Chetwynd. <i>George Chetwynd!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>"Who said so?"</p>
+
+<p>"Lots of people. They say you go round with him everywhere."</p>
+
+<p>Nell looked frightened and unhappy.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish you wouldn't believe things. And Vernon, don't look so—so
+accusing. It's perfectly true that he has asked me to marry him—twice,
+as a matter of fact."</p>
+
+<p>"That old man?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Vernon, don't be ridiculous. He's only about forty-one or -two."</p>
+
+<p>"Nearly double your age. Why, I thought he wanted to marry your mother,
+perhaps."</p>
+
+<p>Nell laughed in spite of herself.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! dear, I wish he would. Mother's really awfully handsome still."</p>
+
+<p>"That's what I thought that night at Ranelagh. I never guessed—I never
+dreamed—that it was <i>you</i>! Or hadn't it begun then?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! yes, it had begun—as you call it. That was why Mother was so
+angry that night—at my going off alone with you."</p>
+
+<p>"And I never guessed! Nell, you might have told me!"</p>
+
+<p>"Told you what? There wasn't anything to tell—then!"</p>
+
+<p>"No, I suppose not. I'm being an idiot. But I do know he's awfully
+rich. I get frightened sometimes. Oh! darling Nell, it was beastly of
+me to doubt you—even for a minute. As though you'd ever care how rich
+anyone was."</p>
+
+<p>Nell said irritably: "Rich, rich, rich! You harp on that. He's awfully
+kind and awfully nice, too."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I dare say."</p>
+
+<p>"He is, Vernon. Really he is."</p>
+
+<p>"It's nice of you to stick up for him, darling, but he must be an
+insensitive sort of brute to hang round after you've refused him twice."</p>
+
+<p>Nell did not answer. She looked at him in a way he did not
+understand—something piteous and appealing and yet defiant in that
+strange limpid gaze. It was as though she looked at him from a world so
+far removed from his that they might be on different spheres.</p>
+
+<p>He said: "I feel ashamed of myself, Nell. But you're so lovely,
+everyone must want you."</p>
+
+<p>She broke down suddenly—began to cry. He was startled. She cried on,
+sobbed on his shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know what to do—I don't know what to do. I'm so unhappy. If I
+could only talk to you."</p>
+
+<p>"But you can talk to me, darling. I'm here listening."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, no ... I can never talk to you. You don't understand. It's all
+no use."</p>
+
+<p>She cried on. He kissed her, soothed her, poured out all his love....</p>
+
+<p>When he had gone her mother came into the room, an open letter in her
+hand.</p>
+
+<p>She did not appear to notice Nell's tear-stained face.</p>
+
+<p>"George Chetwynd sails for America on the thirtieth of May," she
+remarked as she went across to her desk.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't care when he sails," said Nell rebelliously.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Vereker did not answer.</p>
+
+<p>That night Nell knelt longer than usual by her narrow white bed.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! God, please let me marry Vernon, I want to so much. I do love him
+so. Please let things come right and let us be married. Make something
+happen.... Please God...."</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>2</i></h3>
+
+<p>At the end of April Abbots Puissants was let. Vernon came to Nell in
+some excitement.</p>
+
+<p>"Nell, will you marry me now? We could just manage. It's a bad let—an
+awfully bad one—but I simply had to take it. You see, there's been the
+mortgage interest to pay and all the expenses of the upkeep while it's
+been unlet. I've had to borrow for all that and now of course it's got
+to be paid back. We'll be pretty short for a year or two, but then it
+won't be so bad...."</p>
+
+<p>He talked on, explaining the financial details.</p>
+
+<p>"I've been into it all, Nell. I have really. Sensibly, I mean. We could
+afford a tiny flat and one maid and have a little left over to play
+with. Oh! Nell, you wouldn't mind being poor with me, would you? You
+said once I didn't know what it was to be poor, but you can't say that
+now. I've lived on frightfully little since I came to London, and I
+haven't minded a bit."</p>
+
+<p>No, Nell knew he hadn't. The fact was in some way a vague reproach to
+her. And yet, though she couldn't quite express it to herself, she felt
+that the two cases were not on a par. It made much more difference to
+women. To be gay and pretty and admired and have a good time—none of
+those things affected men. They hadn't that everlasting problem of
+clothes—nobody minded if they were shabby.</p>
+
+<p>But how explain these things to Vernon? One couldn't. He wasn't like
+George Chetwynd. George understood things like that.</p>
+
+<p>"Nell."</p>
+
+<p>She sat there, irresolute, his arm round her. She had got to decide.
+Visions floated before her eyes. Amelie ... the hot little house, the
+wailing children ... George Chetwynd and his car ... a stuffy little
+flat, a dirty incompetent maid ... dances ... clothes ... the money
+they owed dressmakers ... the rent of the London house—unpaid ...
+herself at Ascot, smiling, chattering in a lovely model gown ... then,
+with a sudden revulsion, she was back at Ranelagh on the bridge over
+the water with Vernon....</p>
+
+<p>In almost the same voice as she had used that evening she said: "I
+don't know. Oh! Vernon, I don't know."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Nell darling, do ... do!"</p>
+
+<p>She disengaged herself from him, got up.</p>
+
+<p>"Please, Vernon—I must think ... yes, think. I—I can't when I'm with
+you."</p>
+
+<p>She wrote to him later that night:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>Dearest Vernon:</p>
+
+<p>Let us wait a little longer—say six months. I don't feel I want to be
+married now. Besides, something might have happened about your opera
+then. You think I'm afraid of being poor, but it's not quite that.
+I've seen people—people who loved each other—and they didn't any
+more because of all the bothers and worries. I feel that if we wait
+and are patient everything will come right. Oh! Vernon, I know it
+will—and then everything will be so lovely. If only we wait and have
+patience....</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Vernon was angry when he got this letter. He did not show the letter to
+Jane, but he broke out into sufficiently unguarded speech to let her
+see how the land lay. She said at once in her disconcerting fashion:</p>
+
+<p>"You do think you're sufficient prize for any girl, don't you, Vernon?"</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, do you think it will be awfully jolly for a girl who has danced
+and been to parties and had lots of fun and people admiring her to be
+stuck down in a poky hole with no more fun?"</p>
+
+<p>"We'd have each other."</p>
+
+<p>"You can't make love to her for twenty-four hours on end. While you're
+working, what is she to do?"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you think a woman can be poor and happy?"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly, given the necessary qualifications."</p>
+
+<p>"Which are—what? Love and trust?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, you idiotic child. A sense of humour, a tough hide, and the
+valuable quality of being sufficient unto oneself. You will insist on
+love in a cottage being a sentimental problem dependent on the amount
+of love concerned. It's far more a problem of mental outlook. You'd be
+all right stuck down anywhere—Buckingham Palace or the Sahara—because
+you've got your mental preoccupation—music. But Nell's dependent on
+extraneous circumstances. Marrying you will cut her off from all her
+friends."</p>
+
+<p>"Why should it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because it's the hardest thing in the world for people with different
+incomes to continue friends. They're not all doing the same thing
+naturally."</p>
+
+<p>"You always put me in the wrong," said Vernon savagely. "Or at any rate
+you try to."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, it annoys me to see you put yourself on a pedestal and stand
+admiring yourself for nothing at all," said Jane calmly. "You expect
+Nell to sacrifice her friends and life to you, but you wouldn't make
+your sacrifice for her."</p>
+
+<p>"What sacrifice? I'd do anything."</p>
+
+<p>"Except sell Abbots Puissants!"</p>
+
+<p>"You don't understand."</p>
+
+<p>Jane looked at him gently.</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps I do. Oh! yes, my dear, I do very well. But don't be noble.
+It always annoys me to see people being noble! Let's talk about <i>The
+Princess in the Tower</i>. I want you to show it to Radmaager."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! it's so rotten. I couldn't. You know, I didn't realize myself,
+Jane, how rotten it was until I had finished it."</p>
+
+<p>"No," said Jane. "Nobody ever does. Fortunately—or nothing ever would
+be finished. Show it to Radmaager. What he says will be interesting, at
+all events."</p>
+
+<p>Vernon yielded rather grudgingly.</p>
+
+<p>"He'll think it such awful cheek."</p>
+
+<p>"No, he won't. He's a very high opinion of what Sebastian says, and
+Sebastian has always believed in you. Radmaager says that, for so young
+a man, Sebastian's judgment is amazing."</p>
+
+<p>"Good old Sebastian! He's wonderful," said Vernon warmly. "Nearly
+everything he's done has been a success. Shekels are rolling in. God!
+how I envy him sometimes."</p>
+
+<p>"You needn't. He's not such a very happy person, really."</p>
+
+<p>"You mean Joe? Oh, that will all come right."</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder. Vernon, do you see much of Joe?"</p>
+
+<p>"A fair amount. Not as much as I used to. I can't stand that queer
+artistic set she's drifted into—their hair's all wrong and they look
+unwashed and they talk what seems to me the most arrant drivel.
+They're not a bit like your crowd—the people who really do things."</p>
+
+<p>"We're what Sebastian would call the successful commercial
+propositions. All the same, I'm worried about Joe. I'm afraid she's
+going to do something foolish."</p>
+
+<p>"That bounder La Marre, you mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I mean that bounder La Marre. He's clever with women, you know,
+Vernon. Some men are."</p>
+
+<p>"You think she'd go off with him or something? Of course Joe is a
+damned fool in some ways." He looked curiously at Jane. "But I should
+have thought you——"</p>
+
+<p>He stopped, suddenly crimson. Jane looked very faintly amused.</p>
+
+<p>"You really needn't be embarrassed by my morals."</p>
+
+<p>"I wasn't. I mean—I've always wondered—oh! I've wondered such an
+awful lot...."</p>
+
+<p>His voice died away. There was silence. Jane sat very upright. She did
+not look at Vernon. She looked straight ahead of her. Presently, in a
+quiet even voice, she began to speak. She spoke quite unemotionally and
+evenly, as though recounting something that had happened to someone
+else. It was a cold concise recital of horror, and to Vernon the most
+dreadful thing about it was her own detached calm. She spoke as a
+scientist might speak, impersonally.</p>
+
+<p>He buried his face in his hands.</p>
+
+<p>Jane brought her recital to an end. Her quiet voice ceased.</p>
+
+<p>Vernon said in a low shuddering voice: "And you lived through <i>that</i>?
+I—I didn't know that such things were."</p>
+
+<p>Jane said calmly: "He was a Russian and a degenerate. It's hard for an
+Anglo Saxon to understand that peculiar refined lust of cruelty. You
+understand brutality. You don't understand anything else."</p>
+
+<p>Vernon said, feeling childish and awkward as he put the question:
+"You—you loved him very much?"</p>
+
+<p>She shook her head slowly, began to speak and then stopped.</p>
+
+<p>"Why dissect the past?" she said after a minute or two. "He did some
+fine work. There's a thing of his in the South Kensington. It's
+macabre, but it's good."</p>
+
+<p>Then she began once more to talk of <i>The Princess in the Tower</i>.</p>
+
+<p>Vernon went to the South Kensington two days later. He found the
+solitary representation of Boris Androv's work easily enough. A drowned
+woman—the face was horrible, puffed, bloated, decomposed, but the body
+was beautiful ... a lovely body. Vernon knew instinctively that it was
+Jane's body.</p>
+
+<p>He stood looking down on the bronze nude figure, with arms spread wide
+and long lank hair reaching out mournfully.</p>
+
+<p>Such a beautiful body ... Jane's body. Androv had modelled that nude
+body from her.</p>
+
+<p>For the first time for years a queer remembrance of the Beast came over
+him. He felt afraid.</p>
+
+<p>He turned quickly away from the beautiful bronze figure and left the
+building hurriedly, almost running.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>3</i></h3>
+
+<p>It was the first night of Radmaager's new opera, <i>Peer Gynt</i>. Vernon
+was going to it and had been asked by Radmaager to attend a supper
+party afterward. He was dining with Nell at her mother's house. She was
+not coming to the opera.</p>
+
+<p>Much to Nell's surprise, Vernon did not turn up to dinner. They waited
+some time, and then began without him. He arrived just as dessert was
+being put on the table.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm most awfully sorry, Mrs. Vereker. I can't tell you how sorry I am.
+Something very—very unexpected occurred. I'll tell you later."</p>
+
+<p>His face was so white and he was so obviously upset that Mrs. Vereker
+forgot her annoyance. She was always a tactful woman of the world and
+she treated the present situation with her usual discretion.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," she said, rising, "now you are here, Vernon, you can talk to
+Nell. If you're going to the opera you won't have much time."</p>
+
+<p>She left the room. Nell looked inquiringly at Vernon. He answered her
+look.</p>
+
+<p>"Joe's gone off with La Marre."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Vernon, she hasn't!"</p>
+
+<p>"She has."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you mean that she has eloped? That she's married him? That they've
+run away to get married?"</p>
+
+<p>Vernon said grimly: "He can't marry her. He's got a wife already."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Vernon, how awful! How could she?"</p>
+
+<p>"Joe was always wrong-headed. She'll regret this—I know she will. I
+don't believe she really cares for him."</p>
+
+<p>"What about Sebastian? Won't he feel this terribly?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, poor devil. I've been with him now. He's absolutely broken up
+over it. I'd no idea how much he cared for Joe."</p>
+
+<p>"I know he did."</p>
+
+<p>"You see, there were the three of us—always. Joe and I and Sebastian.
+We belonged together."</p>
+
+<p>A faint pang of jealousy shot through Nell. Vernon repeated:</p>
+
+<p>"The three of us. It's——Oh! I don't know. I feel as though I'd been
+to blame in some way. I've let myself get out of touch with Joe. Dear
+old Joe, she was so staunch always—better than any sister could be. It
+hurts me to think of the things she used to say when she was a kid—how
+she'd never have anything to do with men. And now she's come a mucker
+like this."</p>
+
+<p>Nell said in a shocked voice: "A married man. That's what makes it so
+awful. Had he any children?"</p>
+
+<p>"How should I know anything about his beastly children?"</p>
+
+<p>"Vernon—don't be so cross."</p>
+
+<p>"Sorry, Nell. I'm upset, that's all."</p>
+
+<p>"How could she do such a thing?" said Nell. She had always rather
+resented Joe's unspoken contempt of which she had been subconsciously
+aware. She would not have been human had she not felt a faint sense of
+superiority. "To run away with anyone married! It's dreadful!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, she had courage, anyway," said Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>He felt a sudden passionate desire to defend Joe—Joe who belonged to
+Abbots Puissants and the old days.</p>
+
+<p>"Courage?" said Nell.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, courage!" said Vernon, "At any rate she wasn't prudent. She
+didn't count the cost. She's chucked away everything in the world for
+love. That's more than some people will do."</p>
+
+<p>"Vernon!"</p>
+
+<p>She got up, breathing hard.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, it's true." All his smouldering resentment came bursting out.
+"You won't even face a little discomfort for me, Nell. You're always
+saying 'Wait' and 'Let's be careful.' You aren't capable of chucking
+everything to the winds for love of anyone."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Vernon, how cruel you are ... how cruel!"</p>
+
+<p>He saw the tears come into her eyes and was immediately all compunction.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Nell, I didn't mean it—I didn't mean it, sweetheart."</p>
+
+<p>His arms went round her, held her to him. Her sobs lessened. He glanced
+at his watch.</p>
+
+<p>"Damn! I must go. Good-night, Nell darling. You do love me, don't you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, of course—of course I do."</p>
+
+<p>He kissed her once more, hurried off. She sat down again by the
+disordered dinner table. Sat there, lost in thought....</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>4</i></h3>
+
+<p>He got to Covent Garden late. <i>Peer Gynt</i> had begun. The scene was
+Ingrid's wedding, and Vernon arrived just at the moment of the first
+brief meeting of Peer and Solveig. He wondered if Jane were nervous.
+She managed to look marvellously young with her fair plaits and her
+innocent calm bearing. She looked nineteen. The act ended with the
+carrying off of Ingrid by Peer.</p>
+
+<p>Vernon found himself interested less in the music than in Jane.
+To-night was Jane's ordeal. She had to make good or go under. Vernon
+knew how anxious she was, above everything else to justify Radmaager's
+trust in her.</p>
+
+<p>Presently he knew that all was well. Jane was the perfect Solveig. Her
+voice, clear and true—the crystal thread, as Radmaager had called
+it—sang unfalteringly and her acting was wonderful. The calm steadfast
+personality of Solveig dominated the opera.</p>
+
+<p>Vernon found himself for the first time interested in the story of
+the weak storm-torn Peer, the coward who ran from reality at every
+opportunity. The music of Peer's conflict with the great Boyg stirred
+him, reminding him of his childish terror of the Beast. It was the
+same formless bogy fear of childhood. Unseen, Solveig's clear voice
+delivered him from it. The scene in the forest where Solveig comes to
+Peer was infinitely beautiful, ending with Peer bidding Solveig remain
+while he went out to take up his burden. Her reply: "If it is so heavy
+it is best two should share it." And then Peer's departure, his final
+evasion: "Bring sorrow on her? No. Go roundabout, Peer, go roundabout."</p>
+
+<p>The Whitsuntide music was the most beautiful, but in atmosphere very
+Radmaagian, Vernon thought. It led up to and prepared for the effect
+of the final scene: the weary Peer asleep with his head on Solveig's
+lap, and Solveig, her hair silvered, a Madonna blue cloak round her in
+the middle of the stage, her head silhouetted against the rising sun,
+singing valiantly against the buttons' moulder.</p>
+
+<p>It was a wonderful duet—Chavaranov, the famous Russian bass, his voice
+deepening and deepening, and Jane, with her silver thread singing
+steadily upward and ever upward, higher and higher, till the last note
+was left to her—high and incredibly pure.... And the sun rose....</p>
+
+<p>Vernon, feeling boyishly important, went behind afterward. The
+opera had been a terrific success. The applause had been long and
+enthusiastic. He found Radmaager holding Jane by the hand and kissing
+her with artistic fervour and thoroughness.</p>
+
+<p>"You are an angel—you are magnificent—yes, magnificent! You are an
+artist. Ah!" he burst into a torrent of words in his native language,
+then reverted to English. "I will reward you—yes, little one, I will
+reward you. I know very well how to do it. I will persuade the long
+Sebastian. Together we will—"</p>
+
+<p>"Hush," said Jane.</p>
+
+<p>Vernon came forward awkwardly, said shyly: "It was splendid!"</p>
+
+<p>He squeezed Jane's hand, and she gave him a brief affectionate smile.</p>
+
+<p>"Where's Sebastian? Wasn't he here just now?"</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian was no longer to be seen. Vernon volunteered to go in search
+of him and bring him along to supper. He said vaguely that he thought
+he knew where he was. Jane knew nothing of the news about Joe and he
+didn't see how he could tell her at the moment.</p>
+
+<p>He got a taxi and drove to Sebastian's house but did not find him.
+Vernon wondered if perhaps Sebastian might be at his own rooms where he
+had left him earlier in the evening. He drove there straight away.</p>
+
+<p>He was feeling suddenly elated and triumphant. Even Joe did not seem
+to matter for the moment. He felt suddenly convinced that his own work
+was good—or rather that it would be some day. And somehow or other he
+also felt that things were coming right with Nell. She had clung to him
+differently to-night—more closely—more as though she could not bear
+to let him go.... Yes, he was sure of it. Everything was coming right.</p>
+
+<p>He ran up the stairs to his room. It was in darkness. Sebastian was not
+here then. He switched on the light, looked round. A note lay on the
+table, sent by hand. He picked it up. It was addressed to him in Nell's
+handwriting. He tore it open....</p>
+
+<p>He stood there a long time. Then, carefully and methodically, he drew
+up a chair to the table, setting it very exactly straight, as though
+that were important, and sat down holding the note in his hand. He read
+it again for the tenth or eleventh time:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>Dearest Vernon—forgive me—please forgive me. I am going to marry
+George Chetwynd. I don't love him as I love you but I shall be safe
+with him. Again—do forgive me—please.</p>
+
+<p class="ph3">Your always loving Nell.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>He said aloud: "<i>Safe with him.</i> What does she mean by that? She'd have
+been safe with me. <i>Safe with him?</i> That hurts...."</p>
+
+<p>He sat there. Minutes passed.... Hours passed.... He sat there,
+motionless, almost unable to think.... Once the thought rose dully in
+his brain: "Was this how Sebastian felt? I didn't understand...."</p>
+
+<p>When he heard a rustle in the doorway he didn't look up. His first
+sight of Jane was when she came round the table, dropped on her knees
+beside him.</p>
+
+<p>"Vernon, my dear, what is it? I knew there was something when you
+didn't come to the supper. I came to see."</p>
+
+<p>Dully, mechanically, he held out the note to her. She took it and read
+it. She laid it down again on the table.</p>
+
+<p>He said in a dull bewildered voice: "She needn't have said that about
+not being safe with me. She would have been safe with me."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Vernon—my dear...."</p>
+
+<p>Her arms went round him. He clutched at her suddenly—a frightened
+clutch such as a child might give at its mother. A sob burst from his
+throat. He laid his face down on the gleaming white skin of her neck.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Jane ... Jane...."</p>
+
+<p>She held him closer. She stroked his hair. He murmured:</p>
+
+<p>"Stay with me. Stay with me. Don't leave me."</p>
+
+<p>She answered: "I won't leave you. It's all right."</p>
+
+<p>Her voice was tender—motherly. Something broke in him like the
+breaking of a dam. Ideas swirled and rushed through his head. His
+father kissing Winnie at Abbots Puissants ... the statue in the South
+Kensington ... Jane's body ... her beautiful body.</p>
+
+<p>He said hoarsely: "Stay with me."</p>
+
+<p>Her arms round him, her lips on his forehead, she murmured back: "I'll
+stay with you, dear."</p>
+
+<p>Like a mother to a child.</p>
+
+<p>He wrenched himself suddenly free.</p>
+
+<p>"Not like that. Not like that. Like this."</p>
+
+<p>His lips fastened on hers—fiercely, hungrily—his hand clutched at the
+roundness of her breast. He'd always wanted her—always. He knew it
+now. It was her body he wanted, that beautiful gracious body that Boris
+Androv had known so well.</p>
+
+<p>He said again: "Stay with me."</p>
+
+<p>There was a long pause—it seemed to him as though minutes, hours,
+years passed before she answered.</p>
+
+<p>She said: "<i>I'll stay....</i>"</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="chapter_4III">chapter 4</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>On a day in July Sebastian Levinne walked along the Embankment in the
+direction of Jane's flat. It was a day more suggestive of early spring
+than of summer. A cold wind blew the dust in his face and made him
+blink.</p>
+
+<p>There was a change visible in Sebastian. He had grown perceptibly
+older. There was very little of the boy about him now—there never had
+been much. He had always had that curious maturity of outlook which is
+the Semitic inheritance. As he walked along now, frowning to himself
+and pondering, he would easily have been taken for a man over thirty.</p>
+
+<p>Jane herself opened the door of the flat to him. She spoke in a low
+unusually husky voice.</p>
+
+<p>"Vernon's out. He couldn't wait for you. You said three, you know, and
+it's past four now."</p>
+
+<p>"I was kept. Just as well, perhaps. I'm never quite sure of the best
+way of dealing with Vernon's nerves."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't tell me any fresh crises have arisen? I couldn't bear it."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! you'll get used to them. I've had to. What's the matter with your
+voice, Jane?"</p>
+
+<p>"A cold. A throat, rather. It's all right. I'm nursing it."</p>
+
+<p>"My God! and <i>The Princess in the Tower</i> to-morrow night. Suppose you
+can't sing?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! I shall sing. Don't be afraid. Only don't mind my whispering. I
+want to save it every bit I can."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course. You've seen someone, I suppose?"</p>
+
+<p>"My usual man in Harley Street."</p>
+
+<p>"What did he say?"</p>
+
+<p>"The usual things."</p>
+
+<p>"He didn't forbid you to sing to-morrow?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! no."</p>
+
+<p>"You're an awfully good liar, aren't you, Jane?"</p>
+
+<p>"I thought it would save trouble. But I might have known it would be no
+good with you. I'll be honest. He warned me that I'd been persistently
+overstraining my voice for years. He said it was madness to sing
+to-morrow night. But I don't care."</p>
+
+<p>"My dear Jane, I'm not going to risk your losing your voice."</p>
+
+<p>"Mind your own business, Sebastian. My voice is my affair. I don't
+interfere in your concerns, don't interfere in mine."</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian grinned.</p>
+
+<p>"The tiger cat at home," he remarked. "But you mustn't, Jane, all the
+same. Does Vernon know?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course not. What do you think? And you're not to tell him,
+Sebastian."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't interfere really," said Sebastian. "I never have. But Jane
+dear, it will be ten thousand pities. The opera's not worth it. And
+Vernon's not worth it either. Be angry with me if you like for saying
+so."</p>
+
+<p>"Why should I be angry with you? It's the truth and I know it. All the
+same, I'm going through with it. Call me any kind of a conceited egoist
+you like, but <i>The Princess in the Tower</i> won't be a success without
+me. I've been a success as Isolde and a furore as Solveig. It's my
+moment. And it's going to be Vernon's moment too. I can at least do
+that for him."</p>
+
+<p>He heard the undercurrent of feeling, the unconscious betrayal of
+that "at least," but not by a muscle of his face did he show that he
+had realized its significance. He only said again very gently: "He's
+not worth it, Jane. Paddle your own canoe. It's the only way. You've
+arrived. Vernon hasn't and may never."</p>
+
+<p>"I know. I know. No one's what you call 'worth it'—except perhaps one
+person."</p>
+
+<p>"Who?"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>You</i>, Sebastian. <i>You're</i> worth it—and yet it's not for you I'm
+doing it!"</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian was surprised and touched. A sudden mist came over his eyes.
+He stretched out his hand and took Jane's. They sat for a minute or two
+in silence.</p>
+
+<p>"That was nice of you, Jane," he said at last.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, it's true. You're worth a dozen of Vernon. You've got brains,
+initiative, strength of character...."</p>
+
+<p>Her husky voice died away. After another minute or two he said very
+gently:</p>
+
+<p>"How are things? Much as usual?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I think so. You know Mrs. Deyre came to see me?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, I didn't. What did she want?"</p>
+
+<p>"She came to beg me to give up her boy. Pointed out how I was ruining
+his life. Only a really bad woman would do what I was doing. And so on.
+You can guess the kind of thing."</p>
+
+<p>"And what did you say to her?" asked Sebastian curiously.</p>
+
+<p>Jane shrugged her shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>"What could I say? That to Vernon one harlot was as good as another?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! my dear," said Sebastian gently. "Is it as bad as that?"</p>
+
+<p>Jane got up, lighted a cigarette, and walked restlessly about the room.
+Sebastian noticed how haggard her face had become.</p>
+
+<p>"Is he—more or less all right?" he ventured.</p>
+
+<p>"He drinks too much," said Jane curtly.</p>
+
+<p>"Can't you prevent it?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, I can't."</p>
+
+<p>"It's queer. I should have thought you would always have great
+influence over Vernon."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I haven't. Not now." She was silent for a moment and then said:
+"Nell's being married in the autumn, isn't she?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Do you think things will be—better then?"</p>
+
+<p>"I haven't the least idea."</p>
+
+<p>"I wish to God he'd pull up," said Sebastian. "If you can't keep him
+straight, Jane, nobody can. Of course, it's in the blood."</p>
+
+<p>She came and sat down again.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me—tell me everything you know. About his people—his father,
+his mother."</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian gave a succinct account of the Deyres. Jane listened.</p>
+
+<p>"His mother you've seen," he concluded. "Queer, isn't it, that Vernon
+doesn't seem to have inherited one single thing from her? He's a Deyre
+through and through. They are all artistic, musical, weak-willed,
+self-indulgent, and attractive to women. Heredity's an odd thing."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't quite agree with you," said Jane. "Vernon's not like his
+mother, but he <i>has</i> inherited something from her."</p>
+
+<p>"What?"</p>
+
+<p>"Vitality. She's an extraordinarily fine animal—have you ever thought
+of her that way? Well, Vernon's inherited some of that. Without it he'd
+never have been a composer. If he were a Deyre pure and simple he'd
+only have <i>dallied</i> with music. It's the Bent force that gives him
+the power to create. You say his grandfather built up their business
+single-handed. Well, there's the same thing in Vernon."</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder if you're right."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sure I am."</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian considered silently for some minutes.</p>
+
+<p>"Is it only drink?" he said at last. "Or is it—well, I mean, are
+there—other people?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! there are others."</p>
+
+<p>"And you don't mind?"</p>
+
+<p>"Mind? Mind? Of course I mind. What do you think I'm made of,
+Sebastian? I'm nearly killed with minding.... But what can I do? Make
+scenes? Rant and rave and drive Vernon away from me altogether?"</p>
+
+<p>Her beautiful husky voice rose from its whisper. Sebastian made a quick
+gesture and she stopped.</p>
+
+<p>"You're right. I must be careful."</p>
+
+<p>"I can't understand it," grumbled Sebastian. "Even his music doesn't
+seem to mean anything to Vernon now. He's taken every suggestion from
+Radmaager and been like a lamb. It's unnatural!"</p>
+
+<p>"We must wait. It will come back. It's reaction—reaction and Nell
+together. I can't help feeling that if <i>The Princess in the Tower</i> is
+a success, Vernon will pull himself together. He must feel a certain
+pride—a sense of achievement."</p>
+
+<p>"I hope so," said Sebastian heavily. "But I'm a bit worried about the
+future."</p>
+
+<p>"In what way? What are you afraid of?"</p>
+
+<p>"War."</p>
+
+<p>Jane looked at him in astonishment. She could hardly believe her ears.
+She thought she must have mistaken the word.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>War?</i>"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. The outcome of this Sarajevo business."</p>
+
+<p>It still seemed to Jane a little absurd and ridiculous.</p>
+
+<p>"War with whom?"</p>
+
+<p>"Germany—principally."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! surely, Sebastian. Such a—a—far-away thing."</p>
+
+<p>"What does the pretext matter?" said Sebastian impatiently. "It's the
+way money has been going. Money talks. I handle money—our relations in
+Russia handle money. We know. From the way money has been behaving for
+some time we can guess what is in the wind. War's coming, Jane."</p>
+
+<p>Jane looked at him and changed her mind. Sebastian was in earnest, and
+Sebastian usually knew what he was talking about. If he said war was
+coming, then, fantastic as it seemed, war would come.</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian sat still, lost in thought. Money, investments, various
+loans, financial responsibilities he had undertaken, the future of his
+theatres, the policy to be adopted by the weekly paper he owned. Then,
+of course, there would be fighting. He was the son of a naturalized
+Englishman. He didn't wish in the least to go and fight, but he
+supposed it would be necessary. Everyone below a certain age would do
+so as a matter of course. It was not the danger that worried him, it
+was the annoyance of leaving his pet schemes to be looked after by
+someone else. "They'll make a mess of it, sure to," thought Sebastian
+bitterly. He put the war down as being a long job—two years, perhaps
+more. In the end, he shouldn't wonder if America was dragged into it.</p>
+
+<p>The government would issue loans—war loans would be a good
+investment. No highbrow stuff for the theatres. Soldiers on leave
+would want light comedy—pretty girls—legs—dancing. He thought
+it all out carefully. It was a good thing to get a chance to think
+uninterruptedly. Being with Jane was like being alone. She always knew
+when you didn't want to be spoken to.</p>
+
+<p>He looked across at her. She, too, was thinking. He wondered what she
+was thinking about—you never quite knew with Jane. She and Vernon were
+alike there—didn't tell their thoughts. She was probably thinking
+about Vernon. If Vernon should go to the war and be killed! But
+no—that mustn't be. Sebastian's artistic soul rebelled. Vernon mustn't
+be killed.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>2</i></h3>
+
+<p>The production of <i>The Princess in the Tower</i> has been forgotten by
+now. It came at an unfortunate time, since war broke out only about
+three weeks later.</p>
+
+<p>At the time it was what is called "well received." Certain critics
+waxed a little sarcastic over this "new school of young musicians" who
+thought they could revolutionize all existing ideas. Others praised it
+with sincerity as a work of great promise, though immature. But one and
+all spoke enthusiastically of the perfect beauty and artistry of the
+whole performance. Everyone "went to Holborn, such miles out of the
+way, dear, but really worth it," to see the attractive fantastic drama,
+and "that wonderful new singer, Jane Harding. Her <i>face</i>, dear, is
+simply wonderful—quite mediæval. It wouldn't be the same without her!"
+It was a triumph for Jane, though a triumph that was short-lived. On
+the fifth day she was forced to retire from the cast.</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian was summoned by telephone at an hour when Vernon would not be
+there. Jane met him with such a radiant smile that he thought at first
+that his fears were not going to be realized.</p>
+
+<p>"It's no good, Sebastian. Mary Lloyd must go on with it. She's not too
+bad, considering. As a matter of fact, she's got a better voice than I
+have and she's quite nice-looking."</p>
+
+<p>"H'm, I was afraid Hershall would say that. I'd like to see him
+myself."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, he wants to see you. Not that there's anything to be done, I'm
+afraid."</p>
+
+<p>"What do you mean? Nothing to be done?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's gone, my child. Gone for good. Hershall's too honest to hold out
+any real hope. He says of course you never can be absolutely sure. It
+might come back with rest, <i>et cetera, et cetera</i>. He said it very
+well, and then I looked at him and laughed—and then he had to look
+shamefaced and own up. He was relieved, I think, at the way I took it."</p>
+
+<p>"But Jane, darling Jane...."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! don't mind so much, Sebastian. Please don't. It's so much easier
+if you don't. It's been a gamble, you know, all along—my voice was
+never really strong enough. I gambled with it. So far I won—now, I've
+lost. Well, there it is! One must be a good gambler and not let the
+hands twitch. Isn't that what they say at Monte Carlo?"</p>
+
+<p>"Does Vernon know?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. He's most awfully upset. He loved my voice. He's really quite
+broken-hearted about it."</p>
+
+<p>"But he doesn't know that——"</p>
+
+<p>"That if I had waited two days, and not sung on the opening night of
+his opera, it would have been all right? No, he doesn't know that. And
+if you are loyal to me, Sebastian, he never will."</p>
+
+<p>"I shan't make promises. I think he ought to know."</p>
+
+<p>"No, because really it's unwarrantable what I've done! I've laid him
+under an obligation to me without his knowledge. That's a thing one
+shouldn't do. It isn't fair. If I had gone to Vernon and told him what
+Hershall said, do you suppose he would ever have consented to let me
+sing? He'd have prevented me by main force. It would be the meanest and
+cruellest thing in the world to go to Vernon now and say: 'See what I
+have done for you!' Snivelling and asking for sympathy and gratitude
+ladled out in a soup plate."</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian was silent.</p>
+
+<p>"Come now, my dear, agree."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Sebastian at last. "You're right. What you did was
+unethical. You did it without Vernon's knowledge, and it's got to be
+kept from him now. But oh! Jane darling, why did you? Is Vernon's music
+worth it?"</p>
+
+<p>"It will be—some day."</p>
+
+<p>"Is that why you did it?"</p>
+
+<p>Jane shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought not."</p>
+
+<p>There was a pause, Sebastian said: "What will you do now, Jane?"</p>
+
+<p>"Possibly teach. Possibly go on the stage. I don't know. If the worst
+comes to the worst, I can always cook."</p>
+
+<p>They both laughed, but Jane was very near tears.</p>
+
+<p>She looked across the table at Sebastian and then suddenly rose and
+came and knelt down beside him. She laid her head down on his shoulder
+and he put his arm round her.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Sebastian ... Sebastian ..."</p>
+
+<p>"Poor old Jane!"</p>
+
+<p>"I pretend I don't mind—but I do ... I do. I loved singing. I loved
+it, loved it, loved it.... That lovely Whitsuntide music of Solveig. I
+shall never sing it again."</p>
+
+<p>"I know. Why were you such a fool, Jane?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know. Sheer idiocy."</p>
+
+<p>"If you had the choice again——"</p>
+
+<p>"I'd do the same thing again."</p>
+
+<p>A silence. Then Jane lifted her head and said:</p>
+
+<p>"Do you remember saying, Sebastian, that I had great 'driving power'?
+That nothing would turn me aside? And I said that I might be more
+easily turned aside than you thought. That between Vernon and me, I
+should go to the wall."</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian said: "Things are queer."</p>
+
+<p>Jane slipped down on the floor beside him, her hand still in his.</p>
+
+<p>"You can be clever," said Sebastian, breaking the silence. "You can
+have the brains to foresee things, and the wits to plan things, and the
+force to succeed, but with all the cleverness in the world you can't
+avoid suffering some way or another. That's what's so odd. I know I've
+got brains, I know I'll get to the top of anything I undertake. I'm not
+like Vernon. Vernon will either be a heaven-sent genius, or else he'll
+be an idle dissipated young man. He's got a gift if he's got anything,
+I've got ability. And yet with all the ability in the world, I can't
+prevent myself getting hurt."</p>
+
+<p>"No one can."</p>
+
+<p>"One might, perhaps, if one gave up one's whole life to it. If you
+pursued safety and nothing but safety. You'd get your wings singed,
+perhaps, but that would be all. You'd build a nice smooth wall and hide
+yourself inside it."</p>
+
+<p>"You're thinking of somebody in particular? Who?"</p>
+
+<p>"Just a fancy. The future Mrs. George Chetwynd, if you want to be
+exact."</p>
+
+<p>"Nell? Do you think Nell has the strength of character to shut herself
+out from life?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Nell has got an enormous power of developing protective colouring.
+Some species have." He paused, then went on: "Jane, have you ever heard
+from—Joe?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, my dear, twice."</p>
+
+<p>"What did she say?"</p>
+
+<p>"Very little. Just what fun everything was, and how she was enjoying
+herself, and how splendid one felt when one had had the courage to defy
+convention." She paused and then added: "She's not happy, Sebastian."</p>
+
+<p>"You think not?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sure of it."</p>
+
+<p>There was a long silence. Two unhappy faces looked into the empty
+fireplace. Outside taxis hooted as they sped rapidly down the
+Embankment. Life went on....</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>3</i></h3>
+
+<p>It was the ninth of August. Nell Vereker turned out of Paddington
+Station and walked slowly down toward the park. Four-wheelers passed
+her with old ladies in them laden with many hams. Staring placards were
+flaunted at every street corner. In every shop was a queue of people
+anxious to buy commodities.</p>
+
+<p>Nell had said to herself many times: "We're at war—actually at war,"
+and had not been able to believe it. To-day, for the first time, it
+seemed to come home to her. A train journey where the ticket office
+refused to change a five-pound note had proved the turning point.
+Ridiculous, but there it was.</p>
+
+<p>A taxi passed and Nell hailed it. She got in, giving the address of
+Jane's flat in Chelsea. She glanced at her watch. It was just half-past
+ten. No fear that Jane would be out so early.</p>
+
+<p>Nell went up in the lift and stood outside the door, having rung the
+bell. Her heart was beating nervously. In another minute the door would
+open. Her small face grew white and strained. Ah! now the door was
+opening. She and Jane were face to face.</p>
+
+<p>She thought Jane started a little—that was all.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" she said. "It's you."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Nell. "May I come in, please?"</p>
+
+<p>It seemed to her that Jane hesitated a minute before drawing back to
+let her enter. She retreated into the hall, shut a door at the far
+end, and then drew open the sitting-room door for Nell to pass in. She
+followed her, closing the door behind her.</p>
+
+<p>"Well?"</p>
+
+<p>"Jane, I've come to ask you if you know where Vernon is."</p>
+
+<p>"Vernon?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. I went to his rooms—yesterday. He's left. The woman there didn't
+know where he'd gone. She said his letters were forwarded to you. I
+went home and wrote to you asking for his address. Then I was afraid
+you wouldn't tell me, wouldn't even answer, perhaps, and I thought I'd
+come instead."</p>
+
+<p>"I see."</p>
+
+<p>The tone was noncommittal, unhelpful. Nell hurried on.</p>
+
+<p>"I was sure you'd know where he was. You do, don't you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I know."</p>
+
+<p>A slow answer, unnecessarily slow, Nell thought. Either Jane knew or
+she didn't.</p>
+
+<p>Again a pause. Then Jane said: "Why do you want to see Vernon, Nell?"</p>
+
+<p>Nell raised a white face.</p>
+
+<p>"Because I've been such a beast—such a beast! I see it now—now
+that this awful war has come. I was such a miserable coward. I hate
+myself—simply hate myself. Just because George was kind and good
+and—yes, rich! Oh, Jane, how you must despise me! I know you do.
+You're quite right to despise me. Somehow this war has made everything
+clear—don't you find that?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not particularly. There have been wars before and there will be wars
+again. They don't really alter anything underneath, you know."</p>
+
+<p>Nell was not paying attention.</p>
+
+<p>"It's wicked to do anything except marry the man you love. I do love
+Vernon. I always knew I loved him, but I just hadn't the courage....
+Oh! Jane, do you think it's too late? Perhaps it is. Perhaps he won't
+want me now. But I <i>must</i> see him. Even if he doesn't want me. I must
+tell him."</p>
+
+<p>She stood there looking piteously up at Jane. Would Jane help her? If
+not, she must try Sebastian—but she was afraid of Sebastian. He might
+refuse flatly to do anything.</p>
+
+<p>"I could get hold of him for you," said Jane slowly, after a minute or
+two.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! thank you, Jane. And Jane—tell me—the war?"</p>
+
+<p>"He's applied to join up, if that's what you mean."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Oh! it's dreadful—if he should be killed. But it can't last
+long. It'll be over by Christmas—everybody says so."</p>
+
+<p>"Sebastian says it will last two years."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! but Sebastian can't know. He's not really English. He's Russian."</p>
+
+<p>Jane shook her head. Then she said: "I'll go and—" she
+paused—"telephone. Wait here."</p>
+
+<p>She went out, closing the door behind her. She went to the end of the
+passage and into the bedroom. Vernon raised a dark rumpled head from
+the pillow.</p>
+
+<p>"Get up," said Jane curtly. "Wash yourself and shave yourself and try
+and make yourself reasonably decent. Nell's here and wants to see you."</p>
+
+<p>"Nell! But——"</p>
+
+<p>"She thinks I'm telephoning to you. When you're ready, you can go
+outside the front door and ring the bell—and may God have mercy on
+both our souls."</p>
+
+<p>"But Jane. Nell ... what does she want?"</p>
+
+<p>"If you want to marry her, Vernon, now is your chance."</p>
+
+<p>"But I'll have to tell her——"</p>
+
+<p>"What? That you've been leading a 'gay life,' that you've been 'wild'?
+All the usual euphemisms! That's all she'll expect—and she'll be
+grateful to you for laying as little stress on that as possible.
+But tell her about you and me and you bring it from the general to
+the particular—and take the child through hell. Muzzle that noble
+conscience of yours and think of her."</p>
+
+<p>Vernon rose slowly from the bed.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't understand you, Jane."</p>
+
+<p>"No, probably you never will."</p>
+
+<p>He said: "Has Nell thrown over George Chetwynd?"</p>
+
+<p>"I haven't asked for details. I'm going back to her now. Hurry up."</p>
+
+<p>She left the room. Vernon thought: "I've never understood Jane. I
+never shall. She's so damned disconcerting. Well, I suppose I've been
+a sort of passing amusement to her. No, that's ungrateful. She's been
+damned decent to me. Nobody could have been more decent than Jane has
+been. But I couldn't make Nell understand that. She'd think Jane was
+dreadful...."</p>
+
+<p>As he shaved and washed rapidly he said to himself: "All the same, it's
+out of the question. Nell and I could never come together again. Oh! I
+don't suppose there's any question of that. She's probably only come
+to ask me to forgive her, to make her feel comfortable in case I get
+killed in this bloody war. The sort of thing a girl would do. Anyway, I
+don't believe I care any more."</p>
+
+<p>Another voice, deep down, said ironically: "Oh! no, not at all. Then
+why is your heart beating and your hand shaking? You bloody ass, of
+course you care!"</p>
+
+<p>He was ready. He went outside—rang the bell. A mean
+subterfuge—unworthy—he felt ashamed. Jane opened the door. She said,
+rather like a parlour maid, "In here," and waved him toward the sitting
+room. He went in, closing the door behind him.</p>
+
+<p>Nell had risen at his entrance. She stood with her hands clasped in
+front of her.</p>
+
+<p>Her voice came faint and weak, like a guilty child.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Vernon...."</p>
+
+<p>Time swept backward. He was in the boat at Cambridge ... on the bridge
+at Ranelagh. He forgot Jane, he forgot everything. He and Nell were the
+only people in the world.</p>
+
+<p>"Nell!"</p>
+
+<p>They were clinging together, breathless as though they had been
+running. Words tumbled from Nell's lips.</p>
+
+<p>"Vernon—if you want—I do love you—Oh! I do.... I'll marry you any
+time—at once—to-day. I don't mind about being poor or <i>anything</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>He lifted her off her feet, kissed her eyes, her hair, her lips.</p>
+
+<p>"Darling—oh! darling. Don't let's waste a minute—not a minute. I
+don't know how you get married. I've never thought about it. But let's
+go out and see. We'll go to the Archbishop of Canterbury—isn't that
+what you do? and get a special licence. How the devil <i>do</i> you get
+married?"</p>
+
+<p>"We might ask a clergyman?"</p>
+
+<p>"Or there's a Registry Office. That's the thing."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think I want to be married at a Registry Office. I'd feel
+rather like a cook or a house parlourmaid being engaged."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think it's that kind, darling. But if you'd rather be married
+in a church, let's be married in a church. There are thousands of
+churches in London, all with nothing to do. I'm sure one of them will
+love to marry us."</p>
+
+<p>They went out together, laughing happily. Vernon had forgotten
+everything—remorse, conscience, Jane....</p>
+
+<p>At half-past two that afternoon Vernon Deyre and Eleanor Vereker were
+married in the church of St. Ethelred's, Chelsea.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="Book_IV">Book IV</h2>
+</div>
+
+<h2>WAR</h2>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="chapter_1IV">chapter 1</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>It was six months later that Sebastian Levinne had a note from Joe.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p><i>St. George's Hotel, Soho.</i></p>
+
+<p>Dear Sebastian: I'm over in England for a few days. I should love to
+see you. Yours, Joe.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Sebastian read and reread the brief note. He was at his mother's house
+on a few days' leave, so it had reached him with no delay. Across the
+breakfast table he was conscious of his mother's eyes watching him,
+and he marvelled as he had often done before, at the quickness of her
+maternal apprehension. She read his face, which most people found so
+inscrutable, as easily as he read the note in his hand.</p>
+
+<p>When she spoke it was in ordinary commonplace tones.</p>
+
+<p>"Some more marmalade, dear?" she said.</p>
+
+<p>"No, thanks, Mother." He answered the spoken question first, then went
+on to the unspoken one of which he was so keenly conscious. "It's from
+Joe."</p>
+
+<p>"Joe," said Mrs. Levinne. Her voice expressed nothing.</p>
+
+<p>"She's in London."</p>
+
+<p>There was a pause.</p>
+
+<p>"I see," said Mrs. Levinne.</p>
+
+<p>Still her voice expressed nothing. But Sebastian was aware of a whole
+tumult of feeling. It was the same to him as though his mother had
+burst out: "My son, my son! And you were just beginning to forget her!
+Why does she come back like this? Why can't she leave you alone? This
+girl who has nothing to do with us or our race? This girl who was never
+the right wife for you and never will be."</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian rose.</p>
+
+<p>"I think I must go round and see her."</p>
+
+<p>His mother answered in the same voice: "I suppose so."</p>
+
+<p>They said no more. They understood each other. Each respected the
+other's point of view.</p>
+
+<p>As he swung along the street it suddenly occurred to Sebastian that
+Joe had given him no clues as to what name she was staying under at
+the hotel. Did she call herself Miss Waite or Madame de la Marre?
+Unimportant, of course, but one of those silly conventional absurdities
+that made one feel awkward. He must ask for her under one or the other.
+How like Joe it was to have completely overlooked the point!</p>
+
+<p>But as it happened there was no awkwardness, for the first person he
+saw as he passed through the swing doors was Joe herself. She greeted
+him with a glad cry of surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"Sebastian! I'd no idea you could possibly have got my letter so soon!"</p>
+
+<p>She led the way to a retired corner of the lounge and he followed her.</p>
+
+<p>His first feeling was that she had changed—she had gone so far away
+that she was almost a stranger. It was partly, he thought, her clothes.
+They were ultra-French clothes. Very quiet and dark and discreet, but
+utterly un-English. Her face, too, was very much made up. Its creamy
+pallor was enhanced by art, her lips were impossibly red, and she had
+done something to the corners of her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>He thought: "She's a stranger—and yet she's Joe! She's the same Joe
+but she's gone a long way away—so far away that one can only just get
+in touch with her."</p>
+
+<p>But they talked together easily enough, each, as it were, putting out
+little feelers, as though sounding the distance that separated them.
+And suddenly the distance itself lessened and the elegant Parisian
+stranger melted into Joe.</p>
+
+<p>They talked of Vernon. Where was he? He never wrote or told one
+anything.</p>
+
+<p>"He's on Salisbury Plain, near Wiltsbury. He may be going out to France
+any minute."</p>
+
+<p>"And Nell married him after all! Sebastian, I feel I was rather a
+beast about Nell. I didn't think she had it in her. I don't think she
+<i>would</i> have had it in her if it hadn't been for the war. Sebastian,
+isn't the war wonderful? What it's doing for people, I mean."</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian said dryly that he supposed it was very much like any other
+war. Joe flew out at him vehemently.</p>
+
+<p>"It isn't! It isn't! That's just where you're wrong. There's going to
+be a new world after it. People are beginning to see things—things
+they never saw before. All the cruelty and the wickedness and the waste
+of war. And they'll stand together so that such a thing shall never
+happen again."</p>
+
+<p>Her face was flushed and exalted. Sebastian perceived that the war had,
+as he phrased it, "got" Joe. The war did get people. He had discussed
+it and deplored it with Jane. It made him sick to read the things that
+were printed and said about the war: "A world fit for heroes." "The war
+to end war." "The fight for democracy." And really, all the time it was
+the same old bloody business it always had been. Why couldn't people
+speak the truth about it?</p>
+
+<p>Jane had disagreed with him. She maintained that the claptrap (for she
+agreed it <i>was</i> claptrap) which was written about war was inevitable,
+a kind of accompanying phenomenon inseparable from it. It was Nature's
+way of providing a way of escape—you had to have that wall of illusion
+and lies to help you to endure the solid facts. It was, to her,
+pitiable and almost beautiful—these things that we wanted to believe
+and told ourselves so speciously.</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian had said: "I dare say, but it's going to play hell with the
+nation afterward."</p>
+
+<p>He was saddened and a little depressed by Joe's fiery enthusiasm.
+And yet, after all, it was typical of Joe. Her enthusiasm always was
+red-hot. It was a toss-up which camp he found her in, that was all.
+She might just as easily have been a white-hot pacifist, embracing
+martyrdom with fervour.</p>
+
+<p>She said now accusingly to Sebastian: "You don't agree! You think
+everything's going to be just the same."</p>
+
+<p>"There have always been wars, and they have never made any great
+difference."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but this is a different kind of war altogether."</p>
+
+<p>He smiled. He could not help it.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear Joe, the things that happen to us personally are always
+different."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! I've no patience with you. It's people like you——"</p>
+
+<p>She stopped.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Sebastian encouragingly. "People like me——"</p>
+
+<p>"You usen't to be like that. You used to have ideas. Now——"</p>
+
+<p>"Now," said Sebastian gravely, "I am sunk in money. I'm a capitalist.
+Everyone knows what a hoggish creature the capitalist is."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be absurd. But I do think that money is rather—well, stifling."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Sebastian. "That's true enough. But that's a question of
+effect on an individual. I will quite agree with you that poverty is
+a blessed state. Talking in terms of art, it's probably as valuable
+as manure in a garden. But it's nonsense to say that because I've
+got money I'm unfit to make prognostications as to the future, and
+especially as to the state obtaining after the war. Just because I've
+got money I'm all the more likely to be a good judge. Money has got a
+lot to do with war."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but because you think of everything in terms of money, you say
+that there always will be wars."</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't say anything of the kind. I think war will eventually be
+abolished. I'd give it roughly another two hundred years."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah! you do admit that by then we may have purer ideals."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't think it's got anything to do with ideals. It's probably a
+question of transport. Once get flying going on a commercial scale and
+you fuse countries together. Air charabancs to the Sahara Wednesdays
+and Saturdays—that kind of thing. Countries getting mixed up and
+matey. Trade revolutionized. For all practical purposes, you make
+the world smaller. You reduce it in time to the level of a nation
+with counties in it. I don't think what's always alluded to as the
+Brotherhood of Man will ever develop from fine ideas—it will be a
+simple matter of common sense."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Sebastian!"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm annoying you. I'm sorry, Joe dear."</p>
+
+<p>"You don't believe in anything."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, it's you who are the atheist, you know. Though, as a matter
+of fact, that word has gone out of fashion. We say nowadays that we
+believe in <i>Something</i>! Personally, I'm quite satisfied with Jehovah.
+But I know what you meant when you said that, and you're wrong. I
+believe in beauty, in creation, in things like Vernon's music. I can't
+see any real defence for them economically, and yet I'm perfectly
+sure that they matter more than anything else in the world. I'm even
+prepared (sometimes) to drop money over them. That's a lot for a Jew!"</p>
+
+<p>Joe laughed in spite of herself. Then she asked: "What was <i>The
+Princess in the Tower</i> really like? Honestly, Sebastian."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! rather like a giant toddling—an unconvincing performance, and yet
+a performance on a different scale from anything else."</p>
+
+<p>"You think that some day——"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sure of it. There's nothing I'm so sure of as that. If only he
+isn't killed in this bloody war."</p>
+
+<p>Joe shivered.</p>
+
+<p>"It's so awful," she murmured. "I've been working in the hospitals in
+Paris. Some of the things one sees!"</p>
+
+<p>"I know. If he's only maimed it doesn't matter—not like a violinist
+who is finished if he loses his right hand. No, they can mess up his
+body any way they like, so long as his brain is left untouched. That
+sounds brutal, but you know what I mean."</p>
+
+<p>"I know. But sometimes—even then——" She broke off and then went on,
+speaking in a new tone of voice: "Sebastian, I'm married."</p>
+
+<p>If something in him winced he didn't show it.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you, my dear? Did La Marre get a divorce?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. I left him. He was a beast—a beast, Sebastian."</p>
+
+<p>"I can imagine he might be."</p>
+
+<p>"Not that I regret anything. One has to live one's life—to gain
+experience. Anything is better than shrinking from life. That's just
+what people like Aunt Myra can't understand. I'm not going near them
+at Birmingham. I'm not ashamed or repentant of anything I've done."</p>
+
+<p>She gazed at him defiantly and his mind went back to Joe in the woods
+at Abbots Puissants. He thought: "She's just the same. Wrong-headed,
+rebellious, adorable. One might have known then that she'd do this sort
+of thing."</p>
+
+<p>He said gently: "I'm only sorry that you've been unhappy. Because
+you've been unhappy, haven't you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Horribly. But I've found my real life now. There was a boy in
+hospital—terribly badly wounded. They gave him morphia.—He's been
+discharged now—cured, though of course he isn't fit for service.
+But the morphia—it's got hold of him. That's why we were married. A
+fortnight ago. We're going to fight it together."</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian did not trust himself to speak. Joe all over. But why, in
+the name of fortune, couldn't she have been content with physical
+disabilities? Morphia. A ghastly business.</p>
+
+<p>And suddenly a pang shot through him. It was as though he resigned his
+last hope of her. Their ways led in opposite directions—Joe amongst
+her lost causes and her lame dogs, and he on an upward route. He
+might, of course, be killed in the war, but somehow he didn't think he
+would be. He was almost certain that he wouldn't even be picturesquely
+wounded. He felt a kind of certitude that he would come through
+safely, probably with moderate distinction; that he would come back
+to his enterprises, reorganizing and revitalizing them; that he would
+be successful, notably successful, in a world that did not tolerate
+failures. And the higher he climbed the farther he would be separated
+from Joe.</p>
+
+<p>He thought bitterly: "There's always some woman to pull you out of a
+pit, but nobody will come and keep you company on a mountain peak, and
+yet you may be damned lonely there."</p>
+
+<p>He didn't quite know what to say to Joe. No good depressing her, poor
+child. He said rather weakly:</p>
+
+<p>"What's your name now?"</p>
+
+<p>"Valnière. You must meet François some time, I've just come over to
+settle up some legal bothers. Father died about a month ago, you know."</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian nodded. He remembered hearing of Major Waite's death.</p>
+
+<p>Joe went on.</p>
+
+<p>"I want to see Jane. And I want to see Vernon and Nell."</p>
+
+<p>It was settled that he should motor her down to Wiltsbury on the
+following day.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>2</i></h3>
+
+<p>Nell and Vernon had rooms in a small prim house about a mile out of
+Wiltsbury. Vernon, looking well and brown, fell upon Joe and hugged her
+with enthusiasm.</p>
+
+<p>They all went into a room full of antimacassars and lunched off boiled
+mutton and caper sauce.</p>
+
+<p>"Vernon, you look splendid—and almost good-looking, doesn't he, Nell?"</p>
+
+<p>"That's the uniform," said Nell demurely.</p>
+
+<p>She had changed, Sebastian thought, looking at her. He had not
+seen her since her marriage. To him she had always fallen into a
+class—a certain type of charming young girl. Now he saw her as an
+individual—the real Nell bursting out of her chrysalis.</p>
+
+<p>There was a subdued radiance about her. She was quieter than she used
+to be, and yet she was more alive. They were happy together—no one who
+looked at them could doubt it. They seldom looked at each other, but
+when they did you felt it. Something passed between them—delicate,
+evanescent, but unmistakable.</p>
+
+<p>It was a happy meal. They talked of old days—of Abbots Puissants.</p>
+
+<p>"And here we are, all four of us together again," said Joe.</p>
+
+<p>A warm feeling fastened round Nell's heart. Joe had included her. All
+<i>four</i> of us, she had said. Nell remembered how once Vernon had said,
+"We three," and the words had hurt her. But that was over now. She was
+one of them. That was her reward—one of her rewards. Life seemed full
+of rewards at the moment.</p>
+
+<p>She was happy—so terribly happy. And she might so easily not have
+been happy. She might have been actually married to George when the
+war broke out. How could she ever have been so incredibly foolish
+as to think that anything mattered except marrying Vernon? How
+extraordinarily happy they were and how right he had been to say
+poverty didn't matter.</p>
+
+<p>It wasn't as though she were the only one. Lots of girls were doing
+it—flinging up everything, marrying the man they cared for no matter
+how poor he was. After the war something would turn up. That was the
+attitude. And behind it lay that awful secret fear that you never took
+out and looked at properly. The nearest you ever got to it was saying
+defiantly: "And no matter <i>what</i> happens, we'll have had <i>something</i>."</p>
+
+<p>She thought: "The world's changing. Everything's different now. It
+always will be. We'll never go back...."</p>
+
+<p>She looked across the table at Joe. Joe looked different somehow—very
+<i>queer</i>. What you would have called before the war—well, "<i>not
+quite</i>." What had Joe been doing with herself? That nasty man, La
+Marre.... Oh! well, better not think about it. Nothing mattered
+nowadays.</p>
+
+<p>Joe was very nice to her—so different from what she used to be in the
+old days when Nell had always felt uncomfortable that Joe despised her.
+Perhaps she had cause. She <i>had</i> been a little coward.</p>
+
+<p>The war was awful, of course, but it had simplified things. Her mother,
+for instance, had come round almost at once. She was disappointed,
+naturally, about George Chetwynd (poor George, he really <i>was</i> a dear
+and she'd been a beast to him), but Mrs. Vereker proceeded to make the
+best of things with admirable common sense.</p>
+
+<p>"These war marriages!" she used that phrase with a tiny shrug of the
+shoulders. "Poor children—you can't blame them. Not wise, perhaps—but
+what is wisdom at a time like this?" Mrs. Vereker needed all her skill
+and all her wit to deal with her creditors and she had come off pretty
+well. Some of them even felt sympathy for her.</p>
+
+<p>If she and Vernon didn't really like each other, they concealed the
+fact quite creditably, and as a matter of fact had met only once since
+the marriage. It had all been very easy.</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps, if you had courage, things were always easy. Perhaps that was
+the great secret of life.</p>
+
+<p>Nell pondered, then waking from her reverie plunged once more into the
+conversation.</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian was speaking.</p>
+
+<p>"We're going to look Jane up when we get back to town. I've not so much
+as heard of her for ages. Have you, Vernon?"</p>
+
+<p>Vernon shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>"No," he said, "I haven't."</p>
+
+<p>He tried to speak naturally but didn't quite succeed.</p>
+
+<p>"She's very nice," said Nell. "But—well, rather difficult, isn't she?
+I mean, you never quite know what she's thinking about."</p>
+
+<p>"She might be occasionally disconcerting," Sebastian allowed.</p>
+
+<p>"She's an angel," said Joe with vehemence.</p>
+
+<p>Nell was watching Vernon. She thought: "I wish he'd say something ...
+anything. I'm afraid of Jane. I always have been. She's a devil...."</p>
+
+<p>"Probably," said Sebastian, "she's gone to Russia or Timbuctoo or
+Mozambique. One would never be surprised with Jane."</p>
+
+<p>"How long is it since you've seen her?" asked Joe.</p>
+
+<p>"Exactly? Oh, about three weeks."</p>
+
+<p>"Is that all? I thought you meant really ages."</p>
+
+<p>"It seems like it," said Sebastian.</p>
+
+<p>They began to talk of Joe's hospital in Paris. Then they talked of Myra
+and Uncle Sydney. Myra was very well and making an incredible quantity
+of swabs and also did duty twice a week at a canteen. Uncle Sydney
+was well on the way to making a second fortune, having started the
+manufacture of explosives.</p>
+
+<p>"He's got off the mark early," said Sebastian appreciatively. "This
+war's not going to be over for three years at least."</p>
+
+<p>They argued the point. The days of an "optimistic six months" were
+over, but three years were regarded as too gloomy a view. Sebastian
+talked about explosives, the state of Russia, the food question, and
+submarines. He was a little dictatorial, since he was perfectly sure
+that he was right.</p>
+
+<p>At five o'clock Sebastian and Joe got into the car and drove back to
+London. Vernon and Nell stood in the road waving.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said Nell, "that's that." She slipped her arm through Vernon's.
+"I'm glad you were able to get off to-day. Joe would have been awfully
+disappointed not to see you."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you think she's changed?"</p>
+
+<p>"A little. Don't you?"</p>
+
+<p>They were strolling along the road and they turned off where a track
+led over the downs.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Vernon, with a sigh. "I suppose it was inevitable."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm glad she's married. I think it's very fine of her. Don't you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes. Joe was always warm-hearted, bless her!"</p>
+
+<p>He spoke abstractedly. Nell glanced up at him. She realized now that he
+had been rather silent all day. The others had done most of the talking.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm glad they came," she said again.</p>
+
+<p>Vernon didn't answer. She pressed her arm against his and felt him
+press it against his side. But his silence persisted.</p>
+
+<p>It was getting dark and the air came sharp and cold, but they did not
+turn back, walked on and on without speaking. So they had often walked
+before—silent and happy. But this silence was different. There was
+weight in it and menace.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly Nell knew.</p>
+
+<p>"Vernon! It's come! You've got to go...."</p>
+
+<p>He pressed her hand closer still but did not speak.</p>
+
+<p>"Vernon ... when?"</p>
+
+<p>"Next Thursday."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" she stood still. Agony shot through her. It had come. She had
+known it was bound to come, but she hadn't known—quite—what it was
+going to feel like.</p>
+
+<p>"Nell, Nell.... Don't mind so much. Please don't mind so much." The
+words came tumbling out now. "It'll be all right. I <i>know</i> it'll be
+all right. I'm not going to get killed. I couldn't now that you love
+me—now that we're so happy. Some fellows feel their number's up when
+they go out—but I don't. I've a kind of certainty that I'm going to
+come through. I want you to feel that too."</p>
+
+<p>She stood there frozen. This was what war was really. It took the heart
+out of your body, the blood out of your veins. She clung to him with a
+sob. He held her to him.</p>
+
+<p>"It's all right, Nell. We knew it was coming soon. And I'm really
+frightfully keen to go—at least I would be if it wasn't for leaving
+you. You wouldn't like me to have spent the whole war guarding a bridge
+in England, would you? And there will be the leaves to look forward
+to—we'll have the most frightfully jolly leaves. There will be lots
+of money, and we'll simply blow it. Oh! Nell darling, I just know that
+nothing can happen to me now that you care for me."</p>
+
+<p>She agreed with him.</p>
+
+<p>"It can't—it can't. God couldn't be so cruel."</p>
+
+<p>But the thought came to her that God was letting a lot of cruel things
+happen.</p>
+
+<p>She said valiantly, forcing back her tears: "It'll be all right,
+darling. I know it too."</p>
+
+<p>"And even—even if it isn't, you must remember—how perfect this has
+been.... Darling, you have been happy, haven't you?"</p>
+
+<p>She lifted her lips to his. They clung together, dumb, agonizing, the
+shadow of their first parting hanging over them.</p>
+
+<p>How long they stood there they hardly knew.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>3</i></h3>
+
+<p>When they went back to the antimacassars they talked cheerfully of
+ordinary things. Vernon touched only once on the future.</p>
+
+<p>"Nell, when I'm gone will you go to your mother, or what?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. I'd rather stay down here. There are lots of things to do in
+Wiltsbury—hospital, canteen."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but I don't want you to do anything. I think you'd be better
+distracted in London. There will still be theatres and things like
+that."</p>
+
+<p>"No, Vernon, I must do something—work, I mean."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, if you want to work you can knit me socks. I hate all this
+nursing business. I suppose it's necessary, but I don't like it. You
+wouldn't care to go to Birmingham?"</p>
+
+<p>Nell said very decidedly that she would <i>not</i> like to go to Birmingham.</p>
+
+<p>The actual parting when it came was less strenuous. Vernon kissed her
+almost off-handedly.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, so long. Cheer up. Everything's going to be all right. I'll
+write as much as I can, though I expect we're not allowed to say much
+that's interesting. Take care of yourself, Nell darling."</p>
+
+<p>One almost involuntary tightening of his arms round her, and then he
+almost pushed her from him.</p>
+
+<p>He was gone.</p>
+
+<p>She thought: "I shall never sleep to-night ... never...."</p>
+
+<p>But she did. A deep heavy sleep. She went down into it as into an
+abyss. A haunted sleep—full of terror and apprehension that gradually
+faded into the unconsciousness of exhaustion.</p>
+
+<p>She woke with a keen sword of pain piercing her heart.</p>
+
+<p>She thought: "Vernon's gone to the war. I must get something to do."</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="chapter_2IV">chapter 2</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>Nell went to see Mrs. Curtis, the Red Cross commandant. Mrs. Curtis was
+benign and affable. She was enjoying her importance and was convinced
+that she was a born organizer. Actually, she was a very bad one. But
+everyone said she had a wonderful manner. She condescended graciously
+to Nell.</p>
+
+<p>"Let me see, Mrs.—ah! Deyre. You've got your V.A.D. and nursing
+certificates?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"But you don't belong to any of the local detachments?"</p>
+
+<p>Nell's exact standing was discussed at some length.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, we must see what we can do for you," said Mrs. Curtis. "The
+hospital is fully staffed at present, but of course they are always
+falling out. Two days after the first convoy came in, we had seventeen
+resignations. All women of a certain age. They didn't like the way the
+Sisters spoke to them. I myself think the Sisters were perhaps a little
+unnecessarily brutal, but of course there's a great deal of jealousy of
+the Red Cross. And these were well-to-do women who didn't like being
+'spoken to.' You are not sensitive in that way, Mrs. Deyre?"</p>
+
+<p>Nell said that she didn't mind anything.</p>
+
+<p>"That is the spirit," said Mrs. Curtis approvingly. "I myself," she
+continued, "consider it in the light of good discipline. And where
+should we all be without discipline?"</p>
+
+<p>It shot through Nell's mind that Mrs. Curtis had not had to endure
+any discipline, which robbed her pronouncement of some of its
+impressiveness. But she continued to stand there looking attentive and
+impressed.</p>
+
+<p>"I have a list of girls on the reserve," continued Mrs. Curtis. "I
+will add your name. Two days a week you will attend at the Out Patient
+Ward at the Town Hospital, and thereby gain a little experience. They
+are short-handed there and are willing to accept our help. Then you
+and Miss—" she consulted a list—"I think Miss Cardner—yes, Miss
+Cardner—will go with the district nurse on her rounds on Tuesdays and
+Fridays. You've got your uniform, of course? Then that is all right."</p>
+
+<p>Mary Cardner was a pleasant plump girl whose father was a retired
+butcher. She was very friendly to Nell, explained that the days were
+Wednesday and Saturday and not Tuesday and Friday, "but old Curtis
+always gets something wrong," that the district nurse was a dear and
+never jumped on you, and that Sister Margaret at the hospital was a
+holy terror.</p>
+
+<p>On the following Wednesday Nell did her first round with the district
+nurse, a little bustling woman very much overworked. At the end of the
+day she patted Nell kindly on the shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm glad to see you have a head on your shoulders, my dear. Really
+some of the girls who come seem to be half-witted—they do indeed. And
+such fine ladies, you wouldn't believe—Not by birth—I don't mean
+that. But half-educated girls who think nursing is all smoothing a
+pillow and feeding the patient with grapes. You'll know your way about
+in no time."</p>
+
+<p>Heartened by this, Nell presented herself at the Out Patient Department
+at the given time without too much trepidation. She was received by a
+tall gaunt Sister with a malevolent eye.</p>
+
+<p>"Another raw beginner," she grumbled. "Mrs. Curtis sent you, I suppose?
+I'm sick of that woman. Takes me more time and trouble teaching silly
+girls who think they know everything than it would to do everything
+myself."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sorry," said Nell meekly.</p>
+
+<p>"Get a couple of certificates, attend a dozen lectures, and think you
+know everything," said Sister Margaret bitterly. "Here they come. Don't
+get in my way more than you can help."</p>
+
+<p>A typical batch of patients was assembled: a young boy with legs
+riddled with ulcers, a child with scalded legs from an overturned
+kettle, a girl with a needle in her finger, various sufferers with "bad
+ears," "bad legs," "bad arms."</p>
+
+<p>Sister Margaret said sharply to Nell: "Know how to syringe an ear? I
+thought not. Watch me."</p>
+
+<p>Nell watched.</p>
+
+<p>"You can do it next time," said Sister Margaret. "Get the bandage off
+that boy's finger, and let him soak it in hot boracic water till I'm
+ready for him."</p>
+
+<p>Nell felt nervous and clumsy. Sister Margaret was paralyzing her.
+Almost immediately, it seemed, Sister was by her side.</p>
+
+<p>"We haven't got all day here to do things in," she remarked. "Here,
+leave it to me. You seem to be all thumbs. Soak the bandages off that
+kid's legs. Tepid water."</p>
+
+<p>Nell got a basin of tepid water and knelt down before the child, a mere
+mite of three. She was badly burnt and the bandages had stuck to the
+tiny legs. Nell sponged and soaked very gently, but the baby screamed.
+It was a loud long-drawn yell of terror and agony, and it defeated
+Nell utterly.</p>
+
+<p>She felt suddenly sick and faint. She couldn't do this work—she simply
+couldn't do it. She drew back, and as she did so she glanced up to find
+Sister Margaret watching her, a gleam of malicious pleasure showing in
+her eye.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought you couldn't stick it," that eye said.</p>
+
+<p>It rallied Nell as nothing else would have done. She bent her head, and
+setting her teeth, went on with her job, trying to avert her mind from
+the child's shrieks. It was done at last, and Nell stood up, white and
+trembling and feeling deathly sick.</p>
+
+<p>Sister Margaret came along. She seemed disappointed.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! you've done it," she said. She spoke to the child's mother. "I'd
+be a bit more careful how you let the child get at the kettle in
+future, Mrs. Somers," she said.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Somers complained that you couldn't be everywhere at once.</p>
+
+<p>Nell was ordered off to foment a poisoned finger. Next, she assisted
+Sister to syringe the ulcerated leg, and after that stood by while a
+young doctor extracted the needle from the girl's finger. As he probed
+and cut, the girl winced and shrank and he spoke to her sharply.</p>
+
+<p>"Keep quiet, can't you?"</p>
+
+<p>Nell thought: "One never sees this side of things. One is only used to
+a doctor with a bedside manner. <i>I'm afraid this will hurt a little. Be
+as still as you can.</i>"</p>
+
+<p>The young doctor proceeded to extract a couple of teeth, flinging them
+carelessly on the floor, then he treated a smashed hand that had just
+come in from an accident.</p>
+
+<p>It was not, Nell reflected, that he was unskillful. It was the absence
+of manner that was so disturbing to one's preconceived ideas. Whatever
+he did, Sister Margaret accompanied him, tittering in a sycophantic
+manner at any joke he was pleased to make. Of Nell he took no notice.</p>
+
+<p>At last the hour was over. Nell was thankful. She said good-bye timidly
+to Sister Margaret.</p>
+
+<p>"Like it?" asked Sister with a demoniac grin.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid I'm very stupid," said Nell.</p>
+
+<p>"How can you be anything else?" said Sister Margaret. "A lot of
+amateurs like you Red Cross people. And thinking you know everything on
+earth. Well, perhaps, you'll be a little less clumsy next time!"</p>
+
+<p>Such was Nell's encouraging début at the hospital.</p>
+
+<p>It grew less terrible as time went on, however. Sister Margaret
+softened and relaxed her attitude of fierce defensiveness. She even
+permitted herself to answer questions.</p>
+
+<p>"You're not so stuck-up as most," she allowed graciously.</p>
+
+<p>Nell, in her turn, was impressed by the enormous amount of competent
+work Sister Margaret managed to put in in a very short time. And she
+understood a little her soreness on the subject of amateurs.</p>
+
+<p>What struck Nell most was the enormous number of "bad legs" and their
+prototypes, most of them evidently old friends. She asked Sister
+Margaret timidly about them.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing much to be done about it," Sister Margaret replied.
+"Hereditary, most of them. Bad blood. You can't cure it."</p>
+
+<p>Another thing that impressed Nell was the uncomplaining heroism of the
+poor. They came and were treated, suffered great pain, and went off to
+walk several miles home without a thought.</p>
+
+<p>She saw it too in their homes. She and Mary Cardner had taken over a
+certain amount of the district nurse's round. They washed bedridden
+old women, tended "bad legs," occasionally washed and tended babies
+whose mothers were too ill to do anything. The cottages were small,
+the windows usually hermetically sealed, and the places littered with
+treasures dear to the hearts of the owners. The stuffiness was often
+unbearable.</p>
+
+<p>The worst shock was about two weeks after beginning work, when they
+found a bedridden old man dead in his bed and had to lay him out. But
+for Mary Cardner's matter-of-fact cheerfulness Nell felt she could not
+have done it.</p>
+
+<p>The district nurse praised them.</p>
+
+<p>"You're good girls. And you're being a real help."</p>
+
+<p>They went home glowing with satisfaction. Never in her life had Nell so
+appreciated a hot bath and a lavish allowance of bath salts.</p>
+
+<p>She had had two postcards from Vernon. Mere scrawls saying he was
+all right and everything was splendid. She wrote to him every day,
+describing her adventures, trying to make them sound as amusing as
+possible. He wrote back:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p><i>Somewhere in France</i></p>
+
+<p>Darling Nell:</p>
+
+<p>I'm all right. Feeling splendidly fit. It's all a great adventure, but
+I do long to see you. I do wish you wouldn't go into these beastly
+cottages and places and mess about with diseased people. I'm sure
+you'll catch something. Why you want to, I can't think. I'm sure it
+isn't necessary. Do give up.</p>
+
+<p>We think mostly about our food out here, and the Tommies think of
+nothing but their tea. They'll risk being blown to bits any time for
+a cup of 'ot tea. I have to censor their letters. One man always ends
+"Yours till hell freezes," so I'll say the same.</p>
+
+<p class="ph3">Yours, Vernon.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>One morning Nell received a telephone call from Mrs. Curtis.</p>
+
+<p>"There is a vacancy for a ward maid, Mrs. Deyre. Afternoon duty. Be at
+the hospital at two-thirty."</p>
+
+<p>The Town Hall of Wiltsbury had been turned into a hospital. It was a
+big new building standing in the cathedral square and overshadowed by
+the tall spire of the cathedral. A handsome being in uniform with a
+game leg and medals received her kindly at the front entrance.</p>
+
+<p>"You've come to the wrong door, missie. Staff through the
+quartermaster's stores. Here, the scout will show you the way."</p>
+
+<p>A diminutive scout conducted her down steps, through a kind of gloomy
+crypt where an elderly lady in Red Cross uniform sat surrounded with
+bales of hospital shirts—wearing several shawls and shivering a good
+deal—then along stone-flagged passages, and finally into a gloomy
+underground chamber where she was received by Miss Curtain, the chief
+of the ward maids, a tall thin lady with a face like a dreaming duchess
+and charming gentle manners.</p>
+
+<p>Nell was instructed in her duties, which were simple enough to
+understand. They entailed hard work, but no difficulty. A certain area
+of stone passages and steps to scrub. Then the nurses' tea to lay, wait
+on, and finally clear away. Then the ward maids had their own tea. Then
+the same routine for supper.</p>
+
+<p>Nell soon got the hang of things. The salient points of the new life
+were: one, war with the kitchen; two, the difficulty of providing the
+Sisters with the right kind of tea.</p>
+
+<p>There was a long table where the V.A.D. nurses sat, pouring down in a
+stream, frantically hungry, and always the food seemed to fail before
+the last three were seated. You then applied to the kitchen through a
+tube and got a biting rejoinder. The right amount of bread and butter
+had been sent up, three pieces for each. Somebody must have eaten more
+than her share. Loud disclaimers from the V.A.D.'s. They chatted to
+each other amiably and freely, addressing each other by their surnames.</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't eat your slice of bread, Jones. I wouldn't do such a mean
+thing!" "They always send it up wrong." "Look here, Catford's got
+to have something to eat. She's got an op. in half an hour." "Hurry
+up, Bulgy [an affectionate nickname, this]. We've got all those
+mackintoshes to scrub."</p>
+
+<p>Very different the behaviour at the Sisters' table at the other side
+of the room. Conversation there went on genteelly in frosty whispers.
+Before each Sister was a small brown pot of tea. It was Nell's business
+to know exactly how strong each Sister liked it. It was never a
+question of how weak! To bring "washy" tea to a Sister was to fall from
+grace for ever.</p>
+
+<p>The whispers went on incessantly.</p>
+
+<p>"I said to her: 'Naturally the surgical cases receive the first
+attention.'" "I only passed the remark, so to speak." "Pushing herself
+forward. Always the same thing." "Would you believe it, she forgot
+to hold the towel for the doctor's hands." "I said to doctor this
+morning...." "I passed the remark to Nurse...."</p>
+
+<p>Again and again that one phrase recurred: "I passed the remark." Nell
+grew to listen for it. When she approached the table the whispers
+became lower and the Sisters looked at her suspiciously. Their
+conversation was secretive and shrouded in dignity. With enormous
+formality, they offered each other tea.</p>
+
+<p>"Some of mine, Sister Westhaven? There's plenty in the pot." "Would you
+oblige me with the sugar, Sister Carr?" "Pardon me."</p>
+
+<p>Nell had just begun to realize the hospital atmosphere, the feuds, the
+jealousies, the cabals, and the hundred-and-one undercurrents, when she
+was promoted to the ward, one of the nurses having gone sick.</p>
+
+<p>She had a row of twelve beds to attend to, mostly surgical cases. Her
+companion was Gladys Potts, a small giggling creature, intelligent but
+lazy. The ward was under the charge of Sister Westhaven, a tall thin
+acid woman with a look of permanent disapproval. Nell's heart sank when
+she saw her, but later she congratulated herself. Sister Westhaven was
+far the pleasantest nurse in the hospital to work under.</p>
+
+<p>There were five Sisters in all. Sister Carr, round and good-tempered
+looking. The men liked her and she giggled and joked with them a good
+deal, and was then late over her dressings and hurried over them. She
+called the V.A.D.'s "dear," and patted them affectionately, but her
+temper was uncertain. She herself was so unpunctual that everything
+went wrong and the "dear" was blamed for it. She was maddening to work
+under.</p>
+
+<p>Sister Barnes was impossible. Everyone said so. She ranted and scolded
+from morning to night. She hated V.A.D.'s and let them know it. "I'll
+teach them to come here thinking they know everything," was her
+constant declaration. Apart from her biting sarcasm, she was a good
+nurse, and some of the girls liked working under her in spite of her
+lashing tongue.</p>
+
+<p>Sister Dunlop was a dug-out. She was kindly and placid, but thoroughly
+lazy. She drank a great deal of tea and did as little work as possible.</p>
+
+<p>Sister Norris was Theatre Sister. She was competent at her job, rouged
+her lips, and was cattish to her underlings.</p>
+
+<p>Sister Westhaven was by far the best nurse in the hospital. She was
+enthusiastic over work and was a good judge of those under her. If they
+showed promise she was reasonably amiable to them. If she judged them
+fools they led a miserable life.</p>
+
+<p>On the fourth day she said to Nell: "I thought you weren't worth much
+at first, Nurse. But you've got a good lot of work in you."</p>
+
+<p>So much imbued by now was Nell by the hospital spirit that she went
+home in the seventh heaven.</p>
+
+<p>Little by little she sank into the hospital rut. At first she had
+suffered a heart-rending pang at the sight of the wounded. The first
+dressing of wounds at which she assisted was almost more than she could
+bear. Those who "longed to nurse" usually brought a certain amount
+of emotionalism to the task. But they were soon purged of it. Blood,
+wounds, suffering were everyday matters.</p>
+
+<p>Nell was popular with the men. In the slack hour after tea she wrote
+letters for them, fetched books she thought they would like from the
+shelves at the end of the ward, heard stories of their families and
+sweethearts. She became, in common with the other nurses, zealous to
+defend them from the cruelties and stupidities of the would-be kind.</p>
+
+<p>On visitors' days streams of elderly ladies arrived. They sat down by
+beds and did their best to "cheer our brave soldier." Certain things
+were conventions. "You're longing to get back, I suppose?" And "Yes,
+ma'am," was always the answer given. Descriptions were sought of the
+Angels at Mons.</p>
+
+<p>There were also concerts. Some were well organized and were thoroughly
+enjoyed. Others——! They were summed up by the nurse on the next row
+to Nell, Phillis Deacon:</p>
+
+<p>"Anybody who thinks they can sing, but has never been allowed to by
+their families, has got their chance now!"</p>
+
+<p>There were also clergymen. Never, Nell thought, had she seen so many
+clergymen. One or two were appreciated. They were fine men, with
+sympathy and understanding, and they knew the right things to say and
+did not stress the religious side of their duties unduly. But there
+were many others.</p>
+
+<p>"Nurse."</p>
+
+<p>Nell paused in a hurried progress along the ward, having just been told
+sharply by Sister: "Nurse, your beds are crooked, No. 7's sticking
+out."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"Couldn't you wash me now, Nurse?"</p>
+
+<p>Nell stared at the unusual request.</p>
+
+<p>"It's not nearly half-past seven."</p>
+
+<p>"It's the parson. He's at me to be confirmed. He's coming in now."</p>
+
+<p>Nell took pity on him. The Reverend Canon Edgerton found his
+prospective convert barred from him by screens and basins of water.</p>
+
+<p>"Thank yer, Nurse," said the patient hoarsely. "It seems a bit hard to
+go on nagging at a feller when he can't get away from yer, doesn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>Washing—interminable washing. The patients were washed, the ward was
+washed, and at every hour of the day there were mackintoshes to scrub.</p>
+
+<p>And eternal tidiness.</p>
+
+<p>"Nurse—your beds. The bedclothes are hanging down on No. 9. No. 2 has
+pushed his bed sideways. What will Doctor think?"</p>
+
+<p>Doctor—Doctor—Doctor. Morning, noon, and night, Doctor! Doctor was
+a god. For a mere V.A.D. to speak to Doctor was <i>lèse majesté</i> and
+brought down the vials of wrath on your head from Sister. Some of the
+V.A.D.'s offended innocently. They were Wiltsbury girls and they knew
+the doctors—knew them as ordinary human beings. They said good-morning
+blithely. Soon they knew better—knew they had been guilty of that
+awful sin, "pushing yourself forward." Mary Cardner "pushed herself
+forward." Doctor asked for some scissors and, unthinkingly, she handed
+him the pair she wore. Sister explained her crime to her at length. She
+ended thus:</p>
+
+<p>"I don't say you mightn't have done this. Seeing you had the exact
+thing that was wanted, you might have said to me—in a whisper, that
+is—'Is this what is needed, Sister?' And I would have taken them from
+you and handed them to Doctor. No one could have objected to that."</p>
+
+<p>You got tired of the word "Doctor." Every remark Sister made was
+punctuated with it, even when speaking to him.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Doctor ... 102 this morning, Doctor.... I don't think so,
+Doctor.... Pardon, Doctor? I didn't quite catch.... Nurse, hold the
+towel for Doctor's hands."</p>
+
+<p>And you held the towel meekly, standing like a glorified towel horse.
+And Doctor, having wiped his sacred hands, flung the towel on the floor
+where you meekly picked it up. You poured water for Doctor, you handed
+soap to Doctor, and finally you received the command:</p>
+
+<p>"Nurse, open the door for Doctor."</p>
+
+<p>"And what I'm afraid is, we shan't be able to grow out of it
+afterward," said Phillis Deacon wrathfully. "I shall never feel the
+same about doctors again. Even the scrubbiest little doctors I shall be
+subservient to, and when they come to dine I shall find myself rushing
+to open the door for them. I know I shall."</p>
+
+<p>There was a great freemasonry in the hospital. Class distinctions were
+a thing of the past. The dean's daughter, the butcher's daughter, Mrs.
+Manfred who was the wife of a draper's assistant, Phillis Deacon who
+was the daughter of a baronet—they all called each other by their
+surname and shared the common interest of "what would there be for
+supper, and would it go round?" Undoubtedly there was cheating. Gladys
+Potts, the giggler, was discovered to go down early and surreptitiously
+to filch an extra piece of bread and butter or an unfair helping of
+rice.</p>
+
+<p>"You know," said Phillis Deacon, "I do sympathize with servants now.
+One always thinks they mind so much about their food—and here are we
+getting just the same. It's having nothing else to look forward to. I
+could have cried when the scrambled eggs didn't go round last night."</p>
+
+<p>"They oughtn't to have scrambled eggs," said Mary Cardner angrily. "The
+eggs ought to be separate, poached or boiled. Scrambled gives too much
+opportunity to unscrupulous people."</p>
+
+<p>And she looked with significance at Gladys Potts, who giggled nervously
+and moved away.</p>
+
+<p>"That girl's a slacker," said Phillis Deacon. "She's always got
+something else to do when it's screens. And she sucks up to Sister.
+It doesn't matter with Westhaven. Westhaven's fair. But she flattered
+little Carr till she got all the soft jobs."</p>
+
+<p>Little Potts was unpopular. Strenuous efforts were made to force her
+to do the more disagreeable work sometimes, but Potts was wily. Only
+the resourceful Deacon was a match for her.</p>
+
+<p>There were also the jealousies amongst the doctors themselves.
+Naturally they all wanted the more interesting surgical cases. The
+allotting of cases to different wards gave rise to feeling.</p>
+
+<p>Nell soon knew all the doctors and their various attributes. There was
+Dr. Lang, tall, untidy, slouching, with long nervous fingers. He was
+the cleverest surgeon of the lot. He had a sarcastic tongue, and was
+ruthless in his treatments but he was clever. All the Sisters adored
+him.</p>
+
+<p>Then there was Dr. Wilbraham, who had the fashionable practice of
+Wiltsbury. A big florid man, genial in temper when things went well,
+and the manners of a spoilt child when he was put out. If he was tired
+and cross he was unnecessarily rough and Nell hated him.</p>
+
+<p>There was Dr. Meadows, a quiet efficient G. P. He was content not to do
+operations and he gave every case unfailing attention. He always spoke
+politely to the V.A.D.'s and omitted to throw towels on the floor.</p>
+
+<p>Then there was Dr. Bury, who was not supposed to be much good and who
+was himself convinced that he knew everything. He was always wishing
+to try extraordinary new methods and he never continued one treatment
+for more than a couple of days. If one of his patients died, it was the
+fashion to say: "Do you wonder, with Dr. Bury?"</p>
+
+<p>Then there was young Dr. Keen, who had been invalided home from the
+front. He was little more than a medical student but he was full
+of importance. He even demeaned himself to chat with the V.A.D.'s,
+explaining the importance of an operation that had just taken place.
+Nell said to Sister Westhaven: "I didn't know Dr. Keen was operating.
+I thought it was Dr. Lang." Sister replied grimly: "Dr. Keen held the
+leg. That's all."</p>
+
+<p>Operations had been a nightmare to Nell at first. At the first one she
+attended, the floor rose at her and a nurse led her out. She hardly
+dared to face Sister, but Sister was unexpectedly kind.</p>
+
+<p>"It's partly the lack of air and the smell of the ether, Nurse," she
+said kindly. "Go into a short one next. You'll get used to it."</p>
+
+<p>Next time Nell felt faint but did not have to go out, the time after
+she felt sick only, and the time after that she didn't feel sick at all.</p>
+
+<p>Once or twice she was lent to help the theatre nurse clear up the
+operating theatre after an unusually big op. The place was like a
+shambles, blood everywhere. The theatre nurse was only eighteen, a
+determined slip of a thing. She owned to Nell that she had hated it at
+first.</p>
+
+<p>"The very first op. was a leg," she said. "Amputation. And Sister went
+off afterward and left me to clear up, and I had to take the leg down
+to the furnace myself. It was awful."</p>
+
+<p>On her days out Nell went to tea with friends. Some of them were kindly
+old ladies and sentimentalized over her and told her she was splendid.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't work on Sundays, do you, dear? Really? Oh! but that isn't
+right. Sunday should be a day of rest."</p>
+
+<p>Nell pointed out gently that the soldiers had to be washed and fed on
+Sundays just as any other day, and the old ladies admitted this but
+seemed to think that the matter should have been better organized.
+They were also very distressed at Nell's having to walk home alone at
+midnight.</p>
+
+<p>Others were even more difficult.</p>
+
+<p>"I hear these hospital nurses give themselves great airs, ordering
+everyone about. I shouldn't stand that kind of thing myself. I am
+willing to do anything I can to help in this dreadful war, but
+impertinence I will not stand. I told Mrs. Curtis so, and she agreed it
+would be better for me not to do hospital work."</p>
+
+<p>To these ladies Nell made no reply at all.</p>
+
+<p>The rumour of "the Russians" was sweeping through England at this time.
+Everyone had seen them—or if not actually seen them, their cook's
+second cousin had, which was practically the same thing. The rumour
+died hard—it was so pleasing and so exciting.</p>
+
+<p>A very old lady who came to the hospital took Nell aside.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear," she said, "don't believe that story. It's true, but not in
+the way we think."</p>
+
+<p>Nell looked inquiringly at her.</p>
+
+<p>"Eggs!" said the old lady in a poignant whisper. "Russian eggs! Several
+millions of them—to keep us from starving."</p>
+
+<p>Nell wrote all these things to Vernon. She felt terribly cut off from
+him. His letters were naturally terse and constrained and he seemed to
+dislike the idea of her working in hospital. He urged her again and
+again to go to London—enjoy herself.</p>
+
+<p>How queer men were, Nell thought. They didn't seem to understand. She
+would hate to be one of the "keeping themselves bright for the boys"
+brigade. How soon you drifted apart when you were doing different
+things! She couldn't share Vernon's life and he couldn't share hers.</p>
+
+<p>The first agony of parting, when she had felt sure he would be killed,
+was over. She had fallen into the routine of wives. Four months had
+passed and he hadn't been even wounded. He wouldn't be. Everything was
+all right.</p>
+
+<p>Five months after he had gone out he wired that he had got leave.
+Nell's heart almost stopped beating. She was so excited! She went off
+to Matron and was granted leave of absence.</p>
+
+<p>She travelled to London feeling strange and unusual in ordinary
+clothes. Their first leave!</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>2</i></h3>
+
+<p>It was true—really true! The leave train came in and disgorged its
+multitudes. She saw him. He was actually there. They met. Neither could
+speak. He squeezed her hand frantically. She knew then how afraid she
+had been....</p>
+
+<p>That five days went by in a flash. It was like some queer delirious
+dream. She adored Vernon and he adored her, but they were in some ways
+like strangers to each other. He was offhand when she spoke about
+France. It was all right—everything was all right. One made jokes
+about it and refused to treat it seriously. "For goodness' sake, Nell,
+don't sentimentalize. It's awful to come home and find everyone with
+long faces. And don't talk slush about our brave soldiers laying down
+their lives, <i>etc.</i> That sort of stuff makes me sick. Let's get tickets
+for another show."</p>
+
+<p>Something in his absolute callousness perturbed her—it seemed somehow
+rather dreadful to treat everything so lightly. When he asked her what
+she had been doing she could only give him hospital news, and that he
+didn't like. He begged her again to give it up.</p>
+
+<p>"It's a filthy job, nursing. I hate to think of your doing it."</p>
+
+<p>She felt chilled, rebuffed, then rebuked herself. They were together
+again. What did anything else matter?</p>
+
+<p>They had a wild delightful time. They went to a show and danced every
+night. In the daytime they went shopping. Vernon bought her everything
+that took his fancy. They went to a Paris firm of dressmakers and sat
+there whilst airy young duchesses floated past in wisps of chiffon and
+Vernon chose the most expensive model. They felt horribly wicked but
+dreadfully happy when Nell wore it that night.</p>
+
+<p>Then Nell told him he ought to go and see his mother. Vernon rebelled.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! darling, I don't want to! Our little short precious time. I can't
+miss a minute of it."</p>
+
+<p>Nell pleaded. Myra would be terribly hurt and disappointed.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, then, you've got to come with me."</p>
+
+<p>"No, that wouldn't do at all."</p>
+
+<p>In the end, he went down to Birmingham for a flying visit. His mother
+made a tremendous fuss over him—greeted him with floods of what she
+called "glad proud tears," and trotted him round to see the Bents.
+Vernon came back seething with conscious virtue.</p>
+
+<p>"You are a hard-hearted devil, Nell. We've missed a whole day! God, how
+I've been slobbered over."</p>
+
+<p>He felt ashamed as soon as he had said it. Why couldn't he love his
+mother better? Why did she always manage to rub him up the wrong way,
+no matter how good his resolutions were? He gave Nell a hug.</p>
+
+<p>"I didn't mean it. I'm glad you made me go. You're so sweet, Nell. You
+never think of yourself. It's so wonderful being with you again. You
+don't know...."</p>
+
+<p>And she put on the French model gown and they went out to dine with
+a ridiculous feeling of having been model children and deserving a
+reward.</p>
+
+<p>They had nearly finished dinner when Nell saw Vernon's face change. It
+stiffened and grew anxious.</p>
+
+<p>"What is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing," he said hastily.</p>
+
+<p>But she turned and looked behind her. At a small table against the wall
+was Jane.</p>
+
+<p>Something cold seemed for a moment to rest on Nell's heart. Then she
+said easily:</p>
+
+<p>"Why, it's Jane! Let's go and speak to her."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I'd rather not." She was a little surprised by the vehemence of
+his tone. He saw that and went on: "I'm stupid, darling. I want to
+have you and nothing but you—not other people butting in. Have you
+finished? Let's go. I don't want to miss the beginning of the play."</p>
+
+<p>They paid the bill and went. Jane nodded to them carelessly and Nell
+waved her hand to her. They arrived at the theatre ten minutes early.</p>
+
+<p>Later, as Nell was slipping the gown from her white shoulders, Vernon
+said suddenly: "Nell, do you think I shall ever write music again?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course. Why not?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! I don't know. I don't think I want to."</p>
+
+<p>She looked at him in surprise. He was sitting on a chair, frowning into
+space.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought it was the only thing you cared about."</p>
+
+<p>"Cared about—cared about—that doesn't express it in the least. It
+isn't the things you care about that matter. It's the things you can't
+get rid of—the things that won't let you go—that haunt you—like a
+face that you can't help seeing even when you don't want to...."</p>
+
+<p>"Darling Vernon—don't."</p>
+
+<p>She came and knelt down beside him. He clutched her to him convulsively.</p>
+
+<p>"Nell—darling Nell—nothing matters but you. Kiss me...."</p>
+
+<p>But he reverted presently to the topic. He said irrelevantly: "Guns
+make a pattern, you know. A musical pattern, I mean. Not the sound one
+hears. I mean the pattern the sound makes in space. I suppose that's
+nonsense—but I know what I mean."</p>
+
+<p>And again a minute or two later: "If one could only get hold of it
+properly."</p>
+
+<p>Ever so slightly, she moved her body away from him. It was as though
+she challenged her rival. She never admitted it openly, but secretly
+she feared Vernon's music. If only he didn't care so much.</p>
+
+<p>And to-night, at any rate, she was triumphant. He drew her back,
+holding her close, showering kisses on her.</p>
+
+<p>But long after Nell was asleep, Vernon lay staring into the darkness,
+seeing against his will Jane's face and the outline of her body in its
+dull green satin sheath as he had seen it against the crimson curtain
+at the restaurant.</p>
+
+<p>He said to himself very softly under his breath: "Damn Jane!"</p>
+
+<p>But he knew that you couldn't get rid of Jane as easily as that.</p>
+
+<p>He wished he hadn't seen her.</p>
+
+<p>There was something so damnably disturbing about Jane.</p>
+
+<p>He forgot her the next day. It was their last, and it went terribly
+quickly.</p>
+
+<p>All too soon, it was over.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>3</i></h3>
+
+<p>It had been like a dream. Now the dream was over. Nell was back at
+the hospital. It seemed to her she had never been away. She waited
+desperately for the post—for Vernon's first letter. It came—more
+ardent and unrestrained than usual, as though even censorship had been
+forgotten. Nell wore it against her heart and the indelible pencil came
+off on her skin. She wrote and told him so.</p>
+
+<p>Life went on as usual. Dr. Lang went out to the front and was replaced
+by an elderly doctor with a beard who said, "Thank ye, thank ye,
+Sister," every time he was offered a towel or was helped on with his
+white linen coat. They had a slack time with most of the beds empty and
+Nell found the enforced idleness trying.</p>
+
+<p>One day, to her surprise and delight, Sebastian walked in. He was home
+on leave and had come down to look her up. Vernon had asked him to.</p>
+
+<p>"You've seen him then?"</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian said Yes, his lot had taken over from Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>"And he's all right?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! yes, he's all <i>right</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>Something in the way he said it caused her alarm. She pressed him.
+Sebastian frowned in perplexity.</p>
+
+<p>"It's difficult to explain, Nell. You see, Vernon's an odd
+beggar—always has been. He doesn't like looking things in the face."</p>
+
+<p>He quelled the fierce retort that he saw rising to her lips.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't mean in the least what you think I mean. He isn't <i>afraid</i>.
+Lucky devil, I don't think he knows what fear is. I wish I didn't. No,
+it's different from that. It's the whole life—it's pretty ghastly, you
+know. Dirt and blood and filth, and noise—above all, noise! Recurrent
+noise at fixed times. It gets on my nerves, so what must it do to
+Vernon's?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but what did you mean by not facing things."</p>
+
+<p>"Simply that he won't admit that there's anything to face. He's afraid
+of minding, so he says there's nothing <i>to</i> mind. If he'd only admit
+that it's a bloody filthy business like I do he'd be all right. But
+it's like that old piano business—he won't look at the thing fair
+and square. And it's no good saying 'there ain't no such thing'
+when there <i>is</i>. But that's always been Vernon's way. He's in good
+spirits—enjoying everything—and it isn't natural. I'm afraid of
+his——Oh! I don't know what I'm afraid of. But I know that telling
+yourself fairy stories is about the worst thing you can do. Vernon's a
+musician, and he's got the nerves of a musician. The worst of him is
+that he doesn't know anything about himself. He never has."</p>
+
+<p>Nell looked troubled.</p>
+
+<p>"Sebastian, what do you think will happen?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! nothing, probably. What I should like to happen would be for
+Vernon to stop one, in as conveniently painless a place as possible,
+and come back to be nursed for a bit."</p>
+
+<p>"How I wish that would happen!"</p>
+
+<p>"Poor old Nell! It's rotten for all you people. I'm glad I haven't got
+a wife."</p>
+
+<p>"If you had——" Nell paused, then went on. "Would you want her to
+work in a hospital or would you rather she did nothing?"</p>
+
+<p>"Everybody will be working sooner or later. It's as well to get down to
+it as soon as possible, I should say."</p>
+
+<p>"Vernon doesn't like my doing this."</p>
+
+<p>"That's his ostrich act again, plus the reactionary spirit that he's
+inherited and will never quite outgrow. Sooner or later he'll face
+the fact that women are working—but he won't admit it till the last
+minute."</p>
+
+<p>Nell sighed.</p>
+
+<p>"How worrying everything is."</p>
+
+<p>"I know. And I've made things worse for you. But I'm awfully fond of
+Vernon. He's the one friend I care about. And I hoped if I told you
+what I thought you'd encourage him to—well, give way a little—at any
+rate to you. But perhaps to you he does let himself go?"</p>
+
+<p>Nell shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>"He won't do anything but joke about the war."</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian whistled.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, next time—get it out of him. Stick to it."</p>
+
+<p>Nell said suddenly and sharply: "Do you think he'd talk better—to
+Jane?"</p>
+
+<p>"To Jane?" Sebastian looked rather embarrassed. "I don't know. Perhaps.
+It all depends."</p>
+
+<p>"You do think so! Why? Tell me why? Is she more sympathetic, or what?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Lord, no. Jane's not exactly sympathetic. Provocative is more the
+word. You get annoyed with her—and out pops the truth. She makes you
+aware of yourself in ways you don't want to be. There's nobody like
+Jane for pulling you off your high horse."</p>
+
+<p>"You think she's a lot of influence over Vernon?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! I wouldn't say that. And anyway, it wouldn't matter if she had.
+She's doing relief work in Serbia. Sailed a fortnight ago."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" said Nell. She drew a deep breath and smiled.</p>
+
+<p>Somehow, she felt happier.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>4</i></h3>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>Darling Nell:</p>
+
+<p>Do you know I dream of you every night? Usually you're nice to me,
+but sometimes you're a little beast. Cold and hard and far away.
+You couldn't be that really, could you? Not now. Darling, will the
+indelible pencil ever come off?</p>
+
+<p>Nell sweetest, I never believe I'm going to be killed, but if I were,
+what would it matter? We've had so much. You'd think of me always
+as happy and loving you, wouldn't you, sweetheart? I know I'd go on
+loving you after I was dead. That's the only bit of me that couldn't
+die. I love you—love you—love you....</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>He had never written to her quite like that before. She put the letter
+in its usual place.</p>
+
+<p>That day she was absent-minded at the hospital. She forgot things. The
+men noticed it.</p>
+
+<p>"Nurse is daydreaming," they teased her, making little jokes. And she
+laughed back.</p>
+
+<p>It was so wonderful, so very wonderful, to be loved. Sister Westhaven
+was in a temper. Nurse Potts slacked more than usual. But it didn't
+matter. Nothing mattered.</p>
+
+<p>Even the monumental Sister Jenkins, who came on night duty and was
+always full of pessimism, failed to impress her with any kind of gloom.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah!" Sister Jenkins would say, settling her cuffs and moving three
+double chins round inside her collar in an effort to alleviate their
+mass. "No. 3 still alive? You surprise me. I didn't think he'd last
+through the day. Well, he'll be gone to-morrow, poor young chap.
+[Sister Jenkins was always prophesying that patients would be gone
+to-morrow, and the failure of her prognostications to come true never
+seemed to induce in her a more hopeful attitude.] I don't like the
+look of No. 18—that last operation was worse than useless. No. 8 is
+going to take a turn for the worse, unless I'm much mistaken. I said
+so to Doctor, but he didn't listen to me. Now then, Nurse [with sudden
+acerbity], no good for you to hang about. Off duty is off duty."</p>
+
+<p>Nell accepted this gracious permission to depart, well aware that if
+she had not lingered Sister Jenkins would have asked her "what she
+meant by hurrying away like that?—not even willing to wait a minute
+overtime."</p>
+
+<p>It took twenty minutes to walk home. The night was a clear starry one
+and Nell enjoyed the walk. If only Vernon could have been walking
+beside her!</p>
+
+<p>She let herself into the house very quietly with her latch-key. Her
+landlady always went to bed early. On the tray in the hall was an
+orange-coloured envelope.</p>
+
+<p>She knew then.</p>
+
+<p>Telling herself that it wasn't—that it couldn't be—that he was only
+wounded—surely he was only wounded ... yet she knew.</p>
+
+<p>A sentence from the letter she had received that morning leaped out at
+her: <i>Nell sweetest, I never believe I am going to be killed, but if I
+were, what would it matter? We've had so much....</i></p>
+
+<p>He had never written like that before. He must have felt—have known.
+Sensitive people did know sometimes beforehand.</p>
+
+<p>She stood there, holding the telegram. Vernon—her lover, her
+husband.... She stood there a long time.</p>
+
+<p>Then at last she opened the telegram, which informed her with deep
+regret that Lieutenant Vernon Deyre had been Killed in Action.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="chapter_3IV">chapter 3</h2>
+</div>
+
+<p>A memorial service was held for Vernon in the little old church at
+Abbotsford under the shadow of Abbots Puissants, as it had been held
+for his father. The two last of the Deyres were not to lie in the
+family vault. One in South Africa, one in France.</p>
+
+<p>In Nell's memory afterward the proceedings seemed shadowed by the
+monumental bulk of Mrs. Levinne—a vast matriarchal figure dwarfing
+everything else. She herself had to bite her lips not to laugh
+hysterically. The whole thing was so funny somehow—so unlike Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>Her mother was there, elegant and aloof. Uncle Sydney was there, in
+black broadcloth, restraining himself from jingling his money with
+great difficulty, and with a suitable "mourner's" face. Myra Deyre was
+there in heavy crape, weeping copiously and unrestrainedly. But it was
+Mrs. Levinne who dominated the proceedings. She came back with them
+afterward to the sitting room at the inn, identifying herself with the
+family.</p>
+
+<p>"Poor dear boy—poor dear gallant boy! I've always thought of him like
+another thon."</p>
+
+<p>She was genuinely distressed. Tears splashed down on her black bodice.
+She patted Myra on the shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, now, my dear, you mustn't take on so. You mustn't indeed. It's
+our duty, all of us, to bear up. You gave him to his country. You
+couldn't do more. Here's Nell—as brave as can be."</p>
+
+<p>"Everything I had in the world," sobbed Myra. "First husband, then son.
+Nothing left."</p>
+
+<p>She stared ahead of her through blood-suffused eyes in a kind of
+ecstasy of bereavement.</p>
+
+<p>"The very best son—we were everything to each other." She caught Mrs.
+Levinne's hand. "You'll know what it feels like if Sebastian...."</p>
+
+<p>A spasm of fear passed across Mrs. Levinne's face. She clenched her
+hands.</p>
+
+<p>"I see they've sent up some sandwiches and some port," said Uncle
+Sydney, creating a diversion. "Very thoughtful. Very thoughtful. A
+little drop of port, Myra dear. You've been through a great strain, you
+know."</p>
+
+<p>Myra waved away port with a horror-stricken hand. Uncle Sydney was made
+to feel that he had displayed callousness.</p>
+
+<p>"We've all got to keep up," he said. "It's our duty."</p>
+
+<p>His hand stole to his pocket and he began to jingle.</p>
+
+<p>"Syd!"</p>
+
+<p>"Sorry, Myra."</p>
+
+<p>Again Nell felt that wild desire to giggle. She didn't want to cry. She
+wanted to laugh and laugh and laugh.... Awful—to feel like that.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought everything went off very nicely," said Uncle Sydney. "Very
+nicely indeed. A most impressive lot of the villagers attended. You
+wouldn't like to stroll round Abbots Puissants? That was a very nice
+letter putting it at our disposal to-day."</p>
+
+<p>"I hate the place," said Myra vehemently. "I always have."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose, Nell, you've seen the lawyers? I understand Vernon made a
+perfectly simple will before going out to France, leaving everything to
+you. In that case, Abbots Puissants is now yours. It was not entailed,
+and in any case there are no Deyres now in existence."</p>
+
+<p>Nell said: "Thank you, Uncle Sydney, I've seen the lawyer. He was very
+kind and explained everything to me."</p>
+
+<p>"That's more than any lawyer can do as a rule," said Uncle Sydney.
+"They make the simplest thing sound difficult. It's not my business to
+advise you, but I know there's no man in your family who can do so.
+Much the best thing you can do is to sell it. There's no money to keep
+it up, you know. You understand that?"</p>
+
+<p>Nell did understand. She saw that Uncle Sydney was making it clear to
+her that no Bent money was coming her way. Myra would leave her money
+back to her own family. That, of course, was only natural. Nell would
+never have dreamed of anything else.</p>
+
+<p>As a matter of fact, Uncle Sydney had at once tackled Myra as to
+whether there was a child coming. Myra said she didn't think so. Uncle
+Sydney said she had better make sure. "I don't know exactly how the law
+stands, but as it is, if you were to pop off to-morrow, having left
+your money to Vernon, it might go to her. No good taking any chances."</p>
+
+<p>Myra said tearfully that it was very unkind of him to suggest that she
+was going to die.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing of the sort. You women are all alike. Carrie sulked for a week
+when I insisted on her making a proper will. We don't want good money
+to go out of the family."</p>
+
+<p>Above all, he did not want good money to go to Nell. He disliked Nell,
+whom he regarded as Enid's supplanter. And he loathed Mrs. Vereker, who
+always managed to make him feel hot and clumsy and uncertain about his
+hands.</p>
+
+<p>"Nell, of course, will take legal advice," said Mrs. Vereker sweetly.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't think <i>I</i> want to butt in," said Uncle Sydney.</p>
+
+<p>Nell felt a passionate pang of regret. If only she were going to have
+a child! Vernon had been so afraid for her. "It would be so dreadful
+for you, darling, if I were to be killed and you were left with all the
+trouble and worry of a child and very little money—Besides—you never
+know—you might die. I couldn't bear to risk it."</p>
+
+<p>And really, it <i>had</i> seemed better and more prudent to wait.</p>
+
+<p>But now she was sorry. Her mother's consolations had seemed coldly
+brutal to her.</p>
+
+<p>"You're not going to have a baby, are you, Nell? Well, I must say I'm
+thankful. Naturally, you'll marry again, and it's so much better when
+there are no encumbrances."</p>
+
+<p>In answer to a passionate protest, Mrs. Vereker had smiled. "I oughtn't
+to have said that just now. But you are only a girl still. Vernon
+himself would have wanted you to be happy."</p>
+
+<p>Nell thought: "Never! She doesn't understand!"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, well, it's a sad world," said Mr. Bent, surreptitiously helping
+himself to a sandwich. "The flower of our manhood being mown down. But
+all the same, I'm proud of England. I'm proud of being an Englishman.
+I like to feel that I'm doing my bit in England just as much as these
+boys are doing it out here. We're doubling our output of explosives
+next month. Night and day shifts. I'm proud of Bent's, I can tell you."</p>
+
+<p>"It must be wonderfully profitable," said Mrs. Vereker.</p>
+
+<p>"That's not the way I like to look at it," said Mr. Bent. "I like to
+look at it that I'm serving my country."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I hope we all try to do our bit," said Mrs. Levinne. "I have
+been a working party twice a week, and I'm interethting myself in all
+these poor girls who are having war babieths."</p>
+
+<p>"There's too much loose thinking going about," said Mr. Bent. "We
+mustn't get lax. England has never been lax."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, we've got to look after the children at any rate," said Mrs.
+Levinne. She added: "How is Joe? I thought I might see her here to-day."</p>
+
+<p>Both Uncle Sydney and Myra looked embarrassed. It was clear that Joe
+was what is known as a "delicate subject." They skated lightly over the
+topic. War work in Paris—very busy—unable to get leave.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Bent looked at his watch.</p>
+
+<p>"Myra, we've not too much time before the train. Must get back
+to-night. Carrie, my wife you know, is very far from well. That's why
+she wasn't able to be here to-day." He sighed. "It's odd how often
+things turn out for the best. It was a great disappointment to us
+not having a son. And yet, in a way, we've been spared a good deal.
+Think of the anxiety we might be in to-day. The ways of Providence are
+wonderful."</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Vereker said to Nell when they had taken leave of Mrs. Levinne,
+who motored them back to London: "One thing I do hope, Nell, is that
+you won't think it your duty to see a lot of your in-laws. I dislike
+the way that woman wallowed in her grief more than I can tell you. She
+was thoroughly enjoying herself, though I dare say she'd have preferred
+a proper coffin."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Mother—she was really unhappy. She was awfully fond of Vernon. As
+she said, he was all she had in the world."</p>
+
+<p>"That's a phrase women like her are very fond of using. It means
+nothing at all. And you're not going to pretend to me that Vernon
+adored his mother. He merely tolerated her. They had nothing in common.
+He was a Deyre through and through."</p>
+
+<p>Nell couldn't deny that.</p>
+
+<p>She stayed at her mother's flat in town for three weeks. Mrs. Vereker
+was very kind within her own limits. She was not a sympathetic woman
+at any time, but she respected Nell's grief and did not intrude upon
+it. Upon practical matters her judgment was, as it had always been,
+excellent. There were various interviews with lawyers and Mrs. Vereker
+was present at all of them.</p>
+
+<p>Abbots Puissants was still let. The tenancy would be up the following
+year, and the lawyer strongly advised its sale rather than reletting
+it. Mrs. Vereker, to Nell's surprise, did not seem to concur with this
+view. She suggested a further let of not too long duration.</p>
+
+<p>"So much may happen in a few years," she said.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Flemming looked hard at her and seemed to catch her meaning. His
+glance rested for just a moment on Nell, fair and childish-looking in
+her mourning.</p>
+
+<p>"As you say," he remarked, "much may happen. At any rate, nothing need
+be decided for a year."</p>
+
+<p>Business matters settled, Nell returned to the hospital at Wiltsbury.
+She felt that there, and there only, could life be at all possible.
+Mrs. Vereker did not oppose her. She was a sensible woman and she had
+her own plans.</p>
+
+<p>A month after Vernon's death Nell was once more back in the ward.
+Nobody ever referred to her loss and she was grateful. To carry on as
+usual was the motto of the moment.</p>
+
+<p>Nell carried on.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>2</i></h3>
+
+<p>"There's someone asking for you, Nurse Deyre."</p>
+
+<p>"For me?" Nell was surprised.</p>
+
+<p>It must be Sebastian. Only he was likely to come down here and look her
+up. Did she want to see him or not? She hardly knew.</p>
+
+<p>But to her great surprise, her visitor was George Chetwynd. He
+explained that he was passing through Wiltsbury, and had stopped to
+find out if he could see her. He asked whether she couldn't come out to
+lunch with him.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought you were on afternoon duty," he explained.</p>
+
+<p>"I was changed to the morning shift yesterday. I'll ask Matron. We're
+not very busy."</p>
+
+<p>Permission was accorded her, and half an hour later she was sitting
+opposite George Chetwynd at the County Hotel with a plate of roast beef
+in front of her and a waiter hovering over her with a vast dish of
+cabbage.</p>
+
+<p>"The only vegetable the County Hotel knows," observed Chetwynd.</p>
+
+<p>He talked interestingly and made no reference to her loss. All he said
+was that her continuing to work here was the pluckiest thing he had
+ever heard of.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't tell you how I admire all you women. Carrying on, tackling one
+job after another. No fuss—no heroics—just sticking to it as though
+it were the most natural thing in the world. I think Englishwomen are
+fine."</p>
+
+<p>"One must do something."</p>
+
+<p>"I know. I can understand that feeling. Anything's better than sitting
+with your hands in your lap, eh?"</p>
+
+<p>"That's it."</p>
+
+<p>She was grateful. George always understood. He told her that he was off
+to Serbia in a day or two, organizing relief work there.</p>
+
+<p>"Frankly," he said, "I'm ashamed of my country for not coming in. But
+it will. I'm convinced of that. It's only a matter of time. In the
+meantime we do what we can to alleviate the horrors of war."</p>
+
+<p>"You look very well."</p>
+
+<p>He looked younger than she remembered him—well set up, bronzed, the
+gray in his hair a mere distinction rather than a sign of age.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm feeling well. Nothing like having plenty to do. Relief work's
+pretty strenuous."</p>
+
+<p>"When are you off?"</p>
+
+<p>"Day after to-morrow." He paused, then said in a different voice: "Look
+here—you didn't mind my looking you up like this? You don't feel I'd
+no business to butt in?"</p>
+
+<p>"No—no. It was very kind of you. Especially after I—I——"</p>
+
+<p>"You know I've never borne any rancour over that. I admire you for
+following your heart. You loved him, and you didn't love me. But
+there's no reason we shouldn't be friends, is there?"</p>
+
+<p>He looked so friendly, so very unsentimental, that Nell answered
+happily that there wasn't.</p>
+
+<p>He said: "That's fine. And you'll let me do anything for you that a
+friend can? Advise you in any bothers that arise, I mean?"</p>
+
+<p>Nell said she'd be only too grateful.</p>
+
+<p>They left it like that. He departed in his car shortly after lunch,
+wringing her hand and saying he hoped they'd meet again in about six
+months' time, and begging her again to consult him if she were in a
+difficulty any time.</p>
+
+<p>Nell promised that she would.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>3</i></h3>
+
+<p>The winter was a bad one for Nell. She caught a cold, neglected to
+take proper care of herself, and was ill for a week or so. She was
+quite unfit to resume hospital work at the end of it, and Mrs. Vereker
+carried her off to London to her flat. There she regained strength
+slowly.</p>
+
+<p>Endless bothers seemed to arise. Abbots Puissants appeared to need an
+entire new roof. New water pipes had to be installed. The fencing was
+in a bad state.</p>
+
+<p>Nell appreciated for the first time the awful drain property can be.
+The rent was eaten up many times over with the necessary repairs, and
+Mrs. Vereker had to come to the rescue to tide Nell over a difficult
+corner and not let her get too much in debt. They were living as
+penuriously as possible. Vanished were the days of outward show and
+credit. Mrs. Vereker managed to make both ends meet by a very narrow
+margin, and would hardly have done that but for what she won at the
+bridge table. She was a first-class player and added materially to her
+income by play. She was out most of the day at a bridge club that still
+survived.</p>
+
+<p>It was a dull unhappy life for Nell. Worried over money, not strong
+enough to undertake fresh work, nothing to do but sit and brood.
+Poverty combined with love in a cottage was one thing. Poverty without
+love to soften it was another. Sometimes Nell wondered how she was ever
+going to get through a life that stretched drear and bleak ahead of
+her. She couldn't bear things. She simply couldn't.</p>
+
+<p>Then Mr. Flemming urged her to make a decision concerning Abbots
+Puissants. The tenancy would be up in a month or two. Something must be
+done. He could not hold out any hopes of letting it for a higher rent.
+Nobody wanted to rent big places without central heating or modern
+conveniences. He strongly advised her to sell.</p>
+
+<p>He knew the feeling her husband had had about the place. But since she
+herself was never likely to be able to afford to live in it....</p>
+
+<p>Nell admitted the wisdom of what he said, but still pleaded for time
+to decide. She was reluctant to sell it but she could not help feeling
+that, the worry of Abbots Puissants once off her mind she would be
+relieved from her heaviest burden. Then one day Mr. Flemming rang up
+to say that he had had a very good offer for Abbots Puissants. He
+mentioned a sum far in excess of her—or indeed his—expectations. He
+very strongly advised her to close with it without delay.</p>
+
+<p>Nell hesitated a minute, then said, "Yes."</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>4</i></h3>
+
+<p>It was extraordinary how much happier she felt at once. Free of that
+terrible incubus! It wasn't as though Vernon had lived. Houses and
+estates were simply white elephants when you hadn't the necessary money
+to keep them up properly.</p>
+
+<p>She was undisturbed even by a letter from Joe in Paris.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>How <i>can</i> you sell Abbots Puissants when you know what Vernon felt
+about it? I should have thought it would be the last thing you could
+have done.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>She thought: "Joe doesn't understand."</p>
+
+<p>She wrote back:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>What was I to do? I don't know where to turn for money. There's been
+the roof and the drains and the water—it's endless. I can't go on
+running into debt. Everything's so tiring I wish I were dead....</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Three days later she got a letter from George Chetwynd asking if he
+might come and see her. He had, he said, something to confess.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Vereker was out. She received him alone. He broke it rather
+apprehensively to her. It was he who had purchased Abbots Puissants.</p>
+
+<p>Just at first she recoiled from the idea. Not George! Not George at
+Abbots Puissants! Then with admirable common sense he argued the point.</p>
+
+<p>Surely it was better that it should pass into his hands instead of
+those of a stranger? He hoped that sometimes she and her mother would
+come and stay there.</p>
+
+<p>"I'd like you to feel that your husband's home is open to you at any
+time. I want to change things there as little as possible. You shall
+advise me. Surely you prefer my having it to its passing into the hands
+of some vulgarians who will fill it with gilt and spurious Old Masters?"</p>
+
+<p>In the end she wondered why she had felt any objection. Better George
+than anyone. And he was so kind and understanding about everything. She
+was tired and worried. She broke down suddenly, cried on his shoulder
+whilst he put an arm round her and told her that everything was all
+right, that it was only because she'd been ill.</p>
+
+<p>Nobody could have been kinder or more brotherly.</p>
+
+<p>When she told her mother Mrs. Vereker said: "I knew George was looking
+out for a place. It's lucky he's chosen Abbots Puissants. He's probably
+haggled less about the price simply because he was once in love with
+you."</p>
+
+<p>The remote way she said "once in love with you" made Nell feel
+comfortable. She had imagined that her mother might have "ideas" still
+about George Chetwynd.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>5</i></h3>
+
+<p>That summer they went down and stayed at Abbots Puissants. They were
+the only guests. Nell had not been there since she was a child. A deep
+regret came upon her that she could not have lived there with Vernon.
+The house was truly beautiful and so were the stately gardens and the
+ruined Abbey.</p>
+
+<p>George was in the middle of doing up the house and he consulted her
+taste at every turn. Nell began to feel quite a proprietary interest.
+She was almost happy again, enjoying the ease and luxury and the
+freedom from anxiety.</p>
+
+<p>True, once she received the money from Abbots Puissants and had
+invested it she would have a nice little income, but she dreaded the
+onus of deciding where to live and what to do. She was not really happy
+with her mother, and all her own friends seemed to have drifted out of
+touch. She hardly knew where to go or what to do with her life.</p>
+
+<p>Abbots Puissants gave her just the peace and rest she needed. She felt
+sheltered there and safe. She dreaded the return to town.</p>
+
+<p>It was the last evening. George had pressed them to remain longer but
+Mrs. Vereker had declared that they really couldn't trespass further on
+his hospitality.</p>
+
+<p>Nell and George walked together on the long flagged walk. It was a
+still balmy evening.</p>
+
+<p>"It has been lovely here," said Nell, with a little sigh. "I hate going
+back."</p>
+
+<p>"I hate your going back, too." He paused, and then said very quietly:
+"I suppose there's no chance for me, is there, Nell?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know what you mean."</p>
+
+<p>But she did know—she knew at once.</p>
+
+<p>"I bought this house because I hoped someday you'd live here. I wanted
+you to have the home that was rightfully yours. Are you going to spend
+your whole life nursing a memory, Nell? Do you think he—Vernon—would
+wish it? I never think of the dead like that—as grudging happiness to
+the living. I think he would want you to be looked after and taken care
+of, now that he isn't here to do it."</p>
+
+<p>She said in a low voice: "I can't ... I can't."</p>
+
+<p>"You mean you can't forget him? I know that. But I'd be very good to
+you, Nell. You'd be wrapped round with love and care. I think I could
+make you happy—happier, at any rate, than you'll be facing life by
+yourself. I do honestly and truly believe that Vernon would wish it."</p>
+
+<p>Would he? She wondered. She thought George was right. People might
+call it disloyalty, but it wasn't. That life of hers with Vernon was
+something by itself—nothing could touch it ever.</p>
+
+<p>But oh! to be looked after, cared for, petted, and understood. She
+always <i>had</i> been fond of George.</p>
+
+<p>She answered very softly: "Yes."</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>6</i></h3>
+
+<p>The person who was angry about it was Myra. She wrote long abusive
+letters to Nell.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>You can forget so soon. Vernon has only one home—in my heart. You
+never loved him.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Uncle Sydney twirled his thumbs and said: "That young woman knows which
+side her bread is buttered on," and wrote her a stereotyped letter of
+congratulations.</p>
+
+<p>An unexpected ally was Joe, who was paying a flying visit to London and
+came round to see Nell at her mother's flat.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm very glad," she said, kissing her. "And I'm sure Vernon would be.
+You're not the kind that can face life on your own. You never were.
+Don't you mind what Aunt Myra says. <i>I'll</i> talk to her. Life's a rotten
+business for women. I think you'll be happy with George. Vernon would
+want you to be happy, I know."</p>
+
+<p>Joe's support heartened Nell more than anything. Joe had always been
+the nearest person to Vernon. On the night before her wedding she knelt
+by her bed and looked up to where Vernon's sword hung over the head of
+it.</p>
+
+<p>She pressed her hands over her closed eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"You do understand, beloved? You do? You do? It's you I love and always
+shall.... Oh! Vernon, if only I could know that you understood."</p>
+
+<p>She tried to send her very soul out questing in search of him. He
+must—he <i>must</i>—know and understand.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="chapter_4IV">chapter 4</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>In the town of A—— in Holland, not far from the German frontier, is
+an inconspicuous inn. Here on a certain evening in 1917 a dark young
+man with a haggard face pushed open the door and in very halting
+Dutch asked for a lodging for the night. He breathed hard and his
+eyes were restless. Anna Schlieder, the fat proprietress of the inn,
+looked at him attentively up and down in her usual deliberate way
+before she replied. Then she told him that he could have a room. Her
+daughter Freda took him up to it. When she came back her mother said
+laconically: "English—escaped prisoner."</p>
+
+<p>Freda nodded but said nothing. Her china-blue eyes were soft and
+sentimental. She had reasons of her own for taking an interest in the
+English. Presently she again mounted the stairs and knocked on the
+door. She went in on top of the knock, which as a matter of fact the
+young man had not heard. He was so sunk in a stupor of exhaustion that
+external sounds and happenings had hardly any meaning for him. For
+days and weeks he had been on the <i>qui vive</i>, escaping dangers by a
+hair's-breadth, never daring to be caught napping either physically
+or mentally. Now he was suffering the reaction. He lay where he had
+fallen, half sprawling across the bed. Freda stood and watched him. At
+last she said:</p>
+
+<p>"I bring you hot water."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" He started up. "I'm sorry. I didn't hear you."</p>
+
+<p>She said slowly and carefully in his own language: "You are
+English—yes?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Yes, that is——"</p>
+
+<p>He stopped suddenly in doubt. One must be careful. The danger was
+over—he was out of Germany. He felt slightly light-headed. A diet
+of raw potatoes, dug up from the fields, was not stimulating to the
+brain. But he still felt he <i>must</i> be careful. It was so difficult. He
+felt queer—felt that he wanted to talk and talk, pour out everything
+now that at last that fearful long strain was over.</p>
+
+<p>The Dutch girl was nodding her head at him gravely, wisely.</p>
+
+<p>"I know," she said. "You come from over there." Her hand pointed in the
+direction of the frontier.</p>
+
+<p>He looked at her, still irresolute.</p>
+
+<p>"You have escaped—yes. We had before one like you."</p>
+
+<p>A wave of reassurance passed over him. She was all right, this girl.
+His legs suddenly felt weak under him. He dropped down on the bed again.</p>
+
+<p>"You are hungry? Yes. I see. I go and bring you something."</p>
+
+<p>Was he hungry? He supposed he was. How long was it since he had eaten?
+One day, two days? He couldn't remember. The end had been like a
+nightmare—just keeping blindly on. He had had a map and a compass. He
+had known the place where he wanted to cross the frontier, the spot
+that seemed to him to offer the best chance. A thousand-to-one chance
+against his being able to pass the frontier—but he had passed it. They
+had shot at him and missed. Or was that all a dream? He had swum down
+the river—that was it. No, that was all wrong, too. Well, he wouldn't
+think about it. He had escaped, that was the great thing.</p>
+
+<p>He leaned forward, supporting his aching head in his hands.</p>
+
+<p>Very soon Freda returned carrying a tray with food on it and a great
+tankard of beer. He ate and drank whilst she stood watching him. The
+effect was magical. His head cleared. He <i>had</i> been light-headed, he
+realized that now. He smiled up at Freda.</p>
+
+<p>"That's splendid," he said. "Thanks awfully."</p>
+
+<p>Encouraged by his smile, she sat down on a chair.</p>
+
+<p>"You know London?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I know it." He smiled a little. She had asked that so quaintly.</p>
+
+<p>Freda did not smile. She was in deadly earnest.</p>
+
+<p>"You know a soldier there? A what is it?—Corporal Green?"</p>
+
+<p>He shook his head, a little touched.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid not," he said gently. "Do you know his regiment?"</p>
+
+<p>"It was a London regiment—the London Fusiliers." She had no further
+information than that.</p>
+
+<p>He said kindly: "When I get back to London I'll try to find out, if you
+like to give me a letter."</p>
+
+<p>She looked at him doubtfully, yet with a certain air of trusting
+appeal. In the end the doubt was vanquished.</p>
+
+<p>"I will write—yes," she said.</p>
+
+<p>She rose to leave the room and said abruptly: "We have an English paper
+here—two English papers here. My cousin brought them from the hotel.
+You would like to see them, yes?"</p>
+
+<p>He thanked her and she returned, bringing a tattered <i>Eve</i> and a
+<i>Sketch</i> which she handed to him with some pride.</p>
+
+<p>When she left the room again he laid down the papers by his side and
+lighted a cigarette—his last cigarette! What would he have done
+without those cigarettes—stolen at that! Perhaps Freda would bring him
+some—he had money to pay for them. A kind girl, Freda, in spite of her
+thick ankles and an unprepossessing exterior.</p>
+
+<p>He took out a small notebook from his pocket. The pages were blank and
+he wrote in it: <i>Corporal Green, London Fusiliers</i>. He would do what he
+could for the girl. He wondered idly what story lay behind it. What had
+Corporal Green been doing in Holland in A——? Poor Freda! It was the
+usual thing, he supposed.</p>
+
+<p>Green—it reminded him of his childhood. <i>Mr. Green.</i> The omnipotent
+delightful Mr. Green—his playfellow and protector. Funny, the things
+one thought of when one was a kid!</p>
+
+<p>He'd never told Nell about Mr. Green. Perhaps she'd had a Mr. Green of
+her own. Perhaps all children did.</p>
+
+<p>He thought: "Nell—oh! Nell ..." and his heart missed a beat. Then he
+turned his thoughts resolutely away. Very soon now. Poor darling, what
+she must have suffered knowing him to be a prisoner in Germany! But
+that was all over now. Very soon now they'd be together. Very soon. Oh!
+he mustn't think of it. The task in hand—no looking forward.</p>
+
+<p>He picked up the <i>Sketch</i> and idly turned over the pages. A lot of
+new shows seemed to be on. What fun to go to a show again. Pictures
+of generals all looking very fierce and warlike. Pictures of people
+getting married. Not a bad-looking crowd. That one——Why——</p>
+
+<p><i>It wasn't true—it couldn't be true. Another dream—a nightmare.</i></p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>Mrs. Vernon Deyre, who is to marry Mr. George Chetwynd. Mrs. Deyre's
+first husband was killed in action over a year ago. Mr. George
+Chetwynd is an American who has done very valuable relief work in
+Serbia.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Killed in action—yes, he supposed, that might be. In spite of all
+conceivable precautions, mistakes like that <i>did</i> arise. A man Vernon
+knew had been reported killed. A thousandth chance, but it happened.</p>
+
+<p>Naturally, Nell would have believed—and naturally, quite naturally,
+she would marry again.</p>
+
+<p>What nonsense he was talking! Nell—marry again! So soon. Marry
+George—<i>George</i> with his gray hair.</p>
+
+<p>A sudden sharp pang shot through him. He had visualized George too
+clearly. Damn George. Blast and curse George!</p>
+
+<p>But it wasn't true. No, it wasn't true!</p>
+
+<p>He stood up, studying himself as he swayed on his feet. To anyone who
+had seen him, he would have appeared a little drunk.</p>
+
+<p>He was perfectly calm—yes, he was perfectly calm. The thing was not
+to believe—not to think. Put it away—right away. It wasn't true—it
+couldn't be true. If you once admitted that it might be true, you were
+done.</p>
+
+<p>He went out of his room, down the stairs. He passed the girl Freda,
+who stared at him. He said very quietly and calmly (marvellous that he
+should be so calm):</p>
+
+<p>"I'm going out for a walk."</p>
+
+<p>He went out, oblivious of old Anna Schlieder's eyes that raked his back
+as he passed her. The girl Freda said to her:</p>
+
+<p>"He passed me on the stairs like—like—what has happened to him?"</p>
+
+<p>Anna tapped her forehead significantly. Nothing ever surprised her.</p>
+
+<p>Out on the road Vernon was walking—walking very fast. He must get
+away—get away from the thing that was following him. If he looked
+round—if he thought about it—but he wouldn't think about it.</p>
+
+<p>Everything was all right—<i>everything</i>.</p>
+
+<p>Only he mustn't think. This queer dark thing that was following
+him—following him.... If he didn't think, he was all right.</p>
+
+<p>Nell—Nell with her golden hair and her sweet smile. His Nell. Nell and
+George.... No, no, no! It wasn't so. He was in time.</p>
+
+<p>And suddenly, lucidly, there ran through his mind the thought: "That
+paper was six months old at least. They've been married five months."</p>
+
+<p>He reeled. He thought: "I can't bear it. No, this I can't bear.
+Something must happen."</p>
+
+<p>He held on blindly to that: <i>Something must happen</i>.</p>
+
+<p>Somebody would help him. Mr. Green. What was this awful thing that was
+dogging him? Of course, the Beast. The Beast.</p>
+
+<p>He could hear it coming. He gave one panic-stricken glance over his
+shoulder. He was out of the town now, walking on a straight road
+between dykes. The Beast was coming lumbering along at a great pace,
+rattling and bumping.</p>
+
+<p>The Beast.... Oh! if only he could go back—to the Beast and Mr. Green,
+the old terrors, the old comforts. They didn't hurt you like the new
+things—like Nell and George Chetwynd. George.... Nell belonging to
+George....</p>
+
+<p>No! no, it wasn't true—it mustn't be true. He couldn't face any more.
+Not that—not that.</p>
+
+<p>There was only one way to get out of it all, to be at peace—only one
+way. Vernon Deyre had made a mess of life. Better to get out of it.</p>
+
+<p>One last flaming agony shot through his brain. Nell—George—no! He
+thrust them out with a last effort. Mr. Green—kind Mr. Green.</p>
+
+<p>He stepped out into the roadway right in the path of the lurching lorry
+that tried to avoid him too late—and struck him down and backward.</p>
+
+<p>A horrible searing shock. Thank God, this was death.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="Book_V">Book V</h2>
+</div>
+
+<h2>GEORGE GREEN</h2>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="chapter_1V">chapter 1</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>In the yard of the county hotel in Wiltsbury two chauffeurs were busy
+with cars. George Green finished his work on the interior of the big
+Daimler, wiped his hands on a bit of oily rag, and stood upright with
+a sigh of satisfaction. He was a cheerful young fellow and was smiling
+now because he was pleased with himself for locating the trouble and
+dealing with it. He strolled along to where his fellow chauffeur was
+completing the toilet of a Minerva.</p>
+
+<p>The latter looked up.</p>
+
+<p>"Hullo, George. You through? Your boss is a Yank, isn't he? What's he
+like?"</p>
+
+<p>"He's all right. Fussy, though. Won't go more than forty."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, thank your stars you don't drive for a woman," said the other.
+His name was Evans. "Always changing their minds. And no idea of the
+proper times for meals. Picnic lunches as often as not—and you know
+what that means, a hard-boiled egg and a leaf of lettuce."</p>
+
+<p>Green sat down on an adjacent barrel.</p>
+
+<p>"Why don't you chuck it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not so easy to get another job these days," said Evans.</p>
+
+<p>"No, that's true," said Green. He looked thoughtful.</p>
+
+<p>"And I've got a missus and two kids," went on the other. "What's the
+rot that was talked about a country fit for heroes? No, if you've got a
+job—any kind of a job—it's better to freeze on to it in 1920."</p>
+
+<p>He was silent for a minute, and then went on.</p>
+
+<p>"Funny business—the war. I was hit twice—shrapnel. Makes you go a
+bit queer afterward. My missus says I frighten her—go quite batty
+sometimes. Wake up in the middle of the night hollering and not knowing
+where I am."</p>
+
+<p>"I know," said Green. "I'm the same. When my guvnor picked me up—in
+Holland that was—I couldn't remember a thing about myself except my
+name."</p>
+
+<p>"When was that? After the war?"</p>
+
+<p>"Six months after the armistice. I was working in a garage there. Some
+chaps who were drunk ran me down one night in a lorry. Fairly scared
+'em sober. They picked me up and took me along with them. I'd got a
+whacking great bash on the head. They looked after me and got me a
+job. Good chaps they were. I'd been working there two years when Mr.
+Bleibner came along. He hired a car from our place once or twice and I
+drove him. He talked to me a good bit and finally he offered to take me
+on as chauffeur."</p>
+
+<p>"Mean to say you never thought of getting back home before that?"</p>
+
+<p>"No—I didn't want to, somehow. I'd no folks there as far as I could
+remember, and I've an idea I'd had a bit of trouble there of some kind."</p>
+
+<p>"I shouldn't associate trouble with you, mate," said Evans with a laugh.</p>
+
+<p>George Green laughed, too. He was indeed a most cheerful looking young
+man, tall and dark with broad shoulders and an ever-ready smile.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing much ever worries me," he boasted. "I was born the
+happy-go-lucky kind, I guess."</p>
+
+<p>He moved away, smiling happily. A few minutes later he was reporting to
+his employer that the Daimler was ready for the road.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Bleibner was a tall thin dyspeptic-looking American with pure
+speech.</p>
+
+<p>"Very good. Now, Green, I am going to Lord Datchet's for luncheon.
+Abingworth Friars. It's about six miles from here."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"After luncheon I am going to a place called Abbots Puissants.
+Abbotsford is the village. Do you know it?"</p>
+
+<p>"I've heard of it, I think, sir. But I don't know exactly where it is.
+I'll look it up on the map."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, please do so. It cannot, I think, be more than twenty miles—in
+the direction of Ringwood, I fancy."</p>
+
+<p>"Very good, sir."</p>
+
+<p>Green touched his cap and withdrew.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>2</i></h3>
+
+<p>Nell Chetwynd stepped through the French window of the drawing room and
+came out upon the terrace at Abbots Puissants.</p>
+
+<p>It was one of those still early autumn days when there seems
+no stirring of life anywhere, as though Nature herself feigned
+unconsciousness. The sky was pale, not a deep, blue and there was a
+very faint haze in the atmosphere.</p>
+
+<p>Nell leaned against a big stone urn and gazed out over the silent
+prospect. Everything was very beautiful and very English. The formal
+gardens were exquisitely kept. The house itself had been very
+judiciously and carefully repaired.</p>
+
+<p>Not habitually given to emotion, as Nell looked up at the rose-red
+brick of the walls she felt a sudden swelling of the heart. It was all
+so perfect. She wished that Vernon could know—could see.</p>
+
+<p>Four years of marriage had dealt kindly with Nell, but they had changed
+her. There was no suggestion of the nymph about her now. She was a
+beautiful woman instead of a lovely girl. She was poised, assured. Her
+beauty was a very definite kind of beauty—it never varied or altered.
+Her movements were more deliberate than of old, she had filled out a
+little—there was no suggestion of immaturity. She was the perfect
+full-blown rose.</p>
+
+<p>A voice called her from the house.</p>
+
+<p>"Nell!"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm here, George, on the terrace."</p>
+
+<p>"Right. I'll be out in a minute."</p>
+
+<p>What a dear George was! A little smile creased her lips. The perfect
+husband! Perhaps that was because he was an American. You always heard
+that Americans made perfect husbands. Certainly, George had been one
+to her. The marriage had been a complete success. It was true that she
+had never felt for George what she had felt for Vernon, but almost
+reluctantly she had admitted that perhaps that was a good thing. These
+tempestuous emotions that tore and rent one—they couldn't last. Every
+day you had evidence that they <i>didn't</i> last.</p>
+
+<p>All her old revolt was quelled now. She no longer questioned
+passionately the reason why Vernon should have been taken from her. God
+knew best. One rebelled at the time, but one came at last to realize
+that whatever happened was really for the best.</p>
+
+<p>They had known supreme happiness, she and Vernon, and nothing could
+ever mar or take away from it. It was there for ever—a precious secret
+possession, a hidden jewel. She could think of him now without regret
+or longing. They had loved each other and had risked everything to be
+together. Then had come that awful pain of separation—and then peace.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, that was the predominant factor in her life now—peace. George had
+given her that. He had wrapped her round with comfort, with luxury,
+with tenderness. She hoped that she was a good wife to him, even if she
+didn't care as she had cared for Vernon. But she <i>was</i> fond of him—of
+course she was! The quiet affectionate feeling she had for him was by
+far the safest emotion to go through life with.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, that expressed exactly what she felt—safe and happy. She wished
+that Vernon knew. He would be glad, she was sure.</p>
+
+<p>George Chetwynd came out and joined her. He wore English country
+clothes and looked very much the country squire. He had not aged at
+all—indeed, he looked younger. In his hand he held some letters.</p>
+
+<p>"I've agreed to share that shooting with Drummond. I think we'll enjoy
+it."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm so glad."</p>
+
+<p>"We must decide who we want to ask."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, we'll talk about it to-night. I'm rather glad the Hays couldn't
+come and dine. It will be nice to have an evening to ourselves."</p>
+
+<p>"I was afraid you were overdoing it in town, Nell."</p>
+
+<p>"We <i>did</i> rush about, rather. But I think it's good for one really. And
+anyway, it's been splendidly peaceful down here."</p>
+
+<p>"It's wonderful." George threw an appreciative glance over the
+landscape. "I'd rather have Abbots Puissants than any place in England.
+It's got an atmosphere."</p>
+
+<p>Nell nodded.</p>
+
+<p>"I know what you mean."</p>
+
+<p>"I should hate to think of it in the hands of—well, people like the
+Levinnes, for instance."</p>
+
+<p>"I know. One would resent it. And yet Sebastian is a dear—and his
+taste, at any rate, is perfect."</p>
+
+<p>"He knows the taste of the public all right," said George dryly. "One
+success after another—with occasionally a <i>succès d'estime</i>, just
+to show he's not a mere money maker. He's beginning to look the part
+though—getting not exactly fat, but sleek. Adopting all sorts of
+mannerisms. There's a caricature of him in <i>Punch</i> this week. Very
+clever."</p>
+
+<p>"Sebastian would lend himself to caricaturing," said Nell smiling.
+"Those enormous ears, and those funny high cheek bones. He was an
+extraordinary-looking boy."</p>
+
+<p>"It's odd to think of you all playing together as children. By the way,
+I've got a surprise for you. A friend you haven't seen for some time is
+coming to lunch to-day."</p>
+
+<p>"Not Josephine."</p>
+
+<p>"No. Jane Harding."</p>
+
+<p>"Jane Harding! But how on earth——"</p>
+
+<p>"I ran into her at Wiltsbury yesterday. She's on tour, acting in some
+company or other."</p>
+
+<p>"Jane! Why, George, I didn't even realize you knew her!"</p>
+
+<p>"I came across her when we were both doing relief work in Serbia. I saw
+a lot of her. I wrote to you about it."</p>
+
+<p>"Did you? I don't remember."</p>
+
+<p>Something in her tone seemed to strike him and he said anxiously: "It's
+all right, isn't it, dear? I thought it would be a pleasant surprise
+for you. I always thought she was a great friend of yours. I can put
+her off in a minute if——"</p>
+
+<p>"No, no. Of course, I'll be delighted to see her. I was only surprised."</p>
+
+<p>George was reassured.</p>
+
+<p>"That's all right then. By the way, she told me that a man called
+Bleibner, a man I knew very well in New York, is also in Wiltsbury. I'd
+like him to see the Abbey ruins—that sort of thing is a specialty of
+his. Do you mind if I ask him to lunch, too?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, of course not. Do ask him."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll see if I can get him on the phone now. I meant to do it last
+night, but it slipped my memory."</p>
+
+<p>He went indoors again. Nell was left on the terrace frowning slightly.</p>
+
+<p>George in this had been right. For some reason or other, she was
+not pleased at the thought of Jane's coming to lunch. She felt very
+definitely that she didn't want to see Jane. Already, the mere mention
+of Jane seemed to have disturbed the serenity of the morning. She
+thought: "I was so peaceful and now——"</p>
+
+<p>Annoying—yes, it was annoying. She was, had always been, afraid of
+Jane. Jane was the kind of person you could never be sure about.
+She—how could one put it?—she upset things. She was disturbing, and
+Nell didn't want to be disturbed.</p>
+
+<p>She thought unreasonably: "Why on earth did George have to meet her in
+Serbia? How trying things are."</p>
+
+<p>But it was absurd to be afraid of Jane. Jane couldn't hurt her—now.
+Poor Jane, she must have made rather a mess of things, to have come
+down to acting in a touring company.</p>
+
+<p>One must be loyal to one's old friends. Jane was an old friend. She
+should see how loyal Nell could be. And with a glow of self-approval
+she went upstairs and changed into a dress of dove-coloured georgette
+with which she wore one very beautifully matched string of pearls that
+George had given her on the last anniversary of their marriage. She
+took particular pains over her toilet, satisfying thereby some obscure
+female instinct.</p>
+
+<p>"At any rate," she thought, "the Bleibner man will be there and that
+will make things easier."</p>
+
+<p>Though why she expected things to be difficult she could not have
+explained.</p>
+
+<p>George came up to fetch her just as she was applying a final dusting of
+powder.</p>
+
+<p>"Jane's arrived," he said. "She's in the drawing room."</p>
+
+<p>"And Mr. Bleibner?"</p>
+
+<p>"He's engaged for lunch, unfortunately. But he's coming along this
+afternoon."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!"</p>
+
+<p>She went downstairs slowly. Absurd to feel so apprehensive. Poor
+Jane—one simply must be nice to her. It was such terribly bad luck to
+have lost her voice and come down to this.</p>
+
+<p>Jane, however, did not seem aware of bad luck. She was sprawling back
+on the sofa in an attitude of easy unconcern, looking round the room
+with keen appreciation.</p>
+
+<p>"Hullo, Nell," she said. "Well, you seem to have dug yourself in pretty
+comfortably."</p>
+
+<p>It was an outrageous remark. Nell stiffened. She couldn't think for a
+moment of what to say. She met Jane's eyes, which were full of mocking
+maliciousness. They shook hands and Nell said at the same time: "I
+don't know what you mean."</p>
+
+<p>Jane subsided on the sofa again.</p>
+
+<p>"I meant all this. Palatial dwelling, well-proportioned footmen, highly
+paid cook, soft-footed servants, possibly a French maid, baths prepared
+for one with the latest unguents and bath salts, five or six gardeners,
+luxurious limousines, expensive clothes, and, I perceive, genuine
+pearls! Are you enjoying it all frightfully? I am sure you are."</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me about yourself," said Nell, seating herself beside Jane on the
+sofa.</p>
+
+<p>Jane's eyes narrowed.</p>
+
+<p>"That's a very clever answer. And I fully deserved it. Sorry, Nell. I
+was a beast. But you were being so queenly and so gracious. I never can
+stand people being gracious."</p>
+
+<p>She got up and began to stroll round the room.</p>
+
+<p>"So this is Vernon's home," she said softly. "I've never seen it
+before—only heard him talk about it."</p>
+
+<p>She was silent for a minute, then asked abruptly: "How much have you
+changed?"</p>
+
+<p>Nell explained that everything had been left as it was, as far as
+possible. Curtains, covers, carpets, and so forth, had all been
+renewed. The old ones were too shabby. And one or two priceless pieces
+of furniture had been added. Whenever George came across anything that
+was in keeping with the place he bought it.</p>
+
+<p>Jane's eyes were fixed on her while she made this explanation, and Nell
+felt uneasy because she couldn't read the expression in them.</p>
+
+<p>George came in before she had finished talking and they went in to
+lunch.</p>
+
+<p>The talk was at first of Serbia, of a few mutual friends out there.
+Then they passed on to Jane's affairs. George referred delicately to
+Jane's voice—the sorrow he had felt, that everyone must feel. Jane
+passed it off carelessly enough.</p>
+
+<p>"My own fault," she said. "I would sing a certain kind of music and my
+voice wasn't made for it."</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian Levinne, she went on to say, had been a wonderful friend. He
+was willing now to star her in London, but she had wished to learn her
+trade first.</p>
+
+<p>"Singing in opera is, of course, acting too. But there are all sorts of
+things to learn—to manage one's speaking voice, for instance. And then
+one's effects are all different—they must be more subtle, less broad."</p>
+
+<p>Next autumn, she explained, she was to appear in London in a dramatized
+version of <i>Tosca</i>.</p>
+
+<p>Then, dismissing her own affairs, she began to talk of Abbots
+Puissants. She led George on to discuss his plans, his ideas about the
+estate. He was made to display himself the complete country squire.</p>
+
+<p>There was, apparently, no mockery in Jane's eyes or her voice, but
+nevertheless Nell felt acutely uncomfortable. She wished George would
+stop talking. It was a little ridiculous, the way he spoke as though
+he and his forefathers before him had lived for centuries at Abbots
+Puissants.</p>
+
+<p>After coffee they went out on the terrace again, and here George was
+summoned to the telephone and left them with a word of excuse. Nell
+suggested a tour through the gardens and Jane acquiesced.</p>
+
+<p>"I'd like to see everything," she said.</p>
+
+<p>Nell thought: "It's Vernon's home she wants to see. That's why she's
+come. But Vernon never meant to her what he meant to me!"</p>
+
+<p>She had a passionate desire to vindicate herself, to make Jane
+see——See what? She didn't quite know herself, but she felt that Jane
+was judging her—condemning her, even.</p>
+
+<p>She stopped suddenly as they were walking down a long herbaceous
+border, gay with Michaelmas daisies against the old rose-coloured brick
+wall behind it.</p>
+
+<p>"Jane. I want to tell you—to explain——"</p>
+
+<p>She paused, gathering herself together. Jane merely looked at her
+inquiringly.</p>
+
+<p>"You must think it—very dreadful of me—marrying again so soon."</p>
+
+<p>"Not at all," said Jane. "It was very sensible."</p>
+
+<p>Nell didn't want that. That wasn't the point of view at all.</p>
+
+<p>"I adored Vernon—<i>adored</i> him. When he was killed it nearly broke my
+heart. I mean it. But I knew so well that he himself wouldn't wish me
+to grieve. The dead don't want us to grieve——"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't they?"</p>
+
+<p>Nell stared at her.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! I know you're voicing the popular idea," said Jane. "The dead want
+us to be brave and bear up and carry on as usual. They hate us being
+unhappy about them. That's what everybody goes about saying—but I
+never have seen that they've any foundation for that cheering belief.
+I think they've invented it themselves to make things easier for them.
+The living don't all want exactly the same thing, so I don't see why
+the dead should either. There must be heaps of selfish dead. If they
+exist at all, they must be very much the same as they were in life.
+They can't be full of beautiful and unselfish feelings all at once. It
+always makes me laugh when I see a bereaved widower tucking into his
+breakfast the day after the funeral and saying solemnly: 'Mary wouldn't
+wish me to grieve!' How does he know? Mary may be simply weeping and
+gnashing her teeth (astral teeth, of course) at seeing him going on as
+usual, just as though she had never existed. Heaps of women like a fuss
+made over them. Why should they change their characters when they're
+dead?"</p>
+
+<p>Nell was silent. She couldn't for the moment collect her thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>"Not that I mean Vernon was like that," went on Jane. "He may really
+have wished you not to grieve. You'd know best about that, because you
+knew him better than anyone else."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Nell eagerly. "That's just it. I know he would want me to
+be happy. And he wanted me to have Abbots Puissants. I know he'd love
+to think of my being here."</p>
+
+<p>"He wanted to live here with you. That's not quite the same thing."</p>
+
+<p>"No, but it isn't as though I were living here with George as—as it
+would have been with him. Oh! Jane, I want to make you understand.
+George is a dear, but he isn't—he can never be—what—what Vernon was
+to me."</p>
+
+<p>There was a long pause and then Jane said: "You're lucky, Nell."</p>
+
+<p>"If you think I really love all this luxury! Why, for Vernon I'd give
+it up in a minute!"</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder."</p>
+
+<p>"Jane! You——"</p>
+
+<p>"You think you would, but—I wonder."</p>
+
+<p>"I did before."</p>
+
+<p>"No—you only gave up the prospect of it. That's different. It hadn't
+eaten into you as it has now."</p>
+
+<p>"Jane!"</p>
+
+<p>Nell's eyes filled with tears. She turned away.</p>
+
+<p>"My dear, I'm being a beast. There's no harm in what you've done. I
+dare say you're right—about Vernon wishing it. You need kindness and
+protection—but all the same, soft living does eat into one. You'll
+know what I mean some day. By the way, I didn't mean what you thought
+when I said just now that you were lucky. By lucky, I meant that you'd
+had the best of both worlds. If you'd married your George when you
+originally intended, you'd have gone through life with a secret regret,
+a longing for Vernon, a feeling that you'd been cheated out of life
+through your own cowardice. And if Vernon had lived you might have
+grown away from each other, quarrelled, come to hate each other. But
+as it is, you've had Vernon, made your sacrifice. You've got him where
+nothing can ever touch him. Love will be a thing of beauty to you for
+ever. And you've got all the other things as well. This!"</p>
+
+<p>She swept her arm around in a sudden embracing gesture.</p>
+
+<p>Nell had hardly paid any attention to the end part of the speech. Her
+eyes had grown soft and melting.</p>
+
+<p>"I know. Everything turns out for the best. They tell you so when
+you're a child and later you find it out for yourself. God does know
+best."</p>
+
+<p>"What do you know about God, Nell Chetwynd?"</p>
+
+<p>There was a savagery in the question that brought Nell's eyes to Jane
+in astonishment. She looked menacing—fiercely accusing. The gentleness
+of a minute ago was gone.</p>
+
+<p>"The will of God! Would you be able to say that, if God's will didn't
+happen to coincide with Nell Chetwynd's comfort, I wonder? You don't
+know anything about God or you couldn't have spoken like that, gently
+patting God on the back for making life comfortable and easy for you.
+Do you know a text that used to frighten me in the Bible? <i>This night
+shall thy soul be required of thee.</i> When God requires <i>your</i> soul of
+you, be sure you've got a soul to give him!"</p>
+
+<p>She paused and then said quietly: "I'll go now. I shouldn't have come.
+But I wanted to see Vernon's home. I apologize for what I've said.
+But you're so damned smug, Nell. You don't know it, but you are.
+Smug—that's the word. Life to you means yourself, and yourself only.
+What about Vernon? Was it best for him? Do you think <i>he</i> wanted to
+die—right at the beginning of everything he cared for?"</p>
+
+<p>Nell flung her head back defiantly.</p>
+
+<p>"I made him happy."</p>
+
+<p>"I wasn't thinking of his happiness. I was thinking of his music. You
+and Abbots Puissants—what do you matter? Vernon had genius. That's
+the wrong way of putting it—he <i>belonged</i> to his genius. And genius
+is the hardest master there is—everything has got to be sacrificed to
+it. Your trumpery happiness, even, would have had to go if it stood in
+the way. Genius has got to be served. Music wanted Vernon—and he's
+dead. That's the crying shame, the thing that matters, the thing you
+never even consider. I know why—because you were afraid of it, Nell.
+It doesn't make for peace and happiness and security. But I tell you,
+<i>it's got to be served</i>."</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly her face relaxed, the old mocking light that Nell hated came
+back to her eyes. She said:</p>
+
+<p>"Don't worry, Nell. You're much the strongest of us all. Protective
+colouring! I told Sebastian so long ago, and I was right. You'll endure
+when we've all perished. Good-bye. I'm sorry I've been a devil, but I'm
+made that way."</p>
+
+<p>Nell stood staring after her retreating figure. She clenched her hands
+and said under her breath:</p>
+
+<p>"I hate you. I've always hated you."</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>3</i></h3>
+
+<p>The day had begun so peacefully—and now it was spoilt. Tears came into
+Nell's eyes. Why couldn't people let her alone? Jane and her horrid
+sneering. Jane was a beast—an uncanny beast. She knew where things
+hurt you most.</p>
+
+<p>Why, even Joe had said that she, Nell, was quite right to marry
+George! Joe had understood perfectly. Nell felt aggrieved and hurt.
+Why should Jane be so horrid? And saying things like that about the
+dead—irreligious things—when everyone knew that the dead liked one to
+be brave and cheerful.</p>
+
+<p>The impertinence of Jane to hurl a text at her head! A woman like Jane,
+who had lived with people and done all kinds of immoral things. Nell
+felt a glow of superior virtue. In spite of everything that was said
+nowadays, there were two kinds of women. She belonged to one kind and
+Jane to the other. Jane was attractive—that kind of woman always was
+attractive. That was why in the past she had felt afraid of Jane. Jane
+had some queer power over men—she was bad through and through.</p>
+
+<p>Thinking these thoughts, Nell paced restlessly up and down. She felt
+disinclined to go back to the house. In any case, there was nothing
+particular to do this afternoon. There were some letters that must be
+written sometime, but she really couldn't settle to them at present.</p>
+
+<p>She had forgotten about her husband's American friend, and was quite
+surprised when George joined her with Mr. Bleibner in tow. The American
+was a tall thin man, very precise. He paid her grave compliments on the
+house. They were now, he explained, going to view the ruins of the
+Abbey. George suggested she should come with them.</p>
+
+<p>"You go on," said Nell. "I'll follow you presently. I must get a hat.
+The sun is so hot."</p>
+
+<p>"Shall I get it for you, dear?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, thanks. You and Mr. Bleibner go on. You'll be ages pottering about
+there, I know."</p>
+
+<p>"Why, I should say that is very certain to be the case, Mrs. Chetwynd.
+I understand your husband has some idea of restoring the Abbey. That is
+very interesting."</p>
+
+<p>"It's one of our many projects, Mr. Bleibner."</p>
+
+<p>"You are fortunate to own this place. By the way, I hope you've no
+objection. I told my chauffeur (with your husband's assent, naturally)
+that he might stroll round the grounds. He is a most intelligent young
+man of quite a superior class."</p>
+
+<p>"That's quite all right. And if he'd like to see the house the butler
+can take him over it later."</p>
+
+<p>"Now I call that very kind of you, Mrs. Chetwynd. What I feel is that
+we want beauty appreciated by all classes. The idea that's going to
+weld together the League of Nations——"</p>
+
+<p>Nell felt suddenly that she couldn't bear to hear Mr. Bleibner's views
+on the League of Nations. They were sure to be ponderous and lengthy.
+She excused herself on the plea of the hot sun.</p>
+
+<p>Some Americans could be very boring. What a mercy George was not like
+that! Dear George—really, he was very nearly perfect. She experienced
+again that warm happy feeling that had surged over her earlier in the
+day.</p>
+
+<p>What an idiot she was to have let herself be upset by Jane! <i>Jane</i> of
+all people! What did it matter what Jane said or thought? It didn't,
+of course, but there was something about Jane—she had the power
+of—well—upsetting one.</p>
+
+<p>But that was all over now. The old tide of reassurance and safety
+welled up again. Abbots Puissants, George, the tender memory of Vernon.
+Everything was all right.</p>
+
+<p>She ran down the stairs happily, hat in hand. She paused a minute to
+adjust it in front of the mirror. She would go now and join them at the
+Abbey. She would make herself absolutely charming to Mr. Bleibner.</p>
+
+<p>She went down the steps of the terrace and along the garden walk.
+It was later than she thought. The sun was not far from setting—a
+beautiful sunset with a crimson sky.</p>
+
+<p>By the goldfish pond a young man in chauffeur's livery was standing
+with his back to her. He turned at her approach and civilly raised a
+finger to his cap.</p>
+
+<p>She stopped stock still, and slowly an unconscious hand crept up to her
+heart as she stood there staring.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>4</i></h3>
+
+<p>George Green stared.</p>
+
+<p>Then he ejaculated to himself: "Well, that's a rum go!"</p>
+
+<p>On arrival at their destination his master had said to him: "This is
+one of the oldest and most interesting places in England, Green. I
+shall be here at least an hour—perhaps longer. I will ask Mr. Chetwynd
+if you may stroll about the grounds."</p>
+
+<p>A kind old buffer, Green thought indulgently, but terribly keen on
+what was called "uplift." Couldn't let one alone. And he had that
+extraordinary American reverence for anything that was hallowed by
+antiquity.</p>
+
+<p>Certainly, this was a nice old place, though. He looked up at it
+appreciatively. He'd seen pictures of it somewhere, he was sure. He
+wouldn't mind having a stroll round as he'd been told to do so.</p>
+
+<p>It was well kept up, he noticed that. Who owned it? Some American chap?
+These Americans, they had all the money. He wondered who had owned it
+originally. Whoever it was must have been sick at having to let it go.</p>
+
+<p>He thought wistfully: "I wish I'd been born a toff. I'd like to own a
+place like this."</p>
+
+<p>He wandered some way through the gardens. In the distance he noticed a
+heap of ruins and amongst them two figures, one of which he recognized
+as being that of his employer. Funny old josser—always poking about
+ruins.</p>
+
+<p>The sun was setting, there was a wonderful lurid sky, and against it
+Abbots Puissants stood out in all its beauty.</p>
+
+<p>Funny, the way you thought of things as having happened before! Just
+for a minute Green could have sworn that he had once stood just where
+he was standing now and seen the house outlined against a red sky.
+Could swear, too, that he had felt just that same keen pang as of
+something that hurt. But it wanted something else—a woman with red
+hair like the sunset.</p>
+
+<p>There was a step behind him and he started and turned. For a minute he
+felt a vague pang of disappointment. For standing there was a young
+slender woman, and her hair, escaping each side from under her hat, was
+golden, not red.</p>
+
+<p>He touched his cap respectfully.</p>
+
+<p>A queer sort of lady, he thought. She stared at him with every bit of
+colour draining slowly from her face. She looked absolutely terrified.</p>
+
+<p>Then, with a sudden gasp, she turned and almost ran down the path.</p>
+
+<p>It was then that he ejaculated: "Well, that's a rum go!"</p>
+
+<p>She must, he decided, be a bit queer in the head.</p>
+
+<p>He resumed his aimless strolling.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="chapter_2V">chapter 2</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>Sebastian Levinne was in his office going into the details of a
+ticklish contract when a telegram was brought to him. He opened it
+carelessly, for he received forty or fifty telegrams a day. After he
+had read it he held it in his hand, looking at it.</p>
+
+<p>Then he crumpled it up, slipped it into his pocket, and spoke to Lewis,
+his right-hand man.</p>
+
+<p>"Get on with this thing as best you can," he said curtly. "I'm called
+out of town."</p>
+
+<p>He took no heed of the protestations that arose, but left the room.
+He paused to tell his secretary to see to the cancelling of various
+appointments and then went home, packed a bag, and took a taxi to
+Waterloo. There he unfolded the telegram again and read it:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>Please come at once if you can very urgent Jane Wilts Hotel Wiltsbury.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>It was a proof of his confidence and respect for Jane that he never
+hesitated. He trusted Jane as he trusted no one else in the world. If
+Jane said a thing was urgent, it was urgent. He obeyed the summons
+without wasting a thought of regret on the necessary complications it
+would cause. For no one else in the world, be it said, would he have
+done that.</p>
+
+<p>On arriving at Wiltsbury he drove straight to the hotel and asked
+for her. She had engaged a private room, and there she met him with
+outstretched hands.</p>
+
+<p>"Sebastian, my dear, you've been marvellously quick."</p>
+
+<p>"I came at once." He slipped off his coat and threw it over the back of
+a chair. "What is it, Jane?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's Vernon."</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian looked puzzled.</p>
+
+<p>"What about him?"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>He's not dead. I've seen him.</i>"</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian stared at her for a minute, then drew a chair to the table
+and sat down.</p>
+
+<p>"It's not like you, Jane, but I think, for once in your life, you must
+have been mistaken."</p>
+
+<p>"I wasn't mistaken. It's possible, I suppose, for the War Office to
+have made an error?"</p>
+
+<p>"Errors have been made more than once—but they've usually been
+contradicted fairly soon. It stands to reason that they must be. If
+Vernon's alive, what's he been doing all this time?"</p>
+
+<p>She shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>"That I can't say. But I'm as sure about its being Vernon as I am that
+it's you here now."</p>
+
+<p>She spoke curtly but very confidently.</p>
+
+<p>He stared at her very hard, then nodded.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me," he said.</p>
+
+<p>Jane spoke quietly and composedly.</p>
+
+<p>"There's an American here, a Mr. Bleibner. I met him out in Serbia.
+We recognized each other in the street. He told me he was staying at
+the County Hotel and asked me to lunch to-day. I went. Afterward it
+was raining. He wouldn't hear of my walking back. His car was there
+and would take me. His car did take me. Sebastian, the chauffeur was
+Vernon—<i>and he didn't know me</i>."</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian considered the matter.</p>
+
+<p>"You're sure you weren't deceived by some strong resemblance?"</p>
+
+<p>"Perfectly sure."</p>
+
+<p>"Then why didn't Vernon recognize you? He was pretending, I suppose."</p>
+
+<p>"No, I don't think so—in fact, I'm sure he wasn't. He would be
+bound to give some sign—a start—something. He couldn't have been
+<i>expecting</i> to see me. He couldn't have controlled his first surprise.
+Besides, he looked—different."</p>
+
+<p>"How different?"</p>
+
+<p>Jane considered.</p>
+
+<p>"It's hard to explain. Rather happy and jolly and—just faintly—like
+his mother."</p>
+
+<p>"Extraordinary," said Sebastian. "I'm glad you sent for me. If it <i>is</i>
+Vernon—well, it's going to be the devil of a business. Nell having
+married again and everything. We don't want reporters coming down like
+wolves on the fold. I suppose there'll have to be <i>some</i> publicity."
+He got up, walked up and down. "The first thing is to get hold of
+Bleibner."</p>
+
+<p>"I telephoned to him, asking him to be here at six-thirty. I didn't
+dare leave, though I was afraid you wouldn't be able to get here so
+soon. Bleibner will be here any minute."</p>
+
+<p>"Good for you, Jane. We must hear what he's got to say."</p>
+
+<p>There was a knock at the door and Mr. Bleibner was announced. Jane rose
+to meet him.</p>
+
+<p>"It's very good of you to come, Mr. Bleibner," she began.</p>
+
+<p>"Not at all," said the American. "Always delighted to oblige a lady.
+And you said that the matter you wanted to see me about was urgent."</p>
+
+<p>"It is. This is Mr. Sebastian Levinne."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>The</i> Mr. Sebastian Levinne? I'm very pleased to meet you, sir."</p>
+
+<p>The two men shook hands.</p>
+
+<p>"And now, Mr. Bleibner," said Jane. "I'll come straight to what I want
+to talk to you about. How long have you had your chauffeur, and what
+can you tell us about him?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Bleibner was plainly surprised and showed it.</p>
+
+<p>"Green? You want to know about Green?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"Well——" The American reflected. "I've no objections to telling you
+what I know. I guess you wouldn't ask without a good reason. I know
+you well enough for that, Miss Harding. I picked up Green in Holland
+not long after the Armistice. He was working in a local garage. I
+discovered he was an Englishman and began to take an interest in him.
+I asked him his history and he was pretty vague about it. I thought at
+first he had something to conceal, but I soon convinced myself that he
+was genuine enough. The man was in a kind of mental fog. He knew his
+name and where he came from, but very little else."</p>
+
+<p>"Lost memory," said Sebastian softly. "I see."</p>
+
+<p>"His father was killed in the South African war, he told me. He
+remembered his father singing in the village choir, and he remembered a
+brother whom he used to call Squirrel."</p>
+
+<p>"And he was quite sure about his own name?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! yes. As a matter of fact, he'd got it written down in a small
+pocketbook. There was an accident, you know. He was knocked down by a
+lorry. That's how they knew who he was. They asked him if his name was
+Green and he said Yes—George. He was very popular at the garage, he
+was so sunny and light-hearted. I don't believe I've ever seen Green
+out of temper.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I took a fancy to the young chap. I've seen a few shell-shocked
+cases and his state wasn't any mystery to me. He showed me the entry
+in his pocketbook and I made a few inquiries. I soon found the
+reason—there always is a reason, you know—for his loss of memory.
+Corporal George Green, London Fusiliers, was a deserter.</p>
+
+<p>"There, you have it. He'd funked things—and being a decent young
+fellow really, he couldn't face the fact. I explained it all to him.
+He said, rather wonderingly: 'I shouldn't have thought I could ever
+desert—not <i>desert</i>.' I explained to him that that point of view was
+just the reason he couldn't remember. He couldn't remember because he
+didn't want to remember.</p>
+
+<p>"He listened but I don't think he was very convinced. I felt, and still
+feel, extremely sorry for him. I didn't think there was any obligation
+on my part to report his existence to the military authorities. I
+took him into my service and offered him a chance to make good. I've
+never had cause to regret it. He's an excellent chauffeur—punctual,
+intelligent, a good mechanic, and always sunny-tempered and obliging."</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Bleibner paused and looked inquiringly at Jane and Sebastian. Their
+pale serious faces impressed him.</p>
+
+<p>"It's frightening," said Jane in her low voice. "It's one of the most
+frightening things that could happen."</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian took her hand and squeezed it.</p>
+
+<p>"It's all right, Jane."</p>
+
+<p>Jane roused herself with a slight shiver and spoke to the American.</p>
+
+<p>"I think it's our turn to explain. You see, Mr. Bleibner, in your
+chauffeur I recognized an old friend—and he didn't recognize me."</p>
+
+<p>"In—deed!"</p>
+
+<p>"But his name wasn't Green," said Sebastian.</p>
+
+<p>"No? You mean he enlisted under another name?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. There's something there that seems incomprehensible. I suppose
+we shall get at it some day. In the meantime, I will ask you, Mr.
+Bleibner, not to repeat this conversation to <i>anyone</i>. There's a wife
+in the matter, and—oh! many other considerations."</p>
+
+<p>"My dear sir," said Mr. Bleibner, "you can trust me to be absolutely
+silent. But what next? Do you want to see Green?"</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian looked at Jane and she bowed her head.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said Sebastian slowly. "I think perhaps that would be the best
+plan."</p>
+
+<p>The American rose.</p>
+
+<p>"He's below now. He brought me here. I'll send him up right away."</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>2</i></h3>
+
+<p>George Green mounted the stairs with his usual buoyant step. As he did
+so he wondered what had happened to upset the old josser—by that term
+meaning his employer. Very queer the old buffer had looked.</p>
+
+<p>"The door at the top of the stairs," Mr. Bleibner had said.</p>
+
+<p>George Green rapped on it sharply with his knuckles and waited. A voice
+called "Come in" and he obeyed.</p>
+
+<p>There were two people in the room—the lady he had driven home to-day
+(whom he thought of in his own mind as a tip-topper) and a big, rather
+fat man with a very yellow face and projecting ears. His face seemed
+vaguely familiar to the chauffeur. For a moment he stood there while
+they both stared at him. He thought: "What's the matter with everybody
+this evening?"</p>
+
+<p>He said, "Yes, sir?" in a respectful voice to the yellow gentleman. He
+went on: "Mr. Bleibner told me to come up."</p>
+
+<p>The yellow gentleman seemed to recover himself.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, yes," he said. "That's right. Sit down—er—Green. That's your
+name, isn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir. George Green."</p>
+
+<p>He sat down respectfully in the chair indicated. The yellow gentleman
+handed him a cigarette case and said, "Help yourself." And all the
+time, his eyes, small piercing eyes, never left Green's face. That
+intent burning gaze made the chauffeur uneasy. What <i>was</i> up with
+everyone to-night?</p>
+
+<p>"I wanted to ask you a few questions. To begin with, have you ever seen
+me before?"</p>
+
+<p>Green shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"Sure?" persisted the other.</p>
+
+<p>A faint trace of uncertainty crept into Green's voice.</p>
+
+<p>"I—I don't think so," he said doubtfully.</p>
+
+<p>"My name is Sebastian Levinne."</p>
+
+<p>The chauffeur's face cleared.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course, sir, I've seen your picture in the papers. I thought it
+seemed familiar somehow."</p>
+
+<p>There was a pause, and then Sebastian Levinne asked casually: "Have you
+ever heard the name of Vernon Deyre?"</p>
+
+<p>"Vernon Deyre," Green repeated the name thoughtfully. He frowned
+perplexedly. "The name seems somehow familiar to me, sir, but I can't
+quite place it." He paused, the frown deepening. "I think I've heard
+it." And then added, "The gentleman's dead, isn't he?"</p>
+
+<p>"So that's your impression, is it? That the gentleman is dead."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir, and a good——"</p>
+
+<p>He stopped suddenly, crimsoning.</p>
+
+<p>"Go on," said Levinne. "What were you going to say?" He added shrewdly,
+perceiving where the trouble lay. "You need not mince your words. Mr.
+Deyre was no relation of mine."</p>
+
+<p>The chauffeur accepted the implication.</p>
+
+<p>"I was going to say a good job, too—but I don't know that I ought to
+say it, since I can't remember anything about him. But I've got a kind
+of impression that—well, that he was best out of the way, so to speak.
+Made rather a mess of things, hadn't he?"</p>
+
+<p>"You knew him?"</p>
+
+<p>The frown deepened in an agony of attempted recollection.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sorry, sir," the chauffeur apologized. "Since the war things
+seemed to have got a bit mixed up. I can't always recollect things
+clearly. I don't know where I came across Mr. Deyre, and why I disliked
+him, but I do know that I'm thankful to hear that he's dead. He was no
+good—you can take my word for that."</p>
+
+<p>There was a silence, only broken by something like a smothered sob from
+the other occupant of the room. Levinne turned to her.</p>
+
+<p>"Telephone to the theatre, Jane," he said. "You can't appear to-night."</p>
+
+<p>She nodded and left the room. Levinne looked after her and then said
+abruptly:</p>
+
+<p>"You've seen Miss Harding before?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir. I drove her home to-day."</p>
+
+<p>Levinne sighed. Green looked at him inquiringly.</p>
+
+<p>"Is—is that all, sir? I'm sorry to have been so little use. I know
+I've been a bit—well, queer since the war. My own fault. Perhaps Mr.
+Bleibner told you—I—didn't do my duty as I should have done."</p>
+
+<p>His face flushed but he brought out the words resolutely. Had the old
+josser told them or not? Better to say that anyway. At the same time, a
+pang of shame pierced him keenly. He was a deserter, a man who had run
+away! A rotten business.</p>
+
+<p>Jane Harding came back into the room and resumed her place behind the
+table. She looked paler than when she had gone out, Green thought.
+Curious eyes she had—so deep and tragic. He wondered what she was
+thinking about. Perhaps she had been engaged to this Mr. Deyre. No, Mr.
+Levinne wouldn't have urged him to speak out if that had been the case.
+It was probably all to do with money. A will, or something like that.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Levinne began questioning him again. He made no reference to the
+last sentence.</p>
+
+<p>"Your father was killed in the Boer War, I believe?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"You remember him?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! yes, sir."</p>
+
+<p>"What did he look like?"</p>
+
+<p>Green smiled. The memory was pleasant to him.</p>
+
+<p>"A burly sort of chap. Mutton-chop whiskers. Very bright blue eyes. I
+remember him as well as anything singing in the choir. Baritone voice
+he had."</p>
+
+<p>He smiled happily.</p>
+
+<p>"And he was killed in the Boer War?"</p>
+
+<p>A sudden look of doubt crept into Green's face. He seemed
+worried—distressed. His eyes looked pathetically across the table like
+a dog at fault.</p>
+
+<p>"It's queer," he said. "I never thought of that. He'd be too old.
+He—and yet I'd swear—I'm sure——"</p>
+
+<p>The look of distress in his eyes was so acute that the other said,
+"Never mind," and went on: "Are you married, Green?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir."</p>
+
+<p>The answer came with prompt assurance.</p>
+
+<p>"You seem very certain about that," said Mr. Levinne, smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"I am, sir. It leads to nothing but trouble—mixing yourself up with
+women." He stopped abruptly and said to Jane: "I beg your pardon."</p>
+
+<p>She smiled faintly and said: "It doesn't matter."</p>
+
+<p>There was a pause. Levinne turned to her and said something so quickly
+that Green could not catch it. It sounded like:</p>
+
+<p>"Extraordinary likeness to Sydney Bent. Never imagined it was there."</p>
+
+<p>Then they both stared at him again.</p>
+
+<p>And suddenly he was afraid—definitely childishly afraid—in the same
+way that he remembered being afraid of the dark when he was a baby.
+There was something up—that was how he put it to himself—and these
+two knew it. Something about him.</p>
+
+<p>He leaned forward, acutely apprehensive.</p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter?" he said sharply. "There's something...."</p>
+
+<p>They didn't deny it—just continued to look at him.</p>
+
+<p>And his terror grew. Why couldn't they tell a chap? They knew something
+that he didn't. Something dreadful. He said again, and this time his
+voice was high and shrill:</p>
+
+<p>"<i>What's the matter?</i>"</p>
+
+<p>The lady got up—he noticed in the background of his mind as it were
+how splendidly she moved. She was like a statue he'd seen somewhere.
+She came round the table and laid a hand on his shoulder. She said
+comfortingly and reassuringly: "It's all right. You mustn't be
+frightened."</p>
+
+<p>But Green's eyes continued to question Levinne. This man knew—this man
+was going to tell him. What was this horrible thing that they knew and
+he didn't?</p>
+
+<p>"Very odd things have happened in this war," began Levinne. "People
+have sometimes forgotten their own names."</p>
+
+<p>He paused significantly, but the significance was lost on Green. He
+said with a momentary return to cheerfulness:</p>
+
+<p>"I'm not as bad as that. I've never forgotten my name."</p>
+
+<p>"But you <i>have</i>." He stopped, then went on: "Your real name is Vernon
+Deyre."</p>
+
+<p>The announcement ought to have been dramatic, but it wasn't. The words
+seemed to Green simply silly. He looked amused.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm Mr. Vernon Deyre? You mean I'm his double or something?"</p>
+
+<p>"I mean you <i>are</i> him."</p>
+
+<p>Green laughed frankly.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't monkey about with that stuff, sir. Not even if it means a
+title or a fortune! Whatever the resemblance, I'd be bound to be found
+out."</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian Levinne leaned forward over the table and rapped out each
+word separately, with emphasis.</p>
+
+<p>"You—are—Vernon—Deyre."</p>
+
+<p>Green stared. The emphasis impressed him.</p>
+
+<p>"You're kidding me?"</p>
+
+<p>Levinne slowly shook his head. Green turned suddenly to the woman who
+stood beside him. Her eyes, very grave and absolutely assured, met his.
+She said very quietly:</p>
+
+<p>"You are Vernon Deyre. We both know it."</p>
+
+<p>There was dead silence in the room. To Green, it seemed as though the
+whole world were spinning round. It was like a fairy story, fantastic
+and impossible. And yet something about these two compelled credence.
+He said uncertainly:</p>
+
+<p>"But—but things don't happen like that. You couldn't forget your own
+name!"</p>
+
+<p>"Evidently—since you have done so."</p>
+
+<p>"But—but, look here, sir, I <i>know</i> I'm George Green. I—well, I just
+know it!"</p>
+
+<p>He looked at them triumphantly, but slowly and remorselessly Sebastian
+Levinne shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know how that's come about," he said. "A doctor would probably
+be able to tell you. But I do know this—that you are my friend Vernon
+Deyre. There is no possible doubt of that."</p>
+
+<p>"But—but, if that's true, I ought to know it."</p>
+
+<p>He felt bewildered, horribly uncertain. A strange sickening world
+where you couldn't be sure of anything. These were kindly sane people,
+he trusted them. What they said must be so—and yet something in him
+refused to be convinced. They were sorry for him—he felt that. And
+that frightened him. There was something more yet—something that he
+hadn't been told.</p>
+
+<p>"Who is he?" he said sharply. "This Vernon Deyre, I mean."</p>
+
+<p>"You come from this part of the world. You were born and spent most of
+your childhood at a place called Abbots Puissants——"</p>
+
+<p>Green interrupted him in astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>"Abbots Puissants? Why, I drove Mr. Bleibner there yesterday. And you
+say it's my old home, and I never recognized it!"</p>
+
+<p>He felt suddenly buoyed up and scornful. The whole thing was a pack of
+lies! Of course it was! He had known it all the time. These people were
+honest, but they were mistaken. He felt relieved—happier.</p>
+
+<p>"After that you went to live near Birmingham," continued Levinne. "You
+went to school at Eton and from there you went on to Cambridge. After
+that you went to London and studied music. You composed an opera."</p>
+
+<p>Green laughed outright.</p>
+
+<p>"There you're quite wrong, sir. Why, I don't know one note of music
+from another."</p>
+
+<p>"The war broke out. You obtained a commission in the yeomanry. You were
+married—" he paused, but Green gave no sign—"and went out to France.
+In the spring of the following year you were reported Killed in Action."</p>
+
+<p>Green stared at him incredulously. What sort of a rigmarole was this?
+He couldn't remember a thing about any of it.</p>
+
+<p>"There must be some mistake," he said confidently. "Mr. Deyre must have
+been what they call my 'double.'"</p>
+
+<p>"There is no mistake, Vernon," said Jane Harding.</p>
+
+<p>Green looked from her to Sebastian. The confident intimacy of her tone
+had done more to convince him than anything else. He thought: "This is
+awful. A nightmare. Such things can't happen." He began to shake all
+over, unable to stop.</p>
+
+<p>Levinne got up, mixed him a stiff drink from materials that stood on a
+tray in the corner and brought it back to him.</p>
+
+<p>"Swallow this," he said, "And you'll feel better. It's been a shock."</p>
+
+<p>Green gulped down the draught. It steadied him. The trembling ceased.</p>
+
+<p>"Before God, sir," he said, "is this true?"</p>
+
+<p>"Before God, it is," said Sebastian.</p>
+
+<p>He brought a chair forward, sat down close by his friend.</p>
+
+<p>"Vernon, dear old chap—don't you remember me at all?"</p>
+
+<p>Green stared at him—an anguished stare. Something seemed to stir
+ever so faintly. How it hurt, this trying to remember! There was
+<i>something</i>—what was it. He said doubtfully:</p>
+
+<p>"You—you've grown up." He stretched out a hand and touched Sebastian's
+ear. "I seem to remember——"</p>
+
+<p>"He remembers your ears, Sebastian," cried Jane, and going over to the
+mantelpiece she laid her head down upon it and began to laugh.</p>
+
+<p>"Stop it, Jane." Sebastian rose, poured out another drink and took it
+to her. "Some medicine for you."</p>
+
+<p>She drank it, handed the glass back to him, smiled faintly, and said:
+"I'm sorry. I won't do it again."</p>
+
+<p>Green was going on with his discoveries.</p>
+
+<p>"You're—you're not a brother, are you? No, you lived next door. That's
+it—you lived next door."</p>
+
+<p>"That's right, old chap." Sebastian patted him on the shoulder. "Don't
+worry to think—it'll come back soon. Take it easy."</p>
+
+<p>Green looked at Jane. He said timidly and politely: "Were you—are
+you—my sister? I seem to remember something about a sister."</p>
+
+<p>Jane shook her head, unable to speak. Green flushed.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have——"</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian interrupted.</p>
+
+<p>"You didn't have a sister. There was a cousin who lived with you. Her
+name was Josephine. We called her Joe."</p>
+
+<p>Green pondered.</p>
+
+<p>"Josephine—Joe. Yes, I seem to remember something about that." He
+paused and then reiterated pathetically: "Are you <i>sure</i> my name isn't
+Green?"</p>
+
+<p>"Quite sure. Do you still feel it is?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes.... And you say I made up music—music of my own? Highbrow
+stuff—not ragtime?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"It all seems—well, mad. Just that—mad!"</p>
+
+<p>"You mustn't worry," said Jane gently. "I dare say we have been wrong
+to tell you all this the way we have."</p>
+
+<p>Green looked from one to the other of them. He felt dazed.</p>
+
+<p>"What am I to do?" he asked helplessly.</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian gave an answer with decision.</p>
+
+<p>"You must stay here with us. You've had a great shock, you know. I'll
+go and square things with old Bleibner. He's a very decent chap and
+he'll understand."</p>
+
+<p>"I shouldn't like to put him out in any way. He's been a thundering
+good boss to me."</p>
+
+<p>"He'll understand. I've already told him something."</p>
+
+<p>"What about the car? I don't like to think of another chap driving that
+car. She's running now as sweetly——"</p>
+
+<p>He was once again the chauffeur, intent on his charge.</p>
+
+<p>"I know. I know." Sebastian was impatient. "But the great thing, my
+dear fellow, is to get you right as soon as possible. We want to get a
+first-class doctor on to you."</p>
+
+<p>"What's a doctor got to do with it?" Green was slightly hostile. "I'm
+perfectly fit."</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps a doctor ought to see you all the same. Not here—in London.
+We don't want any talk down here."</p>
+
+<p>Something in the tone of the speaker's voice attracted Green's
+attention. The flush came over his face.</p>
+
+<p>"You mean the deserting business."</p>
+
+<p>"No, no. To tell the truth, I can't get the hang of that. I mean
+something quite different."</p>
+
+<p>Green looked at him inquiringly.</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian thought: "Well, I suppose he's got to know sometime." Aloud
+he said:</p>
+
+<p>"You see, thinking you were dead, your wife has—well—married again."</p>
+
+<p>He was a little afraid of the effect of those words. But Green seemed
+to see the matter in a humorous light.</p>
+
+<p>"That <i>is</i> a bit awkward," he said with a grin.</p>
+
+<p>"It doesn't upset you in any way?"</p>
+
+<p>"You can't be upset by a thing you don't remember." He paused, as
+though really considering the matter for the first time. "Was Mr.
+Deyre—I mean, was I—fond of her?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well—yes."</p>
+
+<p>But again the grin came over Green's face.</p>
+
+<p>"And I to be so positive I wasn't married. All the same"—his face
+changed—"it's rather frightening—all this!"</p>
+
+<p>He looked suddenly at Jane, as though seeking assurance.</p>
+
+<p>"Dear Vernon," she said, "it will be all right."</p>
+
+<p>She paused, and then said in a quiet casual tone: "You drove Mr.
+Bleibner over to Abbots Puissants, you say. Did you—did you see anyone
+there? Any of the people of the house?"</p>
+
+<p>"I saw Mr. Chetwynd—and I saw a lady in the sunk gardens. I took her
+to be Mrs. Chetwynd, fair-haired and good-looking."</p>
+
+<p>"Did—did she see you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Seemed—well, scared. Went dead-white and bolted like a rabbit."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, God!" said Jane, and bit off the exclamation almost before it was
+uttered.</p>
+
+<p>Green was cogitating quietly over the matter.</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps she thought she knew me," he said. "She must have been one of
+them who knew him—me—in the old days, and it gave her a turn. Yes,
+that must have been it."</p>
+
+<p>He was quite happy with his solution.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly he asked: "Had my mother got red hair?"</p>
+
+<p>Jane nodded.</p>
+
+<p>"Then that was it." He looked up apologetically. "Sorry. I was just
+thinking of something."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll go and see Bleibner now," said Sebastian. "Jane will look after
+you."</p>
+
+<p>He left the room. Green leaned forward in his chair, his head
+held between his hands. He felt acutely uncomfortable and
+miserable—especially with Jane. Clearly he ought to know her—and he
+didn't. She had said "Dear Vernon" just now. It was terribly awkward
+when people knew you and you felt they were strangers. If he spoke to
+her he supposed he ought to call her Jane—but he couldn't. She was a
+stranger. Still, he supposed he'd have to get used to it. They'd have
+to be Sebastian and George and Jane together—no, not George—Vernon.
+Silly sort of name, Vernon. Probably he'd been a silly sort of chap.</p>
+
+<p>"I mean," he thought, trying desperately to force the realization upon
+himself, "<i>I</i> must have been a silly sort of chap."</p>
+
+<p>He felt horribly lonely—cut off from reality. He looked up to find
+Jane watching him, and the pity and understanding in her eyes made him
+feel a shade less forlorn.</p>
+
+<p>"It's rather terrible just at first, isn't it?" she said.</p>
+
+<p>He said politely: "It is rather difficult. You don't—you don't know
+where you are with things."</p>
+
+<p>"I understand."</p>
+
+<p>She said no more, just sat there quietly beside him. His head jerked
+forward. He began to doze. In reality he only slept for a few minutes,
+but it seemed to him hours. Jane had turned all the lamps out but one.
+He woke with a start. She said quickly:</p>
+
+<p>"It's all right."</p>
+
+<p>He stared at her, his breath coming in gasps. He was still in the
+nightmare then, he hadn't wakened. And there was something worse to
+come—something he didn't know yet. He was sure of it. That was why
+they all looked at him so pityingly.</p>
+
+<p>Jane got up suddenly. Wildly, he cried out:</p>
+
+<p>"Stay with me. Oh! please stay with me."</p>
+
+<p>He couldn't understand why her face should suddenly twist with pain.
+What was there in what he had said to make her look like that? He said
+again: "Don't leave me. Stay with me."</p>
+
+<p>She sat down again beside him and took his hand in hers. She said very
+gently:</p>
+
+<p>"I won't go away."</p>
+
+<p>He felt soothed, reassured. After a minute or two he dozed again. He
+woke quietly this time. The room was as before and his hand was still
+in Jane's. He spoke diffidently:</p>
+
+<p>"You—you aren't my sister? You were—you are, I mean—a friend of
+mine?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"A great friend?"</p>
+
+<p>"A great friend."</p>
+
+<p>He paused. Yet the conviction in his mind was growing stronger and
+stronger. He blurted out suddenly:</p>
+
+<p>"You're—you're my wife, aren't you?"</p>
+
+<p>He was sure of it.</p>
+
+<p>She drew her hand away. He wouldn't understand the look in her face. It
+frightened him. She got up.</p>
+
+<p>"No," she said. "I'm not your wife."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! I'm sorry. I thought——"</p>
+
+<p>"It's all right."</p>
+
+<p>And at that minute Sebastian came back. His eyes went to Jane. She
+said, with a little twisted smile:</p>
+
+<p>"I'm glad you've come.... I'm—glad you've come."</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>3</i></h3>
+
+<p>Jane and Sebastian talked long into the night. What was to be done? Who
+was to be told?</p>
+
+<p>There was Nell and Nell's position to consider. Presumably Nell should
+be told first of all. She was the one most vitally concerned.</p>
+
+<p>Jane agreed. "If she doesn't know already."</p>
+
+<p>"You think she knows?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, evidently she met Vernon yesterday face to face."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, but she must have thought it just a very strong resemblance."</p>
+
+<p>Jane was silent.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you think so?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know."</p>
+
+<p>"But hang it all, Jane, if she said she'd recognized him, she'd have
+done something—got hold of him or Bleibner. It's nearly two days ago
+now."</p>
+
+<p>"I know."</p>
+
+<p>"She can't have recognized him. She just saw Bleibner's chauffeur, and
+his likeness to Vernon gave her such a shock that she couldn't stand it
+and rushed away."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose so."</p>
+
+<p>"What's in your mind, Jane?"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>We</i> recognized him, Sebastian."</p>
+
+<p>"You mean you did. I'd been told by you."</p>
+
+<p>"But you would have known him anywhere, wouldn't you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I would.... But then, I know him so well."</p>
+
+<p>Jane said in a hard voice: "So does Nell."</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian looked sharply at her and said: "What are you getting at,
+Jane?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, you do. What do you really think happened?"</p>
+
+<p>Jane paused before speaking.</p>
+
+<p>"I think Nell came upon him suddenly in the garden and thought it was
+Vernon. Afterward she persuaded herself that it had only been a chance
+resemblance that had upset her so."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, that's very much what I said."</p>
+
+<p>He was a little surprised when she said meekly: "Yes, it is."</p>
+
+<p>"What's the difference?"</p>
+
+<p>"Practically none, only——"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes?"</p>
+
+<p>"You and I would have wanted to believe it was Vernon even if it
+wasn't."</p>
+
+<p>"Wouldn't Nell? Surely she hasn't come to care for George Chetwynd to
+such an extent——"</p>
+
+<p>"Nell is very fond of George, but Vernon is the only person she's ever
+been in love with."</p>
+
+<p>"Then that's all right. Or is it worse that way? It's the deuce of a
+tangle. What about his people?—Mrs. Deyre and the Bents."</p>
+
+<p>Jane said decidedly: "Nell must be told before they are. Mrs. Deyre
+will broadcast it over England as soon as she knows, and that will be
+very unfair to both Vernon and Nell."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I think you're right. Now my plan is this: to take Vernon up to
+town to-morrow and go and see a specialist—then be guided by what he
+advises."</p>
+
+<p>Jane said Yes, she thought that would be the best plan. She got up to
+go to bed. On the stairs she paused and said to Sebastian:</p>
+
+<p>"I wonder if we're right. Bringing him back, I mean. He looked so
+happy. Oh! Sebastian, he looked so happy...."</p>
+
+<p>"As George Green, you mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Are you sure we're right?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I'm pretty sure. It can't be right for anyone to be in that
+unnatural sort of state."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose it <i>is</i> unnatural. The queer thing is he looked so
+normal and commonplace. And happy—that's what I can't get over,
+Sebastian—<i>happy</i>.... We're none of us very happy, are we?"</p>
+
+<p>He couldn't answer that.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="chapter_3V">chapter 3</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>Two days later Sebastian came to Abbots Puissants. The butler was not
+sure that Mrs. Chetwynd could see him. She was lying down.</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian gave his name and said he was sure Mrs. Chetwynd would see
+him. He was shown into the drawing room to wait. The room seemed empty
+and silent but unusually luxurious—very different from what it had
+looked in his childish days. He thought to himself, "It was a <i>real</i>
+house then," and wondered what exactly he meant by that. He got it
+presently. Now it suggested, very faintly, a museum. Everything was
+beautifully arranged, and harmonized perfectly. Every piece that was
+not perfect had been replaced by one that was. All the carpets and
+covers and hangings were new.</p>
+
+<p>"And they must have cost a pretty penny," thought Sebastian
+appreciatively, and priced them with a fair degree of accuracy. He
+always knew the cost of things.</p>
+
+<p>He was interrupted in this salutary exercise by the door opening. Nell
+came in, a pink colour in her cheeks and her hand outstretched.</p>
+
+<p>"Sebastian! What a surprise! I thought you were too busy ever to leave
+London except at a week-end—and not often then!"</p>
+
+<p>"I've lost just twenty thousand pounds in the last two days," said
+Sebastian gruffly as he took her hand. "Simply from gadding about and
+letting things go anyhow. How are you, Nell?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! I'm feeling splendid."</p>
+
+<p>She didn't look very splendid, though, he thought, now that the flush
+of surprise had died away. Besides, hadn't the butler said she was
+lying down, not feeling well? He fancied that her face looked a little
+strained and haggard.</p>
+
+<p>She went on: "Sit down, Sebastian. You look as though you were on the
+point of going off to catch a train. George is away—in Spain. He had
+to go on business. He'll be away a week at least."</p>
+
+<p>"Will he?"</p>
+
+<p>That was a good thing anyway. A damned awkward business. Nell had
+simply no idea....</p>
+
+<p>"You're very glum, Sebastian. Is anything the matter?"</p>
+
+<p>She asked the question quite lightly, but he seized upon it eagerly. It
+was the opening he needed.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Nell," he said gravely. "As a matter of fact, there is."</p>
+
+<p>He heard her draw in her breath with a sudden catch. Her eyes looked
+watchful.</p>
+
+<p>"What is it?" she said.</p>
+
+<p>Her voice sounded different—hard and suspicious.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid what I'm going to say will be a great shock to you. It's
+about Vernon."</p>
+
+<p>"What about Vernon?"</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian waited a minute. Then he said: "Vernon—is alive, Nell."</p>
+
+<p>"Alive?" she whispered. Her hand crept up to her heart.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>She didn't do any of the things he expected her to do—didn't faint, or
+cry out, or ask eager questions. She just stared straight ahead of her.
+And a sudden quick suspicion came into his shrewd Jewish mind.</p>
+
+<p>"You knew it?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, no."</p>
+
+<p>"I thought perhaps you saw him, the other day, when he came here?"</p>
+
+<p>"Then it <i>was</i> Vernon!"</p>
+
+<p>It broke from her like a cry. Sebastian nodded his head. It was as he
+thought and said to Jane. She had not trusted her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"What did you think—that it was a very close resemblance?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes—yes, that's what I thought. How could I think it was Vernon? He
+looked at me and didn't know me."</p>
+
+<p>"He's lost his memory, Nell."</p>
+
+<p>"Lost his memory?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>He told her the story, giving the details as carefully as possible. She
+listened but paid less attention than he expected. When he had finished
+she said: "Yes, but what's to be done about it all? Will he get it
+back? What are we to do?"</p>
+
+<p>He explained that Vernon was having treatment from a specialist.
+Already, under hypnosis, part of the lost memory had returned. The
+whole process would not be long delayed. He did not enter into the
+technical details, judging rightly that these would have no interest
+for her.</p>
+
+<p>"And then he'll know—everything?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>She shrank back in her chair. He felt a sudden rush of pity.</p>
+
+<p>"He can't blame you, Nell. You didn't know—nobody could know. The
+report of his death was absolutely definite. It's an almost unique
+case. I've heard of one other. In most cases, of course, a report of
+death was contradicted almost immediately. Vernon loves you enough to
+understand and forgive."</p>
+
+<p>She said nothing but she put up both hands to cover her face.</p>
+
+<p>"We think—if you agree—that everything had better be kept quiet for
+the present. You'll tell Chetwynd, of course. And you and he and Vernon
+can—well, thrash it out together."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't! Don't! Don't go into details. Just let's leave it for the
+present—till I've seen Vernon."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you want to see him at once? Will you come up to town with me?"</p>
+
+<p>"No—I can't do that. Let him come here—to see me. Nobody will
+recognize him. The servants are all new."</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian said slowly: "Very well.... I'll tell him."</p>
+
+<p>Nell got up.</p>
+
+<p>"I—I—you must go away now, Sebastian. I can't bear any more. I can't
+indeed. It's all so dreadful. And only two days ago I was so happy and
+peaceful...."</p>
+
+<p>"But Nell, surely to have Vernon back again——"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! yes, I didn't mean <i>that</i>. You don't understand. That's wonderful,
+of course. Oh! do go, Sebastian. It's awful of me turning you out like
+this, but I can't bear any more. You must go."</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian went. On the way back to town he wondered a good deal.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>2</i></h3>
+
+<p>Left alone, Nell went back to her bedroom and lay down on her bed,
+pulling the silk eiderdown tightly over her.</p>
+
+<p>So it was true after all. It <i>had</i> been Vernon. She had told herself
+that it couldn't be—that she had made a ridiculous mistake. But she'd
+been uneasy ever since.</p>
+
+<p>What was going to happen? What would George say about it all? Poor
+George! He'd been so good to her.</p>
+
+<p>Of course there were women who'd married again, and then had found
+their first husbands were alive. Rather an awful position. She had
+never really been George's wife at all.</p>
+
+<p>Oh! it couldn't be true. Such things didn't happen. God wouldn't let——</p>
+
+<p>But perhaps she had better not think of God. It reminded her of those
+very unpleasant things that Jane had said the other day. That very same
+day.</p>
+
+<p>She thought with a rush of self pity: "I was so happy!"</p>
+
+<p>Was Vernon going to understand? Would he—perhaps—blame her? He'd
+want her, of course, to come back. Or wouldn't he, now that she and
+George.... What <i>did</i> men think?</p>
+
+<p>There could be a divorce, of course, and then she could marry George.
+But that would make a lot of talk. How difficult everything was.</p>
+
+<p>She thought with a sudden shock: "But I <i>love</i> Vernon. How can I
+contemplate a divorce and marrying George when I love Vernon? He's been
+given back to me—from the dead."</p>
+
+<p>She turned over restlessly on the bed. It was a beautiful Empire
+bed. George had bought it out of an old château in France. It was
+perfect and quite unique. She looked round the room: a charming room,
+everything in harmony—perfect taste, perfect unostentatious luxury.</p>
+
+<p>She remembered suddenly the horsehair sofa and the antimacassars in
+the furnished rooms at Wiltsbury.... Dreadful! But they had been happy
+there.</p>
+
+<p>But now? She looked round the room with new eyes. Of course, Abbots
+Puissants belonged to George. Or didn't it, now that Vernon had come
+back? Anyway, Vernon would be just as poor as ever. They couldn't
+afford to live here. There were all the things that George had done to
+it.... Thought after thought raced confusedly through her brain.</p>
+
+<p>She must write to George—beg him to come home. Just say it was
+urgent—nothing more. He was so clever. He might see a way.</p>
+
+<p>Or perhaps she wouldn't write to him—not till she had seen Vernon.
+Would Vernon be very angry? How terrible it all was.</p>
+
+<p>The tears came to her eyes. She sobbed: "It's unfair—it's unfair. I've
+never done anything. Why should this happen to me? Vernon will blame
+me, and I couldn't know. How could I know?"</p>
+
+<p>And again the thought flitted across her mind: "I <i>was</i> so happy!"</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>3</i></h3>
+
+<p>Vernon was listening, trying to understand what the doctor was saying
+to him. He looked across the table at him. A tall thin man, with eyes
+that seemed to see right into the centre of you and to read there
+things that you didn't even know about yourself.</p>
+
+<p>And he made you see all the things you didn't want to see. Made you
+bring things up out of the depths. He was saying:</p>
+
+<p>"Now that you have remembered, tell me again exactly how you saw the
+announcement of your wife's marriage."</p>
+
+<p>Vernon cried out: "Must we go over it again and again? It was all so
+horrible. I don't want to think of it any more."</p>
+
+<p>And then the doctor explained, gravely and kindly, but very
+impressively. It was because of that desire not to "think of it any
+more" that all this had come about. It must be faced now—thrashed out.
+Otherwise the loss of memory might return.</p>
+
+<p>They went all over it again.</p>
+
+<p>And then, when Vernon felt he could bear no more, he was told to lie
+down on a couch. The doctor touched his forehead and his limbs, told
+him that he was resting—was rested—that he would become strong and
+happy again....</p>
+
+<p>A feeling of peace came over Vernon.</p>
+
+<p>He closed his eyes....</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>4</i></h3>
+
+<p>Vernon came down to Abbots Puissants three days later. He came in
+Sebastian Levinne's car. To the butler he gave his name as Mr. Green.
+Nell was waiting for him in the little white-panelled room where his
+mother had sat in the mornings. She came forward to meet him, forcing
+a conventional smile to her lips. The butler shut the door behind him
+just in time for her to stop short before offering him her hand.</p>
+
+<p>They looked at each other. Then Vernon said:</p>
+
+<p>"Nell...."</p>
+
+<p>She was in his arms. He kissed her—kissed her—kissed her....</p>
+
+<p>He let her go at last. They sat down. He was quiet, rather tragic,
+very restrained, but for that one wild greeting. He'd gone through so
+much—so much in these last few days.</p>
+
+<p>Sometimes he wished they'd left him alone—as George Green. It had been
+jolly being George Green.</p>
+
+<p>He said stammeringly: "It's all right, Nell. You mustn't think I blame
+you. I understand. Only it hurts. It hurts like hell! Naturally."</p>
+
+<p>She said: "I didn't mean——"</p>
+
+<p>He interrupted her.</p>
+
+<p>"I <i>know</i>, I tell you——I <i>know</i>! Don't talk about it. I don't want
+to hear about it. I don't want to think about it even." He added in a
+different tone: "They say that's my trouble. That's how it happened."</p>
+
+<p>She said, rather eagerly: "Tell me about it—about everything."</p>
+
+<p>"There isn't much to tell." He spoke without interest, abstractedly.
+"I was taken prisoner. How I got to be reported killed, I don't
+know. At least, I have a sort of vague idea. There was a fellow very
+like me—one of the Huns. I don't mean a double, or anything of that
+sort, but just a general superficial resemblance. My German's pretty
+rotten but I heard them commenting on it. They took my kit and my
+identification disc. I think the idea was for him to penetrate into
+our lines as me—we were being relieved by Colonial troops, and they
+knew it. The fellow would pass muster for a day or so and would gain
+the information he wanted. That's only an idea, but it explains why I
+wasn't returned in the list of prisoners and I was sent to a camp that
+was practically all French and Belgians. But none of that matters,
+does it? I suppose the Hun was killed getting through our lines and
+was buried as me. I had a pretty bad time in Germany—nearly died with
+some kind of fever on top of being wounded. Finally I escaped——Oh!
+it's a long story. I'm not going into all that now. I had the hell of
+a time—without food and water sometimes for days at a stretch. It was
+a sort of miracle that I came through—but I did. I got into Holland.
+I was exhausted and at the same time all strung up. And I could only
+think of one thing—getting back to you."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes?"</p>
+
+<p>"And then I saw it—in a beastly illustrated paper. Your marriage.
+It—it finished me. But I wouldn't face it. I kept on saying that it
+couldn't be true. I went out—I don't know where I went. Things got all
+mixed up in my mind.</p>
+
+<p>"There was a whacking great lorry coming down the road. I saw my
+chance—end it all, get out of it. I stepped out in front of it."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Vernon!" she shuddered.</p>
+
+<p>"And that <i>was</i> the end. Of me as Vernon Deyre, I mean. When I came to
+there was just one name in my head—George. That lucky chap, George.
+George Green."</p>
+
+<p>"Why Green?"</p>
+
+<p>"A sort of fancy of mine when I was a child. And then the Dutch girl at
+the inn had asked me to look up a pal of hers whose name was Green and
+I'd written it down in a little book."</p>
+
+<p>"And you didn't remember anything?"</p>
+
+<p>"No."</p>
+
+<p>"Weren't you very frightened?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, not at all. I didn't seem to be worrying about anything." He added
+with lingering regret: "I was awfully happy and jolly."</p>
+
+<p>Then he looked across at her.</p>
+
+<p>"But that doesn't matter now. Nothing matters—but you."</p>
+
+<p>She smiled at him, but her smile was flickering and uncertain. He
+barely noticed it at the moment, but went on.</p>
+
+<p>"It's been rather hell—getting back, remembering things. All such
+beastly things. All the things that—really—I didn't want to face. I
+seem to have been a most awful coward all my life. Always turning away
+from things I didn't want to look at. Refusing to admit them."</p>
+
+<p>He got up suddenly and came across to her, dropping his head upon her
+knees.</p>
+
+<p>"Darling Nell, it's all right. I know I come first. I do, don't I?"</p>
+
+<p>She said: "Of course."</p>
+
+<p>Why did her voice sound so mechanical in her own ears? He did come
+first. Just now, with his lips on hers, she had been swept back again
+to those wonderful days at the beginning of the war. She had never felt
+about George like that ... drowned, carried away.</p>
+
+<p>"You say that so strangely—as though you didn't mean it."</p>
+
+<p>"Of course I mean it."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sorry for Chetwynd—rotten luck for him. How has he taken it? Very
+hard?"</p>
+
+<p>"I haven't told him."</p>
+
+<p>"What?"</p>
+
+<p>She was moved to vindicate herself.</p>
+
+<p>"He's away—in Spain. I haven't got his address."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! I see...."</p>
+
+<p>He paused.</p>
+
+<p>"It'll be rather rotten for you, Nell. But it can't be helped. We'll
+have each other."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>Vernon looked around.</p>
+
+<p>"Chetwynd will have this place, anyway. I'm such an ungenerous beggar
+that I even grudge him that. But, damn it all, it <i>is</i> my home. It's
+been in the family five hundred years. Oh! what does it all matter?
+Jane told me once that I couldn't get everything. I've got you—that's
+all that matters. We'll find some place. Even if it's only a couple of
+rooms, it will do."</p>
+
+<p>His arms stole up, closing round her. Why did she feel that cold dismay
+at those words, "A couple of rooms"?</p>
+
+<p>"Damn these things! They get in my way!"</p>
+
+<p>Impetuously, half laughing, he held up the string of pearls she wore.
+He switched them off—flung them on the floor. Her lovely pearls! She
+thought: "Anyway, I suppose I'll have to give them back." Another cold
+feeling. All those lovely jewels that George had given her.</p>
+
+<p>What a brute she was to go on thinking of things like that.</p>
+
+<p>He had seen something at last. He was kneeling upright, looking at her.</p>
+
+<p>"Nell, is—is anything the matter?"</p>
+
+<p>"No—of course not."</p>
+
+<p>She couldn't meet his eyes. She felt too ashamed.</p>
+
+<p>"There is something. Tell me."</p>
+
+<p>She shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>"It's nothing."</p>
+
+<p>She couldn't be poor again. She couldn't—she couldn't.</p>
+
+<p>"Nell, you must tell me."</p>
+
+<p>He mustn't know—he must never know what she was really like. She was
+so ashamed.</p>
+
+<p>"Nell, you do love me, don't you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes!" The words came eagerly. <i>That</i> at any rate was true.</p>
+
+<p>"Then what is it? I know there's something.... Ah!"</p>
+
+<p>He got up. His face had gone white. She looked up at him inquiringly.</p>
+
+<p>"Is it that?" he asked in a low voice. "It must be. You're going to
+have a child."</p>
+
+<p>She sat as though carved in stone. She had never thought of that. If it
+were true, it solved everything. Vernon would never know.</p>
+
+<p>"It <i>is</i> that?"</p>
+
+<p>Again it seemed as though hours passed. Thoughts went whirling round in
+her brain. It was not herself, but something outside herself that at
+last made her bow her head ever so slightly.</p>
+
+<p>He moved a little away. He spoke in a hard dry voice.</p>
+
+<p>"That alters everything.... My poor Nell! You can't—<i>we</i> can't....
+Look here, nobody knows—about me, I mean—except the doctor and
+Sebastian and Jane. They won't split. I was reported dead. I <i>am</i> dead."</p>
+
+<p>She made a movement, but he held up a hand to stop her and backed away
+toward the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't say anything—for God's sake, don't say anything. Words will
+make it worse, I'm going. I daren't touch you or kiss you. I—good-bye."</p>
+
+<p>She heard the door open, made a movement as if to call out—but no
+sound came from her throat. The door shut again.</p>
+
+<p>There was still time. The car hadn't started.</p>
+
+<p>But still she didn't move.</p>
+
+<p>She had one moment of searing bitterness when she looked into herself
+and thought: "So that's what I'm really like."</p>
+
+<p>But she made no sound or movement.</p>
+
+<p>Four years of soft living fettered her will, stifled her voice, and
+paralyzed her body.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="chapter_4V">chapter 4</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>"Miss Harding to see you, madam."</p>
+
+<p>Nell started. Twenty-four hours had elapsed since her interview with
+Vernon. She had thought it was finished. And now Jane!</p>
+
+<p>She was afraid of Jane.</p>
+
+<p>She might refuse to see her.</p>
+
+<p>She said: "Show her up here."</p>
+
+<p>It was more private up here in her own sitting room.</p>
+
+<p>What a long time it was waiting. Had Jane gone away again? No, here she
+was.</p>
+
+<p>She looked very tall. Nell cowered down on the sofa. Jane had a wicked
+face—she had always thought so. There was a look on her face now as of
+an avenging Fury.</p>
+
+<p>The butler left the room. Jane stood towering over Nell. Then she flung
+back her head and laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't forget to ask me to the christening," she said.</p>
+
+<p>Nell flinched. She said haughtily:</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know what you mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's a family secret at present, is it? Nell, you damned little liar,
+you're not going to have a child. I don't believe you ever will have a
+child—too much risk and pain. What made you think of telling Vernon
+such a peculiarly damnable lie?"</p>
+
+<p>Nell said sullenly: "I never told him. He—he guessed."</p>
+
+<p>"That's even more damnable."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know what you mean, coming here and—and saying things like
+this."</p>
+
+<p>Her protest sounded weak—spiritless. For the life of her she couldn't
+put the necessary indignation into it. With anyone else—not with Jane.
+Jane had always been disagreeably clear-eyed. It was awful! If only
+Jane would go away.</p>
+
+<p>She rose to her feet, trying to sound decisive.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know why you have come here. If it is only to make a scene...."</p>
+
+<p>"Listen, Nell. You're going to hear the truth. You chucked Vernon once
+before. He came to me. Yes—to me. He lived with me for three months.
+He was living with me when you came to my flat that day. Ah! that hurts
+you. You've still got a bit of raw womanhood left in you, I'm glad to
+see.</p>
+
+<p>"You took him from me then. He went to you and never gave me a thought.
+He's yours now if you want him. But I tell you this, Nell, if you let
+him down a second time, he'll come to me again. Oh! yes, he will.
+You've thought things about me in your mind—turned up your nose at me
+as 'a certain kind of woman.' Well, because of that, perhaps, I've got
+power. I know more about men than you will ever learn. I can get Vernon
+if I want him. And I do want him. I always have."</p>
+
+<p>Nell shuddered. She turned her face away, digging her nails into the
+palms of her hands.</p>
+
+<p>"Why do you tell me all this? You're a devil."</p>
+
+<p>"I tell it to you to hurt you! To hurt you like hell before it's too
+late. No, you shan't turn your head away. You shan't shrink away from
+what I'm telling you. You've got to look at me and see—yes, see—with
+your eyes and your heart and your brain.... You love Vernon with the
+last remaining corner of your miserable little soul. Think of him in my
+arms—think of his lips on mine, of his kisses burning my body.... Yes,
+you shall think of it.</p>
+
+<p>"Soon you won't mind even that. But you mind now.... Aren't you enough
+of a woman to jib at handing over the man you love to another woman? To
+a woman you hate? 'A present for Jane with love from Nell.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Go away," said Nell faintly. "Go away."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm going. It's not too late. You can undo the lie you told."</p>
+
+<p>"Go away.... Go away."</p>
+
+<p>"Do it soon—or you'll never do it." Jane paused at the door, looking
+back over her shoulder. "I came for Vernon's sake—not mine. I want
+him back. And I shall have him ..." she paused, "unless...."</p>
+
+<p>She went out.</p>
+
+<p>Nell sat with her hands clenched.</p>
+
+<p>She murmured fiercely: "She shan't have him. She shan't."</p>
+
+<p>She wanted Vernon. She wanted him. He had loved Jane once. He would
+love her again. What had she said? "... his lips on mine ... his kisses
+burning my...." Oh! God, she couldn't bear it. She started up—moved
+toward the telephone.</p>
+
+<p>The door opened. She turned slowly. George came in. He looked very
+normal and cheerful.</p>
+
+<p>"Hullo, sweetheart." He crossed the room and kissed her. "Here I
+am—back again. A nasty crossing, I'd rather have the Atlantic than the
+Channel any day."</p>
+
+<p>She had completely forgotten that George was coming home to-day! She
+couldn't tell him this minute—it would be too cruel. And besides, it
+was so difficult—to burst in with tragic news in the middle of a flow
+of banalities. This evening—later. In the meantime she would play her
+part.</p>
+
+<p>She returned his embrace mechanically, sat down and listened while he
+talked.</p>
+
+<p>"I've got a present for you, honey. Something that reminded me of you."</p>
+
+<p>He took a velvet case from his pocket.</p>
+
+<p>Inside, on a bed of white velvet, lay a big rose-coloured
+diamond—exquisite, flawless—depending from a long chain. Nell gave a
+little gasp of pleasure.</p>
+
+<p>He lifted the jewel from the case and slipped the chain over her
+head. She looked down. The exquisite rose-coloured stone blinked up
+at her from its resting place between her breasts. Something about it
+hypnotized her.</p>
+
+<p>He led her to the glass. She saw a golden-haired beautiful woman, very
+calm and elegant. She saw the waved and shingled hair, the manicured
+hands, the foamy negligee of soft lace, the cobweb-silk stockings
+and little embroidered mules. She saw the hard cold beauty of the
+rose-coloured diamond.</p>
+
+<p>And behind them she saw George Chetwynd—kindly, generous, deliciously
+safe.</p>
+
+<p>Dear George, she couldn't hurt him....</p>
+
+<p>Kisses.... What, after all, were kisses? You needn't think about them.
+Better not to think of them.</p>
+
+<p>Vernon ... Jane....</p>
+
+<p>She wouldn't think of them. For good or evil, she'd made her choice.
+There would be bad moments sometimes, but on the whole it would be for
+the best. Better for Vernon, too. If she weren't happy she couldn't
+make him happy.</p>
+
+<p>She said gently: "You are a dear to bring me such a lovely present.
+Ring for tea. We'll have it up here."</p>
+
+<p>"That will be fine. But weren't you going to telephone to someone? I
+interrupted you."</p>
+
+<p>She shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>"No," she said. "I've changed my mind."</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>2</i></h3>
+
+<p class="ph2">LETTERS FROM VERNON DEYRE TO SEBASTIAN LEVINNE</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p><i>Moscow.</i></p>
+
+<p>Dear Sebastian:</p>
+
+<p>Do you know that there was once a legend in Russia that concerned a
+"nameless beast" that was coming?</p>
+
+<p>I mention this not because of any political significance (by the
+way, the Antichrist hysteria is curious, isn't it?) but because it
+reminded me of my own terror of "the Beast." I've thought about the
+Beast a great deal since coming to Russia—trying to get at its true
+significance.</p>
+
+<p>Because there's more in it than just being afraid of a piano. That
+doctor in London opened my eyes to a great many things. I've begun to
+see that all through my life I've been a coward. I think you've known
+that, Sebastian. You wouldn't put it in that offensive way, but you
+hinted as much to me once. I've run away from things.... Always I've
+run away from things.</p>
+
+<p>And thinking it all over now, I see the Beast as something
+symbolical—not a mere piece of furniture composed of wood and
+wires. Don't mathematicians say that the future exists at the same
+time as the past?—that we travel through time as we travel through
+space?—from a thing that is to another thing that is? Don't some
+even hold that remembering is a mere habit of the mind—that we could
+remember forward as well as back if we had only learned the trick of
+it? It sounds nonsense when I say it, but I believe there is some
+theory of that kind.</p>
+
+<p>I believe that there is some part of us that <i>does</i> know the future,
+that is always intimately aware of it.</p>
+
+<p>That explains, doesn't it, why we should shrink sometimes? The burden
+of our destiny is going to be heavy and we recoil from its shadow. I
+tried to escape from music—but it got me. It got me at that concert,
+in the same way that religion got those people at the Salvation Army
+meeting.</p>
+
+<p>It's a devilish thing—or is it godlike? If so it's an Old Testament
+jealous God—all the things I've tried to cling to have been swept
+away. Abbots Puissants ... Nell....</p>
+
+<p>And, damn it all, what's left? Nothing. Not even the cursed thing
+itself. I've no wish to write music. I hear nothing—feel nothing.
+Will it ever come back. Jane says it will. She seems very sure. She
+sends her love to you, by the way.</p>
+
+<p class="ph3">Yours,<br>
+Vernon.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<h3><i>3</i></h3>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p><i>Moscow.</i></p>
+
+<p>You're an understanding devil, Sebastian. You don't complain that I
+ought to have written you a description of samovars, the political
+situation, and life in Russia generally. The country, of course,
+is in a bloody muddle. What else could it be in? But it's jolly
+interesting.... Love from Jane.</p>
+
+<p class="ph3">Vernon.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<h3><i>4</i></h3>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p><i>Moscow.</i></p>
+
+<p>Dear Sebastian:</p>
+
+<p>Jane was right to bring me here. Point No. 1, no one is likely to
+come across me here and joyously proclaim my resurrection from the
+dead. Point No. 2, this is about the most interesting place in the
+world to be from my point of view. A kind of free-and-easy laboratory
+where everyone is trying experiments of the most dangerous kind. The
+whole world seems concerned with Russia from a purely political point
+of view. Economic, starvation, morals, lack of liberty, diseased and
+decadent children ... <i>etc.</i></p>
+
+<p>But, amazing things are sometimes born out of vice and filth
+and anarchy. The whole trend of Russian thought in art is
+extraordinary—part of it the most utter childish drivel you ever
+heard, and yet wonderful gleams peeping through, like shining flesh
+through a beggar's rags.</p>
+
+<p>The Nameless Beast—Collective Man. Did you ever see that plan for a
+monument to the Communist Revolution? The Colossus of Iron? I tell
+you, it stirs the imagination.</p>
+
+<p>Machinery—an Age of Machinery.... How the Bolsheviks worship anything
+to do with machinery—and how little they know about it! That's why
+it's so wonderful to them, I suppose. Imagine a real mechanic of
+Chicago composing a dynamic poem describing his city as "... built
+upon a screw! Electro dynamo mechanical city! Spiral-shaped on a steel
+disc. At every stroke of the hour Turning round itself—Five thousand
+skyscrapers...." Anything more alien from the spirit of America!</p>
+
+<p>And yet, do you ever see a thing when you're too close to it? It's the
+people who don't know machinery who see its soul and its meaning. The
+Nameless Beast.... My Beast?... I wonder.</p>
+
+<p>Collective Man—forming himself in turn into a vast machine. The
+same herd instinct that saved the race of old coming out again in a
+different form.</p>
+
+<p>Life's becoming too difficult—too dangerous—for the individual. What
+was it Dostoevsky says in one of his books?</p>
+
+<p>"The flock will collect again and submit once more, and then it will
+be for ever, for ever. We will give them a quiet modest happiness."</p>
+
+<p>Herd instinct.... I wonder.</p>
+
+<p class="ph3">Yours,<br>
+Vernon.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<h3><i>5</i></h3>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p><i>Moscow.</i></p>
+
+<p>I have found the other passage in Dostoevsky. I think it is the one
+you mean:</p>
+
+<p>"And we alone, we who guard the mystery, we alone shall be unhappy.
+There will be thousands of millions of happy children and only a
+hundred thousand martyrs who have taken on themselves the curse of
+good and evil."</p>
+
+<p>You mean, and Dostoevsky meant, that there must always be
+individualists. It is the individualists who carry on the torch. Men
+welded into a vast machine must ultimately perish. For the machine is
+soulless and will end as scrap iron.</p>
+
+<p>Men worshipped stone and built Stonehenge—and to-day the men who
+built it have perished and are unknown and Stonehenge stands. And yet,
+by a paradox, the men are alive in you and me, their descendants, and
+Stonehenge and what it stood for is dead. The things that die endure,
+and the things that endure perish.</p>
+
+<p>It is Man that goes on for ever. (Does he? Isn't that unwarrantable
+arrogance? Yet we believe it!) And so, there must be individualists
+behind the Machine. So Dostoevsky says and so you say. But then,
+you're both Russians. As an Englishman I'm more pessimistic.</p>
+
+<p>Do you know what that passage from Dostoevsky reminds me of? My
+childhood. Mr. Green's hundred children—<i>and</i> Poodle, Squirrel, and
+Tree. Representatives of the hundred thousand.</p>
+
+<p class="ph3">Yours,<br>
+Vernon.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<h3><i>6</i></h3>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p><i>Moscow.</i></p>
+
+<p>Dear Sebastian:</p>
+
+<p>I suppose you're right. I never have thought much before. It seemed
+to me an unprofitable exercise. In fact, I'm not sure I don't still
+regard it as such.</p>
+
+<p>The trouble is, you see, that I can't "say it in music." Damn it all,
+why <i>can't</i> I say it in music? Music's my job. I'm more sure of that
+than ever. And yet—nothing doing.</p>
+
+<p>It's hell.</p>
+
+<p class="ph3">Vernon.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<h3><i>7</i></h3>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>Dear Sebastian:</p>
+
+<p>Haven't I mentioned Jane? What is there to say about her? She's
+splendid. We both know that. Why don't you write to her yourself?</p>
+
+<p class="ph3">Yours ever,<br>
+Vernon.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<h3><i>8</i></h3>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>Dear old Sebastian:</p>
+
+<p>Jane says you may be coming out here. I wish to God you would. I'm
+sorry I haven't written for six months—I never was one of the world's
+ready letter writers.</p>
+
+<p>Have you seen anything of Joe? I'm glad Jane and I looked her up
+passing through Paris. Joe's staunch, she'll never split on us, and
+I'm glad she at any rate knows. We never write to each other, she and
+I, we never have. But I wondered if you'd heard anything. I didn't
+think she looked awfully fit. Poor old Joe! She's made a mess of
+things.</p>
+
+<p>Have you heard anything of Tatlin's scheme for a monument to the
+Third Internationale? To consist of a union of three great glass
+chambers connected by a system of vertical axes and spirals. By means
+of special machinery they would be kept in perpetual motion but at
+different rates of speed.</p>
+
+<p>And inside, I suppose, they'd sing hymns to a Holy Acetylene Blowpipe!</p>
+
+<p>Do you remember, one night, we were motoring back to town, and we
+took the wrong turning somewhere amongst the tramlines of Lewisham,
+and instead of making for the haunts of civilization we turned up
+somewhere among the Surrey docks and through an opening in the frowsy
+houses we saw a queer kind of cubist picture of cranes and cloudy
+steam and iron girders? And immediately your artistic soul bagged it
+for a drop scene—or whatever the technical term is.</p>
+
+<p>My God, Sebastian! What a magnificent spectacle of machinery you
+could build up—sheer effects and lighting, and masses of humans with
+inhuman faces—mass, not individuals. You've something of the kind in
+mind, haven't you?</p>
+
+<p>The architect, Tatlin, said something that I think good and yet a lot
+of nonsense:</p>
+
+<p>"Only the rhythm of the metropolis, of factories and machines together
+with the organization of the masses, can give the impulse to the new
+art——"</p>
+
+<p>And he goes on to speak of the "monument of the machine" the only
+adequate expression of the pression.</p>
+
+<p>You know, of course, all about the modern Russian theatre. That's your
+job. I suppose Mayerhold is as marvellous as they say he is. But can
+one mix up drama and propaganda?</p>
+
+<p>All the same, it's exciting to arrive at a theatre and be compelled
+at once to join a marching crowd—up and down, in strict step,
+till the performance begins—and the scenery, composed of rocking
+chairs and cannons and revolving bays and God knows what! It's
+babyish—absurd—and yet one feels that baby has got hold of a
+dangerous and rather interesting toy that in other hands....</p>
+
+<p><i>Your</i> hands, Sebastian—you're a Russian. But thank heaven and
+geography, no propagandist—just a showman pure and simple.</p>
+
+<p><i>The Rhythm of the metropolis</i>—made pictorial.</p>
+
+<p>My God!—if I could give you the music. It's the music that's needed.</p>
+
+<p>Lord—their "noise orchestras"—their symphonies of factory sirens!
+There was a show at Baku in 1922—batteries of artillery, machine
+guns, choirs, naval fog horns. Ridiculous! Yes, but if they had a
+composer....</p>
+
+<p>No woman ever longed for a child as I long to produce music.</p>
+
+<p>And I'm barren—sterile.</p>
+
+<p class="ph3">Vernon.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<h3><i>9</i></h3>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>Dear Sebastian:</p>
+
+<p>It seems like a dream, your having come and gone. Will you really do
+<i>The Tale of the Rogue Who Outwitted Three Other Rogues</i>? I wonder.</p>
+
+<p>I'm only just beginning to recognize what a howling success you've
+made of things. I've at last grasped that you're simply IT nowadays.
+Yes, found your National Opera House—God knows it's time we had
+one. But what do you want with opera? It's archaic—dead—ridiculous
+individual love affairs.</p>
+
+<p>Music up to now seems to me like a child's drawing of a house—four
+walls, a door, two windows, and a chimney pot. There you are—and what
+more do you want?</p>
+
+<p>At any rate Feinberg and Prokofiev do more than that.</p>
+
+<p>Do you remember how we used to jeer at the cubists and futurists? At
+least, I did. Now that I come to think of it, I don't believe you
+agreed.</p>
+
+<p>And then one day—at a cinema—I saw a view of a big city from the
+air. Spires turning over, buildings bending—everything behaving as
+one simply knew concrete and steel and iron couldn't behave! And for
+the first time I got a glimmering of what old Einstein meant when he
+talked about relativity.</p>
+
+<p>We don't know anything about the shape of music. We don't know
+anything about the shape of anything, for that matter—because there's
+always one side open to space.</p>
+
+<p>Some day you'll know what I mean—what music can mean—what I've
+always known it meant.</p>
+
+<p>What a mess that opera of mine was. All opera is a mess. Music was
+never intended to be representational. To take a story and write
+descriptive music to it is as wrong as to write a passage of music—in
+the abstract so to speak—and then find an instrument capable of
+playing it! When Stravinsky wrote a clarionet passage, you can't even
+conceive of it as being played by anything else!</p>
+
+<p>Music should be like mathematics—a pure science, untouched by drama,
+or romanticism, or any emotion other than the pure emotion which is
+the result of <i>sound</i> divorced from ideas.</p>
+
+<p>I've always known that in my heart. Music must be Absolute.</p>
+
+<p>Not, of course, that I shall realize my ideal. To create pure sound
+untouched by ideas is a counsel of perfection.</p>
+
+<p>My music will be the music of machinery. I leave the dressing of it to
+you. It's an age of choreography, and choreography will reach heights
+we don't as yet dream of. I can trust you with the visual side of my
+masterpiece as yet unwritten—and which in all probability never will
+be written.</p>
+
+<p>Music must be four dimensional—timbre, pitch, relative speed, and
+periodicity.</p>
+
+<p>I don't think even now we appreciate Schönberg enough. That clean
+remorseless logic that is the spirit of to-day. He and he alone had
+the courage to disregard tradition—to get down to bed rock, and
+discover Truth.</p>
+
+<p>He's the one man to my mind who matters. Even his scheme of score
+writing will have to be adopted universally. It's absolutely necessary
+if scores are going to be intelligible.</p>
+
+<p>The thing I have against him is scorn of his instruments. He's afraid
+of being a slave to them. He makes them serve him whether they will or
+no.</p>
+
+<p>I'm going to glorify my instruments. I'm going to give them what they
+want—what they've always wanted.</p>
+
+<p>Damn it all, Sebastian, <i>what is this strange thing, music</i>? I know
+less and less.</p>
+
+<p class="ph3">Yours,<br>
+Vernon.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<h3><i>10</i></h3>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>I know I haven't written. I've been busy. Making experiments. Means of
+expression for the Nameless Beast. In other words, instrument making.
+Metals are jolly interesting. I'm working with alloys just at present.</p>
+
+<p>What a fascinating thing sound is.</p>
+
+<p>Jane sends her love.</p>
+
+<p>In answer to your question—No, I don't suppose I shall ever leave
+Russia—not even to attend at your newly planned opera house, disguised
+in my beard!</p>
+
+<p>It's even more barbarous and beautiful now than when you saw it! Full
+and flowing, the perfect temperamental Slav Beaver!</p>
+
+<p>But in spite of the forest camouflage, here I am and here I stay, till
+I am exterminated by one of the bands of wild children.</p>
+
+<p class="ph3">Yours ever,<br>
+Vernon.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p class="ph2">TELEGRAM FROM VERNON DEYRE TO SEBASTIAN LEVINNE</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>Just heard Joe dangerously ill feared dying stranded in New York Jane
+and I sailing <i>Resplendent</i> hope see you London.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="chapter_5V">chapter 5</h2>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<p>"Sebastian!"</p>
+
+<p>Joe started up in bed, then fell back weakly. She stared unbelievingly.
+Sebastian, big, fur-coated, calm, and omniscient, smiled placidly down
+at her.</p>
+
+<p>There was no sign in his face of the sudden pang her appearance had
+given him. Joe—poor little Joe!</p>
+
+<p>Her hair had grown—it was arranged in two short plaits, one over each
+shoulder. Her face was horribly thin, with a high hectic flush on
+each cheek bone. The bones of her shoulders showed through her thin
+nightdress.</p>
+
+<p>She looked like a feverish child. There was something childlike in her
+surprise, in her pleasure, in her eager questioning. The nurse had left
+them.</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian sat down by the bed and took Joe's thin hand in his.</p>
+
+<p>"Vernon wired me. I didn't wait for him. I caught the first boat."</p>
+
+<p>"To come to me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Of course."</p>
+
+<p>"Dear Sebastian!"</p>
+
+<p>Tears came into her eyes. Sebastian was alarmed and went on hastily:</p>
+
+<p>"Not that I shan't do a bit of business while I am over. I often come
+over on business, and as a matter of fact I can do one or two good
+deals just now."</p>
+
+<p>"Don't spoil it."</p>
+
+<p>"But it's true," said Sebastian, surprised.</p>
+
+<p>Joe began to laugh, but coughed instead. Sebastian watched anxiously,
+ready to call the nurse. He had been warned. But the fit passed.</p>
+
+<p>Joe lay there contentedly, her hand creeping into Sebastian's again.</p>
+
+<p>"Mother died this way," she whispered. "Poor Mother! I thought I was
+going to be so much wiser than she was, and I've made such a mess of
+things. Oh! such a mess of things."</p>
+
+<p>"Poor old Joe!"</p>
+
+<p>"You don't know what a mess I've made of things, Sebastian."</p>
+
+<p>"I can imagine it," said Sebastian. "I always thought you would."</p>
+
+<p>Joe was silent a minute, then she said: "You don't know what a comfort
+it is to see you, Sebastian. I have seen and known so many rotters. I
+didn't like your being strong and successful and cocksure—it annoyed
+me. But now—oh, it's wonderful!"</p>
+
+<p>He squeezed her hand.</p>
+
+<p>"There's no one else in the world who would have come—as you've
+come—miles—at once. Vernon, of course, but then he's a relation—a
+kind of brother. But you——"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm just as much a brother—more than a brother. Ever since Abbots
+Puissants I've been—well, ready to stand by if you wanted me."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh! Sebastian." Her eyes opened wide—happily. "I never dreamt that
+you'd feel like that still."</p>
+
+<p>He started ever so slightly. He hadn't meant that exactly. He had meant
+something that he couldn't explain—not at any rate to Joe. It was a
+feeling peculiarly and exclusively Jewish. The undying gratitude of
+the Jew who never forgets a benefit conferred. As a child he had been
+an outcast and Joe had stood by him—she had been willing to defy her
+world. The child Sebastian had never forgotten—would never forget. He
+would, as he had said, have gone to the ends of the earth if she had
+wanted him.</p>
+
+<p>She went on.</p>
+
+<p>"They moved me into this place—from that horrible ward. Was that you?"</p>
+
+<p>He nodded.</p>
+
+<p>"I cabled."</p>
+
+<p>Joe sighed.</p>
+
+<p>"You're so terribly efficient, Sebastian."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm afraid so."</p>
+
+<p>"But there's nobody like you—nobody. I've thought of you so often
+lately."</p>
+
+<p>"Have you?"</p>
+
+<p>He thought of the lonely years—the aching longing—the baffled desire.
+Why did things always come to you at the wrong time?</p>
+
+<p>She went on.</p>
+
+<p>"I never dreamt you'd still think about me. I always fancied that some
+day you and Jane——"</p>
+
+<p>A queer pang shot through him. <i>Jane</i>....</p>
+
+<p>He and Jane....</p>
+
+<p>He said gruffly: "Jane, to my mind, is one of the finest things God
+ever made. But she belongs body and soul to Vernon and always will."</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose so. But it's a pity. You and she are the strong ones. You
+belong together."</p>
+
+<p>They did, in a curious way. He knew what she meant.</p>
+
+<p>Joe said with a flickering smile: "This reminds me of the books one
+reads as a child. Edifying death-bed scenes. Friends and relations
+gathering round. Wan smiles of heroine."</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian had made up his mind. Why had he felt this wasn't love? It
+was. This passion of pure disinterested pity and tenderness—this deep
+affection lasting through the years. A thousand times better worth
+while than those stormy or tepid affairs that occurred with monotonous
+regularity—that punctuated his life without ever touching any real
+depths.</p>
+
+<p>His heart went out to the childlike figure. Somehow, he'd bring it off.</p>
+
+<p>He said gently: "There aren't going to be any death-bed scenes, Joe.
+You're going to get well and marry me."</p>
+
+<p>"Darling Sebastian! Tie you to a consumptive wife? Of course not."</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense! You'll do one of two things—either get well or die. If you
+die you die, and there's an end of it. If you get cured you marry me.
+And no expense will be spared to cure you."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm pretty bad, Sebastian dear."</p>
+
+<p>"Possibly. But nothing is more uncertain than tubercle—any doctor
+will tell you so. You've been just letting yourself go. I think myself
+you'll get well. A long weary business, but it can be done."</p>
+
+<p>She looked at him. He saw the colour rising and falling in her thin
+cheeks. He knew then that she loved him, and a queer little stir of
+warmth woke round his heart. His mother had died two years ago. Since
+then no one had really cared.</p>
+
+<p>Joe said in a low voice: "Sebastian, do you really need me? I—I've
+made such a mess of things."</p>
+
+<p>He said with sincerity: "Need you? I'm the loneliest man on earth."</p>
+
+<p>And suddenly he broke down. It was a thing he had never done in his
+life—never thought he would do. He knelt by Joe's bed, his face
+buried, his shoulders heaving.</p>
+
+<p>Her hand stroked his head. He knew she was happy—her proud spirit
+appeased. Dear Joe—so impulsive, so warm-hearted, so wrong-headed. She
+was dearer to him than anyone on earth. They could help one another.</p>
+
+<p>The nurse came in—the visitor had been there long enough. She withdrew
+again for Sebastian to say good-bye.</p>
+
+<p>"By the way," he said, "That French fellow—what's his name?"</p>
+
+<p>"François? He's dead."</p>
+
+<p>"That's all right. You could have got a divorce, of course. But being a
+widow makes it easier."</p>
+
+<p>"You <i>do</i> think I shall get well?"</p>
+
+<p>Pathetic, the way she said that!</p>
+
+<p>"Of course."</p>
+
+<p>The nurse reappeared and he took his departure. He called on the
+doctor—had a long talk. The doctor was not hopeful. But he agreed
+that there was a chance. They decided on Florida.</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian left the home. He walked along the street deep in thought. He
+saw a placard with "Terrible Disaster to <i>Resplendent</i>" on it, but it
+conveyed nothing to his mind.</p>
+
+<p>He was too busy with his own thoughts. What was really best for Joe? To
+live or to die? He wondered.</p>
+
+<p>She'd had such a rotten life. He wanted the best for her.</p>
+
+<p>He went to bed and slept heavily.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>2</i></h3>
+
+<p>He awoke to a vague uneasiness. There was something—something. For the
+life of him he couldn't put a name to it.</p>
+
+<p>It wasn't Joe. Joe was in the foreground of his mind. This was
+something in the background—shoved away—something that he hadn't been
+able to give consideration to at the time.</p>
+
+<p>He thought: "I shall remember presently." But he didn't.</p>
+
+<p>As he dressed he thought out the problem of Joe. He was all for moving
+her to Florida as soon as possible. Later, perhaps, Switzerland. She
+was very weak, but not too weak to be moved. As soon as she had seen
+Vernon and Jane....</p>
+
+<p>They were arriving—when? The <i>Resplendent</i>, wasn't it? The
+<i>Resplendent</i>....</p>
+
+<p>The razor he was holding dropped from his hand. He'd got it now! Before
+his eyes rose the vision of a newspaper placard.</p>
+
+<p>The <i>Resplendent</i>—Terrible Disaster.</p>
+
+<p>Vernon and Jane were on the <i>Resplendent</i>.</p>
+
+<p>He rang furiously. A few minutes later he was scanning the morning
+newspaper. There were now full details to hand. His eyes scanned
+them rapidly. The <i>Resplendent</i> had struck an iceberg—the death
+roll—survivors.</p>
+
+<p>A list of names ... survivors. He found the name there of Groen, Vernon
+was alive anyway. Then he searched the other list and found at last
+what he was looking for, fearing—the name of Jane Harding.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>3</i></h3>
+
+<p>He stood quite still, staring at the news sheet in his hand. Presently
+he folded it up neatly, laid it on a side table and rang the bell. In
+a few minutes a curt order given to the bell hop sent his secretary
+hurrying to him.</p>
+
+<p>"I've got an appointment at ten o'clock I can't break. There are some
+things you've got to find out for me. Have the information ready for me
+when I return."</p>
+
+<p>He detailed the points succinctly. The fullest particulars as to the
+<i>Resplendent</i> were to be collected, and certain radios were to be sent
+off.</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian telephoned himself to the hospital and warned them that no
+mention of the <i>Resplendent</i> disaster was to be made to the patient. He
+had a few words with Joe herself which he managed to make normal and
+commonplace.</p>
+
+<p>He stopped at a florist's to send her some flowers and then went off
+to embark on a long day of meetings and business appointments. It is
+to be doubted if anyone noticed that the great Sebastian Levinne was
+unlike himself in the smallest detail. He had never been more shrewd in
+driving a bargain and his power of getting his own way was never more
+in evidence.</p>
+
+<p>It was six o'clock when he returned to the Biltmore.</p>
+
+<p>His secretary met him with all the information available. The survivors
+had been picked up by a Norwegian ship. They would be due in New York
+in three days' time.</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian nodded, his face unchanged. He gave further instructions.</p>
+
+<p>On the evening of the third day following that he returned to his
+hotel, to be met by the information that Mr. Groen had arrived and was
+installed in the suite adjoining his own.</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian strode there.</p>
+
+<p>Vernon was standing by the window. He turned round. Sebastian felt
+something like a shock. In some strange way he no longer recognized his
+friend. Something had happened to him.</p>
+
+<p>They stood staring at each other. Sebastian spoke first. He said the
+thing that all day had been present in his mind.</p>
+
+<p>"Jane's dead," he said.</p>
+
+<p>Vernon nodded—gravely—understandingly.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," he said quietly. "Jane's dead—and I killed her."</p>
+
+<p>The old unemotional Sebastian revived and protested.</p>
+
+<p>"For God's sake, Vernon, don't take it like that. She came with
+you—naturally. Don't be morbid about it."</p>
+
+<p>"You don't understand," said Vernon. "You don't know what happened."</p>
+
+<p>He paused and then went on, speaking very quietly and collectedly.</p>
+
+<p>"I can't describe the thing. It happened quite suddenly, you
+know—in the middle of the night. There was very little time. The
+boat heeled over, you know, at an appalling angle. The two of them
+came together—slipping—sliding down the deck. They couldn't save
+themselves."</p>
+
+<p>"What two?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nell and Jane, of course."</p>
+
+<p>"What's Nell got to do with it?"</p>
+
+<p>"She was on board."</p>
+
+<p>"What?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. I didn't know. Jane and I were second class, of course, and I
+don't think we ever glanced at a passenger list. Yes, Nell and George
+Chetwynd were on board. That's what I'm telling you, if you wouldn't
+interrupt. It happened—a sort of nightmare, no time for life boats or
+anything. I was hanging onto a stanchion—or whatever you call it—to
+save myself from falling into the sea.</p>
+
+<p>"And they came drifting along the deck, those two, right by
+me—slipping, sliding—faster and faster—and the sea waiting for them
+below.</p>
+
+<p>"I'd no idea Nell was on board till I saw her drifting down to
+destruction, and crying out, '<i>Vernon!</i>'</p>
+
+<p>"There isn't time to think on these occasions, I tell you. One can
+just make an instinctive gesture. I could grab on to one or other of
+them—Nell or Jane. I grabbed Nell and held her, held her like grim
+death."</p>
+
+<p>"And Jane?"</p>
+
+<p>Vernon said quietly: "I can see her face still, looking at me as she
+went—down into that green swirl."</p>
+
+<p>"My God!" said Sebastian hoarsely.</p>
+
+<p>Then suddenly his impassivity forsook him. His voice rang out bellowing
+like a bull.</p>
+
+<p>"You saved Nell? You bloody fool! To save Nell—and let Jane drown.
+Why, Nell isn't worth the tip of Jane's little finger. Damn you!"</p>
+
+<p>"I know that."</p>
+
+<p>"You know it? Then——"</p>
+
+<p>"I tell you, it isn't what you <i>know</i>—it's some blind instinct that
+takes hold of you."</p>
+
+<p>"Damn you! Damn you!"</p>
+
+<p>"I'm damned all right. You needn't worry. I let Jane drown—and I love
+her."</p>
+
+<p>"Love her?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I've always loved her. I see that now. Always, from the
+beginning, I was afraid of her—because I loved her. I was a coward
+there, like everywhere else—trying to escape from reality. I fought
+against her. I was ashamed of the power she had over me. I've taken her
+through hell.</p>
+
+<p>"And now I want her—I want her. Oh! you'll say that's like me, to want
+a thing as soon as it's out of my reach. Perhaps it's true—perhaps I
+am like that.</p>
+
+<p>"I only know that I love Jane—that I love her—and that she's gone
+from me for ever."</p>
+
+<p>He sat down on a chair and said in his normal tone: "I want to work.
+Get out of here, Sebastian, there's a good fellow."</p>
+
+<p>"My God, Vernon, I didn't think I could ever hate you——"</p>
+
+<p>Vernon repeated: "I want to work."</p>
+
+<p>Sebastian turned on his heel and left the room.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>4</i></h3>
+
+<p>Vernon sat very still.</p>
+
+<p>Jane....</p>
+
+<p>Horrible to suffer like this—to want anyone so much.</p>
+
+<p>Jane ... Jane....</p>
+
+<p>Yes, he'd always loved her. After that very first meeting he'd been
+unable to keep away. He'd been drawn toward her by something stronger
+than himself.</p>
+
+<p>Fool and coward to be afraid—always afraid. Afraid of any deep
+reality—of any violent emotion.</p>
+
+<p>And she had known—she had always known, and been unable to help
+him. What had she said: "Divided in time"? That first evening at
+Sebastian's party when she had sung:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">"<i>I saw a Fairy lady there</i></div>
+    <div class="verse indent0"><i>With long white hands and drowning hair</i>...."</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>Drowning hair ... no, no, not that. Queer she should have sung that
+song. And the statue of the drowned woman ... that was queer, too.</p>
+
+<p>What was the other thing she had sung that night?</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">"<i>J'ai perdu mon amie—elle est morte.</i></div>
+    <div class="verse indent0"><i>Tout s'en va cette fois, à jamais,</i></div>
+    <div class="verse indent0"><i>A jamais, pour toujours elle emporte</i></div>
+    <div class="verse indent0"><i>Le dernier des amours que j'aimais</i>...."</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>He had lost Abbots Puissants, he had lost Nell.</p>
+
+<p>But with Jane, he had indeed lost "<i>le dernier des amours que
+j'aimais</i>."</p>
+
+<p>For the rest of his life he would be able to see only one woman—Jane.</p>
+
+<p>He loved Jane ... he loved her....</p>
+
+<p>And he'd tortured her, slighted her, finally abandoned her to that
+green evil sea.</p>
+
+<p>The statue in the South Kensington Museum....</p>
+
+<p>God!—he mustn't think of that.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, he'd think of everything. This time he wouldn't turn away.</p>
+
+<p>Jane ... Jane ... Jane....</p>
+
+<p>He wanted her. Jane....</p>
+
+<p>He'd never see her again.</p>
+
+<p>He'd lost everything now ... everything.</p>
+
+<p>Those days, months, years in Russia. Wasted years.</p>
+
+<p>Fool—to live beside her, to hold her body in his arms, and all the
+time to be afraid ... afraid of his passion for her.</p>
+
+<p>That old terror of the Beast....</p>
+
+<p>And suddenly, as he thought of the Beast, he knew....</p>
+
+<p>Knew that at last he had come into his heritage.</p>
+
+
+<h3><i>5</i></h3>
+
+<p>It was like the day he had come back from the Titanic Concert. It was
+the vision he had had then. He called it vision for it seemed more that
+than sound. Seeing and hearing were one—curves and spirals of sound,
+ascending, descending, returning.</p>
+
+<p>And now he <i>knew</i>—he had the technical knowledge.</p>
+
+<p>He snatched at paper, jotted down brief scrawled hieroglyphics, a kind
+of frantic shorthand. There were years of work in front of him, but
+he knew that he should never again recapture this first freshness and
+clearness of vision.</p>
+
+<p>It must be so—and so: a whole weight of metal—brass—all the brass in
+the world.</p>
+
+<p>And those new glass sounds ... ringing, clear.</p>
+
+<p>He was happy.</p>
+
+<p>An hour passed ... two hours.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment he came out of his frenzy—remembered ... Jane!</p>
+
+<p>He felt sick—ashamed. Couldn't he mourn her for even one evening?
+There was something base—cruel—in the way he was using his sorrow,
+his desire—transmuting it into terms of sound.</p>
+
+<p>That was what it meant to be a creator—ruthlessness, using everything.</p>
+
+<p>And people like Jane were the victims.</p>
+
+<p>Jane....</p>
+
+<p>He felt torn in two—agony and wild exultation.</p>
+
+<p>He thought: "Perhaps women feel like this when they have a child."</p>
+
+<p>Presently he bent again over his sheets of paper, writing frenziedly,
+flinging them on the floor as he finished them.</p>
+
+<p>When the door opened he did not hear it. He was deaf to the rustle of a
+woman's dress. Only when a small frightened voice said, "Vernon," did
+he look up.</p>
+
+<p>With an effort he forced the abstracted look from his face.</p>
+
+<p>"Hullo," he said. "Nell."</p>
+
+<p>She stood there, twisting her hands together—her face white and
+ravaged. She spoke in breathless gasps.</p>
+
+<p>"Vernon ... I found out. They told me ... where you were ... and I
+came."</p>
+
+<p>He nodded.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," he said. "You came?"</p>
+
+<p>Oboes—no, cut out oboes. Too soft a note. It must be strident—brazen.
+But harps—yes, he wanted the liquidness of harps—like water. You
+wanted water as a source of power.</p>
+
+<p>Bother! Nell was speaking. He'd have to listen.</p>
+
+<p>"Vernon, after that awful escape from death—I knew.... There's only
+one thing that matters—love. I've always loved you. I've come back to
+you—for always."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh!" he said stupidly.</p>
+
+<p>She had come nearer, was holding out her hands to him.</p>
+
+<p>He looked at her as if from a great distance. Really, Nell was
+extraordinarily pretty. He could well see why he had fallen in love
+with her. Queer, that he wasn't the least bit in love with her now. How
+awkward it all was. He did wish she would go away and let him get on
+with what he was doing. What about trombones? One could improve on a
+trombone....</p>
+
+<p>"Vernon!" Her voice was sharp—frightened. "Don't you love me any more?"</p>
+
+<p>It was really best to be truthful. He said with an odd formal
+politeness:</p>
+
+<p>"I'm awfully sorry. I—I'm afraid I don't. You see, I love Jane."</p>
+
+<p>"You're angry with me—because of that lie about the—the child."</p>
+
+<p>"What lie? About what child?"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you even remember? I said I was going to have a child and it
+wasn't true.... Oh! Vernon, forgive me ... forgive me."</p>
+
+<p>"That's quite all right, Nell. Don't you worry. I'm sure everything's
+for the best. George is an awfully good chap and you're really happiest
+with him. And now, for God's sake, do go away. I don't want to be rude,
+but I'm most awfully busy. The whole thing will go if I don't pin it
+down."</p>
+
+<p>She stared at him.</p>
+
+<p>Then slowly she moved toward the door. She stopped, turned, flung out
+her hands toward him.</p>
+
+<p>"Vernon...."</p>
+
+<p>It was a last cry of despairing appeal.</p>
+
+<p>He did not even look up, only shook his head impatiently.</p>
+
+<p>She went out, shutting the door behind her.</p>
+
+<p>Vernon gave a sigh of relief.</p>
+
+<p>There was nothing now to come between him and his work.</p>
+
+<p>He bent over the table.
+</p>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78262 ***</div>
+</body>
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for eBook #78262
+(https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/78262)