THE FAR HORIZON

BY

LUCAS MALET

(MRS. MARY ST. LEGER HARRISON)

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

_The Wages of Sin_

_A Counsel of Perfection_

_Colonel Enderby's Wife_

_Little Peter_

_The Carissima_

_The Gateless Barrier_

_The History of Sir Richard Calmady_

"Ask for the Old Paths, where is the Good Way, and walk therein, and yeshall find rest. "--JEREMIAS. 

"The good man is the bad man's teacher; the bad man is the material uponwhich the good man works. If the one does not value his teacher, if theother does not love his material, then despite their sagacity they mustgo far astray. This is a mystery of great import. "--FROM THE SAYINGS OFLAO-TZU. 

. .. "Cherchons à voir les choses comme elles sont, et ne voulons pas avoirplus d'esprit que le bon Dieu! Autrefois on croyait que la canne à sucreseule donnait le sucre, on en tire à peu près de tout maintenant. Il estde même de la poésie. Extrayons-la de n'importe quoi, car elle git entout et partout. Pas un atome de matière qui ne contienne pas la poésie. Et habituons-nous à considerer le monde comme un oeuvre d'art, dont ilfaut reproduire les procédées dans nos oeuvres. "--GUSTAVE FLAUBERT. 

CHAPTER I

Dominic Iglesias stood watching while the lingering June twilightdarkened into night. He was tired in body, but his mind was eminently, consciously awake, to the point of restlessness, and this was unusualwith him. He had raised the lower sash of each of the three tall, narrowwindows to its extreme height, since the first-floor sitting-room, thoughof fair proportions, appeared close. His thought refused the limits ofit, and ranged outward over the expanse of Trimmer's Green, the roadwayand houses bordering it, to the far northwest, that region of hurriedstorm, of fierce, equinoctial passion and conflict, now paved withplaques of flat, dingy, violet cloud opening on smoky rose-red wastes ofLondon sunset. All day thunder had threatened, but had not broken. And, even yet, the face of heaven seemed less peaceful than remonstrant, asullenness holding it as of troops in retreat denied satisfaction ofimminent battle. 

Otherwise the outlook was wholly pacific, one of middle-class suburbansecurity. The Green aforesaid is bottle-shaped, the neck of it debouchinginto a crowded westward-wending thoroughfare; while Cedar Lodge, from thefirst-floor windows of which Mr. Iglesias contemplated the oncoming ofnight, being situate in the left shoulder, so to speak, of the bottle, commanded, diagonally, an uninterrupted view of the whole extent of it. Who Trimmer was, how he came by a Green, and why, or what he trimmed onit, it is idle at this time of day to attempt to determine. Whether, animated by a desire for the public welfare, he bequeathed it in highcharitable sort; or whether, fame taking a less enviable turn with him, he just simply was hanged there, has afforded matter of heatedcontroversy to the curious in questions of suburban nomenclature andtopography. But in this case, as in so many other and more august ones, the origins defy discovery. Suffice it, therefore, that the name remains, as does the open space--the latter forming one of those minor "lungs ofLondon" which offer such amiable oases in the great city's lessaristocratic residential districts. Formerly the Green boasted a row offine elms, and was looked on by discreetly handsome eighteenth-centurymansions and villas, set in spacious gardens. But of these, the greatmajority--Cedar Lodge being a happy exception--has vanished under thehand of the early Victorian speculative builder; who, in their stead, haserected full complement of the architectural platitudes common to his ageand taste. Dignity has very sensibly given place to gentility. Nevertheless the timid red, or sickly yellow-grey, brick of the existinghouses is pleasingly veiled by ivy and Virginia creeper, while no shopfront obtrudes derogatory suggestion of retail trade. The localauthorities, moreover, some ten years back girdled the Green with healthyyoung balsam-poplar and plane trees and enclosed the grass with ironhurdles--to rescue it from trampling into unsightly pathways--thus doinga well-intentioned, if somewhat unimaginative, best to safeguard thetheatre of long ago Trimmer's beneficence or infamy from greaterspoliation. 

Hence it follows that, certain inherent limitations admitted, the sceneupon which Dominic Iglesias' eyes rested was not without elements ofattraction. And of this fact, being a person of an excellent temperanceof expectation, he was gratefully aware. His surroundings, indeed, constituted, so it appeared to him, the maximum of comfort and advantagewhich could be expected by a middle-aged gentleman, of moderate fortune, in the capacity of a "paying guest. " Not only in word but in thought--forin acknowledgment of obligation he was scrupulously courteous. Hefrequently tendered thanks to his neighbour and old school-fellow, Mr. George Lovegrove, first for calling his attention to Mrs. Porcher'sadvertisement, and subsequently for reassuring him as to its import. For, though incapable of forming so much as a thought to her concretedisparagement, Mr. Iglesias was not without a quiet sense of humour, orof that instinct of self-protection common to even the most chivalrous ofmankind. He was, therefore, perfectly sensible that "the widow of amilitary officer, " who describes herself in print as "bright, musical andthoroughly domesticated, " while offering "a cheerful and refined home atthe West End, within three minutes of Tube and omnibus"--"noble diningand recreation rooms, bath h. And c. " thrown in--to unmarried members ofthe stronger sex, must of necessity be a lady whose close acquaintance itwould be foolhardy to make without a trifle of preliminary scouting. 

Happily not only George Lovegrove, but his estimable wife was at hand. The latter hastened to prosecute inquiries, beginning with a visit to theAnglican vicar of the parish, the Rev. Giles Nevington. He reported Mrs. Porcher an evening communicant at the greater festivals, and a notungenerous donor to parochial charities; adding that a former curate hadresided under her roof with perfect impunity. Mrs. Lovegrove terminatedher researches by an interview with the fishmonger, who assured her that"Cedar Lodge always took the best cuts, " sternly refused fish or poultrywhich had suffered cold storage, and paid its housebooks without failbefore noon on Thursday. She ascertained, further, from a source sociallyintermediate between clergyman and tradesman, that Mrs. Porcher'shusband, some time veterinary surgeon of a crack regiment, had died inthe odour of alcohol rather than in that of sanctity, leaving his widow--inaddition to his numerous and heavy debts--but a fraction of thecomfortable fortune to procure the enjoyment of which he had soconsiderately married her. The solid Georgian mansion was her freehold;and it was to secure sufficient means for continued residence in it thatthe poor lady started a boarding-house, or in the politer language of thepresent day, had decided to receive paying guests. 

Encouraged by the satisfactory nature of the above information, Mr. Iglesias--shortly after his mother's death, now nearly eight years ago--had become a member of Mrs. Porcher's household. He had never, so far, had reason to regret that step. And it was with a consciousness ofwell-being and repose that he returned daily--after hours of strenuouswork in the well-known city banking house of Messrs. Barking Brothers &Barking--to this square first-floor sitting-room, to its dimly whitepanelled and painted walls, its nice details of carved work in chimney-piece and ceiling, and the outlook from its tall, narrow windows. Atouch of old-world stateliness in its aspect satisfied his latent prideof race. To certain natures not obscurity or slender means, but thepretentious vulgarity which, in English-speaking countries, too oftengoes along with these constitutes the burden and the offence. 

To-night, however, things were different. Material objects remained thesame; but the conditions of existence had taken on a strange appearance, and with that appearance Iglesias was bound to reckon, being uncertain asyet whether it was destined to prove that of a friend or of an enemy. Infurtherance of such reckoning, he had declined dining at the publictable, in company with his hostess, Miss Eliza Hart, her devoted friendand companion, and the three gentlemen--Mr. De Courcy Smyth, Mr. Farge, and Mr. Worthington--who shared with him the hospitalities of CedarLodge. He had dined here, upstairs, solitary; and Frederick, the German-Swiss valet, had just finished clearing the table and departed. Usuallyunder such circumstances Iglesias would have taken a favourite book fromthe carved Spanish mahogany bookcase containing his small library; and, reading again that which he had often read before, would have foundtherein the satisfaction of friendship, along with the soothinginfluences of familiarity. But to-night neither Gibbon's _Rome_--ahandsome early edition in many volumes--_The Travels of Anacharsis_, Evelyn's _Diary_, Napier's _Peninsular War_, John Stuart Mill's _Logic_, Byron's _Poems_, nor those of Calderon, nor of that so-called "prodigy ofnature, " Lope de Vega, not even the dear and immortal _Don Quixote_himself, served to attract him. His own thoughts, his own life, filledhis whole horizon, leaving no space for the thoughts or lives of others. He found himself a prey to a certain mental incoherence, a bewilderingactivity of vision. More than once before in the course of his laborious, monotonous, and, as men go, very virtuous life had this same thinghappened to him--the tides of the obvious and accustomed suddenlyreceding and leaving him stranded, as on some barren sand-bank, uncertainwhether the ship of his individual fate would lie there wind-swept andsun-bleached till rusty rivets fell out and planks parted, disclosing theribs of her in unsightly nakedness, or whether the kindly tide, rising, would float her off into blue water and she would sail hopefully onceagain. 

It was inevitable that this present experience should recall these otherhappenings, evoking memories poignant enough. The first time the ship ofhis fate thus stranded was when, as a lad of seventeen, he left school. Living alone with his mother in a quaint little house in Holland Street, Kensington, eagerly ambitious to make his way in the world and to obtain, it had dawned on him that there was something strange, unhappy, and notas it was wont to be with that, to him, most beautiful and beloved ofwomen. The mere suspicion was as a blasphemy against which his youngloyalty revolted. For Dominic, with the inherent pieties of his Latin andCeltic blood, had none of that contemptuous superiority in regard of hisnear relations so common to male creatures of the Protestant persuasionand Anglo-Saxon race. He took his parents quite seriously; it neverhaving occurred to him that fathers and mothers are given us merely forpurposes of discipline, or as helot-like examples of what to avoid. Hewas simple-minded enough indeed to regard them as sacred, altogetherbeyond the bounds of legitimate criticism--and this, as destiny wouldhave it, with intimate and life-long results. 

Vaguely, through the mists of infancy, he could remember a hurriedexodus--after sound of cannon and sight of blood--from Spain, the fierceand pious country of his birth. Since then, while his mother lived--namely, till he was a man of over forty--always and only the house in theKensington side street, with its crooked creaking stairways, its highwainscots--behind which mice squeaked and scampered--its clinging odourof ancient woodwork, its low ceilings, and uneven floors. At the back ofit was a narrow strip of garden, glorious for one brief week in earlysummer, with the gold of a big laburnum; and fragrant later thanks tofaithful effort on the part of the white jasmine clothing its enclosingwalls. In fair weather the morning sun lay warm there; while the skyshowed all the bluer overhead for the dark lines of the adjacenthousetops, and upstanding deformities in the matter of zinc cowls andchimney-pots. Frequented by cats, boasting in the centre a rockery of gasclinkers and chalk flints surmounted by a stumpy fluted column bearing astone basin--in which, after rain, sparrows disported themselves withmuch conversation and fluttering of sooty wings--the garden was, tolittle Dominic, a place of wonder and delight. He peopled it with beingsof his own fancy, lovely or terrific, according to his passing humour. Granted a measure of imagination, the solitary child is often thehappiest child, since the social element, with its inevitablematerialism, is absent, and the dear spirit of romance is unquenched byvulgar comment. 

His father, grave and preoccupied, whose arrivals after long periods ofabsence had in them an effect of secrecy and haste, was to the small boya being, august, but remote. During his brief sojourns at home the quiethouse awoke to greater fulness of life, with much coming and going ofother grave personages, strange of dress, and with a certain effect ofhardly restrained violence in their aspect. A spirit of fear seemed toenter with them, demanding an unnatural darkening of windows and closingof doors. Before Dominic they were of few words; but became eloquentenough, in sonorous foreign speech, as his ears testified when he wasbanished from their rather electric presence to the solitude of thenursery above. And so it came about that a sense of mystery, of largeissues, of things at once strong and hidden, impenetrable to hisunderstanding and concerning which no questions might be asked, encircledDominic's childhood and passed into the very fabric of his thought. Whilethrough it all his mother moved, to him tender and wholly exquisite, butwith the reticence of some deep-seated enthusiasm silently cherished, some far-reaching alarm silently endured, always upon her. And thisresulted in an atmosphere of seriousness and responsibility whichinevitably reacted on the boy, making him sober beyond his years, tempering his natural vivacity with watchfulness, and pitching even hislaughter in a minor key. 

Only many years later, when after his mother's death it became his dutyto read letters exchanged between his parents during this period, didDominic Iglesias touch the key to the riddle, and fully measure thepublic danger, the private strain and stress which had surrounded hischildhood and early youth. For his father, a man of far from ignoblenature, but of narrow outlook and undying hatreds, was deeply involved inrevolutionary intrigue of the most advanced type--a victim of that falsepassion of humanity which takes its rise not in honest desire for thewelfare of mankind, but in blind rebellion against all forms ofauthority. His self-confidence was colossal; all rule being abominable tohim--save his own--all rulers hideous, save himself. The anarchist, rightly understood, is merely the autocrat, the tyrant, turned insideout. And this man, as Dominic gathered from the perusal of those oldletters, to whom the end so justified the means that red-handed crimetook on the fair colours of virtue, his mother had loved, even while shefeared him, with all the faithfulness and pure passion of her Irishblood. Pathetic combination, the patience and resignation of the one everstriving to temper the flaming zeal of the other, as though the spindriftof the Atlantic, sweeping inland from the dim sadness of far westerncoasts, should strive with relentless fierceness of sunglare outpoured onsome high-lying walled city of arid central Spain! Mist is but a weakthing as against rock and fire; and what his mother must have suffered inmoral and spiritual conflict, let alone all question of active dread, wasto her son almost too cruel to contemplate, although it explained andjustified much. 

In 1860, when Dominic was a schoolboy of fourteen, his father left homeon one of those sudden journeys the object and objective of which werealike concealed. For about a year letters arrived at irregular intervals, hailing from Paris, Naples, Prague, and finally Petersburg. Then followedsilence, broken only by rumours furtively conveyed by a former associate, one Pascal Pelletier--an angel-faced, long-haired, hysteric creature, inspired by an impassioned enthusiasm for infernal machines and wholesaleslaughter in theory, and, in practice, by a gentle doglike devotion toMrs. Iglesias and young Dominic. He would arrive depressed and shadowy inthe shadowy twilights. But, once in the presence of the beings whom heloved, he became effervescent. His belief was unlimited in the HeadCentre, the Chief, in his demonic power and fertility of resource. Thatany evil should befall him!--Pascal snapped his thin fingers; while, withthe inalienable optimism of the born fanatic, he proceeded to statehopeful conjecture as established fact, thereby doing homage to thespirit of delusion which so conspicuously ruled him even to his inmostthought. But a spell of cold weather in the winter of 1862 struck alittle too shrewdly through Pascal's seedy overcoat, causing that tender-hearted subverter of society to cough his life out, with all possibledespatch, in the third-floor back of a filthy lodging-house off TottenhamCourt Road. 

This was the end as far as information went, whether authentic orapocryphal. But Dominic, his horizon still bounded by the world ofschool, greedy of distinction both in learning and in games, away all dayand eagerly, if somewhat sleepily, busy over the preparation of lessonsat night, was very far from realising that. Poor voluble kind-eyed Pascalhe mourned with all his heart; yet the months of his father's absenceaccumulated into years almost unnoticed. The same thing had so oftenhappened before; and then, at an unlooked-for moment, the wanderer hadreturned. Moreover, the old habit of obedience was still strong in him. It was understood that concerning his father's occupations and movementsno comment might be made, no questions might be asked. 

Meanwhile, the small house in Holland Street was ever more still, moreunfrequented. As he grew older Dominic became increasingly sensible ofthis--sensible of a sort of hush falling on him as he crossed thethreshold, so that instinctively he left much of his wholesome younganimality outside, while his voice took on softer tones in speech, andhis quick light footsteps became more scrupulously noiseless as he ran upthe little crooked stairs. 

"When your father comes home we must decide what profession you shallfollow, my Dominic, " it had been his mother's habit to declare. But, evenbefore the time for such decision arrived the boy had begun to understandhe must see to all that unaided. For his mother was ill, how deeply andin what manner he could not tell. He shrank, indeed, from all clearthought, let alone speech, on the subject, as from something indelicate, in a way irreverent. Her beauty remained to her, notwithstanding agradual wasting as of fever. A peculiar, very individual grace of dressand of bearing remained to her likewise. But she was uncertain in mood, the victim of strange fancies, a being almost alarmingly far removed fromthe interests of ordinary life. Long ago, in submission to her husband'santi-clerical prejudices, she had ceased to practise her religion, sothat the services of the Church no longer called her forth in beneficentroutine of sacred obligation. Now she never left the house, living, sincepoor Pascal Pelletier's death, in complete seclusion. Little wonder thenthat a hush fell on Dominic crossing the threshold, since so doing hepassed from the world of healthy action to that of acquiescent sickness, from vigorous hoarse-voiced realities to the intangible sadness ofunrelated dreams! The effect was one of rather haunting melancholy; andit was characteristic of the lad that he did not resent it, thoughrejoicing in the reputation at school of being high-spirited enough, impatient of restraint or of any frustration of purpose. His mother hadalways been sacred. She remained so, even though her sympathies hadbecome imperfect, and she moved in regions which his sane youngimagination failed to penetrate. One thing was perfectly plain to him, though it cut at the root of ambition--namely, that he could not leaveher. So, in that matter of a profession, he must find work which wouldpermit of his continuing to live at home; and, since her income wasnarrow, the work in question must make no heavy demand in respect ofpreliminary expense. 

Here was a problem more easy of statement than of solution, in face ofDominic's pride, inexperience, and the singular isolation of hisposition! There followed dreary months wherein his evenings were spentin studying and answerings advertisements; and his days, till lateafternoon, in walking the town from end to end for the interviewing ofpossible employers and the keeping of fruitless appointments. He wouldset forth full of hope and courage in the morning, only to return full ofthe dejection of failure at night. And it was then London began to revealherself to him in her solidarity, under the cloud of dun-blue coal smoke--it was wintertime--which, at once hanging over and penetrating herimmensity, adds the majesty of mystery to the majesty of mere size. Henoted how, in the chill twilights, London grew strangely and feverishlyalive. Lamps sprang into clearness along the pavements. A dazzlingglitter of shop windows marked the great thoroughfares, while often theangry glare of a fire pulsed along the sky-line. When night comes in thecountry, so Dominic told himself, the land sinks into peaceful repose. But in cities it is otherwise. There the light leaves heaven for earth;and walks the streets, with much else far from celestial, until thesmall hours move towards the dawn and usher in the decencies of day. 

Never before had he seen London thus and understood it in all itsenormous variety, yet as a unit, a whole. How much he actually beheldwith his bodily eyes, how much through the working of a rather exaltedcondition of imagination induced by loneliness and bodily fatigue, hecould never subsequently determine. But the great city presented herselfto him in the guise of some prodigious living creature, breathing, feeding, suffering, triumphing, above all mating and breeding, terriblein her power and vitality, age old, yet still unspent. Presented herselfto him as horribly prolific, ever outpassing her own unwieldy limits, sending forth her children, year after year, all the wide world over byshipping or by rail; receiving some tithe of them back, proud withaccomplished fortune to enhance her glory, or, disgraced and broken, slinking homeward to the cover of her fog and darkness merely to swellthe numbers of the nameless who rot and die. He thought of those others, too--and this touched his young ardour with a quick shudder of personalfear--whom she never sends forth at all; but holds close in bondage alltheir lives long, enslaved to her countless and tyrant activities bytheir own poverty, or by their fellow-creatures' misfortune, cruelties, and sins. Was it thus she was going to deal with him, Dominic Iglesias?Was he to be among the great city's bondmen through the coming years, better acquainted with the very earthly light which walks her streets bynight, than with the heavenly light which gladdens the sweet face of dayin the open country and upon the open sea? And for a moment the boy'sheart rebelled, hungry for pleasure, hungry for wide experience, hungryeven for knowledge of those revolutionary intrigues which, as he wasbeginning to understand, had surrounded his childhood, and, as he wasbeginning to fear, had cost his mother her reason and his father bothliberty and life. Thus did the ship of poor Dominic's fate appear to bestranded or ever it had fairly set sail at all. 

Meanwhile, if London claimed him, she did so in very cynical fashion, mocking his willingness to labour, refusing to feed him even while sherefused to let him go. Everything, he feared, was against him--his youth, his foreign name, his limited acquaintance, the impossibility of givingdefinite information regarding his father's past occupations or presentwhereabouts. Moreover, his spare young figure, his thin shapely hands andfeet, his blue-black Irish eyes and black hair, his energetic colourlessface, his ready yet reticent speech--all these marked him as unusual andexotic. And for the unusual and exotic the British employer of labour--ofwhatever sort--has, it must be conceded, but little use. He is halfafraid, half contemptuous of it, instinctively disliking anything morealert and alive than his own most stolid self. But while men, distrustingthe distinctness of his personality and his good looks, refused to giveDominic work, women, relishing them, were only too ready to give himenjoyment--of a kind. The boy, in those solitary wanderings, ran thegauntlet of many temptations; and was presented--did he care to acceptit--with the freedom of the city on very liberal lines. Happily, inherentcleanliness of nature saved him from much; and reverent shame at thethought of entering the hushed and silent house where his mother lived--spotless, amid pathetic memories and delicate dreams--with the soil oflicence upon him, saved him from more. Crime might have come close to himin his childhood, but vice never; and the influences of vice are far moreinsidious, and consequently more damaging, than those of crime. 

Still, one way and another, the boy came very near touching the confinesof despair. Then the tide rose and the stranded ship of his fate began tolift a little. By means of a series of accidents--the illness of hisformer school-fellow, the already mentioned George Lovegrove, whose posthe offered temporarily to fill--he drifted into connection with thebanking house of Messrs. Barking Brothers & Barking. There his knowledgeof modern languages, his industry, and a certain discreet aloofnesscommended him to his superiors. A minor clerkship fell vacant; it wasoffered to him. And from thenceforth, for Dominic Iglesias, the monotonyof fixed routine and steady labour, until the day when, as a man of pastfifty, restless and somewhat distrustful both of the present and thefuture, he watched the dying of the sullen sunset over Trimmer's Greenfrom the windows of the first-floor sitting-room of Cedar Lodge. 

CHAPTER II

That which had in point of fact happened was not, as Iglesias felt, without a pretty sharp edge of irony. For to-day, London, so long histask-mistress and gaoler, had assumed a new attitude towards him. Suddenly, unexpectedly, she had cast him off, given him his freedom. Itwas amazing, a thing to take your breath away for the moment. Andagitated and hurt--for his pride unquestionably had suffered in theprocess--Iglesias asked himself what in the world he should do with thisgift of freedom, what he should do, indeed, with that which remained tohim of life?

It had come about thus. Seeking an interview that morning with Sir AbelBarking, in the latter's private room at the bank, he had made certainstatements regarding his own health in justification of a request forsome weeks' rest and holiday now, rather than later, in September, whenhis yearly vacation would fall due. 

"So you find yourself unequal to dealing satisfactorily with theincreasing intricacy of our financial operations, become confused by themultiplicity of detail, suffer from pains in the head?" Sir Abel hadcommented, with a certain largeness of manner. "I own, my good friend, Iwas not wholly unprepared for this announcement. "

"My work has not so far, I believe, suffered in any respect, " Iglesiasput in quietly. "Directly I had reason to fear it might suffer I----"

"Of course, of course. I make no complaint--none. I go further. I admitthat the area of our undertakings is enlarged, enormously enlarged, thanks to the remarkable personal energy and strenuous transatlanticbusiness methods introduced by my nephew Reginald. I grant you allthat----"

Sir Abel cleared his throat. Seduced by the charms of his own eloquence, he was ready to mount the platform at the shortest possible notice, evenin private life. He loved exposition. He loved periods. His critics--forwhat public man is without these, their strictures naturally inspired byenvy?--had been known to add that he also loved platitudes. Be this as itmay, certain it is that he loved an audience--even of one. He had beenconsiderably ruffled this morning by communications made to him by hisgood-looking and somewhat scapegrace youngest son. Those who fail to ruletheir own households often find solace in attempting to rule thehouseholds of others. Speech and patronage consequently tended to therestoration of self-complacency. 

"No doubt this expansion, these modern methods, constitute a tax uponyour capacity, my good friend, you having acquired your training under aless exacting system. I am not surprised. I confess"--he leaned back inhis chair, with an indulgent smile, as one who should say, "the godsthemselves do not wholly escape"--"I confess, " he repeated, "it issomething of a tax upon the capacity of a veteran financier such asmyself. But then strain in some form or other, as I frequently remindmyself, is the very master-note of our modern existence. We allexperience it in our degree. And there are those men, such as myself, forinstance, who from their position, their vast interests and heavyresponsibilities, from the almost incalculable issues dependent on theirjudgment and their action, are called upon to endure this strain in itsmost exhausting manifestations, who are compelled to subordinate personalcase, even health itself, to public obligation. In the end they pay, incontestable they pay, for their self-abnegation, for their unswervingobedience to the trumpet-call of public duty. "

He paused and mused a while, his head raised, his right hand resting--itwas noticeably podgy and squat--on the highly polished surface of theextensive writing-table, his left hand dropped, with a rather awkwardnegligence, over the arm of his chair. Meanwhile he gazed, as pensivelyas his caste of countenance permitted, at a portrait of himself, in theself-same attitude, which adorned the opposite wall. It had beenpresented to him by the electors of his late constituency. It was life-size and full-length. It had been painted by a well-known artist whoseappreciation of the outward as a revelation of the inward man is slightlydiabolic in its completeness. The portrait was very clever; it was alsovery like. Looking upon it no sane observer could stand in doubt of SirAbel's eminent respectability or eminent wealth. His appearance exudedboth. Unluckily nature had been niggardly in the bestowal of those moredelicate marks of breeding which, both in man and beast, denotedistinction of personality and antiquity of race. Pursy, prolific, Protestant, a commonness pervaded the worthy gentleman's aspect, causinghim, as compared with his head clerk, Dominic Iglesias--standing therepatiently awaiting his further utterance--to be as is a cheap oleographto a fine sketch in pen and ink. It may be taken as an axiom that, inbody and soul alike, to be deficient in outline is a sad mistake. But ofall these little facts and the result of them, Sir Abel was, needless torelate, sublimely ignorant. 

"With you, my good friend, it is otherwise, " he remarked presently, reluctantly removing his gaze from the portrait of himself. "A beneficentProvidence has devised the law of compensation. And we may remark theworkings of it everywhere with instruction and encouragement. Hencesocial obscurity has its compensating advantages. You, for example, areaffected by none of those considerations of public obligation bindingupon myself. You are so situated that you can avoid the more tryingconsequences of this universal overstrain. If the demands of the positionyou now fill are too much for you, you can retire. I congratulate you, Iglesias. For some of us it is impossible, it is forbidden to retire. "

The speaker paused, as when in addressing a political or charitablemeeting he paused for well-merited applause, secure of having made atelling point. Dominic Iglesias, however, had not applauded. To tell thetruth, his back was stiffening a little. He had a very just appreciationof the relative social positions of himself and his employer; still itdid not occur to him, somehow, that applause was necessarily in the part. 

"You have the redress in your own hands, " Sir Abel went on, not without ahint of annoyance. "If you need amusement, leisure, rest, they are allwithin your reach. "

Still Iglesias did not speak. 

"See now, my good friend, consider. To be practical"--Sir Abel raised hisfinger and wagged it, with a heavy attempt at _bonhomie_. "You have nofamily to provide for?"

"No, " said Mr. Iglesias. 

"You are, in short, not married?"

"No, Sir Abel, " he said again. 

"Well, then, no obstacle presents itself. But let us pause a moment, forI must guard myself against misconception. In the interests of bothpublic and private morality I am a staunch advocate of marriage. " Againhe cleared his throat. The platform was conspicuous by its presence--inidea. "I hold matrimony to be among the primary duties, nay, to be theprimary duty of the Christian and the citizen. We owe it to the race, weowe it to ourselves, we owe it to the opposite sex. Let us be quite clearon this point. Yet, since I deprecate all bigotry, I admit that there maybe exceptional cases in which absence of the marital relation, thougharguing some emotional callousness, may prove advantageous to theindividual. "

A queer light had come into Dominic Iglesias' eyes. The corners of hismouth worked a little. He stood quite still and rather noticeably erect. 

"I do not deny this, " Sir Abel continued. "I repeat, I do not deny it. And yours, my good friend, may be, I am prepared to acknowledge, a casein point. I take for granted, by the way, that you have saved, since yoursalary has been a liberal one?"

Iglesias inclined his head. 

"Clearly we need discuss this matter no further then. " The speaker becameimpressive, admonitory. "Indeed, it appears to me that your lot is a mostfavoured one. You are free of all encumbrances. You can retire incomfort--retire, moreover, with the assurance that your departure willcause no inconvenience to myself and my colleagues, since you make roomfor men younger and more in touch with modern methods than yourself. "

Mr. Iglesias permitted himself to smile. 

"Ah, yes!" he said. "Possibly I had not taken that fact sufficiently intoaccount. "

"Yet, clearly, it should augment your satisfaction, " Sir Abel Barkingobserved, with a touch of severity. "And, by the by, you can draw yourpension. You were entitled, strictly speaking, to do so some years ago--four, I believe, to be accurate. This was pointed out to you at the timeby my nephew Reginald. He was not at all unwilling that you should retirethen; but you preferred to remain. I had some conversation, at the time, with my nephew on the subject. I insisted upon the fact that your servicehad been exemplary. I finally succeeded in overruling his objection toyour retaining your post. "

"I am evidently under a heavy obligation to you, Sir Abel, " saidIglesias. 

"Don't mention it--don't mention it, " the great man answered nobly. "Those in power should try to exercise it to the benefit of theirsubordinates. It has always been my effort not only to be just, but to beconsiderate of the interests and feelings of persons in my employment. "

And with that he again fixed his eyes upon the ironical portrait adorningthe opposite wall, wholly blind to the fact that it at once revealed hisweaknesses and mocked at them, conscious only of an agreeable convictionthat he had treated his head clerk with generosity and spoken to him withthe utmost good-feeling and tact. 

With the proud it is ever a question whether to spoil the Egyptians, orto fling back even the best-earned wages, payable by Egyptians, full inthe said Egyptians' face. For the firm of Barking Brothers & Barking, inthe abstract, Iglesias had the loyalty of long-established habit. It hadbeen as the rising tide, setting the ship of his fate and fortunehonourably afloat in the dismal days of that early stranding. Its servicehad eaten up the best years of his life, it is true. But, even in sodoing, by mere force of constant association, the interests of the greatbanking house had come to be his own, its schemes and secrets hisexcitement, its successes his satisfaction. Fortunately the human mind isso constituted that it is possible to have an esteem, amounting toenthusiasm, for a body corporate, while entertaining but scantyadmiration for the individuals of whom that body is composed--fortunatelyindeed, since otherwise what government, secular or sacred, would longcontinue to subsist? Hence, to Iglesias, this matter of the pension wasdecidedly difficult. Pride said, "This man, Abel Barking has beenoffensive; both he and his nephew have been ungrateful; reject it withcontempt. " Justice said, "You have no quarrel with the firm as a whole;accept it. " Common sense, pricked up by anger, said, "Claim your own, take every brass farthing of it. " While personal dignity, winding up thecase, admonished, "By no means give yourself away. Make no impetuousdemonstration. Go home and think it quietly over. " And with the advice ofpersonal dignity Mr. Iglesias fell in. 

Yet he was still very sore, the heat of anger past, but the smart of itremaining, when he journeyed back from the city later in the day. And notonly that after-smart, but a perplexity held him. For two strange faceshad looked into his during the last few hours--those of Loneliness andFreedom. He had taken for granted, in a general sort of way, that suchpersonages existed and exercised a certain jurisdiction in human affairs. But in all the course of his laborious life they had never before comeclose, personally claiming him. He had had no time for them. But they arepatient, they only wait. They had time for him--plenty of it. Suddenly heunderstood that; and it perplexed him, for his estimate of his ownimportance was modest. He even felt apologetic towards them, as one atwhose door distinguished guests alight for whose entertainment he hasmade no adequate provision. He was embarrassed, his sense of hospitalityreproaching him. 

It so happened that, on this same return journey, he occupied the seat onthe right, immediately behind that of the driver. The sky was covered, the atmosphere close. The horses, grey ones, showed a thick yellowishlather where the collar rubbed their necks and the traces their flanks. They were slack and heavy, and the omnibus hugged the curb. Within it wasempty, and on the top boasted but three passengers besides Iglesiashimself. It followed that, carrying insufficiency of ballast, the greatred-painted vehicle lumbered, and jerked, and swayed uneasily; while thelighter traffic swept past it in a glittering stream, the dominant noteof which was black as against the dirty drab of the recently wateredwood-pavement. And the character of that traffic was new to DominicIglesias, though he had travelled the Hammersmith Road, Kensington HighStreet and Kensington Gore, Knightsbridge and Piccadilly, back and forthdaily, these many years. For the exigencies of business demanding thatthe hours of his journeying should be early and late, always the same, itcame about that the aspect of these actually so-familiar thoroughfareswas novel, as beheld in the height of the season at three o'clock in theafternoon. 

At first Iglesias saw without seeing, busy with his own uncheerfulthoughts. But after a while he began to speculate idly on the scenearound him, turning to the outward and material for distraction, if notfor actual comfort. And so the stream of carriages and hansoms, and theconspicuously well-favoured human beings occupying them, began tointrigue his attention. He questioned whom they might be and whitherwending, decked forth in such brave array. They seemed to suggestsomething divorced from, yet native to, his experience; something he hadnever touched in fact, yet the right to which was resident in his blood. And with this he ceased, in instinct, to be merely the highly respectedand respectable head clerk of Messrs. Barking Brothers & Barking--nowsuperannuated and laid on the shelf. A gayer, fiercer, simpler life, quick with violences of vivacious sound and vivid colour, the excitementof it heightened by clear shining southern sunshine and blue-blackshadow--a life undreamed of by conventional, slow-moving, rather vulgarmiddle-class London--to which, on the face of it, he appeared asemphatically to belong--awoke and cried in Dominic Iglesias. 

It was a surprising little experience, causing him to straighten up hislean yet shapely figure; while the burden of his years, and the longmonotony of them, seemed strangely lifted off him. Then, with the air ofcourtly reserve--at once the joke and envy of the younger clerks, whichhad earned him the nickname of "the old Hidalgo"--he leaned forward andaddressed the omnibus driver. The latter upraised a broad, moist andsleepy countenance. 

"Polo at Ranelagh, " he answered, in a voice thickened by dust and thelaying of that dust by strong waters. "Club team plays 'Undred and FirstLancers. "

The words had been to the inquirer pretty much as phrases from theliturgy of an unknown cult. But it was Iglesias' praiseworthy dispositionnot to be angry with that which he did not happen to understand, so muchas angry with himself for not understanding it. 

"Only an additional proof, were it needed, of the prodigious extent of myignorance!" he reflected in stoically humorous self-contempt. His eyesdwelt, somewhat wistfully, on the glittering stream of traffic, onceagain those two unbidden guests, Loneliness and Freedom--for whoseentertainment he had made inadequate provision--sitting, as it seemed, very close on either side of him. Then that happened which altered allthe values. Dominic Iglesias suddenly saw a person whom he knew. 

He had seen that same person about three hours previously in the bank inThreadneedle Street, while waiting for admittance to Sir Abel's privateroom. Rumour accredited this handsome young gentleman--Sir Abel'syoungest son--with tastes expensive rather than profitable, liberalsocially, rather than estimable ethically, declaring him to be distinctlyof the nature of the proverbial thorn in the banker's otherwise veryprosperous side. He had, so said rumour, the fortune or misfortune, asyou chose to take it, of being at once a considerably bad boy and adistinctly charming one. Be all that as it might, the young man hadcertainly presented a grimly anxious countenance when, without so much asa nod of recognition, he had stalked past Mr. Iglesias in the dim lightof the glass and mahogany-walled corridor. But now, as the latter noted, his expression had changed, and that very much for the better. The youngman's face was flushed and eager, and his teeth showed white and evenunder his reddish brown moustache. If anxieties still pursued him theywere in subjection to one main anxiety, the anxiety to please, which ofall anxieties is the most engaging and grace-begetting. 

Just then the traffic was held up, thus enabling Iglesias from his perchon the 'bustop to receive a more than fleeting impression. Two ladieswere seated opposite the young man in the carriage. In them Iglesiasrecognised persons of very secure social standing. The elder he supposedto be Lady Sokeington--Alaric Barking's half-sister--to whom, on theoccasion of her marriage, twelve or thirteen years ago, he had had theexpensive honour of presenting, in his own name and that of hiscolleagues, a costly gift of plate. The other lady, so it appeared tohim, was eminently sweet to look upon. She was very young. She leaned alittle forward, and in the pose of her delicate figure and the carriageof her pretty head--under its burden of pale pink and grey feathers, flowers, and lace--he detected further example of that engaging anxietyto please. They made a delightful young couple, the fair seeming of thislife and riches of it very much on their side. Mr. Iglesias' chivalrousheart went out to them in silent sympathy and benediction; while, theblock being over, his gaze continued to follow them as long as the younggirl's slender white-clad back and the young man's flushed and eager faceremained distinguishable. Then he started, for he was aware that hisunbidden companions had received unexpected reinforcement. A third guesthad arrived, and looked hard and critically at him. It's name was OldAge, and he found something sardonic in its glance. With all hisgentleness of soul, all his innate self-restraint, there remainedfighting blood in Dominic Iglesias. Therefore, for the moment, recognising with whom he had to deal, a light anything but mild visitedhis eyes, and a rigidity the straight lines of his chin and lips. Old Ageis a sinister visitant even to those who are moderate in demand and cleanof life. For it gives to drink of the cup not of pleasure, but merely ofpatience, of physical loss and intellectual humiliation; and, once it haslaid its spell upon you, you are past all remedy save the supreme remedyof death. And so, at first sight, Iglesias rebelled--as do all men--turning defiant. Then, being very sane, he gave in to the relentlesslogic of fact. Silently, yet with all courtesy, he acknowledged thenewcomer, and bade it be seated along with the rest. While, after briefpause to rally his pride, and that courage which is the noblest attributeof pride, he turned to things concrete and material once more, finallyaddressing himself to the omnibus driver:

"Pardon me; polo, as I understand, is a species of game?"

The broad moist countenance was again uplifted, a hint of patronage nowtempering its good-natured apathy. 

"Sort'er 'ockey on 'orseback. "

"That must be sufficiently dangerous, " Mr. Iglesias remarked. 

"Bless you, yes. Players breaks their backs pretty frequent, and cuts theponies about most cruel--"

He ceased speaking abruptly, jammed the brake down with his heel inresponse to the conductor's bell, and drew the sweating horses up shortto permit the ingress of fresh passengers. This accomplished, the omnibuslumbered onwards while Dominic Iglesias fell into further meditation. 

The explanation vouchsafed him was still far from explicit; yet this muchof illumination he gained from it, namely, the assurance that all thesegoodly personages, Alaric Barking and his sweet companion among them, were on pleasure bent. One and all they fared forth, on this heavy summerafternoon, in search of amusement--in search of that intangible yet verypowerful factor in human affairs to which it is given to lift the toogreat weight of seriousness from mortal life, cheating perception ofrelentless actualities, helping to restore the balance, helping men tohope, to laugh, and to forget. Perceiving all which, conscious moreoverof the near neighbourhood of Loneliness on the right hand and Old Age onthe left, Iglesias began to bestow on these votaries of pleasure a moreearnest attention, recognising in them the possessors of a secret whichit greatly behoved him to enter into possession of likewise. In what, heasked himself, did it actually consist, this to him practically unknownquantity, amusement? How was the spirit of it cultivated, the enjoymentof it consciously attained? How far did it reside in inward attitude, howfar in outward circumstance? In a word, how did they all do it? It wasvery incumbent upon him to learn, and he admitted a ridiculous ignorance. 

CHAPTER III

Thus had the chapter of labour ended, and that of leisure opened. And itwas with the sadness of things terminated very strongly upon him that, asFrederick, the German-Swiss valet, finished clearing the dinner-table anddeparted, Mr. Iglesias looked forth over the neatly protected verdure ofTrimmer's Green in the evening quiet. The smugly pacific aspect of theplace irritated him. He was aware of a great emptiness. And verycertainly the scene before him offered no solution of the problem of thefilling of that emptiness. And somehow or other it had to be filled--Iglesias knew that, knew it through every fibre of him--or life would besimply insupportable. Meanwhile from the public drawing-room below camesounds of revelry, innocent enough yet hardly calculated to soothe over-strained nerves. Little Mr. Farge--whose thin and reedy tenor carried asdoes a penny whistle--gave forth the refrain of a song just then popularin metropolitan music-halls. 

"They're keeping latish hours at the Convalescent Home, " piped Mr. Farge;while his friend and devout admirer, Albert Edward Worthington, tore atthe banjo strings and the ladies tittered. 

Iglesias listened in a somewhat grim spirit of endurance. On the far sideof the Green he could see the gaslights in the Lovegroves' dining-room. These appeared to watch him rather uncomfortably, as with threesupplicating and reproachful eyes. He debated whether he would not takehis hat, step across, and tell his old friend what had happened--it wouldat least relieve him of the sound of little Farge's serenading. But hispride recoiled somehow. Good souls, man and wife, they would be full ofsolicitude and kindness; but they would say the wrong thing. They wouldnot understand. How, indeed, should they, being wholly at one with theirsurroundings--unimaginative, domestic, British middle-class, with itsvirtues and limitations aggressively in evidence? George Lovegrove wouldsuggest some minor municipal office, or membership of the local boroughcouncil, as a crown of consolation. His wife would skirt round thesubject of matrimony. She had done so before now; and Iglesias, whilepresenting a dignified front to the enemy, had inwardly shuddered. Shewas an excellent, estimable woman; but when ponderously arch, whenextensively sly! Oh, dear no! It didn't do. Her gambols were too sadlysuggestive of those of a skittish hippopotamus. Dominic Iglesias wasconscious that he had a skin too little to-night; he could not witnessthem with philosophy. The kindliest intention, the best-meant words, might cause him extravagant annoyance. 

He turned away from the window and took a turn the length of the room--atall, distinct, and even stately figure in the thickening dusk. He feltrather horribly desolate. He was fairly frightened by the greatness ofthe emptiness, within and about him, engendered by absence of employment. He had little to reproach himself with. His record was cleaner than mostmen's--he could not but know that. He had sacrificed personal ambition, personal happiness, to the service of one supremely dear to him. Not fora moment did he regret it. Had it to be done all over again, withouthesitation he would do it. Still there was no blinking facts. Here wasthe nemesis, not of ill living, but of good--namely, emptiness, loneliness, homelessness, Old Age here at his elbow, Death waiting thereahead. 

"The routine has gone on too long, " he said to himself bitterly. "I havelost my pliability, lost my humanity. I am a machine now, not a man. Tothe machine, work is life. Work over, life is over; and the machine isjust so much lumber--better broken up and sent to the rag and bottleshop, where it may fetch the worth of its weight as scrap-iron. "

He turned, came back to the open window again and stood there, rathercarefully avoiding the three reproachful eyes of the Lovegroves' dining-room gaselier, and fixing his gaze on that sullen fierceness of sunsetstill hanging in the extreme northwest. 

"Unluckily there is no rag and bottle shop where superannuated bankclerks of five-and-fifty have even the very modest market value of scrap-iron!" he went on. "Of all kinds of uselessness, that of we godlike humanbeings is the most utterly obvious when our working day is past. Mentaldecay and bodily corruption as the ultimate. And, this side of it, a fewyears of increasing degradation, a mere senseless killing of time untilthe very unpleasing goal is reached--along with a growing selfishness, and narrowness of outlook; along, possibly, with some development ofsenile sensuality, the more detestable because it lacks the provocationsof hot blood. Oh! Dominic Iglesias, Dominic Iglesias, is that the uglyroad you are doomed to travel--a toothless greed for filling your bellywith fly-blown dainties off the refuse-heap?"

And through the open window, in sinister accompaniment to little Mr. Farge's sophisticated and unpastoral pipings, came the voice of the greatcity herself in answer--low, multitudinous, raucous, without emphasis butwithout briefest relief of interval or of pause. And this laid holdstrongly of Iglesias' imagination, reminding him of all the intimatewretchedness of that first stranding of the ship of his fate. Remindinghim of his long and fruitless trampings in search of employment--goodlooks, energy, youth itself, seeming but an added handicap--when Londonrevealed herself to him in her solidarity, revealed herself as aprodigious living creature, awful in her mysterious vigour, ever big withimpending birth, merciless with impending death. As she showed herself tohim then, with life all untried before him, so she showed herself stillwhen, in the blackness of his present humour, all life worth the nameappeared over and passed. He had changed, so he believed, to the point ofnullity and final ineptitude. She remained strong, active, relentless asever. As long ago, so now, she struck him as monstrous. Yet now, thoughall the conditions were changed, he had, as long ago, an instinct thatfrom her there was no escape. 

"I have served you honestly enough all these years, " he said--since shehad voice to speak, she had also ears to hear, mayhap--"and you havetaken much and given little. To-day you have turned me off, told me toquit. But where, I ask you, can I go? I am too stiffened by work, unskilled in travel, too unadaptable to begin again elsewhere. Moreover, you hold the record of my experience, all my glad and sorrowful memories. I might try to leave you, but it's no use. I am planted and rooted inyou, monstrous mother that you are. If I know myself, I should go only tocome back. "

For the moment the calm of long self-control was broken up within him. Dominic Iglesias dwelt, consciously and sensibly, in the horror of theOuter Darkness--which horror is known only to that small and somewhatsuspect minority of human beings who are also capable, by the operationof the divine mercy, of dwelling in the glory of the Uncreated Light. Theswing of the pendulum is equal to right as to left. He was staggered bythe misery of his own isolation--a stranger, as he suddenly realised, bytemperament and ideals, as well as by race! Then resolutely he turned hisback on this, with an instinct of self-preservation directing his thoughtto things practical and average. 

For example, that question of the pension--concerning which he now found, to his slight surprise, he was no longer the least in doubt. This moneywas his by right. The hard strain in his nature was dominant--to the fullhe would claim his rights. And since in moments of despair the human mindinvariably requires a human victim, be it merely a simulacrum, a waxenimage of a man to melt in the fires of its humiliation and revolt, Iglesias remembered, with much contemptuous satisfaction, the ironicalportrait of Sir Abel Barking adorning the wall of the latter's privateroom at the bank. He hailed the diabolic talent of the artist who hadlaid bare with such subtle skill the flatulence of his sitter. It was apretty revenge, very assuaging just now to Iglesias. For the real man, ashe reflected, was not the man who sat heavily self-complacent in alibrary chair, exuding platitudes and pride of patronage; but the man whohung upon the wall forever ridiculous while paint and canvas should last. Thus would he go down to posterity! And to Dominic Iglesias, just now, itseemed very excellent that posterity should know him for the wind-baghypocrite he essentially was. Securely entrenched behind his own largeprosperity, uxoriousness, paternity, had he not counted his, Iglesias', blessings to him; counselling amusement, rest, congratulating him on justall that which made for his present distress--namely, his obscureposition, his enforced idleness, his absence of human ties, the generalmeagreness of his state in life? The more he thought of the incident, themore it filled him with indignation and disgust. Therefore, verycertainly he would claim his pension; claim an infinitesimal but actualfraction of this man's great wealth; would live long so as to claim it aslong as possible, till the paying of it, indeed, should become aweariness to the payer. And he would spend it, too, unquestionably hewould. Mr. Iglesias' rare and gracious smile had an almost cruel edge toit. 

"The machine shall become a man again, " he said. "And the man shall amusehimself. How, I don't yet know, but I will find out. Work has made medull and inept. "

He straightened himself up, tired, yet unbroken, defiant, aware--thoughthe horror of the Outer Darkness was yet upon him--of purpose stillmilitant and unspent. 

"Play may make me the reverse of dull and inept. I have always beendiligent and methodical. I will continue to be so. This enterprise admitsof no delay. I will begin at once, begin to-morrow, to amuse myself. "

It is characteristic of the Latin to see things written in fire andblood, which the slower-brained Anglo-Saxon only sees written in redpaint--if, indeed, he ever arrives at seeing them written at all. To-night the Latin held absolute sway in Dominic Iglesias. With freedom hadcome a curious reversion to type. His humour, like his smile, was atrifle cruel. He observed, criticised, judged, condemned unsparingly, allmental courtesies in abeyance. When, therefore, at this juncture thethree eyes of the Lovegroves' dining-room gaselier winked slowly, andclosed their lids--so to speak--ceasing to watch and to supplicate, hesuffered no self-reproach. The good, simple couple were shutting up houseand going to bed, he supposed. They sought repose betimes; and, unlesssupper had been more aggressively cold and heavy than usual, slept, tillbroad day, a dreamless sleep. Decidedly it was well he had not taken hishat and stepped across to visit them, for, beyond all question, theywould not have understood! The voice of London, for instance, meantnothing to them. They had no notion London had a voice. Still less hadthey any notion she was a prodigious living creature. London was theplace where they resided--that was all, and, since the streets areadmittedly noisy and dusty, they had taken a house in this genteel andconvenient suburb. Of the tremendous life and force of things, miscalledman-made and inanimate, they had no faintest conception. Small wonderthey went to bed betimes and slept a dreamless sleep! Thinking of which--notwithstanding their kindness and affection--they became, just now, toIglesias as truly astonishing phenomena in their line as Sir Abel Barkingin his. He saw in them merely specimens, though good ones, of the greatmajority of the British public, a public so overlaid and permeated byconvention, so parochial in outlook, so hidebound by social tradition andinsular prejudice, that it is really less in touch with everlasting factthan the animals it pets, demoralises, and eats. These at least haveinstinct, and so are at one with universal nature. In perception, inspontaneity of action, good Mrs. Lovegrove was as an infant compared toher parrot or her pug. So was little Mr. Farge with his sophisticatedwarblings--so, for that matter, were all the other persons among whomhis, Iglesias', lot was cast. His sense of isolation deepened. Ifamusement was his object, most certainly the society of Trimmer's Greenwould not supply it. He must look further afield for all that. 

In the far northwest the last of the sunset had faded; only the cloudremained. Yet the horizon, above the broken line of the house-roofs andchimney-pots, pulsed with light--the very earthly light which, in greatcities, flares out when the light of heaven dies, to walk the streets, with much else of doubtful loveliness, till it is shamed by the coldchastity of dawn. And along with that outflaring, a certain meretriciouselement introduced itself into the aspect of Trimmer's Green. Across theroadway, the gaslamps showed cones of vivid yet sickly brightness, bringing at regular intervals the sharply indented leaves of the planetrees and the shivering silver of the balsam-poplars into an arrestingand artificial distinctness. Between were spaces of vacancy and gloom. And from out such a space, immediately opposite, slowly emerged ashambling and ungainly figure, in which Dominic Iglesias recognised thethird of his fellow-lodgers, Mr. De Courcy Smyth. His acquaintance withthe said lodger was of the slightest, since the latter had but recentlyentered into residence and rarely appeared at meals. Mrs. Porcherhabitually referred to him with a pitying respect as "a gentleman veryinfluential in literary and professional circles, but unfortunate in hismarried life"; ending with a sigh and upward glance of her still fineeyes, as one who could sympathise, having herself been through that gate. Influential or not, it occurred to Iglesias that the man presented asorry spectacle enough. For a minute or so he stood aimlessly in the fullglare of a gaslamp. His thin, creasy Inverness cape was thrown back, displaying evening dress. He carried a soft grey felt hat in one hand. His whole aspect was seedy, disappointed, dejected; his face pale andpuffy, his sparse reddish hair and beard but indifferently trimmed. Itwas borne in upon Iglesias, moreover, that the man was hungry, that hehad not--and that for some time--had enough to eat. Voluntary poverty isamong the most beautiful, involuntary poverty among the ugliest, sightsupon earth; and to which order of poverty that of de Courcy Smythbelonged, Mr. Iglesias was in no doubt. This was a sordid sight, a sightof discouragement, adding the last touch to the melancholy whichoppressed him. The seedy figure crossed the road, fumbled for a minutewith a latchkey. Then nerveless footsteps ascended the stairs, passed thedoor, and took their joyless way up and onward to the bed-sitting-roomimmediately above. 

Down below the music had ceased, while sounds arose suggestive of alittle playfulness on the part of the two young men in bidding theirhostess and Miss Eliza Hart good-night. Very soon the house becamesilent. But Dominic Iglesias, though tired, was in no humour for sleep. He drew forward a leather-covered armchair and sat near the open window, in at which came a breathing of night wind. This was soothing, touchinghis forehead as with delicate pressure of a cool and sympathetic hand; sothat, without any sense of surprising transition, he found himself in thegarden of the little house in Holland Street, Kensington, once again. Thelaburnum was in full blossom, and the breeze uplifted the light droopingbranches of it, making all their golden glory dance in the sunshine. There must have been rain in the night, too, for the stone basin was fullof water, in which the sparrows were busy washing, sending up tinyiridescent jets and fountains from their swiftly fluttering wings. It wasdelicious to Dominic. He felt very safe, very gay. Only a heavy ill-favoured tabby cat came from nowhere. It had designs upon the sparrows. Twice it climbed stealthily up the broken bricks and gas clinkers. Twicethe little boy drove it away. It was not a nice cat. It had a broad whiteface, deceitful little eyes, and grey whiskers. It declared it onlycaught sparrows for their good and for the good of the community. Itassured Dominic he was guilty of a grave error of judgment in attemptingto interfere. It said a great deal about moral responsibility and theheavy obligations persons of wealth and position owe to themselves. 

Just then Pascal Pelletier, carrying a square Huntley Palmer's biscuittin, containing an infernal machine, under his arm, his angeliccountenance radiant in the sunshine, came down the steps from the dining-room window. And, while Dominic ran to greet him, the cat crept backagain--its face was the face of Sir Abel Barking, and it made a spring atthe sparrows. But the pillar broke and the basin toppled over, pinningit, across the loins, down on to the clinkers under the edge of the stonelip. 

"Oh! you've spoilt my garden, you've spoilt my garden!" Dominic cried. "The basin has fallen. The sparrows will never wash in it any more. "

But Pascal Pelletier patted him on the head tenderly. 

"Do not weep over the fallen basin, very dear one, " he said. "Rather singaloud Te Deum in praise of the glorious goddess of Social Revolution whohas delivered the enemy of the people into our hands. This is no affairof cat and bird, but of the capitalist and the proletariat on which hebattens. So for a little space let the unholy creature lie therewrithing. Let it understand what it is to have a back broken by theweight of an impossible burden. Let it try vainly to drag its limbs frombeneath an immovable load. Observe it, let it suffer. Very soon we willfinish with it, and explode the iniquitous system it represents. See, inthe name of humanity, of labour, of the unknown and unnumbered millionsof the martyred poor, I set a match to this good little fuse, and, withthe rapidity of thought, blow blasphemous tyrant Capital into a thousandfragments of reeking flesh and splintered bone!"

But to the little boy, words and spectacle alike had become unendurablypainful. 

"No, no, Pascal, you cannot cure everything that way. It is not just, " hecried. And running forward with all his strength he lifted the stonebasin off the wounded creature--cat, man, beast of prey, modernfinancier, be it what it might. He stopped to gather it up in his arms, and, repulsive though it was, to comfort and protect it. But just thencame a thunderous rattle and crash knocking him senseless. 

Mr. Iglesias sat bolt upright in his chair, uncertain of his identity andsurroundings, shaken and bewildered. 

Upstairs, de Courcy Smyth--spent and stupefied by the writing of a would-be smart critique on the first-night performance of a screaming farce, for one of to-morrow's evening papers--had stumbled, upsetting the fire-irons, as he slouched across his room to bed. Iglesias heard the creak ofthe wire-wove mattress as the man flung himself down; and that familiarsound restored his sense of actualities. Yet all his mood was changed andsoftened. The return to childhood had made a strange impression upon him, filling him with a great nostalgia for things apparently lost, butexquisite; and which, having once been, might, though he knew not by whatconceivable alchemy of time or chance, once again be. Meanwhile, he musthave slept long, for the wind had grown chill. The voice of London, themonstrous mother, had grown weak and intermittent. And the earthly light, pulsing along the horizon, had grown faint, humbled and chastened by thewhiteness of approaching dawn. 

CHAPTER IV

A quarter-mile range of high unpainted oak paling, well seasoned, wellcarpentered, innocent of chink or shrinkage, impervious to the human eye. Visible above it the domed heads of enormous elm trees steeped insunshine, rising towards the ample curve of the summer sky. At intervals, with tumultuous rush and scurry, the thud of the hoofs of unseen horses, galloping for all they are worth over grass. The suck and rub of breechesagainst saddle-flaps, the rattle of a curb chain or the rings of a bit. A call, a challenge, smothered exclamations. The long-drawn swish of thepolo stick through the air, and the whack of the wooden head of itagainst ball, or ground, or something unluckily softer and more sentient. A pause, broken only by distant voices, and the sound, or rather sense, of men and horses in quiet and friendly movement; followed by thetumultuous rush and scurry, and all the moving incidents of the heard, yet unwitnessed, drama over again. 

For here it was that gallant and costly game beloved of Orientalprinces--rather baldly described to Mr. Iglesias yesterday by the driver ofthe Hammersmith 'bus as a "kind of hockey on horseback"--in very full swingno doubt. Only unfortunately Iglesias found himself on the wrong side ofthe palings. And, since he had learned, indirectly, from the observationsof the monumental police-sergeant--directing the stream of carriages atthe entrance gates--to other would-be spectators, that to the pologround, as to so much else obviously desirable in this world, there is"no admission except by ticket, " on the wrong side of these same palingshe recognised he was fated to stay. It was a disappointment, not to sayan annoyance. For he had come forth, in accordance with hisdetermination, to make observations and inquiries regarding that samematter of amusement. And, since the influence of that which is to be actsupon us almost, if not quite, as strongly as the influence of that whichhas been, the handsome, eager countenance of young Alaric Barking and thegraceful figure of his fair companion, as seen from the 'bustop, occurredvery forcibly in this connection to Dominic Iglesias' mind. He would goforth and behold that which they had gone forth to behold. He wouldwitness the sports of the well-born and rich. From these he elected, somewhat proudly, to take his first lessons in the fine art of amusement. So here he was; and here, too--very much here--were the palings, spelling failure and frustration of purpose. 

Fortunately unwonted exercise and the pure invigorating atmosphere tendedto generate placidity, and agreeable harmony of the mental and physicalbeing. It followed that active annoyance was short-lived. For a minute ortwo Mr. Iglesias loitered, listening to the moving music of the unseengame. Then, walking onward to the end of the enclosure, where the palingsturn away sharply at the left, he crossed the road and made for a woodenbench just there amiably presenting itself. It was pleasant to rest. Thewalk had been a long one; but it now appeared to him that the labour ofit had not been wholly in vain. For around him stretched a breezy common, broken by straggling bramble and furze brakes, and dotted with hawthornbushes, upon the topmost branches of which the crowded pinkish-whiteblossoms still lingered. From one to another small birds flitted with apretty dipping flight, uttering quick detached notes as in merry questionand answer. Through the rough turf the bracken pushed upward, uncurlingsturdy croziers of brownish green. Away to the right, beyond the railwayline, rose the densely wooded slopes of Roehampton and Sheen; while, against the purple-green gloom of them, the home signals of BarnesStation--hard white lines and angles tipped with scarlet and black--stoodout in high relief like the gigantic characters of some strange alphabet. Down the wide road motors ground and snorted; and carriages moved slowly, two abreast, the menservants sitting at ease, talking and smoking whilewaiting to take up at the police-guarded gate, back there towards theheat and smoke of London, when the polo match should be played out. 

But immediately London, the heat, and smoke, and raucous voice of it, seemed far enough away, the wholesome charm of the country very present. For a while Dominic Iglesias yielded himself up to it. Receptive, quiescent, contented, he basked in the sunshine, his mind vacant ofdefinite thought. But for a while only. For as physical fatigue wore off, definite thought returned; and with it the sense of his own loneliness, the oppression of a future empty of work, the bitterness of this enhancedby the little disappointment he had lately suffered. He leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees, looking at the bracken crozierspushing bravely upward through the rough turf to air and light. Eventhese blind and speechless things worked, in a sense, fulfilling the lawof their existence. He went back on the dream of last night, on his ownchildhood, the happiness, yet haunting unspoken anxiety of it, hisfather's fanaticism, fierce revolutionary propaganda, and mysteriouslyuncertain fate. 

"And to think that was the pit out of which I, of all men, was digged!"he said to himself. "Have I done something to restore the family balancein respect of right reason, or is the shame of incapacity upon me? Have Isacrificed myself, or cowardly have I merely shirked living? Heavenknows--I don't, only----"

But here his uncheerful meditations were broken in on by a voice, imperative in tone, yet perceptibly shaken by laughter. 

"Cappadocia!" it called. "Cappadocia! Do you hear? Come here, you littlereprobate. "

Then Dominic Iglesias perceived that he had ceased to be sole occupant ofthe bench. A dog, a tiny toy spaniel, sat beside him. It sidled veryclose, gazing at him with foolishly prominent eyes. Its ears, black edgedwith tan, soft and lustrous as floss silk, hung down in long lappets oneither side its minute and melancholy face. The tip of its red tonguejust showed. It was abnormally self-conscious and solemn. It planted onefringed paw upon Iglesias' arm and it snored. 

"Cappadocia!--well, of all the cheeky young beggars----"

This time the voice broke in unmistakable merriment, wholly spontaneous, as of relief, even of mischievous triumph; and Mr. Iglesias, looking up, found himself confronted by a young woman. She advanced slowly, hertrailing string-coloured lace skirts gathered up lazily in one hand. About her shoulders she wore a long blue-purple silk scarf, embroideredwith dragons of peacock, and scarlet, and gold. These rather violentcolours found repetition in the nasturtium leaves and flowers thatcrowned her lace hat, the wide brim of which was tied down with narrowstrings of purple velvet, gipsy fashion, beneath her chin. Under her armshe carried another tiny spaniel, the creature's black morsel of a headpeeping out quaintly from among the forms of the embroidered dragons, which last appeared to writhe, as in the heat of deadly conflict, astheir wearer moved. Her face was in shadow owing to the breadth of thebrim of her hat. Otherwise the sunshine embraced her whole figure, conferring on it a glittering yet singularly unsubstantial effect, asthough a column of pale windswept dust were overlaid, here and there, with splendour of rich enamel. 

And it was just this effect of something unsubstantial, in a wayfictitious and out of relation to sober fact, which struck DominicIglesias, robbing him for the moment of his dignified courtesy. Franklyhe stared at this appearance, so strangely at variance with the realitiesof his own melancholy thought. Meanwhile the little dog snuggled up yetcloser against him. 

"Yes--pray don't disturb yourself, " the young lady went on volubly "It'stoo bad, I know, to intrude on you like this. But as Cappadocia refusesto come to me, it is clear I have to come after Cappadocia. It's simplydisgraceful the way she carries on when one takes her out, makingacquaintances like this, casually, all over the place. The maids flatlyrefuse to air her, even on a string. They say it becomes a little toocompromising. But, as I explain to them, she's not a bit the modernwoman. She belongs to a stage of social development when pretty peopleinfinitely preferred being compromised to being squelched. " The speakerlaughed again quietly. "I'm not altogether sure they weren't right. Whenyou are squelched, finished, done for, it matters precious little whetheryou've been compromised first or not. Don't you agree? Any way, Cappadocia's not going to be squelched if she can help it. She's horriblyscared, or pretends to be, at motors. Let one toot and she forgets allher fine-lady manners, and just skips to anybody for protection. She'lltake refuge in the most unconventional places to escape. "

The part of wisdom, in face of this very forthcoming young person, wouldhave been no doubt to arise and withdraw. But to Dominic Iglesias, justthen, dogs, woman, conversation, were alike so remote and unreal, partmerely of the scene which he had been contemplating, that he failed totake them seriously. Divorced from routine, he was divorced, in a way, from habitual modes of mind and conduct. He neither consented norrefused, but just let things happen, attaching little or no meaning tothem. If this feminine being chose to prattle--well, let her do so. Really he did not care. 

"I am not very modern myself, " he said, with a shade of weariness. "Soperhaps your small dog had some intuition of a kindred spirit when takingrefuge with me. "

"All the same, you hardly date from the social era of Charles II. , Ifancy, " the young lady answered quickly. 

As she spoke she raised her chin with a slightly impudent movement, thusbringing her countenance into the sunlight. For the first time Iglesiasclearly saw her face. It was small, the features insignificant, the skinsmooth and fine in texture, but sallow. Her hair, black and very massive, was puffed out and dressed low, hiding her ears. Her lips were ratherpositively red, and the tinge of colour on either cheek, though slight, was not wholly convincing in tone. Even to a person of Mr. Iglesias'praiseworthy limitation of experience in such matters, her face wasvaguely suggestive of the footlights--would have been distinctly so butfor her eyes. These were curiously at variance with the rest of herappearance. They belonged to a quite other order of woman, so to speak--awoman of finer physique, of higher intelligence, possibly of noblerpurposes. They were arrestingly large in size, thereby helping to dwarfthe proportions of her face. In colour they were a rather light warmhazel, with a slight film over both iris and pupil, and a noticeablybluish shade in the whites of them. In these last particulars they werelike a baby's eyes; but very unlike in the reflective intensity of theirobservation as she fixed them upon Dominic Iglesias. 

"Cappadocia may be a fool about motors, " she remarked, "but she'suncommonly shrewd in reading character. She seems to like you, to havetaken you on, don't you know; and she's generally right. So I'll sitdown, please. Oh! no, no, come along now"--this as Mr. Iglesias rose andmade a movement to depart--"why, dear man, the very point of the wholeshow is that you should sit down, too. "

CHAPTER V

And so it came about that the Lady of the Windswept Dust sat at one endof the flat bench and Dominic Iglesias at the other, with the two absurdand exquisite little dogs in between. And the lady chattered. Her voicewas sweet and full, with plaintive tones and turns of laughter in it;and, though the vowel sounds were not wholly impeccable, having the tangin them common to the speech of the cockney bred, the aspirates happilyremained inviolate. And Iglesias listened, still with a curiousindifference, as, sitting in the body of the house, he might havelistened to patter from the other side of the footlights. It passed thetime. Presently he would get up, taking the whole of his rather sorrowfulpersonality along with him, and go out by the main entrance, while sheleft by the stage door--and so vanished, little dogs and all. 

"It's my habit to play fair, " she announced. "If I'm going to askpersonal questions at the finish, I always lead up to them by supplyingpersonal information at the start. It's mean to induce other people togive themselves away unless you give yourself away first--also, I observeit is usually quite unsuccessful. Well, then, to begin with, his name"--she gently poked the tiny spaniel beside her, causing it to wriggleuneasily all the length of its satiny back--"is Onions. Graceful anddistinguished, isn't it? But I give you my word I couldn't help myself. Cappadocia's so duchessy that I had to knock the conceit out of hersomehow, or it would not have been possible to live with her. She wasaltogether too smart for me--used to look at me as if I was a cockroach. So I consulted a friend of mine about it; for it's a little too much tobe made to feel like a black-beetle in your own house, and by a thing ofthat size, too! And he--my friend--said there is nothing to compare witha _mésalliance_ for taking the stuffing out of anyone. I own I was notexactly off my head about that speech of his. In a way it was rather afacer; but when I got cool I saw he was right. After all, he knew, and Iknew--and he knew that I knew----"

The lady paused. Her voice had taken on a plaintive inflection. Shelooked away at the domed heads of the enormous elm trees above the rangeof oak palings. 

"For the life of me I can't imagine why you're here, " she exclaimed, "instead of inside there with all the rest of them! However, we haven'tgot as far as that yet. I was telling you about my King Charleses. So myfriend brought me this one"--again she poked the little dog gently. "Hispedigree's pretty fair, but of course it's not a patch on Cappadocia's. Her prizes and the puppies--you don't mind my alluding quite briefly tothe puppies--are a serious source of income to me. But I believe shewould have ignored the defective pedigree. He is rather nice-looking, yousee, and Cappadocia is rather superficial. It is the name that worriesher--Onions, Willie Onions, that's where the real trouble comes in. Notlike it? I believe you. She's capable of saving up all her pocket-moneyto buy him a foreign title, as a rich, ugly woman I once knew did whomarried a man called Spittles. He was a bad lot when she married him, andhe stayed so. But as the Comte d'Oppitale it didn't matter. Vices becamemerely quaint little eccentricities. If he beat her it was with anumbrella with a coronet on the handle, and that made all the difference. Everything for the shop window, you see, with a nature like hers orCappadocia's. But I don't rub it in, I assure you I don't. I only remindCappadocia of the fact by calling her Mrs. W. O. When she's a pest and aterror. And that's better than smacking her, anyhow, isn't it?"

To this proposition Mr. Iglesias gravely assented. The lady drew herblue-purple scarf a little closer about her shoulders, causing theembroidered dragons to writhe as in the heat of conflict, while thesunlight glinted on the gold thread of their crests and claws, andglittered in their jewelled eyes. She gazed at the elm trees again. 

"It's quite nice to hear you speak, you know, " she remarkedparenthetically. "The conversation has been a little one-sided so far. Iwas beginning to be afraid you might be bored. But now it's all right. Iflourish on encouragement! So, to go on, my name is Poppy--Poppy St. John--Mrs. St. John. Rather good, isn't it?"

"Distinctly so, " said Mr. Iglesias. Her unblushing effrontery began toentertain him somewhat. And then he had sallied forth in search ofamusement. This was not the form of amusement he would have selected;but--since it presented itself?

"I'm glad you like it, " she returned. "I've always thought it rathertelling myself--an improvement on Mrs. Willie Onions, anyhow. Oh! yes, avast improvement, " she repeated. "My friend was quite right. I tell youit's an awful handicap to have a name which gives you away socially. Theman, the husband, I mean, may be the best of the good. Still, it'sdifficult to forgive him for labelling you with some stupidity like that. There's no getting away from it. You feel like a bottle of pickles, orboot-polish, or a tin of insecticide whenever a servant announces you. Everybody knows where you do--and don't--come in. But, to go on, I ambarely three--only I fancy you are the sort of person who is rather roughon lying, aren't you? Well, in that case, quite between ourselves--I amjust turned nine-and-twenty. "

She faced round on Dominic Iglesias, fixing on him those curiouslyarresting eyes, which at once emphasised and redeemed the commonness ofher face, as the sweetness of her voice emphasised and redeemed thecommonness of her accent, and the quietude of her manner and movementsmitigated the impertinence of her words and vulgarity of her diction. 

"And really that's about all it is necessary for you to know at present, "she asserted. "We shall see later, if we keep it up--if Cappadocia keepsit up, I mean, of course. She is fearfully gone on you now, that's clear;and she may be capable of a serious attachment. I can't tell. Anunfortunate marriage has been known to turn that way before now. Anyhow, we'll give her the benefit of the doubt. "

Poppy laughed softly, leaning forward and still looking at Mr. Iglesiasfrom under the shadow of her wide-brimmed hat. 

"Now, " she said, "come along. I've shown you I play fair all round, evento a stuck-up little monkey of a thing like Cappadocia. It's your turn tostand and deliver. I had been watching you and speculating for ever solong before our introduction. Tell me, who on earth are you?"

Iglesias' figure stiffened a little; but it was impossible to be annoyedwith her. To begin with, she was too unreal, too unsubstantial a being. And, to go on with, invincible good-temper is so very disarming. 

"Who am I? Nobody, " he answered gravely. 

"Bless us, here's a find!" Poppy cried, apparently addressing the littledogs. "Hasn't he so much of a name even as Willie Onions? Where's it goneto? It must be nearly as awkward for him as it was for the man who had noshadow. Come, though, " she added in tones of remonstrance, "you must playfair. Cards on the table and no humbugging. To put it another way, whatdo you do?"

"Since yesterday, nothing, " he answered. 

The young lady regarded him with increasing interest. 

"But, my gentle lunatic, " she said, "you didn't exactly begin youracquaintance with this planetary sphere yesterday--couldn't, you know, though you are very beautiful to look at. So, if you don't veryparticularly much mind, we'll hark back to before yesterday. "

Dominic Iglesias' gravity gave way slightly. He smiled in spite of hisnatural pride and reticence. 

"For over thirty-five years I was a clerk in a city bank. "

"Pshaw!" Poppy cried hotly. "And pray what variety of congenital idiot doyou take me for? If you are going to decline upon fiction, please let itbe of a higher order than that. I tell you it's unworthy of you!"

She pursed up her lips and moved her head slowly from side to side inhigh disgust. 

"Don't be childish, " she said. "Don't be transparently silly. If you wantto gas, do put a little more intelligence into it. You--you--out of sightthe most distinguished-looking man I've ever met except Lord--well, wewon't name names, it sounds showy--you a clerk in a city bank! There, excuse me, but simply--" Poppy snapped her fingers like a pair ofcastanets, making the little dogs start and whimper. "Fiddle!" she cried;"tell it to a bed-ridden spinster in a blind asylum!--Fiddle-de-dee!"

And for the life of him Dominic Iglesias could not help laughing. It wasa new sensation. It occurred to him that he had not laughed for years--hardly since the days of poor Pascal Pelletier and the little garden inHolland Street, Kensington. 

Poppy watched him, her eyes dancing. Her expression was very charming, wholly unselfconscious, in a way maternal, just then. But Iglesias washardly sensible of it. 

"That's good, " she said. "Now you'll feel a lot better. I saw there wassomething wrong with you from the start which needed breaking up. Now, suppose you quit inadequate inventions and just tell the truth. "

"Unfortunately, I have done so already, " Mr. Iglesias said. 

The lady paused a moment, her face full of inquiry and doubt. 

"Honest injun?"

The term was not familiar to her hearer, but he judged it to be of thenature of an asseveration, and assented. 

"And do you mean to tell me that for all those years you went throughthat drudgery every day?"

"I had my Sundays, " Iglesias answered; "and, since their invention, mybank holidays. Latterly I got three weeks' holiday in the summer, formerly a fortnight. "

Laughter had speedily evaporated; and, his harsher mood returning uponhim, Iglesias found a certain bitter enjoyment in setting forth theextreme meagreness of his life before this light-hearted, unsubstantialpiece of womanhood. Again he classed her with the absurd and exquisitelittle dogs as something superfluous, out of relation to sad and soberrealities. 

"And yet you manage to look as you do! It beats me, " Poppy declared. "Itell you it knocks me out of time completely. For, if you'll excuse mybeing personal, there is an air about you not usually generated by anoffice stool--at least, in my experience. Where do you get it from? Youcan't be English?"

"I am a Spaniard by extraction, " Mr. Iglesias said, with a slight lift ofthe head. 

"There now, my dear man, don't you go and freeze up again. We were justbeginning to get along so nicely, " Poppy put in quickly. "I am having acapital good time, and you're not having an altogether bad one, are you?But, tell me, how long ago were you extracted?"

"Very long ago. I was brought to England as a baby child. "

"Oh! I didn't mean it that way, " she returned. "I was not touching on theunpardonable subject of age; not that it would matter much in your case, for you are one of the lucky sort with whom age does not count. I onlymeant are you an all-round foreigner?"

"Practically--my mother was partly Irish. "

Dominic Iglesias looked away to those densely wooded slopes of Sheen andRoehampton, against the purple-green gloom of which the home signals ofBarnes Station--hard white lines and angles tipped with scarlet andblack--stood out like the gigantic characters of some strange alphabet. The air was sweet with the scent of new-mown hay. The birds flirted upand down the hawthorn bushes and furze brakes. It was all very charming;yet that same emptiness and distrust of the future were very present toIglesias. He forgot all about his companion, aware only that those twounbidden guests, Old Age and Loneliness, stood close beside him, claimingharbourage and entertainment. 

"Ah! your mother, " Poppy said slowly, with the slightest perceptibleinflection of mockery. "And she is alive still?"

Dominic Iglesias turned upon the poor Lady of the Windswept Dustfiercely. She had come too close, come from her proper place--were nother lips painted?--behind the footlights, and laid her hands upon thatwhich was holy. He was filled with unreasoning anger towards her--angertowards himself, too, that he should have departed from his habitualsilence and reticence, submitted to be cross-questioned, and listened toher feather-headed patter so long. He rose to his feet, for the momentyoung, alert, full of a pride at once militant and protective. 

"God forbid!" he said sternly. "Dear saint and martyr, she is safe fromall misreading at last. She is dead. "

He stood a moment trying to choke down his anger before addressing heragain. 

"It is time I should go, " he said presently. "I think we have talkedenough. "

But Poppy St. John presented a singular appearance. All the audacity haddeparted from her. She sat huddled together, looking very small anddesolate; her eyes--the one noble feature of her face--swimming withtears. 

"No, no; don't go, " she cried in tones of childlike entreaty. "Why shouldyou go? I like you, and I meant no harm. I've had the beastliest day, andmeeting you was a let-up. You did me good somehow. Cappadocia was quiteright in taking to you. I only wanted to know about you because--well, you are different. Pshaw, don't tell me. I know what I am talking about. You're straight. You're good right through. "

The words were poured forth so rapidly that Iglesias hardly gathered theexact purport of them. But one thing was clear to him--namely, that thisfrivolous and meretricious being must be human after all, since she couldsuffer. 

"Don't go, " she repeated. "I'm miserable. I'll explain. I'll tell you. Just sit down again. It would be awfully kind. You see, I've beenexpecting a friend. It was all-important I should see him to-day, becausethere were things to be said. I've been awake half the night screwing upmy courage to saying them. And then he never turned up. I got nerveswaiting hour after hour--anybody would, waiting like that. And I began toimagine every kind of pestilent disaster. "

Poppy swallowed a little and dabbed her pocket-handkerchief against hereyes. 

"I shall be all right in a minute, " she went on. "Do sit down, please. You say you're nobody and have nothing to do, so you can't very well bein a hurry. I am like this sometimes. It's awfully silly, but I can'thelp it. Some rotten trifle sets me off, and then I can't stop myself. Ibegin to go over all my worst luck. --Doesn't it occur to you there's noearthly good in standing? It obliges me to talk loud, and it's stupid totake all Barnes Common into our confidence. Thanks; that's very nice ofyou. --Well, you see when I'm like his, the flood-gates of memory areopened--which sounds pretty enough, but the prettiness is strictlylimited to the sound for most of us, at least as far as my experiencegoes. The water is generally a bit dirty, and there are too many deadthings floating about in it; and, when they reel by, as the current takesthem, they turn and seem to struggle and come half alive. "

She paused, hitching the embroidered dragons up about her shoulders. 

"That is why I put on this scarf to-day. It was given me by a man who wasawfully fond of me before--I married. He bought it in the bazaar atPeshawur, and sent it home to me just as he was starting on one of thoselittle frontier wars the accounts of which they keep out of the Englishpapers. And he was killed, poor dear old boy, in some footy littleskirmish. And this is all I've got left of him. "

Poppy spread out the ends of the scarf for Mr. Iglesias' inspection. 

"It must have cost a lot of money. The stones are real, you see; and thatgold thread is tremendously heavy. Just feel the weight. It was all hispeople's doing. They didn't consider me smart enough for him--or ratherfor themselves. They weren't anybody in particular, but they wereclimbing. The society microbe had bitten them badly. So they bundled himoff to India. What another pair of shoes it would have been for me ifhe'd lived! At least it seems so to me when I'm down on my luck, as I amto-day. But after all, I don't know. " Poppy began to be impudent, tolaugh again, though somewhat brokenly. "Sometimes I don't believe one cancount on any of you men till you are well dead, and then you're not muchuse, you know, faithful or unfaithful. "

She dabbed her eyes once more and looked at Mr. Iglesias, smilingruefully. 

"Life's a pretty rotten business, at times, all round, isn't it?" shesaid. "You must have found it so with that thirty years' drudgery in acity bank. By the way, what bank was it?"

And Dominic Iglesias, touched by that very human story, attracted, inspite of himself, by the frankness of his companion, a little shaken bythe novelty of the whole situation, answered mechanically:

"The bank? Oh, yes! Messrs. Barking Brothers & Barking of ThreadneedleStreet. "

For a moment Poppy sat silent, her mouth round as an O. Then she drew heropen hand down sharply behind poor Willie Onions, and shot the small dog, in a sitting position, off the bench on to the rough grass. His fringedlegs stuck out stiff as sticks, while his enormous lappets of ears flewup and back, giving him the most wildly demented appearance during thisbrief inglorious flight through space. 

"Catch birds!" she cried, "catch birds, I tell you! Think of your figure. My good child, take exercise or you'll be as round as a tub!"

She clapped her hands encouragingly, but the little animal, half-scared, half-offended, came closer, fawning upon her trailing string-colouredskirts. Poppy leaned down, resting her elbows upon her knees, and nappedat the unhappy Onions with her handkerchief. 

"Go away, you silly billy. Have a little decent pride, can't you? Don'tbestow attentions when they're unwelcome. " Then she addressed herself toMr. Iglesias, but without looking up. "I beg your pardon, all this mustseem rather abrupt. But sometimes one's duty to one's family takes one onthe jump, as you may say; and one repairs neglect right away also on thejump. But--but--there's one thing I should like to know--when I told youmy name just now--Poppy St. John, Mrs. St. John--you remember?"

"I remember, " he said. 

"Well, didn't it convey--didn't it mean anything special to you?"

"I am afraid not, " Iglesias answered. "You must pardon my ignorance, since I have lived very much out of the world. I know nothing ofsociety. "

"So much the better. The world is a vastly overrated place, and societyis about the biggest fraud going. " She left off teasing the little dog, sat bolt upright, and looked full at Dominic Iglesias, her eyes serious, redeeming all the insignificance of her features and those littledoubtful details of the general effect of her. "Don't make any mistakeabout either of them, " she said. "Let the world and society alone as youvalue your peace of mind and independence. They're dead sea fruit to alloutsiders such as--well--you and me. I hate them; only they've got me, and will have me in some form or other till the end, I suppose. But youare different, and I warn you"--Poppy's voice took on an odd inflectionof mingled bitterness and tenderness--"they are not a bit adapted for abeautiful, innocent, uncrowned king like you. "

She got up as she spoke, gathering her trailing skirts about her, andcalled sharply to the little dogs. 

"The dew is rising, " she said, "and Cappadocia's a regular cry-baby ifshe gets her feet wet. I must take her home. There's my card. You see theaddress? You can come when you like, only let me know the day beforehand, because I should be sorry to have people with me or to be out. Cappadocia'll want you. So shall I. You do me good. I'll play quite fair, I promiseyou. Good-night. "

The sun stood in a triumph of crimson and gold, which passed into thefine blue of a belt of earth mist. Eastward the sky blushed, too, butwith brazen blushes, tarnished by the breath of the great city--the pureblue of the earth mist exchanged for the murk of coal smoke and thethousand and one exhalations of steaming streets, public-houses andrestaurants. Poppy St. John walked slowly along the footpath, her figuredyed by the effulgence of the skies to the crimson and gold of her name. About her shoulders the embroidered dragons glittered as she moved, whilethe two tiny spaniels trotted humbly at her heels. For a brief space sheshowed absolutely resplendent. Then suddenly an interposing terrace ofsmart much-be-balconied and beflowered little houses shut off the sunset;and in their rather vulgar shadow Dominic Iglesias, watching, beheld hertransformed into the unsubstantial, in a way fictitious, Lady of theWindswept Dust and of the footlights once again. 

CHAPTER VI

That weekly ceremony--well known to Trimmer's Green--Mrs. Lovegrove'safternoon at-home, was in progress. She wore her black satin gown, andher white Maltese lace fichu, just to give it a touch of summerlightness. It must be added that she was warm and uncomfortable, havingconscientiously superintended preparations in respect of commissariat inthe overheated atmosphere of the basement; hurried upstairs--the imaginedtinkle of the front-door bell perpetually in her ears--to pull her staysin at the waist and project herself into the aforementioned officialgarments--a very trying process on a June day to a person of amplecontours and what may be described as the fluidic temperament. Later shehad cooled off, or tried so to cool--for on such occasions there isinvariably some window-blind, ornament, or piece of furniture actively inneed of straightening--sitting in her somewhat fog-stained and sun-fadeddrawing-room during that evil period of waiting in which the intendinghostess first suffers acute mortification because she is "quite surenobody will come, " and then gets hot all over from the equally agitatingcertainty that everybody she has ever known will appear simultaneously, and that there will be neither cakes nor conversation enough to go round. 

But this disquieting and oft-repeated preface to the afternoon'sfestivity was now happily over. And the good lady, oblivious ofdiscomfort and a slightly disorganised complexion, sat purring withsatisfaction upon her best Chesterfield sofa, Dr. Giles Nevington besideher. "Pleasure, not business, to-day, Mrs. Lovegrove. For once I am goingto make no demands on my faithful and able coadjutor. This call is apurely friendly one--no subscription lists of any sort or description inmy pocket, " the clergyman had said in his resonant bass when clasping herhand. --A large, dark, clean-shaven man of forty, a studied effect ofgeniality and benevolence about him, slightly tempered, perhaps, by coldand watchful blue-grey eyes, fixed--so said his detractors--withunswerving determination upon the shovel-hat, apron, and gaiters of theAnglican episcopate. 

Rhoda Lovegrove, however, was very far from being among the detractors. She relished this gracious speech enormously. She also approved theattitude of her husband at this juncture; since, with praiseworthy tact, he engaged the attention of her two other guests, a Mrs. Ballard and herdaughter. These ladies were rich, the younger had pretensions both tobeauty and fashion; but their present was, alas! stained byNoncomformity, their past contaminated by association with retail trade. At the entrance of the vicar, remembering these sad defects, GeorgeLovegrove rose to the occasion. Gently, but firmly, he pranced round themheading them towards the doorway. 

"Who are those?" Dr. Nevington inquired, with some interest. "Notparishioners, I fancy. "

"Not in any true sense, " Mrs. Lovegrove replied. "Dissenters, and I amsorry to say rather spiteful against the Church. "

The clergyman leaned back and crossed his legs comfortably. 

"Ah! well, poor human nature! A touch of jealousy perhaps, " he remarked. 

Mrs. Lovegrove beamed. 

"Very likely--still I should be just as well pleased not to continuetheir acquaintance. I don't like to hear things that are disrespectful. Ishould have ceased to call, but relatives of theirs are old friends ofMr. Lovegrove's mother's family. "

"Quite so, quite so, " the other returned. Even when silent the sound ofhim seemed to encompass him, as the roll of a drum seems to salute youwhen merely beholding that instrument. His speech filled all the room, flowing forth into every corner, sweeping upward in waves to the verycornice. The feminine members of his congregation found this mostbeautiful; having, indeed, been known to declare that did he preach inChinese, they would still receive edification and spiritual benefit. --"Quite so, " he repeated, "the breaking of old family ties is certainly tobe avoided. And then, moreover, we should always guard against anyappearance of harshness or illiberality in dealing with Christians fromwhom we have reason to differ in minor questions of doctrine or practice. We must never forget that the Nonconformists, though they went out fromus, do remain the brethren of all right-minded Churchmen in a veryspecial sense, since they have the great lessons of the Reformation atheart. I could wish that certain parties within the Church were animatedby the same manly and intelligent intolerance of idolatry andsuperstition as the majority of the dissenters whom I meet. Personally Ishould welcome greater freedom of intercourse, and a frequent interchangeof pulpits. "

"We know who'd be the gainers, " Mrs. Lovegrove put in gracefully. 

"Ah! well, I am prepared to believe that the gain might not beexclusively on one side. "

Mrs. Lovegrove folded her fat hands, purring almost audibly. He seemed toher so very wise and good. 

"That's so like you, Dr. Nevington, " she said. "As I always tell Mr. Lovegrove, we have a great responsibility in having you for our pastorand friend. You are a standing rebuke to many of us, being so wide-mindedyourself. "

"Hardly that, hardly that, " he answered with becoming modesty. "In myhumble way I do strive towards unity, that is all. Even towards theChurch of Rome I would extend a friendly and helpful hand. We cannot, ofcourse, go to her, yet she should never be discouraged from coming tous. --But here is your good husband back again--ceased to be unevenlyyoked with the unbeliever, eh, Lovegrove?"

"I was glad you took them away, Georgie, " Mrs. Lovegrove put in. "StillI'm sorry for you, for the vicar's been talking so nobly. You've missedsuch a lot. "

"Ah, hardly that. I have merely been giving your dear good wife a littlelecture on Christian charity. How is Mrs. Nevington? Thank you, wonderfull well, earnest and energetic as ever. I do not know how I couldmeet the demands of this large parish without her. "

"A true helpmeet, " purred Mrs. Lovegrove. 

"Truly so--and specially in all questions of organisation. She isaltogether my superior in administrative capacity. Indeed, it is anunderstood thing between us that I relieve her of what may be called thebad third of her marriage vow. If she will love and honour, I assure herI am ready to obey. A capital working rule for husbands--eh, Lovegrove?--always supposing they have found the right woman, as you and I have. "

In the midst of this delicious badinage the hostess had to rise toreceive further guests. Conflicting emotions struggled within her amplebosom--namely, regret at leaving that thrice happy sofa, andsatisfaction that others should behold the glory thereon so visiblyenthroned. 

"How d'ye do, Mrs. Porcher? How d'ye do, Miss Hart?" she said. "Very kindof you to come and call. Only a few friends as yet, but perhaps that'sjust as pleasant this warm afternoon. Dr. Nevington, as you see, and athis very best"--she lowered her voice discreetly. "So at home, so fullof great thoughts, and yet so comical--quite a privilege for all to hearhim talk. "

Encouraged by recent commendation, George Lovegrove again rose withpraiseworthy tact to the occasion. It may be stated in passing that, inperson, he was below the middle height, a thick oblong man, his figure, indeed, not unsuggestive of a large carapace, from the four corners ofwhich sprouted short arms and legs. His face was round, fresh-coloured, and clean to the point of polish. His yellowish grey hair, well flattenedand shining, grew far back on his forehead. And this, combined with smallblue eyes, clear as a child's, a slight inward squint to them, producedan effect of permanent and innocent surprise not devoid of pathos. Incharacter he was guileless and humble-minded. The spectacle of cruelty orinjustice would, however, rouse him to the belligerent attitude of theproverbial _brebis enragé_. He believed himself to be very happy--anadded touch of pathos perhaps--and was pained and surprised if it wasbrought home to him that others found life a less comfortable and kindlyinvention than he himself did. Hence reports of suicides worried himsadly. He would always have returned a verdict of temporary insanity, this being to him the only explanation conceivable of a voluntary exitfrom our so excellent present form of existence. Yet George Lovegrove wasnot without his little secret sorrow--who indeed is? A deep-seated regretfor nonexistent small Lovegroves possessed him, the instinct of paternitybeing strong in him. He loved children, and, when alone, often lingeredbeside perambulators in Kensington Gardens fondly observing theircontents. Yet not for ten thousand pounds sterling would he have admittedthis weakness, lest in doing so he should hurt "the wife's feelings. " Andit was in obedience to consideration for the said feelings that he nowthrew himself gallantly into the breach. For, after acting asappreciative chorus to an interlude of sonorous trifling on the part ofthe clergyman with the newcomers, he adroitly--under promise of showingher recent additions to his collection of picture postcards--detachedMiss Eliza Hart from the neighbourhood of the sofa and conveyed her tothe farther side of the room. Mrs. Porcher, neat, pensive, andsentimental, could be trusted to play the part of attentive listener; butthe great Eliza, as he knew by experience, was liable to developdangerous energy, to get a little above herself, shake her leonine maneof upstanding sandy hair, and become altogether too talkative, not to sayloud, for such distinguished company. Personally he had a soft spot inhis heart for Eliza. But, if she put herself forward, he feared for "thewife's feelings, " therefore did he skilfully detach her. 

And he had reason to congratulate himself on this manoeuvre, for Elizaundoubtedly was in a frolicsome humour. 

"Yes, " she remarked, contemplating the portrait of a celebrated actress. "That is very taking and stylish; and it is just what I should like tohave done with my Peachie. " This graceful _sobriquet_ was generallyunderstood to bear testimony to the excellence of Mrs. Porcher'scomplexion. "Now, if we wanted a gentleman guest or two more at any time, a picture postcard of her like this, just slightly tinted, in answer toinquiries?"

Miss Hart, her head on one side, looked playfully at Mr. Lovegrove. 

"What about a subsequent summons for over-crowding?" he chuckled. Thewhole breadth of the room, well understood, was between him and thewife's feelings, not to mention the august presence beside her upon thesofa. 

"No doubt that has to be thought of!" Eliza nodded sagely. "But is shenot looking sweeter than ever to-day? Do not pretend you have not noticedit, Mr. Lovegrove. There's no deceiving me! I know you. "

Like all mild and moral men, Lovegrove flushed with delight at anysuggestion that he was a gay dog, a dashing blade. His good, honest facetook on a higher polish than ever. 

"You are too clever by half, Miss Hart. "

"Well, somebody has to keep their wits about them, with such a love asPeachie to care for. I dressed her myself to-day. 'The pearl-grey gown ifyou like, ' I said, 'but not a scrap of black with it. Just a touch ofcolour at the throat, please. ' 'No, dear Liz, ' she said, 'it would callfor remark, since I have never done so since I lost Major Porcher. ' Butthere, Mr. Lovegrove, I insisted. For why she should go on wearingcomplimentary mourning all her life for a wretch that nearly broke herheart and ruined her, passes me. 'Forget the serpent, ' I said, 'and puton a little turquoise tulle pompom. ' Now just look at her!"

"Rather dangerous for some people, is it not?" Lovegrove inquired quiteslyly. 

"Hard on our gentlemen, you mean? Well, perhaps it is. But then theyalways have the sight of me to put up with. --No compliments, thank you. Ihave my eyesight and my toilet-glass, and they have let me know I was noVenus ever since I can remember. It would not do to depress our gentlementoo much. They might leave, and then wherever would Cedar Lodge be?"

Miss Hart became suddenly serious and confidential. "And that reminds me, "she went on. "I wanted to have a private word with you to-day about acertain gentleman. "

"Who may be?" the good George inquired. 

"You can guess, can't you? Your own candidate. "

"Mr. Iglesias?"

The lady nodded. 

"Peachie must be spared anxiety, therefore I speak, Mr. Lovegrove. Something is going on, and she is getting worried. You cannot approachthe person to whom we are alluding as you can either of our others. Rather stand-offish, even now after nearly eight years that he has beenwith us. Between you and me and the bedpost, Mr. Lovegrove, I am just awee bit nervous of that person. So if you could hint, quite inconfidence, what his plans may be for the future it would' be reallyfriendly. "

"Dear me, dear me! Plans? I do not quite follow you, Miss Hart. Nothingwrong with him, I trust?"

"That is just what we cannot find out. No spying, of course, Mr. Lovegrove. Neither Peachie nor I would descend to such meanness. Ourgentlemen have perfect liberty. We would scorn to put questions. But itis close on a week now since the person we are alluding to has been tothe City. "

"Bless me! You surprise me. He cannot have left Barking Brothers &Barking?"

The great Eliza shook her leonine mane. 

"I believe that is just exactly what he has done. "

"You do surprise me. I can hardly credit it. Nearly a week, and he aspunctual and regular as clockwork! I must run over this evening and catchhim. Something must be wrong. And yet why has he not been here? Dear me. Miss Hart, you----"

But the end of the sentence was lost in the bass notes issuing from thepresence upon the sofa. 

"Truly, the prosperity of the nation, " Dr. Nevington was saying, "of thisdear old England of ours that we so love, is wholly bound up with theprosperity of her national Church. I use the word prosperity in a plain, manly, straightforward sense. Personally I should rejoice to see thebonds of Church and State drawn closer. It could not fail to make for thewelfare of both. Then, among other benefits, we should see the poverty ofmany members of my cloth, which is now a crying scandal--"

"You do hear very sad tales from the country districts, certainly, "sighed Mrs. Lovegrove. 

"The state of affairs is more than sad, it is iniquitous. And thereforethe Church must assert herself. The individual minister must asserthimself, and claim a higher scale of remuneration. Help yourself, showpush and principle, cultivate practical aims--that is what I preach toyoung men reading for Holy Orders. We have no place in these days forvisionaries and dreamers. We want men who march with the times, who areinterested in politics, and can make themselves felt. "

So did the great voice roll on and outward. Very beautiful to thelisteners in sound--though, in sense, it may be questioned whether itconveyed very definite ideas to them--but highly embarrassing to thehouse-parlourmaid, whose feminine tones quite failed to make headwayagainst the volume of it. With the consequence that Dominic Iglesias wasleft standing in the shadow of the doorway unheeded. 

He was aware, and that not without surprise, how much these few days offreedom and leisure had quickened his perceptions. His mental attitudehad changed. His demand had ceased to be moderate. Hence he suffered ahundred offences to taste and sensibility hitherto unknown, or at leastunregistered. He knew when a woman was plain, when a conversation wasvapid or vulgar, a manner pretentious, a speech lacking in sincerity. Consciously he stood aside, no longer out of humility or indifference, but critically observant, challenging things however familiar, andpassing judgment upon them. For example, the unlovely character of Mrs. Lovegrove's drawing-room engrossed his attention--the dirty-browns andtentative watery blues of it, the multiplicity of flimsy, worthless, little ornaments revealing a most lamentable absence of artisticperception. In that fine booming clerical voice he detected a kindredabsence of delicate perception, a showiness born of very inadequateconception of relative values. Indeed, the voice and the sentiments givenforth by it, in as far as he caught the drift of them, raised a definitespirit of antagonism in him. The voice seemed to trample. DominicIglesias was taken with an inclination--very novel in him--to trample, too. He crossed the room, an added touch of gravity and dignity in hisaspect and manner. 

The clergyman gazed at him with some curiosity, while Mrs. Lovegrovesurged up off the sofa. 

"Mr. Iglesias! Well, of all people! Whoever would have expected to seeyou at this early hour of the day?"

"Talk of a certain gentleman and that gentleman appears, " Miss Eliza Hartwhispered. Then wagging her finger at her host, "Now don't you forgetthat little question of mine. Find out his intentions, just, as you maysay, under the rose. But there's Peachie signalling to go. "

In the ensuing interval of farewells, which were slightly protractedowing to friskiness on the part of the fair Eliza, Iglesias found himselfstanding beside the clergyman. The latter still regarded him withcuriosity. But, whatever his faults, not his worst enemy could accuse Dr. Nevington of being a respecter of persons unless he was well assuredbeforehand whom such persons might be. He therefore turned to Iglesiaswith the easy air of patronage not uncommon to his cloth, as one whoshould say: "My good sir, don't be afraid. I am a man of the world aswell as a Christian. I will handle you gently. I won't hurt you. "

"I think I caught a foreign name, " he remarked. "You are paying a visitto London? I hope our capital makes an agreeable impression upon you. "

"The visit has been of such long duration, " Iglesias answered, "thatimpressions have, I am afraid, become slightly blurred by usage. "

"Ah! indeed--no doubt that happens in some measure to all of us. I am tounderstand that you are a resident?"

Iglesias assented. 

"In this district?"

Again he assented. 

"Indeed. Really, I wish I had known it sooner. It always gives mepleasure to meet persons of another nationality than my own. Intercoursewith them makes for liberality of view. It often dispels anti-Englishprejudice. I am always glad to be helpful to strangers. "

"You are very kind, " Iglesias said with gravity. 

"Not at all--not at all. I hold very practical views not only regardingthe duties of the Englishman to the alien, but of the pastor towards hisflock. But I find it almost impossible, I regret to say, to becomepersonally acquainted with all my parishioners. My curates are capitalyoung fellows--earnest, active, go-ahead. But in a large area such asthis there is always a shifting population with which the clergy, howeverenergetic, find it difficult to keep in touch. We are obliged todiscriminate between dwellers and sojourners. As soon as any person isproved to be a _bona fide_ dweller my curates pass his or her name on tome, and either I or my wife call in due course. "

Dominic Iglesias permitted himself to smile. 

"An excellent system, no doubt, " he remarked. 

"I find it works very well on the whole. But no system is infallible. There must be occasional oversights, and you have been the victim of one. I mention this to disabuse your mind of the idea of any intentionalneglect. Well, Mrs. Lovegrove, and so our good friends Mrs. Porcher andMiss Hart have gone--estimable women both of them in their own line. Iought to be running away, too, and I have just been having a word withyour other guest here, Mr. ----"

"Iglesias, " Dominic put in coldly. He was in a state of pretty highdispleasure. To hear his name mispronounced might, he felt, precipitate acatastrophe. 

"Iglesias?--ah! yes, thank you--I have been explaining to Mr. Iglesiasour system of parochial visiting and quoting our well-known joke aboutthe dwellers and sojourners. You remember it? He has, I regret to find, been counted among the latter, while he has qualified as one of theformer. The mistake must be remedied. Well, good-by to you, Mrs. Lovegrove; I shall see your good husband on my way downstairs. Good-dayto you, Mr. Iglesias. I shall hope to meet you again. "

And with that he, and the encompassing sound of him, moved towards thedoor. Mrs. Lovegrove subsided upon the sofa. The supreme glory haddeparted, yet an afterglow from the effulgence of it remained in herbeaming face as she looked up at Mr. Iglesias. 

"It was a good fairy that brought you in so early to-day, " she said. "Really, I am pleased you should have had the chance to meet Dr. Nevington. And I could see he was quite taken with you, by the way hebegan to talk before I had the chance to introduce you. But that's thevicar all over! He never is one to stand upon ceremony. "

"So I can believe, " Dominic said. 

"You saw it? Ah, part of his thoughtfulness, wanting to put everybody attheir ease. And I'm sure if there's one thing more disheartening thananother, it is to have two of your friends standing up side by side, asstiff as a couple of pokers, without so much as a word. I know I am tooready to enter into conversation with strangers; but if there is a thingI cannot bear, it's any appearance of coolness. "

She passed her handkerchief round her forehead and across her lips. Shewas marshalling her energies for a daring effort. 

"Very warm, is it not?" she remarked, perhaps superfluously. Then shecame to the point. "I know you are not very much of a churchgoer, Mr. Iglesias. "

"I am afraid not"--he paused a moment. "You see, I was born and broughtup in another faith. "

"Yes--so George has told me. But I am sure none of us would ever be soilliberal as to throw that up against you. The vicar has been talking sobeautifully about Christian charity; and we all know it was a thing youcould not help. It was your misfortune, anybody would understand that, not your fault. Too, it's all over long ago and forgotten. "

Dominic looked rather hard at her; but it was clear her words wereinnocent of any intention of offence. 

"I suppose it is, " he said sadly, Old Age and Loneliness laying theirhands upon him, for some reason, very sensibly once again. 

"Not that that's anything to be otherwise than thankful for, " she added, with a slightly misplaced effort at consolation. "Of course anyone mustfeel how providential it is to be saved from all those terrible falsedoctrines and practices--not that I know anything about them. There's somuch, don't you think, it is so much better not to know anything about. Then one feels more at liberty to speak. "

Mr. Iglesias smiled. 

"I am not sure that the matter had occurred from exactly that point ofview before. "

"Really now, and a clever person like you!" Mrs. Lovegrove passed herhandkerchief across her forehead again. "George has a wonderful opinionof your cleverness, you know. And that is why I have always wished youand the vicar could be brought together. I have--yes, I own to it--I havebeen afraid sometimes you were a little unsettled about religion, andthat it might unsettle Georgie, too. But I knew if you once met the vicarthat would all be set right. As I often say to George, let anybody just_see_ Dr. Nevington and then they will begin to have an inkling of allthey miss in not hearing him in the pulpit. "

But here, perhaps fortunately, the master of the house trotted back. He, too, beamed. He was filled with innocent rejoicing. Had he notsuccessfully protected the wife's feelings, and was not Iglesias--whoremained to him a wonderful being, stirring whatever element of romancemight be resident in his guileless nature--present in person?

"Why, what's the meaning of this, Dominic?" he chuckled. "You've turnedover a new leaf, gadding round to at-home days! Where's ThreadneedleStreet? What's come over you?"

"Threadneedle Street and I have agreed to part company. "

"What, for good? Never?" this from both husband and wife. 

"Yes, for good, " Iglesias said. 

Mr. Lovegrove ceased to beam. He became anxious again, and consequentlysolemn. 

"Well, you do surprise me, " he said. "Nothing gone wrong, I trust? Notany unpleasantness happened?"

"None, " Iglesias answered. In breaking the news to these kindly butrudimentary souls he had determined to treat it very lightly. "I havecome to the conclusion that I have worked long enough. It is a mistake torisk dying in harness. You retired, Lovegrove, three years ago. I amgoing to look about me a little and see what the rest of the world isdoing. "

"You'll miss the bank, and feel a little strange at first. Georgie did, though he had his home to interest him, " Mrs. Lovegrove remarked. 

"Undoubtedly George was more fortunate than I am, " Iglesias replied, inhis most courtly manner. 

"Not but that all that could be easily remedied, " she added, with a touchof archness. Then Mr. Iglesias thought it time to depart. In the hall hishost held him, literally by the buttonhole, looking up with squintingblue eyes into his face. 

"It's all rather sudden, Dominic, " he said. "I do not want to intrudeupon your confidence; but if there is anything behind, anything in whichI can help?"

Mr. Iglesias shook his head. 

"Nothing, my good old friend, " he said. 

"The wife's right, you know. You'll miss the bank, the regular hours, andthe occupation. She's quite right. I did at first. "

"I know. But already I have pretty well got through that phase, I think. "

"Ah, you have a bigger mind than mine. You can rise to a wider view. Change affects a commonplace man like myself most. I was dreadfully lostat first--more than the wife knew. Females are very sensitive, and itwould have hurt her to know all I felt. If the Almighty is good enough togive a man a faithful woman to look after him, he can't be too scrupulousin sparing her pain--at least, so I think. " Suddenly his tone changed. "But you are not going to leave us, Dominic?--you are not going to move, I do hope?"

He was mindful of his promise to Eliza Hart, but he was also mindful ofhimself. It had occurred to him for how very much in the interest andpleasure of his life Dominic Iglesias really stood. 

"Why, should you regret my going? Should you miss me?" the other asked, struck by his tone. 

"Miss you, " he said, "and after a friendship covering forty years! I knowyou are my superior in every way. I know I am not on your level. All theadvantage is on my side in our friendship, always has been. But that isjust where it is. Why, you know, Dominic--next to the wife of course--allalong you have been the best thing I had. "

Then it came to Iglesias, looking down at him, that among the manymillions of his fellow-mortals, this whimsical childlike being stoodnearest to him in sympathy and in love. The thought moved him strangely, at once deepening his sense of isolation and lessening the load of it. 

"In that case I will not move. I will stay here, at Trimmer's Green, " hesaid. 

When Mr. Lovegrove reentered the sun-faded drawing-room his wife greetedhim in these words:

"Well, I have been thinking it all over, Georgie, and we shall only bedoing our duty by Mr. Iglesias if we send for your cousin Serena. For mypart, I don't trust Mrs. Porcher. Did you see that fly-away blue bow?Those who seem so soft are often the deepest. And widows have all sortsof little cunning ways with them. " She rose from the thrice happy sofa. "I was gratified to have Dr. Nevington and Mr. Iglesias meet. But wecertainly will have to send for Serena, " she said. 

CHAPTER VII

Mr. Iglesias crossed Trimmer's Green in the dusty sunshine. He hadengaged to stay; and, indeed, he asked himself what person, what objectsor interests there were to take him else-whither? Nevertheless, thepromise seemed, somehow, a limiting of possibility and of hope. It wasdestiny. London, very evidently, having got him, did not mean to let himgo. And London was not attractive this evening, but blouzy and jaded fromthe heat. He passed on into the great thoroughfare and turned eastward, absorbed in thought. Children cried. A pungent scent of over-ripe fruitcame from barrows in the roadway and open doors of green-grocers' shops. Tempers appeared to be on edge. Workmen, pouring out from a big block offlats under construction on the left, jostled him in passing, not ininsolence, but simply in inattention. Their language was starred withsanguinary adjectives. The noise of the traffic was loud. Iglesias turnedup one of the side streets leading on to Campden Hill. It was quieterhere and the air was a trifle purer. Halfway up the hill he hesitated. There was a shrine to be visited in these regions--in it stood an altarof the dead. And above that altar, in Iglesias' imagination, hung thepicture of a woman, beautiful, and, to him, infinitely sad. 

He turned eastward again and made his way into Holland Street. He rarelyhad the courage to go back there. He had never reentered the house. Butthis evening he was taken by the desire to look on it all once again. Forhe was still pursued by the disquieting question as to whether he hadshirked the possibilities of his life, or had sacrificed them to a higherduty than any duty of personal development. If the latter, however barrenof active happiness both past and present, he would be in his own eyesjustified, and desolation would cease to have in it any flavour of self-contempt. Perhaps this dwelling-place of his childhood, youth, and whatshould have been the best of his manhood, might help to answer thequestion and set his doubts at rest. 

A board--"To Let"--was up on the narrow iron balcony of the dining-room. Iglesias rang, and after brief parley with the caretaker--a neat bald-headed little old man, in carpet slippers and a well-brushed once-smartbrown check suit, altogether too capacious for his attenuated person--wasadmitted. 

"The place is quite empty save for my bits of sticks in the basement, sir, " he said. "You are at liberty to go where you please. I am afflictedwith the asthma and am glad to avoid mounting the stairs. " He ended upwith a husky little cough. So Iglesias passed through the vacant houseunattended. 

He received a pathetic yet agitating impression. The rooms were evensmaller than he had supposed. They were gloomy, too, from the worn paintof the high wainscots and discoloration of the low ceilings. All thewindows were shut and the atmosphere was close and faint. The cornerswere thick with crouching shadows, merely awaiting the cover of night, asit seemed to Iglesias, to take definite shape, stand upright, and comeforth to possess and people all the house. Even now it belonged sosensibly to them that his own reverent footsteps sounded to him harshlyintrusive upon the bare, uneven floors. At intervals, downstairs in thebasement, he could hear the little old caretaker's husky cough. 

And it was strange to him to consider what those crouching shadows mightrepresent. Not the ghosts of human beings--in such he had small belief--but an aftermath of human emotions, purposes, and passions, formulated orendured in this apparently so innocent place. To his knowledge theorigins of revolution had seethed here. The walls had listened to detailsof political intrigue, of projected assassination, to vehementdeclarations of undying hate. Of the men who had plotted and dreamedhere, uplifted in spirit by the magic of terrible ideas, none were left. One by one they had gone out into the silence to meet death, swift-handedor heartlessly lingering, as the case might be. And what had theyactually accomplished? he asked himself. Had their death, often as mustbe surmised of a sufficiently hideous sort, really advanced the cause ofhumanity and helped on the birth of that Golden Age, in which Justiceshall reign alongside Peace? Or had these men merely wasted themselves, adding to the sum total of human confusion and wrong; and wasted thehearts and happiness of those allied to them by ties of friendship and ofblood, leaving the second generation to repair, in so far as it might, the ruin which their violence had worked? Dominic Iglesias could not say. But this at least, though it savoured of reproach, he could not disguisefrom himself--namely, that out of the intemperate heat and fierceness ofthese men's thought and action had come, as a necessary consequence, thenarrow opportunities and cold isolation of his own. 

"As physically, so morally, spiritually, socially, " he said to himself, "the younger generation pays the debts contracted by the generationimmediately preceding it. Justice, indeed, reigns already, always hasdone so--. Justice of a rather tremendous sort. But peace?--Peace isstill very much to seek, both for the individual and the race. "

Iglesias visited his mother's bed-chamber. He visited his former nursery. Then he visited the drawing-room, the heart of this very pathetic shrinewhere the altar of his dead was, almost visibly set up. To this room, during the many years of his mother's mental illness, he had come backdaily after work; and had ministered to her, suiting his speech to herpassing humour, trying to distract her brooding melancholy, and to sootheand amuse her as though she was an ailing child. Thank God, there wasnothing ugly to remember regarding her. She had never been harsh orunlovely in her ways. Still, the strain of constant intercourse with herhad been very great--how great Iglesias had hardly realised until now, ashe stood in the centre of the room reconstructing its former appearancein thought and replacing its familiar furnishings. 

There to the left of the further window, overlooking the garden, she hadalways sat, so that the light might fall upon her needlework--very fineIrish lace, in the making of which nearly all her waking hours werespent. She had learned the beautiful art as a young girl in her conventschool; and her skill in it was great. In those sad later years when hermind was clouded the intricate designs and endless variety of delicateand ingenious stitches had come to have symbolic meanings for her full ofmystic significance. In them she poured forth her soul, as another mightpour it forth in music, finding there an imaginative language farsurpassing, in its subtlety of suggestion, articulate speech. There weredeserts of net, of spider's web fineness, to be laboriously traversed;hills of difficulty to be climbed, whence far horizons disclosedthemselves; dainty flower-gardens, crossed by open paths, and hedgedabout with curves, sinuous and full of pretty impediments. And therewere, to her, vaguely agitating and even fearful things in this laceworkalso--confusions of outline, broken purposes, multiplicity of opposingintentions, struggle of good and evil powers in the intricacies of somerich arabesque; or monotonous repetitions of design which distressed heras with the terrors of imprisonment and of unescapable fate. She wasfilled with feverish anxiety until such portions of her self-imposedtask were completed. Then she would be very glad. And Iglesias, glancingup silently from the pages of his newspaper or book, would see the sorrowpass out of her face as she leaned back in her chair and softly laughed. And he would perceive that, in the achievement of those countless butcarefully ordered stitches, she had also achieved some mysterious victoryof the spirit which, for a time at least, would give her freedom of souland content. As a boy he had been rather jealous of her lacemaking, declaring that it was dearer to her than he himself was. But as he grewmore experienced, more chastened, and, it must be added, more sad, he hadcome to understand that it veritably was as speech to her--though speechwhich he could but rarely interpret--expressing all that she could not, or dared not, otherwise express, all the poetry of her sweet, brokennature, its denied aspirations in religion, its tortured memories ofdanger and of love. 

Now, standing in the centre of the empty room, and looking at the placebeside the window where she habitually sat, Iglesias seemed to see oncemore, as he had so often seen in the past, her fine-drawn profile andsoftly waved upturned hair, her head and shoulders draped in a blackmantilla, the lines of which followed those of her figure as she bentover her work. He could see the long delicate white hands movingrhythmically, with the assurance of perfected skill, over the web in itsvarying degrees of whiteness from the filmy transparency of the netfoundation to the opacity of the closely wrought pattern. Those hands, intheir ceaseless and exquisite industry, had troubled his imagination attimes. For too often it had seemed as though they alone were reallyalive, intelligent, sentient, the rest of the woman dead. The impressionwas so vivid even yet--though Iglesias knew it to be subjective only, projected by the vividness of remembrance--that instinctively he crossedthe room, laid his left hand upon the moulding of the high wainscot, leaned over the vacant space which appeared to hold her image, and spokegently to her, so that the moving hands might find rest for a moment, while she recognised and greeted him, looking up. 

There had always been a pause before the words of greeting came, whileher consciousness travelled back, hesitatingly, to the actual andmaterial world around her from the world of emotion and phantasy in whichher spirit lived. There was a pause now, a prolonged silence, broken atlast by the husky cough of the little old caretaker downstairs. Thevacant space remained vacant. Nevertheless Dominic Iglesias received bothrecognition and greeting, and from these derived inward assurance thatall was well--that he was justified of his past action, that he had notshirked the possibilities of his life, but sacrificed them to a higherduty than any individual and private one. The present might be empty ofpurpose and pleasure, the future lacking in promise and in hope; yet tohim one perfect thing had been granted--namely, a human relationship ofunsullied beauty, notwithstanding all its sadness, from first to last. 

"And in the strength of that meat, one should surely be able to go manydays!" he said, as he straightened himself up. "Thank God, I never failedher. How far she realised it or not, is but a small matter. I am obscure, perhaps as things now stand wholly superfluous, still I have, at allevents, never grasped personal advantage at the expense of a fellow-creature's heart. "

Yet, even so, the longing for sympathy and companionship oppressed him asnever before. The sight of this place had stirred his affections and hisspiritual sense. His soul cried out for some language in which to expressitself--even though it were a language of symbol only, such as hismother had found in her lacemaking. How barren and vapid a thing was theexterior life, as all those whom he knew understood and lived it--his co-lodgers, his fellow-clerks, the good Lovegroves, his late employer, SirAbel Barking, even, as he divined, that sonorous Protestant clergymanwhom he had met this afternoon--as against the interior life, suggestionof which this vacant shadow-haunted house of innumerable memoriespresented to his mind! Was there any method by which the interior andexterior life could be brought into sane and fruitful relation, so thatthe former might sensibly permeate and dignify the latter?

The comfortable inward conviction, just vouchsafed him, that he wasjustified of his own past action, merely emphasised his consciousnessthat he was still very much adrift, with no definite port to steer for. He had, perhaps unwisely, promised George Lovegrove that he would stay onat Trimmer's Green, but what, after all, did that amount to? Even theexterior life was second-hand enough there; the interior life, as hejudged, practically non-existent. And so his staying must be ennobled bysome purpose beyond that of stepping across to smoke an after-dinner pipewith the good, affectionate Lovegrove man, or attending his estimablewife's "at homes. " During the last ten days Mr. Iglesias had striven, with rare, pathetic diligence, to cultivate amusement. True, the oakpalings had shut him out from Ranelagh; but, with that and a few otherexceptions, amusement, as practised in great cities, is merely a matterof cash. Therefore he had dined at smart restaurants, had sampledtheatres and music halls, had sat in the Park and watched the world and--in their more decent manifestations--the flesh and the devil drive by. Hehad to admit that unfortunately all this left him cold, had bored ratherthan entertained him. He had not felt out of place socially. His naturaldignity and detachment of mind were alike too strong for that; but he hadarrived at the conclusion that you must have learned the rudiments of theart of amusement in early youth if you are to practise it withsatisfaction to yourself in middle-age. And he very certainly had notlearned the rudiments--not, anyhow, according to the English fashion. Hehad been aware, during these social excursions, that he was a good dealstared at and even commented on. At first he supposed this arose fromsome peculiarity of his dress or manner. Then he understood that thecause of this unsolicited attention bore a more flattering character, andin this connection certain remarks made by the Lady of the Windswept Dustoccurred to his mind. But, Mr. Iglesias' pride being greatly in excess ofhis vanity--when the first moment of half-humorous surprise was passed--he found that these tributes to his personal appearance afforded him moredispleasure than pleasure. He turned from them with a movement ofannoyance, and turned from those places in which they were liable tomanifest themselves likewise. No, indeed, it was something other thanthis he had to find, something lying far deeper in the needs of humannature, if the emptiness of his days was to be filled and the hunger ofhis heart and spirit satisfied!

Pondering which things he went down the creaking stairs of the house inHolland Street, Kensington, leaving the empty and, to him, sacred roomsto the crouching shadows. He had had his answer from the one person whomhe had perfectly loved. And surely, in justifying the past, that answergave promise of hope for the future? The way would be made clear, themethod would declare itself. Let him have patience, only patience, asshe, his mother, had had when traversing deserts and climbing DifficultyHill in her lacework; and to him, also, should far horizons be disclosed. 

In the narrow hall the neat little old caretaker met him, huskilycoughing. 

"The rent is low, sir, " he said, "and the landlord is asking no premium. If you should wish further particulars, or to inspect the offices----"

But Mr. Iglesias put a couple of half-crowns into his hand. 

"No, " he answered, "I do not propose to take the house. Persons who weredear to me lived here once; and so I wanted to see it. As long as it isunlet I may come back from time to time. "

The old man shuffled his slippered feet upon the bare boards, lookingwith mild ecstasy at the coins. 

"And you will be most welcome, sir, " he said. "Your generosity happens tobe of great assistance to me--not that I wish it repeated. I am notgrasping, sir, but I am grateful. I have a taste in literature which myreduced circumstances do not allow me to gratify. I see the prospect ofmany hours' enjoyment before me. I thank you. "

CHAPTER VIII

And so it came about that a more tranquil spirit, touched with sobergladness, possessed Dominic Iglesias as, leaving that house of manymemories, he pursued his way down Church Street and, passing intoKensington High Street opposite St. Mary Abbot's Church, turned eastwardonce again. A few doors short of the gateway leading into Palace Gardenswas an unpretentious Italian restaurant where he proposed to dine. For itgrew late. He had spent longer than he had supposed in wordless prayerbefore the altar of his dead. The remembrance of the book-loving littlecaretaker's gratitude remained by him pleasantly, softening his humourtowards all his fellow-men. Simple kindness has great virtue, upliftingto the heart. To Iglesias it seemed those five shillings had beeneminently well invested. 

The streets were clearer now; and he walked slowly, enjoying the coolerair born of the sunset, and drawing from the leafy spaces of KensingtonGardens and the park. Presently he became aware of a figure, notaltogether unfamiliar, threading its way among the intermittent stream ofpedestrians along the pavement a few paces ahead. His eyes followed itreluctantly. In his present peaceful humour its aspect struck a jarringnote. Soiled white flannel trousers, a short blue boating coat, a softgrey felt hat, tennis shoes, a shambling and uncertain gait as of one whoneither knows nor cares whither he is going or why he goes--the wholeeffect purposeless, slovenly, inept. 

Then followed a little scene which caused Iglesias to further slacken hispace. For the seedy figure, reaching the open door of the restaurant, hesitated, standing between the clipped bay trees set in green tubs whichflanked the entrance on either hand. Stepped aside, craning upward to seeover the yellow silk curtains drawn across the lower half of the windows. Moved back to the door and stood there undecided. Finally, as a smilingwaiter, napkin on arm, came forward, the man crushed his hat down on hisforehead, forced his hands deep into his trouser pockets and turned awaywith an audible oath. This brought him face to face with Mr. Iglesias, who recognised in him his fellow-lodger, Mr. De Courcy Smyth. 

"What, you!" he exclaimed snarlingly, while his pasty face flamed. "Thereseems no escape from our dear Cedar Lodge to-night. "

Then with an uneasy laugh he made an effort to recover himself. 

"Really, I beg your pardon, Mr. Iglesias, " he continued, "but my nervesare villainously on edge. I have just met those two young idiots, Fargeand Worthington, waltzing home arm in arm like a pair of demented turtle-doves. Having to associate with such third-rate commercial fellows andwitness their ebullitions of mutual admiration makes a man of education, like myself, utterly sick. I came out this evening to get free of thewhole Cedar Lodge lot. You did the same, I suppose. Pray don't let mefrustrate your purpose. I sympathise with it. I will remove myself. "

The splotchy red had died out of the speaker's face. Notwithstanding thewarmth of the evening he stood with his shoulders raised and his knees alittle bent, as a poorly clad man stands in a chill wind on a wintry day. Iglesias observed his attitude, and in his present mood it influenced himmore than the surly greeting had done. 

"I intended to dine here, " he said quietly. "So, I fancy, did you. "

"Oh! I have changed my mind, thank you, " Smyth answered. 

"In consequence of my arrival, I am afraid?"

"No, I had other reasons. "

"In any case I should be very glad if you would reconsider your decisionand remain, " Dominic said. "I am, as you see, alone, and I have not oftenthe pleasure of meeting you. I shall be very happy if you will stay anddine with me, as my guest. "

Smyth gave an odd, furtive look at the open door of the restaurant andthe row of white tables within. A light had come into his pale blue eyes, making them uncomfortably like those of some half-starved animal. 

"I am at a loss to know why I should accept hospitality from you, " heremarked, at once cringingly and insolently. 

"Simply because you would give me pleasure by doing so. I should valueyour society. "

"I am not in evening dress. "

"Nor am I, " Dominic answered, with admirable seriousness. There wassomething pitiful to him in the conflict, obviously going forward in theother's mind, between hunger and reluctance to incur an obligation. Hecut it short with gentle authority. "There is a vacant table in thecorner where we can talk free from interruption. Let us go in and secureit. "

At the beginning of the meal the conversation was intermittent, theburden of supporting it lying with Mr. Iglesias. But, as course followedcourse, hot and succulent, while the _chianti_ at once steadied hiscirculation and stimulated his brain, de Courcy Smyth became talkative, not to say garrulous. Finally he began to assert himself, to swagger, thereby laying bare the waste places of his own nature. 

"You may think I was hard on Farge and Worthington just now, Mr. Iglesias, " he said. "I own they disgust me; not only in themselves, butas examples of certain modern tendencies which are choking the life outof me and such men as me. You business people are on the up grade justnow, and you know it. Whoever goes under, you are safe to do yourselvesmost uncommonly well. I don't mean anything personal, of course. I amjust stating a self-evident fact. Commerce is in the air--you all reek ofsuccess. And so even shopwalkers, like Worthington, and that thriceodious puppy Farge, grow sleek, and venture to spread themselves in thepresence of their betters--in the presence of a scholar and a gentleman, who is well connected and has received a classical education, likemyself. "

Smyth paused, turning sideways to the table, leaning his elbow on it, crossing his legs and staring gloomily down the long room. 

"But what do they know or care about scholarship?" he continued. "Whatthey do know is that the spirit of this unspeakably vulgar age is withthem and their miserable huckstering. They know that well enough and actupon it, though they are too illiterate to put it into words--know thattrade is in process of exploding learning, of exploiting literature andart to its own low purposes, in process of scaling Olympus, in short, andignominiously chucking out the gods. "

Dominic Iglesias had listened to this astonishing tirade in silence. Theman was evidently suffering from feelings of bitter injury, also he washis--Iglesias'--guest. Both pity and hospitality engaged him toendurance. But there are limits. And at this point professional dignityand a lingering loyalty towards the house of Barking Brothers & Barkingenjoined protest. 

"No doubt we live in times of commerce, rather than in those ofchivalry, " he remarked. "Still, I venture to think your condemnation istoo sweeping. One should discriminate surely between trade and finance. "

"Only as one discriminates between a little dog and a big one. The littledog is the easier to kick. I can't get at the Rothschilds andRockefellers; and so I go for the Farges and Worthingtons, " Smythanswered. "In principle I am right. Trade, commerce, finance, juggle withthe names as you like, it all comes back to the same thing in the end, namely, the murder of intellect by money. Comes back to the worship ofMammon, chosen ruler of this contemptible _fin de siècle_, and safe to beeven more tyrannously the ruler of the coming century. What hope, I askyou, is left for us poor devils of literary men? None, absolutely none. Just in proportion as we honour our calling and refuse to prostitute ourtalents we are at a discount. The powers that be have no earthly use forus. We have not the ghost of a chance. "

He altered his position, looking quickly and nervously at his host. 

"I beg your pardon, " he said. "For the moment I forgot you were on theother side, among the conquerors, not the conquered. Probably thisconversation does not interest you in the least. "

"On the contrary, it interests me very deeply, " Dominic replied gravely. 

"All the same, out of self-respect I ought to hold my tongue about it, Isuppose. For I have accepted the position, Mr. Iglesias. I have learnedto do that. Only on each fresh occasion that it is brought home to me--and it has been brought home abominably clearly to-night--my gorge risesat it. And it ought to be so. For it is an outrage--you yourself mustadmit--that a man who started with excellent prospects and with theconsciousness of unusual talents--of genius, perhaps--should be ruinedand broken, while every miserable little counter-jumper----"

He leaned his elbows on the table, hiding his face in his hands, and hisshoulders shook. 

"For I have talent, " he cried, in a curiously thin voice. "Before God Ihave. They may refuse to publish me, refuse to play me, force me to pickup scraps of hack-work on fourth-rate papers to earn a bare subsistence--at times hardly that. Yet all the same, no supercilious beast of aneditor or actor-manager--curse the whole stinking lot--shall rob me of myfaith in myself--of my belief that I am great--if I had justice, nothingless than that, I tell you, nothing less than great. "

Dominic Iglesias drew himself up, sitting very still, his lips rigid, notfrom defect, but from excess of sympathy. The restaurant was empty now, save for a man, four tables down, safely ensconced behind the pink pagesof an evening paper, and for a couple, at the far end, in the window--ayoung Frenchwoman, whose coquettish hat and trim rounded figure weresilhouetted against the yellow silk curtain, and a precocious black-haired youth, with a skin like pale, pink satin, round eyeglasses and anincipient moustache. His attention was entirely occupied with the youngwoman; hers entirely occupied with herself. And of this Dominic Iglesiaswas glad. For the matter immediately in hand was best conducted withoutwitnesses. He found it strangely engrossing, strangely moving. Howevervain, however madly exaggerated even, de Courcy Smyth's estimate ofhimself, there could be no question but that his present emotion was asactual and genuine as his past hunger had been. The man was utterly spentin body and in spirit. Offensive in speech, slovenly in person, yet thesedistasteful things added to, rather than detracted from, Iglesias' goingout of sympathy towards him. He had rarely been in contact with a fellow-creature in such abandonment of distress. It was terrible to witness; yetit gave him a sense of fellowship, of nearness, even of power, which hadin it an element of deep-seated satisfaction. While he waited for themoment when it should become clear to him how to act, his thoughttravelled back to the Lady of the Windswept Dust. He saw, not her over-red lips, but her serious eyes; saw her tearful and in a way broken, forall her light speech, her fanciful garments, and her antics with herabsurd little dogs amid the sweetness of sunshine and summer breeze onBarnes Common. She was far enough away, so he judged, in sentiment andcircumstance from the embittered and poverty-haunted man sitting oppositeto him. Yet though superficially so dissimilar, they were alike in this, that both had dared to reveal themselves, passing beyond conventionallimits in intercourse with him, Iglesias. Both had cried out to him intheir distress. And then, thinking of that recently visited altar of thedead, thinking of the one perfect relationship he had known--hisrelationship to his mother--it came to him as a revelation that notparticipation in the pride of life and the splendour of it--still lessassociation in mere pleasure and amusement--forms the cement which bindstogether the units of humanity in stable and consoling relationship; butassociation in sorrow, the cry for help and the response to that cry, whether it be help to the staying of the hunger of the heart and of theintellect, or simply to the staying of that baser yet very searchinghunger of overstrained nerves and an empty stomach. The revelation waspartial. Iglesias groped, so to speak, in the light of it uncertain anddazzled. But he received it as real--an idea the magnitude of which, ininspiration and application, he was as yet by no means equal to measure. Still he believed that could he but yield himself to it, and, inyielding, master it, it would carry him very far, teaching him thatlanguage of the spirit which he desired to acquire; and hence placing inhis hand that earnestly coveted key to an adjustment between the exteriorand interior life, the life of the senses and the life of the spirit, which must needs eventuate, manward and godward alike, in triumphantharmony. 

Meanwhile there sat de Courcy Smyth, blear-eyed, sandy-red bearded, unsavoury, trying, poor wretch, to rally whatever of manhood was left inhim and swagger himself out of his fit of hysteria. The Latin, howeverdignified, is instinctively more demonstrative than the Anglo-Saxon. Iglesias leaned across the table and laid his hand on the other man'sshoulder. 

"Wait a little, " he said. "Drink your coffee and smoke. We need not hurryto move. "

There was a pause, during which Smyth obediently swallowed his coffee, swallowed his _chasse_ of cognac. 

"I have made an egregious ass of myself, " he said sullenly. 

"No, no, " Iglesias answered. "You have honoured me by taking me into yourconfidence. It rests with me to see that you never have cause to regrethaving done so. "

"I believe you mean that. "

"Certainly I mean it, " Iglesias answered. 

Smyth's hands trembled as he took a cigar and held a match to it. 

"I am unaccustomed to meeting with kindness, " he said in a low voice. Thenrecovering himself somewhat, he began to speak volubly again. "Of courseI understand it all well enough. They are simply afraid of my work, thosebeasts of editors and playwrights. It is too big for them, they dare notface it and the consequences of it. It is strong stuff, Mr. Iglesias, strong stuff with plenty of red blood in it, and with scholarship, too. And so they pigeon-hole my stories and drames in self-defence, knowingthat if these once reached the public, either in print or in action, their own fly-blown anæmic productions would be hissed off the stage orwould ruin the circulation of the periodical which inserted them. It isall jealousy, I tell you, Mr. Iglesias, rank, snakish jealousy, bred byself-interest out of fear--a truly exalted parentage!"

He shifted his position restlessly, again setting his elbows upon thetable and fingering the broken bread upon the cloth. 

"At times, when I can rise above the immediate injustice and crueltywhich pursue me, " he went on, "I glory in my martyrdom. I range myselfalongside those heroes of literature and art, who, because they wereahead of the age in which they lived, were scorned and repudiated bytheir contemporaries; but they found their revenge in the worship ofsucceeding generations. My time will come just as theirs did. It must--Itell you it must. I know that. I am safe of eventual recognition; but Iwant it now, while I am alive, while I can glut myself with the joy ofit. I want to see the men who lord it over me, just because they haveinfluence and money, who affect to despise me because they are green withenvy and fear of me, brought to their knees, flattened so that I can wipemy boots on them. And--and"--he looked full at Dominic Iglesias, spreading out both hands across the narrow table, his pale prominent eyesblood-shot, his face working--"I want to see someone else--a woman--brought to her knees also. I want to make her feel what she has lost--curse her!--and have her come back whining. "

"And if she did come back, " Iglesias asked, almost sternly, "what wouldyou do? Forgive her?"

De Courcy Smyth's hands dropped with a queer little thud on the table. 

"I don't know. I suppose so. If she wanted to she could always get roundme. " Then he turned on Iglesias with hysterical violence. "But what doyou know? Why do you ask that? Are you among her patrons? I trusted you. I believed you were a gentleman in feeling--and it is a dirty trick toget me in here and fill me up with food and liquor, when you must haveseen my nerves were all to pieces, and then spring this upon me. Oh!hell!" he cried, "is there no comfort anywhere? Is everyone a traitor?"

And seeing his utter abjectness, Iglesias' heart went out to the unhappyman in immense and unqualified pity. 

"I am grieved, " he said gently, "if I have pained you unnecessarily. Buttruly I have sprung nothing upon you. How could I do so? I know nothingwhatever of your circumstances save that which you yourself have told meduring the last hour. "

"Then why did you ask that question about--about her?"

"Because, " Dominic answered, "I am ready to fight for you, in as far asyou will allow me to do so; but I do not fight against women. "

"You must have had uncommonly little experience of them then, " Smythanswered with a sneer. 

To this observation Mr. Iglesias deemed it superfluous to make anyanswer. A silence followed. The restaurant was empty, but for thewaiters, who stood in a little knot about the door amusing themselves bywatching the movement of the street. Looking round to make sure no onewas within hearing, Smyth rose unsteadily to his feet. 

"You meant what you said just now, Mr. Iglesias--that you were ready tofight for me?" he asked ungently yet cringingly. 

"Certainly I meant it, " Dominic replied, "the proviso I have made beingrespected. "

"Yes, yes, of course--but what do you understand by fighting for me?Money?"

Dominic had risen, too. He remained for a moment in thought. 

"Within reasonable relation to my means, yes, " he said. 

"I only want my chance, " the other asserted. "The rest will follow as amatter of course. You would risk nothing, Mr. Iglesias. It would be aninvestment, simply an investment. The play is not finished yet--I havebeen too disheartened and disgusted recently to be able to work at it. But it is great, I tell you, great. When it is done will you give me mychance, and take a theatre for me and finance a couple of _matinées?_"

Again Dominic Iglesias thought for a moment, and again, driven by thatstrange necessity of fellowship--though knowing all the while he wasputting his hand to a very questionable adventure--he replied in theaffirmative. 

CHAPTER IX

On that same evening, and at the same hour at which Dominic Iglesiasbound himself to the practical assistance of a personally unsavoury andprofessionally unsuccessful playwright, a conversation was in progressbetween two persons of more exalted social station in the drawing-room ofa pleasant house in Chester Square. The said drawing-room, mid-Victorianin aspect, was decorated in white and gold and unaggressive green. Theground of the chintz was very white, sprinkled over with bunches ofshaded mauve roses unknown to horticulture. Lady Constance Decies' tea-grown was white and mauve also. For she was still in half-mourning forher father, the late Lord Fallowfeild, who had died some eighteen monthspreviously at a very venerable age, and with a touching modesty as thoughhis advent in another world might savour of intrusion. He had always beena humble-minded man. He remained so to the last. 

The windows stood open to the balcony. And the effect of the woman, andof the soft lights and colours surrounding her, was reposeful. For at theage of fifty Lady Constance, though stately, was a mild and very gentleperson upon whom the push of the modern world had laid no hand. All theactive drama of her life had been crowded into a few weeks of the earlysummer of her eighteenth year; since which, now remote, period she hadenjoyed a tranquil existence, happy in the love of her husband and thecare of her children. Her pretty brown hair was beginning to turn greyupon the temples. Her eyes, set remarkably far apart, had a certainvagueness and a great innocence of expression. She was naturally timid, and cared but little for any society beyond that of her near relations. To-night she was particularly content, mildly radiant even, thanks to thepresence of her favourite brother, the present Lord Fallowfeild, and hisavowed admiration of her younger daughter--a maiden of nineteen, whostood before her, with shining eyes, in all the delicate splendour of aspotless ball-dress. 

"Yes, darling, you look very sweet, " she said. "Just lean down--the lacehas got caught in the flowers on your _berthe_. That's right. Don't keepyour father too late. "

"And in all things be discreet"--this from Lord Fallowfeild. "It's beenmy motto through life, as your mother knows. And you couldn't have abrighter example of the excellent results of it than myself. Good-night, my dear. Enjoy yourself, " and he patted her on the cheek, avoiding thekiss which she in all innocence proffered him. "Pretty child, Kathleen, uncommonly pretty, " he continued as the door closed behind the gracefulfigure. "It strikes me, Con, your girls have all the good looks of thefamily in the younger generation, with the exception of Violet Aldham. But she's getting pinched, a bit pinched and witch-like. Then she makesup too much. I have no prejudice against a woman's improving upon naturewhere nature's been niggardly. But it is among the things that'll keep. It's a mistake to begin it too early. In my opinion Violet has begun ittoo early--might quite well have given herself another ten years'grace. --Maggie's girls are gawky, you know; and, between ourselves, soterribly flat, poor things, both fore and aft. Upon my word, I'm notsurprised they don't marry. "

"I am afraid Maggie feels it a good deal, " said Lady Constance. Satisfaction mingled with pity in her soul. The disabilities of otherwomen's children are never wholly distressing to a tender mother's heart. "You see, she's so anxious the girls should not marry the bishop'schaplains; and yet really they hardly see any other young men. I think itis a very difficult position, that of a bishop's wife. "

Lord Fallowfeild smiled, settling himself back in the corner of the widesofa and crossing his long legs. He had thought more deeply on a goodmany subjects than the majority of his acquaintance supposed; with theconsequence that he occasionally surprised his fellow-peers by theacuteness of his observations in debate. Lord Fallowfeild, it may beadded, took his recently acquired office of hereditary legislator with acommendable mixture of humour and seriousness. 

"Their position is an anomalous one, " he said; "and an anomalous positionis inevitably a difficult one--ought to be SO; in my opinion. But that'snot to the point. We were talking, not about the episcopal ladies, butabout this little business of Kathleen's. So you believe Lady Sokeingtonhas views and intentions?"

"I know that she has. But you see, Shotover, " Lady Constance went on, returning to the name which that gentleman had rendered somewhatnotorious in earlier years by a record in sport, in debts, in amours, andin irresistible sweetness of temper--"I want to be quite sure he isreally good. Because the affair has not gone very far yet and it might beput a stop to--at least I hope and think it might--without making darlingKathleen too dreadfully unhappy. You do believe he really is good?"

Lord Fallowfeild leaned forward and rubbed a hardly perceptible atom offluff off his left trouser leg just above the ankle. 

"My dear Con, " he answered, "you are very charming, but you are a trifleembarrassing, too, you know. Haven't you learned, even at this time ofday, that very few men in our world are good in a good woman's sense ofthe word?"

Lady Constance's smooth forehead puckered into fine little lines. 

"Shotover, dear, " she said, "you're not getting embittered, I hope?"

"Me? Bless you, no, never in life!" he returned, smiling veryreassuringly at her. "Don't worry yourself under that head. I quarrelwith nobody and nothing, not even the consequences of my past iniquities. It is a very just world, take it all round, and has been kinder to methan I deserve. "

"Oh! but you do nothing, you--you are what--you won't think me rude, Shotover?--what the boys call 'very decent' now. "

Lady Constance spoke hurriedly, her colour rising in the most engagingmanner. 

"As decent as I know how, you dear soul, " he said, taking her hand inhis. "But that makes no difference to one's knowledge of one's own ways, in the past, or of the ways of other men. "

"But Alaric Barking?"

"Neither better nor worse than the rest. "

Then Lord Fallowfeild shut his small and beautiful mouth very tight, asthough he would be glad to avoid further cross-questioning. LadyConstance's forehead remained puckered. 

"It's dreadfully difficult when one's girls grow up, " she saidplaintively. "One can be comfortable about them, poor darlings, and enjoythem when they are in the nursery--even in the schoolroom, thoughgovernesses are worrying. They know so much about quantities of subjectswhich seem to me not to matter. One never refers to them in ordinaryconversation; and if one should be obliged to it is so easy to asksomebody to tell one. And yet they manage to make me feel dreadfullyuncomfortable and ignorant because I know nothing about them. But whenthey grow up----"

"Who, the governesses?" Lord Fallowfeild inquired. "I never supposed theystood in need of that process--thought they started out of the egg allfinished, as you might say, and ran about at once like chickens. "

"No, no, the girls, poor darlings, " Lady Constance replied. "One does getdreadfully anxious about them, Shotover, really one does--specially ifone has escaped something very frightening oneself and has been veryhappy--lest they should fall in love with the wrong people, or lest theyshould be anything which one did not know beforehand and then everythingshould turn out dreadful. I should be so miserable. I don't think I couldbear it. I know it is wrong to say that, because if one was really good, one would accept whatever God sent without murmuring. So I could formyself, I think. In any case I should earnestly try to. But for thechildren it is so much harder. If they were unhappy I should feel ashamedof having had them--as if I'd done something horribly selfish; because, you see, there can be nothing so delightful as having children. "

She looked at Lord Fallowfeild in the most pathetic manner, the cornersof her mouth a-shake. And he took her hand and held it again, touched bythe sincerity of her confused utterance, and the great mother-loveresident in her. Touched, perhaps, by the age-old problem of man andmaid, also. 

"Dear little Con, dear little Con, " he said, "I'm awfully sorry youshould be worried, but I'm afraid we've got to look facts in the face. And it's no kindness for me to lie to you about these matters. I don'tpretend to say what's right or what's wrong; I only say what it is. Wecan't make society, and the ways of it, all over again even to saveKathleen a heartache. I don't want to seem a brute, but she must justtake her chance along with the rest of you. Marriage always has been aconfounded uncertain business, and will always remain so, I suppose. Thesort of remedies excited persons suggest to mitigate the dangers of itare a good deal worse than the disease, in my opinion. Every woman has totake her chance. Every man has to take his, too, you know--and the chancestrikes some of us as such an uncommonly poor one, that, upon my honour, it seems safest to wash one's hands of it altogether. "

"But you're not unhappy, Shotover, dear? You're not lonely?" LadyConstance inquired anxiously. 

"Abominably so sometimes, Con. But I manage, oh! I manage. I have myconsolations"--he smiled at her, perhaps a trifle shamefacedly. "But nowabout Kathleen, " he went on, "as I say, she must take her chance alongwith the rest of you, poor little dear. After all, you took your chancewhen you married Decies, and it has not turned out so badly, you know. "

Lady Constance became radiant once more, as some mild-shining summer moonemerging from behind temporarily obscuring clouds. 

"Oh! but then, " she said, "of course that was so entirely different. "

Lord Fallowfeild patted her hand, his head bent, looking at her somewhatmerrily. 

"Was it, my dear, was it?--I wonder, " he said. 

She withdrew her head with a certain dignity. Notwithstanding hersoftness and tenderness, there were occasions--even with those she lovedbest--when Lady Constance could delicately mark her displeasure. 

"I think you are a little embittered, Shotover, " she asserted. 

He leaned back, still smiling, and shaking his head at her. 

"Old and wise--unpleasantly old, and not quite such a fool as I used tobe, that's all, " he answered. 

For a time there was silence, both brother and sister thinking their ownthoughts. Then the latter spoke. Like many gentle persons, she waspersistent. She always had been so. 

"I should be so grateful if you would tell me, because I think I ought toknow, and then I should try to turn the course of darling Kathleen'saffections before it all becomes too pronounced. Is there anyentanglement, anything amounting to what one calls an impediment, in--well--you understand--against Alaric Barking?"

Lord Fallowfeild got up, took a turn across the room, came back, andstood in front of her. 

"I wish you wouldn't, Con, " he said. "Upon my soul, I wish you wouldn't. It's a nasty thing for an old man, who has gone the pace in his daypretty thoroughly, to give away a lad who may have made a slip just atthe start, and who is doing his best to get his feet again and runstraight. Alaric Barking's a good fellow. I like him. I never have beenand never shall be partial to that family. Your sister Louisa cried uptheir virtues and their confounded solvency, in the old days, till shemade them a positive nuisance. She's not a happy way of inculcating amoral economic lesson, hasn't Louisa. But I own I'm fond of this boy. He's far the best of the whole lot--gentlemanlike, and a sportsman, andgood-looking--unusually so for one of that family--and, my dear, he'sdownright honestly in love with Kathleen. I've watched him--did so whenhe was down at Ranelagh one day last month with her and VictoriaSokeington--and I know the real thing when I see it. "

"But--but, I am afraid, Shotover, you mean me to understand there is someimpediment?" Lady Constance repeated. 

"Oh! well, hang it all, I'm awfully sorry, but if you are determined tohave it, Connie, perhaps there is. Only for heaven's sake don't be in toomuch of a hurry. Between ourselves, I happen to know the boy's doing hisbest to shake himself free in an honourable manner. So don't rush thebusiness. Like the dear tender-hearted creature you are, have a littlemercy on the poor beggar. Let the whole affair drift a little. It maystraighten out. "

Lady Constance meditated for a minute or so. 

"It's very dreadful that there should be any impediment, " she said. 

"I'll back Alaric to agree with you there, " Lord Fallowfeild answered. 

"You'll do what you can, Shotover, won't you, to help Kathleen? I neverforget how you helped me once!"

Lord Fallowfeild's handsome face expressed rather broad amusement. 

"I'm afraid the two cases are hardly parallel, my dear, " he said. 

CHAPTER X

"The play's on the other side, the crowd's on the other side, all thefun's on the other side, and I am on this side with nothing more livelythan you, you little shivering idiot, for company. "

Poppy St. John drew the spaniel's long silky ears through her fingersslowly. 

"I am bored, Cappadocia, " she said, with a yawn which she made not theslightest effort to stifle, "bored right through to my very marrow. Ohdear, oh dear, oh dear, how I do wish something would happen!"

Poppy sat, propped up with scarlet silk cushions, in a cane deck-chair, on the white-railed balcony upon which the first-floor bedroom windowsopened. Around her were strewn illustrated magazines and ladies' papers;but unfortunately the stories in the former appeared to her every bit assilly as the fashion-plates in the latter. Both had equally little to dowith life as the ordinary flesh and blood human being lives it. She wasfilled with a rebellious sense of the banality of her surroundings thisafternoon. Even from her coign of vantage upon the balcony, whence wideprospects disclosed themselves, everything looked foolish, pointless, ofthe nature of an unpardonably stale joke. 

The said balcony, divided into separate compartments by the interpositionof wooden barriers, extended the whole length of the terrace of twenty-seven houses. And these were all precisely alike, with white wood andstucco "enrichments, " as the technical phrase has it. Cheap stained andleaded glass adorned the upper panels of the twenty-seven front doors, which were approached by twenty-seven flights of steps--thus securing ameasure of light and air to the twenty-seven basements. The front doorswere set in couples, alternating with couples of bay windows. There was adetermination of cheap smartness, a smirking self-consciousness about thelittle houses, a suggestion of having put on their best frocks and high-heeled shoes and standing very much on tiptoe to attract attention. Thebalconies, narrow where the upper bays encroached on them, wide where thehouse fronts were recessed above the twin front doors, broke forth into agarland of flower-boxes. Cascades of pink ivy-leaf geranium, creeping-jenny, and nasturtiums backed by white or yellow Paris daisies, flowedoutward between the white ballusters and masked the edge of the woodwork. The effect, though pretty, was not quite satisfactory--being suggestiveof millinery, of an over-trimmed summer hat. 

Immediately below was the roadway, bordered by an asphalt pavement oneither side, then the high impenetrable oak paling, which had baffledDominic Iglesias' maiden effort at participation in the amusements of therich. From Poppy's balcony, however, the palings offered no impediment toobservation. All the green expanse of the smaller polo-ground wasvisible. So was the whole height of the grove of majestic elms on theright and the back of the club house; and, and the left, between_massifs_ of shrubbery, a vista of lawns sloping towards the riverpeopled by a sauntering crowd. 

It was upon this last that Poppy directed her gaze. To the naked eye theunits composing it showed as vertical lines of grey, brown, and black, blotted with bright delicate colour, and splashed here and there withwhite, the whole mingling, uniting, breaking into fresh combinationskaleidoscope fashion. Through the opera-glasses figures of men, women, and horses detached themselves, becoming quaintly distinct, neat as toys, an assemblage of elegant highly finished marionnettes. There was afascination in watching the movement of these brilliant, clear-cut silentlittle things upon that amazingly verdant carpet of grass. But it was afascination which, for Poppy, had by now worn somewhat thin. The interestproved too far away, too impersonal. Indeed it may be questioned whetherany who have not within themselves large store of resignation, or ofhope, can look on at gaiety, in which they have no share, without firstsadness and then pretty lively irritation. And of those two most preciouscommodities, resignation and hope, Poppy had but limited reserve stock atpresent. So she pulled the little dog's ears rather hard and lamented:

"Oh! my good gracious me, if only something would happen!"

Then, the words hardly out of her mouth, she shot the much-enduringCappadocia off her lap and, restoring her elbows on the rails, leanedright out over the balcony. 

"Come here, dear beautiful lunatic, come here, " she cried. "For pity'ssake don't pass by!"

Perhaps fortunately this very unconventional invitation was lost uponDominic Iglesias, soberly crossing the road with due observance of theeccentricities of the drivers of motor-cars and riders of bicycles. Looking up, he was aware of a vision quite sufficiently indicative ofwelcome, without added indiscretion of words. --The white balustrade, thetrailing fringe of nasturtiums, succulent leaves and orange-scarletblossoms; the woman's bust and shoulders in her string-coloured lacegown, her small face, curiously vivid in effect, capped by the heavymasses of her black hair, her singular eyes full of light, the red of herlips and tinge of stationary pink in her cheeks supplemented by a glow ofquick excitement. A few weeks ago the ascetic in Iglesias might havetaken alarm. Now it was different. He had his idea, and, walking in thestrength of it, dared adventure himself in neighbourhoods otherwiseslightly questionable. 

Five minutes later Poppy advanced across the little drawing-room to meethim. 

"Well, " she said, "of course you might have come sooner. But, equally ofcourse, you might never have come at all, so I won't quarrel with youabout the delay, though I would like you to know it has worried me a gooddeal. "

"Has it? I am sorry for that, " Dominic answered gravely. 

"Yes, be sorry, be sorry, " she repeated. "It is comfortable to hear yousay so. "

She looked at him with the utmost frankness, took his hand and led him toa settee filling in the right angle between the fireplace and the doubledoors at the back of the room. 

"Sit down, " she said, "and let us talk. Have another cushion--so--and ifyou're good I'll give you tea presently. And understand, you needn't becareful of yourself. I'll play perfectly fair with you. I've beenthinking it all out during this time you didn't come; and I never go backon my word once given. So, look here, you needn't account for yourself inany way. I don't even want to know your name--specially I don't want toknow that. It might localise you, and I don't want to have you localised. Directly a person is localised it takes away their restfulness to one. One begins to see just all the places where they belong to somebody else, notice-boards struck up everywhere warning one to keep off the grass. Andthat's a nuisance. It raises Old Nick in one, and makes one long tocommit all manner of wickedness which would never have entered one's headotherwise. "

Poppy held her hands palm to palm between her knees, glancing at DominicIglesias now and again sideways as she spoke. The bodice of her dress, cut slightly _en coeur_, showed the nape of her neck, and the whole of herthroat, which was smooth and rounded though rather long. Her makealtogether was that not uncommon to London girls of the lower middle-class: small-boned and possibly anæmic, but prettily moulded, and with anattraction of over-civilisation as of hot-house-grown plants. Just nowher head seemed bowed down by the weight of her dark hair, as she satgathered together, making herself small as a child will whenconcentrating its mind to the statement of some serious purpose. 

"I've knocked about a lot, " she went on. "It's right you should knowthat. And there's not very much left to tell me about a number of thingsnot usually set down in conversation books designed for _débutants_. Butjust on that account I may be rather useful to you in some ways. --Don'tgo and be offended now, there's a dear, good man, " she added coaxingly. "Because judging by what you told me the other day, there's no doubtthat, under some heads, you are very much of a _débutant_. "

"I suppose I am, " Iglesias said slowly. It was very strange to him tofind himself in so sudden and close an intimacy with this at once so wiseand so artificial woman creature. But he had his idea. Moreover, increasingly he trusted her. 

"Of course you are, " she asserted. "That's just where the beauty of itall comes in. You're the veriest infant. One has only to look into yourface to see that. --Don't go and freeze up now. You belong to anotherorder of doctrine and practice to that current in contemporary society. "

Poppy gazed at the floor, still making herself small, the palms of herhands pressed together between her knees. 

"And that's just why you can be useful to me, awfully useful, if youchoose--I don't mean money, business, anything of the kind. I'm perfectlycompetent to manage my own affairs, thank you. But you're good for me, somehow. You rest me. "

She began to rock herself gently backwards and forwards, but withouttaking the heels of her shoes off the ground. 

"Yes, you rest me, you rest me, " she repeated. 

"I am glad, " Iglesias said. He felt soberly pleased, thankful almost. 

Again Poppy glanced at him sideways. 

"Yes, I believe you are, " she said. "And that shows things have happenedto you--in you, more likely--since we last met. You have come on a greatpiece. "

"I doubt if I have come on, so much as gone back, to influences of longago, " he answered; "to things which had been overlaid by the dust of myworking years almost to the point of obliteration. "

"Was it pleasant to go back?" Poppy asked. 

"Not at all. The going was painful. It required some courage to brush offthe dust. "

"It usually does require courage--at least that's my experience--to brushoff the dust. "

Dominic Iglesias made no immediate answer. He was a little startled athis companion's acute reading of him, a little touched by her confidence. Her words seemed to suggest the possibility of a relationship whichfitted in admirably with the development of his idea. He sat looking awayacross the room, and, doing so, became aware that the said room possessedunexpected characteristics, calculated to elucidate his impressions ofits owner's character. It was a man's room rather than a woman's, innocent of furbelows and frills. Two low, wide settees, well furnishedwith cushions and upholstered in dark yellowish-red tapestry, fitted intothe corners on either side the double doors. A couple of large armchairsand a revolving book-table occupied the centre of the room. An uprightpiano, in an ebonised case, draped across the back with an Indianphulkari--discs of looking-glass set in coarsely worked yellow eyeletholes forming the border of it--stood at right angles to the wall justshort of the bay window. In the window, placed slant-wise, was a carvedblack oak writing-table, a long row of photographs stuck up against theback shelf of it. The walls were hung with a set of William Nicolson'sprints, strong, dark, distinct, slightly sinister in effect; a fineetching of Jean François Millet's _Gleaners_; and, in noticeable contrastto this last, a mezzotint of Romney's picture of Lady Hamilton spinning. Upon the book-table were a silver ash-tray and cigarette-box. The air wasunquestionably impregnated with the odour of tobacco, which the burningof scent-sticks quite failed to dissemble. 

While Mr. Iglesias thus noted the details of his surroundings, hiscompanion observed him, closely, intently. Suddenly she flung herselfback against the piled-up cushions. 

"Let the dust lie, let it lie, " she cried, almost shrilly. And as Dominicturned to her, surprised at her vehemence, she added, "Yes, it's safestso. Let it lie till it grows thick, carpeting all the surface, so that, treading on it, one's footsteps are muffled, making no sound!"

Poppy jumped up, crossed swiftly to the writing-table, swept the long rowof photographs together and pushed them into a drawer. 

"There you go, face downwards, every man Jack of you, " she said. "And, for all I care, there you may stay. "

Then she turned round, confronting Dominic Iglesias, who had risen also, her head carried high, her teeth set. 

"You may not grasp the connection of ideas--I don't the very least seehow you should, and I've no extra special wish that you should. But youmust just take my word for it that's one way of thickening the dust, inmy particular case, and not half a bad way either!"

She pushed the heavy masses of her hair up from her forehead, crossed thelittle room again and stood before Iglesias smiling, her hands claspedbehind her back. 

"Yes, you rest me, " she said, "you do, even more than I expected. Iwanted awfully to see you; and yet I was half afraid if I did we mightn'tpull the thing off. But we are going to pull it off, aren't we?"

This direct appeal demanded a direct answer; and Iglesias, looking downat her, felt nerved to a certain steadiness of resolve. 

"Yes, we are, " he said gravely. "That, at least, is my purpose. I havevery few friends. I should value a new one. " Then he added, with acertain hesitancy, "I am glad you are not disappointed. "

"Ah! you have come on--not a question about it, " Poppy cried. "Sit downagain. You needn't go yet. And we are through with disturbances for thisafternoon anyhow. An anti-cyclone, as the weather reports put it, isextending over all our coasts. I feel quite happy. Let me enjoy the anti-cyclone while it lasts--and I'll give you your tea. "

But of that tea Dominic Iglesias was fated not to drink. A ring at thebell, a parley at the front door, followed by the advent of an elderlyparlourmaid bearing a card on a small lacquer tray. 

"His lordship says if you're engaged he could wait a little, ma'am. Buthe wants particularly to see you to-day. "

Poppy took the card, glanced at it, and then at Dominic Iglesias. 

"I'm afraid, I'm awfully afraid I shall have to let you go, " she said. She took both his hands, and holding them, without pressure but with agreat friendliness, went on: "Don't be offended, or you'll make memiserable. But he's an old friend; and he's been a perfect brick to me--stood by me through all my worst luck. I can't send him away. You won'tbe off ended?"

"No, " Iglesias said. 

"And you will come again? You make me feel all smooth and good. Youpromise you'll come?"

"Yes, " Iglesias said. 

In the narrow passage a tall, eminently well-dressed middle-agedgentleman stood aside to let him pass. Dominic Iglesias received theimpression of a very handsome person, whose possible insolence of bearingreceived agreeable modification, thanks to the expression of kindlyhumorous eyes and a notably beautiful mouth. 

Upon the centre table of the square first-floor sitting-room at CedarLodge a note awaited Mr. Iglesias, addressed in George Lovegrove's neatbusiness hand. 

"Dear old friend, " it ran--"the wife asks you to take supper with us to-morrow night. Step across as early as you like. My cousin, Miss SerenaLovegrove, is paying us a visit. Yours faithfully, G. L. --N. B. Come asyou are: no ceremony. G. L. "

CHAPTER XI

"Hullo, girlie, " called the red and green parrot, as it helped itself upthe side of its zinc cage with beak as well as claws. 

Serena Lovegrove had opened the door suddenly. Then, seeing that Mr. Iglesias alone occupied the room, neither her host nor hostess beingpresent, she paused in the doorway, a large floppy yellow silk work-bagin her hands, undecided whether to retreat or to proceed. And it was thusthat the bird, discovering her advent, announced it, while the pupils ofhis hard, round yellowish grey eyes dilated and contracted--"snapped, " asSerena would have said--maliciously. 

Serena was a tall, elegant, faded woman, dressed in black, her littleupright head balanced upon a long thin stalk of neck. Though undeniablyfaded, there was, as now seen in the quiet evening light, a suggestion ofyouthfulness about her. He brown eyes, pretty though rather small, snapped even as did those of the parrot. Excitement--to-night she wasvery much excited--invariably produced in Serena an effect of clutchingat her long-departed girlhood, an effect sufficiently pathetic in thecase of a woman well on in the forties. And it was precisely thisineffectual throw-back to a Serena of seventeen or eighteen which lent asharp edge of irony to the strident salutations of the parrot, as itcalled out again:

"Hullo, girlie! Polly's own pet girlie, " then with a prolonged and ear-piercing whistle:--"Hi, four-wheeler! girlie's going out. " And hoarsely, with a growl in its throat: "Move on there, stoopid, can't yer? Shut thedoor. "

During the delivery of these final admonitions Mr. Iglesias hadrecognised the shadowy figure standing on the threshold and advanced. This decided Serena. Still twisting the ribbons of the yellow work-baground her thin fingers, she drifted into the room. 

"I think I have had the pleasure of meeting you once or twice before, Miss Lovegrove, " Dominic said. His manner was specially gentle andcourtly, for he could not but feel the poor lady was at a disadvantage, owing to the very articulate indiscretions of the parrot. 

"Oh! yes, " Serena answered. "Certainly we have met. But you are wrong asto the number of times. It is more than once or twice. Five times, Ithink; or it may have been six. No, it is five, because I remember youwere expected, in the evening, the day before I went home the winterbefore last; and at the last moment you were unable to come. That wouldhave made six. Now it is only five. "

"You have an excellent memory, " Iglesias said. "It is kind of you toremember so clearly. "

"I wonder if it is--I mean, I wonder whether it is kind, " Serenarejoined. 

She was quite innocent of any intention of sarcasm. But her mind, likethose of so many unoccupied, and consequently self-occupied persons, wasaddicted to speculation of a minor and vacuous sort. She was also liable--as such persons often are--to mistake cavilling for spirit and wit--amost tedious error!

"Still you are right in saying I have a good memory, " she added. "Peoplegenerally observe that. But then I was always taught it was rude toforget. Forgetfulness is the result of inattention. At school I never hadany difficulty in learning by heart. "

"You must have found that both a useful and pleasant talent. "

"Perhaps, " Serena replied negligently. She was determined not to commitherself, having arrived at the conclusion that Mr. Iglesias' address wastoo civil. "It was bad manners of him not to remember how often we hadmet, " she said to herself, "and now he is trying to pass it off. But thatwon't do!" Serena had many and distinct views on the subject of mannerand manners. She was never certain that civility did not argue a defectof sincerity. She agreed with herself to think that over again later. Meanwhile she would carefully remark Mr. Iglesias. "If he is insincere, as I fear he is, he is sure to betray it in other ways. Then I shall beon my guard. " Forewarned is, of course, forarmed, and Serena felt veryacute. Though against exactly what she was taking such elaborateprecautions, it would have been difficult for her, or for anyone else, tohave stated. However, just now it was incumbent upon her to makeconversation. As is the way with persons not very fertile in ideas, shehad recourse to the simple expedient of asking a leading question. 

"Are you fond of animals?" she inquired. 

"I am afraid I have very little knowledge of animals, " Iglesias replied. 

Serena laughed dryly. This was so transparent a subterfuge. 

"What a very odd answer!" she said. "Because everybody must really knowwhether they like animals or not. "

"I am afraid I stand by myself then, a solitary exception. I have hadlittle or nothing to do with animals, and have therefore had noopportunity of discovering whether they attract me or not. "

"How very odd!" Serena repeated. 

She moved across to the centre-table where Mr. Lovegrove's books ofpicture postcards, the miscellaneous consequences of many charitybazaars, and kindred aesthetic treasures reposed, and deposited her work-bag in their company. Her movement revived the attention of the parrot, who had been nodding on its perch. 

"Poor old girlie, take a brandy and soda? Kiss and be friends. Good-night, all, " it murmured hoarsely, half asleep. 

"If your question bore reference to that particular animal, I stand in nodoubt as to my sentiments, " Dominic remarked. "I am anything but fond ofit. I think it an odious bird. "

"Ah! you see you do know, " Serena exclaimed. "I was sure you did. " Shefelt justified in her suspicion of his sincerity. "But nobody would agreewith you, Mr. Iglesias, because of course it is really a very cleverparrot. They very seldom learn to say so many things. "

"How fortunate!" Dominic permitted himself to ejaculate. 

"I don't see why you should say it is fortunate. "

"Do not its remarks strike you as somewhat impertinent and intrusive?"

"I wonder if an animal can be impertinent, " Serena said reflectively. 

But here to her vexation, for it appeared to her that she had juststarted a really interesting subject of discussion, Mrs. Lovegrovebustled into the room. 

"Well, Mr. Iglesias, " she began, "I am sure I am very delighted to seeyou, and so will Georgie be. He was remarking only yesterday we don'tseem to see so much of you as we used to do. He's just a little behindtime, is Georgie, having been kept by the dear vicar at a meeting aboutthe Church Workers' Social Evenings Guild at the Mission Room in LittleBethesda Street. You wouldn't know where that is, Mr. Iglesias--though Ican't help hoping you will some day--but Serena knows, don't you, Serena? It's where Susan--her elder sister, Miss Lovegrove"--this asideto Dominic--"gave an address once to the members of the Society for theConversion of the Jews. "

"No doubt I remember; but Susan is always giving addresses somewhere, "Serena said loftily. 

"And very good and kind of her it is to give addresses, " Mrs. Lovegroverejoined. "Even the dear vicar says what a remarkable gift she has as aspeaker, and there's no question as to the worth of his praise. "

"I wonder if it is--I mean I wonder if it is good and kind of Susan togive addresses, " Serena remarked. "Because of course she enjoys givingthem. Susan likes to have a number of people listening to her. "

"But if the object is a noble one?"--this from Mrs. Lovegrove, a littlenonplussed and put about. 

"Still, if you enjoy doing anything, how can it be good and kind to doit?" Serena said argumentatively. "Susan is very fond of publicity. Ithink people very often deceive themselves about their own motives. "

She looked meaningly at Dominic Iglesias as she spoke. And he looked backat her gravely and kindly, though with a slightly amused smile. Histhoughts had travelled away--they had done so pretty frequently duringthe last twenty-four hours--to the smirking self-conscious little houseon the verge of Barnes Common. Unpromising though it had appearedoutwardly, yet within it he believed he had found a friend--a friend whowas also an enigma. Perhaps, as he now reflected, all women are enigmas. Certainly they are amazingly different. He thought of Poppy. He looked atSerena. Yes, doubtless they all are enigmas; only--might Heaven forgivehim the discourtesy--all are not enigmas equally well worth finding out. 

George Lovegrove arrived. Supper, a somewhat heavy and hybrid meal, followed--"all comfortable and friendly, " as Mrs. Lovegrove described it, "no ceremony and fal-lals, but everything put down on the table so thatyou could see it and please yourself. "

Serena, however, was difficult to please. She picked daintily at the foodon her plate. Her host observed her with solicitude. 

"Do take a little more, " he said, in an anxious aside, Mrs. Lovegrovebeing safely engaged in conversation with Mr. Iglesias, "or I shall beginto be nervous lest we aren't offering you quite what you like. "

But Serena was obdurate. 

"Pray don't mind, George, " she said. "You know I never eat much. I amquite different from Susan, for instance. She always has a largeappetite, and so have all her friends. Low Church people always have, Ithink. But I never care to eat a great deal, especially in hot weather. "

Serena was really very glad indeed to come to London just now. Still, there were self-respecting decencies to be observed, specially in thepresence of another guest. Relationship does not necessarily imply socialequality; and, as Serena reminded herself, the family always had feltthat poor George had married beneath him. Therefore it was well to keepthe fact of her own superior refinement well in view. In the case of goodGeorge Lovegrove this was, however, a work of supererogation. For he hada, to himself, positively embarrassing respect for Serena's gentility--embarrassing because at moments it came painfully near endangering thecompleteness of his consideration for "the wife's feelings. " The twoladies frequently differed upon matters of taste and etiquette, with theresult that the good man's guileless breast was torn by conflictingemotions. For had not Serena's father been a General Officer of theIndian army? And had not Serena herself and her elder sister Susan--aperson of definite views and commanding character--long been resident atSlowby in Midlandshire, an inland watering-place of acknowledged fashion?It followed that her pronouncements on social questions were necessarilyfinal. Yet to uphold her judgment, as against that of the wife, was torisk mortifying the latter. And to mortify the wife would be to act as aheartless scoundrel. Hence situations, for George Lovegrove, difficult tothe point of producing profuse perspiration. 

That night Serena prepared for rest with remarkable deliberation. Clad ina blue and white striped cotton dressing-gown, she sat long at hertoilet-table. And all the time she wondered--a far-reaching, mazelike, elaborately intricate and wholly inconclusive wonder. Hers was a naturewhich suffered perpetual solicitation from possible alternatives, hearingwarning voices from the vague, delusive regions of the might-be or might-have-been. She had never grasped the rudimentary but very important truththat only that which actually is in the least matters. And so to arriveat what is, with all possible despatch--in so far as such arriving ispracticable--and then to go forward, comprises the whole duty of the sanehuman being. Par from this, Serena's mind forever fitted batlike in thehalf-darkness of innumerable small prejudices and ignorances. She moved, as do so many women of her class, in a twilight, embryonic world, untouched alike by the splendour and terror of living. 

Nevertheless, on this particular occasion, as she brushed her hair andinserted the tortoise-shell curling-pins which should secure to-morrow'sdecorative effects, she felt almost daring and dangerous. She wonderedwhether she had really enjoyed the evening or not; whether she had heldher own and shown independence and spirit. She laboured under the quaintearly-Victorian notion that, in the presence of members of the oppositesex, a woman is called upon always to play something of a part. Sheshould advance, so to speak, and then retreat; provoke interest by astudied indifference; yield a little, only to become more elegantlyfugitive. It may be doubted whether these wiles have even been a verysuccessful adjunct to feminine charms. But in the case of so negative andcolourless a creature as Serena, they were pathetically devoid of result. Play a part industriously as she might, the majority of her audience waswholly unaware that she was, in point of fact, playing anything at all!They might think her a little capricious, a little foolish, but thatthere was intention or purpose in her pallid flightiness passed thebounds of imagination. Never mind, if the audience had no sense of theposition, Serena had, and she enjoyed it. Excitement possessed her, andher eyes snapped even yet as, thinking it all over, she fastened thecurlers in her hair. 

She wondered whether George and Rhoda--how intensely she disliked thename Rhoda!--had any special reason for asking her just now, and talkingso much about Mr. Iglesias, or whether it was a coincidence. 

"Of course it is not of the slightest importance to me whether they haveor not, " she reflected. "I think it would be rather an impertinence ifthey had. Still, I think I had better find out; but without letting Rhodasuspect, of course. If you give her any encouragement Rhoda is inclinedto go too far and say what is rather indelicate. I always have thoughtRhoda had a rather vulgar mind. I wonder if poor George feels that? Ibelieve he does, before me. Once or twice to-night he was very nervous. How dreadfully coarse poor Rhoda's skin is getting! I wonder if Rhoda hasgiven Susan a hint, and if that was what made Susan so gracious about myleaving home? But I don't believe she did--I mean that Susan suspectedthat George and Rhoda had any particular reason for inviting me. I wonderif I shall ever make Susan see that I am not a cipher? Of course ifGeorge and Rhoda really have any particular reason, and Susan comes toknow it, that will show her that other people do not consider me acipher. I wonder what most people would think of Mr. Iglesias? Of coursehe has only been a bank clerk; but then so has George. Only then he is aforeigner, and that makes a difference. I wonder whether, if anythingcame of it, Susan would make his being a foreigner an objection?"

But this was growing altogether too definite and concrete. With a sort ofmental squeak Serena's thought flitted into twilight and embryonicregions. 

"I think if they have any particular reason, it is rather scheming ofGeorge and Rhoda. I wonder if it is nice of them? If they have, I thinkit is rather deceitful. I wonder if they have said anything to Mr. Iglesias?"

Serena, with the aid of a curling-pin, was controlling the short fuzzylittle hairs just at the nape of her neck; and this last wonder proved soabsorbing a one that she remained, head bent and fingers aimlesslyfiddling with the bars of the curler, till it suddenly occurred to herthat she was getting quite stiff. 

"If they have, I think it is very presuming of them, " she continuedwrathfully, stretching her arms, for they ached--"very presuming. Howglad I am I was on my guard. I wonder if they saw I was on my guard? Ibelieve George did. I wonder if that helped to make him nervous?"

Serena fastened in the last of the curlers. There was no excuse forsitting up any longer; yet she lingered. 

"I must be more on my guard than ever, " she said. 

Meanwhile Dominic Iglesias, after sitting in the dining-room with his oldfriend while the latter smoked a last pipe, made his way across the Greenin the deepening mystery of the summer night. The sky was moonless; andat the zenith, untouched by the upward streaming light of the great city, the stars showed fair and bright. A nostalgia of wide untenanted spaces, of far horizons, of emotions at once intimate and rooted in thingseternal, was upon him. But of Serena Lovegrove, it must be admitted, hethought not one little bit. 

CHAPTER XII

Only one of the trees from which Cedar Lodge derives its name was stillstanding. This lonely giant, sombre exile from Libanus, overshadowed allthat remained of the formerly extensive garden and sensibly darkened theback of the house. Its foliage, spread like a deep pile carpet upon thewide horizontal branches, was worn and sparse, showing small promise ofself-renewal. Yet though starved by the exhausted soil, and clogged bysoots from innumerable chimneys, it remained majestic, finely decorativeas some tree of metal, of age-old bronze roughened by a greenness ofdeep-eating rust. From the first moment of his acquaintance with CedarLodge it had been to Dominic Iglesias an object of attraction, even ofsympathy. For he recognised in it something stoical, an unmoved dignityand lofty indifference to the sordid commonplace of its surroundings. Itmade no concessions to adverse circumstances, but remained proudlyitself, owning for sole comrade the Wind--that most mysterious of allcreated things, unseen, untamed, mateless, incalculable. The wind gave itvoice, gave it even a measure of mobility, as it swept through thelabyrinth of dry unfruitful branches and awoke a husky music telling offar-distant times and places, making a shuddering and stirring as of theresurgence of long-forgotten hope and passion. 

When Dominic entered into residence at Cedar Lodge, a pair of stoutmauve-brown wood-pigeons--migrants from the pleasant elms of HollandPark--had haunted the tree. But they being, for all their dolorouscooings, birds of a lusty, not to say truculent, habit, grew weary of itspersistent solemnity of aspect. So, at least, Dominic judged. He had beenan interested spectator of the love-makings, quarrels, andreconciliations of these comely neighbours from his bedroom window dailywhile dressing. But one fine spring morning he saw them fly away andnever saw them fly back again. Clearly they had removed themselves toless solemn quarters, leaving the great tree, save for fugitivevisitations from its comrade the wind, to solitary meditation within theborders of its narrow prison-place. 

Besides presenting in itself an object altogether majestical, the cedarperformed a practical office whereby it earned Iglesias' gratitude. Forits dark interposing bulk effectually shut off the view of anaggressively new rawly red steam laundry, with shiny slate roofs and ahuge smoke-belching chimney to it, which, to the convulsive disgust ofthe gentility of the eastern side of Trimmer's Green, had had theunpardonable impertinence to get itself erected in an adjacent street. Itfollowed that when, one wet evening, yellow-headed little Mr. Farge hadadvised himself to speak slightingly of the cedar tree, Iglesias wasprepared to defend it, if necessary, with some warmth. 

The conversation had ranged round the subject of the hour, namely, thepossibility--as yet in the estimation of most persons an incredible one--of war with the Boer Republics, when the young man indulged in a playfulaside addressed to Miss Hart, at whose right hand he was seated. 

"If I could find fault with anything belonging to the lady at the head ofthe table, " he said, "it would be the gloomy old party looking in atthese back windows. "

"What, the dear old cedar tree! Never, Mr. Farge!" protested Eliza. 

"Yes, it would, though, " he insisted, "when, as tonight, it is drip, drip, dripping all over the shop. No touch of Sunny Jim about him, isthese now, Bert?"--this to the devoted Worthington sitting immediatelyopposite to him on Miss Hart's left. 

"Truly there is not, if I may venture so far, " the other young gentlemanresponded, playing up obediently. "And if anything could give me andCharlie a fit of the blues, I believe that old fellow would in rainyweather. "

"Makes you think of the cemetery, does it not now, Bert?"

"You have hit it. Paddington--not the station though, Charlie, juststarting for a cosey little trip with your best girl up the river. "

"For shame, Mr. Worthington, " Eliza protested again, giggling. 

"Suggestive of the end of all week-ends, in short, " de Courcy Smyth, whocontrary to his custom was present at dinner that evening, put insnarlingly. "One last trip up the River of Death for you, with a ticketmarked not transferrable, eh, Farge? Then an oblong hole in the reekingblue clay, silence and worms. "

His tone was spiteful to the point of commanding attention. A hush fellon the company, broken only by the drifting sob of the rain through thebranches of the great cedar. Mr. Farge went perceptibly pale. Mrs. Porcher sighed and turned her fine eyes up to the ceiling. Iglesiaslooked curiously at the speaker. Eliza Hart was the first to find voice. 

"Pray, Mr. Smyth, " she said, "don't be so very unpleasant. You're enoughto give one the goose-skin all over. "

"I am sorry I have offended, " he answered sullenly. "But I beg leave tocall attention to the fact that I did not start this subject. I wasrather interested in the previous discussion, which gave an opportunityof intelligent conversation not habitual among us. Farge is responsiblefor the interruption, and for the cemeteries, and consequently for mycomment. Still, I am sorry I have offended. "

He shifted his position, glancing uneasily first at his hostess, and thenat Dominic Iglesias, who sat opposite him in the place of honour at thatlady's right hand. 

"You have not offended, Mr. Smyth, " Mrs. Porcher declared graciously. "And no doubt it is well for us all to be reminded of death and burial attimes. Though some of us hardly need reminding"--again she sighed. "Wecarry the thought of them about with us always. " And she turned her fineeyes languidly upon Mr. Iglesias. 

"My poor sweet Peachie, " the kind-hearted Eliza murmured, under herbreath. 

"But at meals, perhaps, a lighter vein is more suitable, Mr. Smyth, " Mrs. Porcher continued. "At table the thought of death does seem ratherdisheartening, does it not? But about our poor old cedar tree now, Mr. Farge? You were not seriously proposing to have it removed?"

"Well, strictly between ourselves, I am really half afraid I actuallywas. "

"You forget it sheltered my childhood. It is associated with all mypast. "

"Can a rosebud have a past?" Farge cried, coming up to the surface againwith a bounce, so to speak. 

Mrs. Porcher smiled, shook her head in graceful reproof, and turned oncemore to Dominic. 

"I think we should all like to know how you feel about it, Mr. Iglesias, "she said. "Do you wish the poor old tree removed?"

"On the contrary, I should greatly regret it's being cut down, " heanswered. "It would be a loss to me personally, for I have always taken apleasure both in the sound and the sight of it. But that is a minorconsideration. "

"You must allow me to differ from that opinion, " Mrs. Porcher remarked, with gentle emphasis. "We can never forget, can we, Eliza, who is ouroldest guest? Mr. Iglesias' opinion must ever carry weight in all whichconcerns Cedar Lodge. "

Here Farge and Worthington made round eyes at one another, while deCourcy Smyth shuffled his feet under the table. He had received adisquieting impression. 

"Oh! of course, Peachie, dear, " Miss Hart responded. She hugged herselfwith satisfaction. "The darling looks more bonny than ever, " shereflected. "To-night what animation! What tact! She seems to have comeout so lately, since that Serena Lovegrove has been stopping over theway. Not that there could be any rivalry between her and that poorthread-paper of a thing!"

Dominic Iglesias, however, received his hostess' pretty speeches with acalm which turned the current of the ardent Eliza's thoughts, causing herto refer, mentally, to the degree of emotion which might be predicated ofmonuments, mountains, stone elephants, and kindred objects. 

"You are very kind, " he said. "But on grounds far more important thanthose of any private sentiment the cutting down of the cedar calls forcareful consideration. I am afraid you would find it a serious loss tothe beauty of your property. What the house loses in light, it certainlygains in distinction and interest from the presence of the tree. "

"Yes, " Mrs. Porcher returned, folding her plump pink hands upon the edgeof the table and looking down modestly. "It does speak of familyperhaps. "

"And in your case, dear, it speaks nothing more than the truth, " Elizadeclared. "Just as well a certain gentleman should reckon with Peachie'sreal position, " she said to herself--"specially with that stuck-up SerenaLovegrove cat-and-mousing about on the other side of the Green. It doesnot take a Solomon to see what she's after!"

"I am afraid the verdict is given against you, Mr. Farge. The cedar treewill remain. " Mrs. Porcher rose as she spoke. 

The young man playfully rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, feigningtears. Then a scrimmage ensued between him and Worthington as to whichshould reach the dining-room door first and throw it open before theladies. At this exhibition of high spirits de Courcy Smyth groanedaudibly, while Mrs. Porcher, linking her arm within that of Miss Hart, lingered. 

"You will join our little circle in the drawing-room to-night, will younot, Mr. Iglesias?" she pleaded. 

Again the young men made round eyes at one another. De Courcy Smyth hadcome forward. He stood close to Iglesias and, before the latter couldanswer, spoke hurriedly:

"Can you give me ten minutes in private? I don't want to press myselfupon you, but this is imperative. "

Iglesias proceeded to excuse himself to his hostess, thereby causing MissHart to refer mentally to monuments and mountains once again. 

"Thank you, " Smyth gasped. His face was twitching and he swayed a little, steadying himself with one hand on the corner of the dinner-table. 

"I loathe asking, " he continued, "I loathe pressing my society upon you, since you do not seek it. It has taken days for me to make up my mind tothis; but it is necessary. And, after all, you made the original offeryourself. "

"I am quite ready to listen, and to renew any offer which I may havemade, " Iglesias answered quietly. 

"We can't talk here, though, " Smyth said. "That blundering ass of awaiter will be coming in directly; and whatever he overhears is sure togo the round of the house. All servants are spies. "

"We can go up to my sitting-room and talk there, " Iglesias replied. 

Yet he was conscious of making the proposal with reluctance, pitystruggling against repulsion. For not only was the man's appearance veryunkempt, but his manner and bearing were eloquent of a certaindesperation. Of anything approaching physical fear Dominic Iglesias washappily incapable. But his sitting-room had always been a peaceful place, refuge alike from the strain and monotony of his working life. It heldrelics, moreover, wholly dear to him, and to introduce into it thisinharmonious and, in a sense, degraded presence savoured of desecration. Therefore, not without foreboding, as of one who risks the sacrifice ofearnestly cherished security, he ushered his guest into the quiet room. 

The gas, the small heart-shaped flames of which showed white against thedying daylight coming in through the windows, was turned low in thebracket-lamps on either side the high mantelpiece. Dominic Iglesiasmoved across and drew down the blinds, catching sight as he did so--between the tossing foliage of the balsam-poplars which glistened in thedriving wet--of the unwinking gaselier in the Lovegroves' dining-room, onthe other side of the Green. He remembered that he ought to have calledon Mrs. Lovegrove and Miss Serena, and that he had been guilty of a lapseof etiquette in not having done so. But he reflected poor Miss Serena wasa person whose existence it seemed so curiously difficult to bearactively in mind. Then he grew penitent, as having added discourtesy todiscourtesy in permitting himself this reflection. He came back from thewindow, turned up the lights, drew forward an armchair and motioned Smythto be seated; fetched a cut-glass spirit decanter, tumblers, and a syphonof soda from the sideboard and set them at his guest's elbow. 

"Pray help yourself, " he said. "And here, will you not smoke while wetalk?"

Smyth's pale, prominent eyes had followed these preparations for hiscomfort with avidity, but now, the handsome character of his surroundingsbeing fully disclosed to him, he was filled with uncontrollable envy. Silently he filled his glass, by no means stinting the amount of alcohol, gulped down half the contents of the tumbler, paused a moment, leaninghis elbow on the table, and said:

"We were treated to a public exhibition of feminine cajolery in yourdirection, Mr. Iglesias, at the end of dinner. It occurs to me we mighthave been spared that. I have never had the honour of penetrating intoyour apartments before; but the aspect of them is quite sufficientindication as to who is the favoured member of Mrs. Porcher'sestablishment. "

Dominic had remained standing. Hospitality demanded that he should do allin his power to secure his guest's material comfort; but there, in hisopinion, immediate obligation ceased. In thus remaining standing he had aquaint sense of safeguarding the sanctities of the place. The man's tonewas curiously offensive. Involuntarily Mr. Iglesias' back stiffened alittle. 

"I took these rooms unfurnished, " he said. And then added: "May I askwhat your business with me may be?"

Smyth had recourse to his tumbler again. His hand shook so that his teethchattered against the edge of the glass. 

"I am a fool, " he said sullenly. "But my nerves are all to pieces. Icannot control myself. I have come here to ask a favour of you, and yetsome devil prompts me to insult you. I hate you because I am driven tomake use of you. And this room, in its sober luxury, emphasises theindignity of the position, offering as it does so glaring a contrast tomy own quarters--here under the same roof, only one flight of stairsabove--that I can hardly endure it. Life is hideously unjust. For whathave you done--you, a mere Canaanite, hewer of wood and drawer of waterto some grossly Philistine firm of city bankers--to deserve this immunityfrom anxiety and distress; while I, with my superior culture, my ambitionand talents, am condemned to that beastly squeaking wire-wove mattressupstairs, and a job-lot of furniture which some previous German waiterhas ejected in disgust from his bedroom in the basement? But there--I begyour pardon. I ought to be accustomed to injustice. I have served a longenough apprenticeship to it. Only--partly, thanks to you, I own that--Ihave seemed to see the dawning of hope again--hope of success, hope ofrecognition, hope of revenge; and just on that account it becomesintolerable to run one's head against this paralysing, stultifying deadwall of poverty and debt. "--He bowed himself together, and his voicebroke. --"I owe Mrs. Porcher money for my miserable bedsitting-room and myboard, and I am so horribly afraid she will turn me out. The place isdetestable; unworthy of me--of course it is--but I am accustomed to it. And I am not myself. I am terrified at the prospect of any change. Inshort, I am worn out. And they see that, those beasts of editors. The_Evening Dally Bulletin_ has given me my _congé_. I have lost the last ofmy hack-work. It was miserable work, wholly beneath a man of my capacity;still it brought me in a pittance. Now it is gone. Practically I am apauper, and I owe money in this house. "

"I am sorry, very sorry, " Iglesias said. "You should have spoken sooner. I could not force myself into your confidence; but, believe me, I havenot been unmindful of my engagement. I have merely waited for you tospeak. "

His manner was gentle, yet he remained standing, still possessed by aninstinct to thus safeguard the sanctities of the place. He paused, givingthe other man time to recover a measure of composure: then he askedkindly, anxious to conduct the conversation into a happier channel:"Meanwhile, how is the play advancing? Well, I hope--so that you findsolace and satisfaction in the prosecution of it. "

Smyth moved uneasily, looking up furtively at his questioner. 

"Oh! it is grand, " he said, "unquestionable it is grand. You need have noanxiety under that head. Pray understand that anything that you may dofor me in the interim, before the play is produced, is simply aninvestment. You need not be in the least alarmed. You will see all yourmoney back--see it doubled, certainly doubled, probably trebled. "

"I was not thinking of investments, " Iglesias put in quietly. 

"But I am, " Smyth asserted. "Naturally I am. You do not suppose that Ishould accept, still less ask, you help, unless I was certain that in theend I should prove to be conferring, rather than incurring, a favour? Youhumiliate me by assuming this attitude of disinterested generosity. Letme warn you it does not ring true. Moreover, in assuming it you do nottreat me as an equal; and that I resent. It is mean to take advantage ofmy sorrows and my poverty, and exalt yourself thus at my expense. Ofcourse I understand your point of view. From your associations andoccupations you must inevitably worship the god of wealth. One cannotexpect anything else from a business man. You gauge every one'sintellectual capacity by his power of making money. Well, wait then--just wait; and when that play appears, see if I do not compel you to ratemy intellectual capacity very highly. For there are thousands in thatplay, I tell you--tens of thousands. It is only in the interim that I amreduced to this detestable position of dependence. I know the worth of mywork, if----"

But Iglesias' patience was beginning to wear rather thin. He interposedcalmly, yet with authority. 

"Pardon me, " he said, "but it is irrelevant to discuss my attitude ofmind or my past occupations. It will be more agreeable for us, both nowand in the future, to treat any matters that arise between us asimpersonally as possible. Therefore, I will ask you to tell me, simplyand clearly, how much you require to clear you from immediate difficulty;and I will tell you, in return, whether I am in a position to meet yourwishes or not. "

For a moment Smyth sat silent, his hands working nervously along the armsof the chair. 

"You understand it is merely a temporary accommodation?"

"Yes, " Iglesias answered. "I understand. And consequently it issuperfluous to indulge in further discussion. "

"You want to get rid of me, " Smyth snarled. "Everyone wants to get rid ofme; I am unwelcome. The poor and unsuccessful always are so, I suppose. But some day the tables will be turned--if I can only last. "

And Dominic Iglesias found himself called upon to rally all his humanity, all his faith in merciful dealing and the reward which goes along withit. For it was hard to give, hard to befriend, so thankless andungracious a being. Yet, having put his hand to the plough, he refused tolook back. He had inherited a strain of fanaticism which took the form ofunswerving loyalty to his own word once given. So he spoke gravely andkindly, as one speaks to the sick who are beyond the obligation ofshowing courtesy for very suffering. And truly, as he reminded himself, this man was grievously sick; not only physically from insufficient food, but morally from disappointment and that most fruitful source of disease, inordinate and unsatisfied vanity. 

"I do not wish to get rid of you; I merely wish to take the shortest andsimplest way to relieve you of your more pressing anxieties, and soenable you to give yourself unreservedly to your work. Want may be awholesome spur to effort at times; but it is difficult to suppose anyreally sane and well-proportioned work of art can be produced without asense of security and of leisure. "

"How do you come to know that? It is not your province, " Smyth saidsharply. 

Mr. Iglesias permitted himself to smile and raise his shoulders slightly. 

"I come of a race which, in the past, has given evidence of no smallliterary and artistic ability. The experience of former generationsaffects the thought of their descendants, I imagine, and illuminates it, even when these are not gifted individually with any executive talent. "

For some minutes Smyth sat staring moodily in front of him. At last herose slowly from his chair. 

"I am an ass, " he said, "a jealous, suspicious, ungrateful ass. It ismore than ever hateful to me to ask a favour of you, just because you areforbearing and generous. I wish to goodness I could do without you help;but I can't. So let me have twenty-five pounds. Less would not be of useto me. I should only have to draw on you again, and I do not care to dothat. Look here, can I have it in notes?"

"Yes, " said Mr. Iglesias. 

"I prefer it so. There might have been difficulties in cashing a cheque. Moreover, it is unpleasant to me that your name, that any name, shouldappear. It is only fair to save my self-respect as far as you can. "

Then, as Dominic put the notes into his hand, he added, and his voice wasaggressive again and quarrelsome in tone: "I don't apologise. I don'texplain. I do not even thank you. Why should I, since I simply take it asa temporary accommodation until my play is finished--my great play, whichis going--I swear before God it is going--not only to cancel this paltrydebt, but a far more important one, the debt I owe to my own genius, andjustify me once and forever in the eyes of the whole English-speakingworld. "

With that he shambled out of the room, letting the handle of the doorslip so that it banged noisily behind him. 

For a while Dominic Iglesias remained standing before the fireplace. Hewas sad at heart. He had given generously, lavishly, out of proportion, as most persons reckon charitable givings, to his means. But, though theact was in itself good, he was sensible of no responsive warmth, no glowof satisfaction. The transaction left him cold; left him, indeed, a preyto disgust. Not only were the man's faults evident, but they were of sounpleasant a nature as to neutralise all gladness in relieving hisdistress. Mechanically Iglesias straightened the chair which his guesthad so lately occupied, put away tumbler and spirit decanter, pulled upthe blind and opened one of the tall narrow windows, set the door givingaccess to his bed-chamber wide, and opened a window there, too, socreating a draught right through the apartment from end to end. Hedesired to clean it both of a physical and a moral atmosphere which weredispleasing to him. And, in so doing, he let in, not only the roar ofLondon, borne in a fierce crescendo on the breath of the wind, but astrange multitudinous rustling from the sombre foliage and stiff branchesof the lonely cedar tree. Two limbs, crossing, sawed upon one another asthe wind took them, uttering at intervals a long-drawn complaint--notweakly, but rather with virility, as of a strong man chained and groaningagainst his fetters. 

The sound affected Dominic Iglesias deeply, begetting in him an almosthopeless sense of isolation. The vapid talk at dinner, poor little Mrs. Porcher's misplaced advances--the fact of which it appeared to himequally idle to deny and fatuous to admit--the dreary scene with hisunhappy fellow-lodger, the good deed done which just now appearedfruitless--all these contributed to make the complaint of the exiledcedar's tormented branches an echo of the complaint of his own heart. Fora long while he listened to these voices of the night, the great city, the great tree, the wind and the wet; and listening, by degrees herallied his patience in that he humbled himself. 

"After all, I have been little else but self-seeking, " he said, halfaloud. "For I gave not to the man, but to myself. I clutched at apersonal reward, if not of spoken gratitude yet of subjective content. Ithas not come. I suppose I did not deserve it. "

And then, somehow, his thoughts turned to that other human creature who, though in a very different fashion to de Courcy Smyth the unsavoury, hadclaimed his help. He thought not of her over-red lips, but of her wiseeyes; not of her irrepressible effervescence and patter, but of herserious moments and of the honesty and courage which at such momentsappeared to animate her. About a fortnight ago he had called at thelittle flower-bedecked house on the confines of Barnes Common, but hadobtained no response to his ringing. He supposed she was engaged, orpossibly away. With a certain proud modesty he had abstained fromrenewing his visit. But now, listening to the roar of London and thecomplaint of the cedar tree, he turned to the thought of her as tosomething of promise, of possible comfort, of equal friendship, in whichthere should be not only help given, but help received. 

CHAPTER XIII

Dominic Iglesias stood on Hammersmith Bridge looking upstream. Thetemperature was low for the time of year, the sky packed with heavy-bosomed indigo-grey clouds in the south and west, whence came a gustywind chill with impending rain. The light was diffused and cold, allobjects having a certain bareness of effect, deficient in shadow. Theweather had broken in the storm of the preceding night; and, though itwas but early September, summer was gone, autumn and the melancholy ofit already present--witness the elms in Chiswick Mall splotched withraw umber and faded yellow. The tide had still about an hour to flow. The river was dull and leaden, save where, near Chiswick Eyot, thewind meeting the tide lashed the surface of it into mimic waves, thecrests of which, flung upward, showed against the gloomy stretch ofwater beyond, like pale hands raised heavenward in despairing protest. Steam-tugs, taking advantage of the tide, laboured up-stream in theteeth of the wind, towing processions of dark floats and barges. Longbanners of smoke, ragged and fleeting, swept wildly away from themouths of the tall chimneys of Thorneycroft's Works, which rose blackinto the low, wet sky. The roadway of the huge suspension bridgequivered under the grind of the ceaseless traffic, while the windcried in the massive pea-green painted iron-gearing above. There was asense of hardly restrained tumult, of conflict between nature and themultiple machinery of modern civilisation, the two in opposition, alike victims of an angry mood. And Iglesias stood watching thatconflict among the crowd of children, and loafers, and decrepit, whoto-day--as every day--thronged the foot-way of the bridge. 

Poppy St. John stood on the foot-way, too. She had crossed from thesouthern side. But, though by no means insensible to the spirit or thedetails of the scene around her, she was less engaged in watching thedrama of the stormy afternoon than in watching Dominic Iglesias--asyet unconscious of her presence. His tall, spare, shapely figure, grave, clean-shaven face, and calm, self-recollected manner--whichremoved him so singularly from the purposeless neutral-tinted humanbeings close about him--delighted her artistic sense. 

"If one had caught him young, " she said to herself, "if one had onlycaught him young, heavenly powers, what a time one might have had, andyet stayed good--oh! very quite good indeed!"

Then she made her way between much undeveloped and derelict humanity. 

"Look at me, dear man, " she said, "look at me--really I am worth it. Igot home late last night and I was possessed by a great longing to seeyou. --Excuse my shouting, but things in general are making such aninfernal clatter. --I was determined to see you. I set my whole mind tomaking you come. And I felt so sure you must come that this afternoonI have journeyed thus far to meet you. And here you are, and here Iam. "

Poppy stood before him bracing her back against the hand-rail of thebridge. 

"Tell me, are you glad?" she said. 

And Dominic Iglesias, surprised, yet finding the incident curiouslynatural, answered simply:

"Yes, I am, very glad. "

"That's all right, " she rejoined; "because, after all, coming was apretty lively act of faith on my part. I have superstitious turns attimes; and the weather, and things that had happened, had made me feelpretty cheap somehow. I don't mind telling you as you are here that ifyou'd failed me there would have been the devil to pay. I should havebeen awfully cut up. "

Iglesias still smiled upon her. Poppy presented herself under a newaspect to-day, and that aspect found favour in his sight. She was nolonger the Lady of the Windswept Dust, arrayed in fantastic floweryhat and trailing skirts, but was clothed in trim black workman-likegarments, which revealed the delicate contours of her figure and gaveher an unexpected air of distinction. Yet, though charmed, the cautionof pride--which, in his case, was also the caution of modesty--madehim a trifle shy in addressing her. He paused before speaking, andthen said, with a certain hesitancy:

"I fancy my attitude of mind last night was the complement of yourown. I, too, had fallen on rather evil days. I wanted to see you. Icame out this afternoon to find you. If I had failed to do so, itwould have gone a little hard with me, too, I think. "

Poppy looked at him questioningly, intently, for a minute, her teethset. Then she whirled round, leaned her elbows on the hand-rail, pulled her handkerchief out of the breast pocket of her smartlyfitting coat and dabbed her eyes with it, finely indifferent topossible comment or observation. 

Iglesias remained immediately behind her, but a little to the right, so as to save her from being jostled by the passers-by. He had a senseof being only the more alone with her because of the traffic and thecrowd; a sense, moreover, of dependence on her part and protection onhis; a sense, in a way, of her belonging to him and he to her. Andthis was very sweet to him, solemnly sweet, as are all things ofbeauty and moment holding in them the promise of enduring result. OldAge ceased to threaten and Loneliness to haunt. Over Iglesias' soulpassed a wave of thankful content. 

Suddenly Poppy straightened herself up and faced him. Her lipslaughed, but her eyes were wet. 

"I'll play fair, " she said; "by the honour of the mother that boreyou, I'll play fair. "

Then she laid her hand on his arm and pointed London-wards. 

"Now, come along, dear man, for I have got to pull myself togethersomehow. Let us walk. Take me somewhere I've never been before, somewhere quiet--only let us walk. "

Therefore, desiring to meet her wishes, a little way up the broadstraggling street Dominic Iglesias turned off to the left into thenarrow old-world lanes and alleys which lie between the river frontageand King Street West. The district is a singular one, suggestive ofsome sleepy little dead-alive seaport town rather than of London. Quaint water-ways, crossed by foot-bridges, burrow in between smalllow cottages and warehouses. Some of these have overhanging upperstories to them, are half-timbered or yellow-washed. Some are builtwholly of wood. There is an all-pervading odour of tar and hempenrope. Small industries abound, though without any self-advertisementof plate-glass shop fronts. Chimney-sweeps and cobblers give notice oftheir presence by swinging signs. Newsvendors make irruption offlaring boards upon the pavement. Little ground-floor windows exhibitattenuated stores of tinware, string, and sweets. Modest tobacconistsmount the image of a black boy scantily clothed or of a Highlander inthe fullest of tartans above their doors. Cats prowl along walls andsparrows rise in flights from off the ill-paved roadways. But of humanoccupants there appear to be but few, and those with an unusual stampof individuality upon them; figures a trifle strange and obsolete--asof persons by choice hidden away, voluntarily self-removed from thelevelling rush and grind of the monster city. The small heavy-browedhouses are very secretive, seeming to shelter fallen fortunes, obscureand furtive sins, sorrows which resist alleviation and inquiry. Seen, as to-day, under the low-hanging sky big with rain, in the diffusedafternoon light, the place and its inhabitants conveyed an impressionlow-toned, yet distinct, finished in detail, rich though mournful ineffect as some eighteenth-century Dutch picture. A linnet twittered, flitting from perch to perch of its cage at an open window. A boy, clad in an old mouse-brown corduroy coat, passed slowly, crying "Sweetlavender" shrilly yet in a plaintive cadence. Occasionally the sirenof a steam-tug tore the air with a long-drawn wavering scream. Otherwise all was very silent. 

And, as they threaded their way through the maze of crooked streets, Dominic Iglesias and Poppy St. John were silent also; but with thesilence of intimacy and good faith, rather than with that ofembarrassment or indifference. Each was very fully aware of thepresence of the other. So fully aware, indeed, that, for the moment, speech seemed superfluous as a vehicle for interchange of thought. Then, as they emerged on to the open gravelled space of the Upper Mallwith its low red-brick wall and stately elm trees, Poppy held out herhand to Mr. Iglesias. 

"You are beautifully clever, " she said. "You give me just what Iwanted. I'm as steady as old Time now. But what a queer rabbit-warrenof a place it is! How did you find your way?"

"I came here often, in the past, " he said, "at a time when I wassuffering grave anxiety. I could not leave home, after my office workwas over, for more than an hour together. And in the dusk or at night, with its twinkling and evasive lights, the place used to please me, leading as it does to the river bank, the mystery of the ebbing andflowing tide, the ceaseless effort seaward of the stream, and thoselow-lying spaces on the Surrey side. It was the nearest bit of nature, unharnessed, irresponsible nature, which I could get to; and itsymbolised emancipation from monotonous labour and everlasting bricksand mortar. I could watch the dying of the sunset, and the outcomingof the stars, the tossing of the pale willows--there on the eyot--inthe windy dusk, undisturbed. And so I have come to entertain a greatfondness for it, since it tranquillised me and helped me to see lifecalmly and to bring myself in line with fact, to endure and toforgive. "

While he spoke Poppy's hand continued to rest passively in his. 

"You are a poet, " she said, "and you are very good. "

Dominic Iglesias smiled and shook his head. 

"No, " he answered. "I am neither a poet nor am I very good. Far fromthat. I only tried to keep faith with the one clear duty which I saw. "

Poppy moved forward across the Mall and stood by the river wall, looking out over the flowing tide. It was high now, and washed andgurgled against the masonry. 

"You did and suffered all that for some woman, " she said. "A man likeyou always breaks himself for some woman. I hope she was worth it--often they aren't. Who was she? The woman you loved? Your wife?"

"The woman I loved, " Iglesias answered, "but not my wife. "

Poppy looked at him sharply, her eyes full of question and of fear, asthough she dreaded to hear very evil tidings. 

"Not your mistress?" she said. "Don't tell me that. The Lord knowsI've no right to mind. But I should mind. It would be like switchingoff all the lights. I couldn't stand it. So, if it's that, just let uspart company at once. I've no more use for you. --I know where I amnow. If I go up into St. Peter's Square I can pick up a hansom anddrive back home--I suppose I may as well call it home, as I have noother. And as for you, if you've any mercy in you, never let me seeyou again. Never come near me. I have no use for you, I tell you. Soleave me to my own devices--what those devices are is no earthlyconcern of yours. "

She paused breathless, her eyes blazing, her face very white. Sheseemed to have grown tall, and there was a tremendous force in her ofbitterness, repudiation, and regret. 

"After all, " she cried, "I don't so much as know your name; and so, thank heaven, it can't be so very difficult to forget you. "

Her aspect moved Iglesias strangely, seeming as it did to embody thevery spirit of the angry sky, of the gloomy river, all the sorrow ofthe dead summer and stormy autumn light. For a moment he watched herin silence. Then he took both her hands in his and held them, smilingat her again very gently. 

"No, dear friend, " he said, "the woman was not my mistress. She was mymother. " His voice shook a little. "I never talk of her. But I thinkof her always. She was very perfect and very lovely. And she sufferedgreatly, so greatly that it unhinged her reason. Now do youunderstand? For years she was mad. "

CHAPTER XIV

In the month of October immediately following two events took placewhich, though of apparently very different magnitude and importance, intimately and almost equally--as it proved in the sequel--affectedDominic Iglesias' life. The first was the declaration of war by theSouth African Republics. The second was the return of Miss SerenaLovegrove to town. 

Now war is, unquestionably, not a little staggering to the moderncivilised conscience; and this particular war possessed the additionalunpleasantness of having in it, at first sight, an element of thegrotesque. It is not too much to say that it struck the majority ofthe British public as being of the nature of a very bad joke. For itwas as though a very small and very cheeky boy, after making offensivesigns, had spat in the nation's face. Clearly the boy deserved sharpchastisement for his impudence. Nevertheless, the position remained anundignified and slightly ridiculous one; and the British publicproceeded to safeguard its proper pride by treating the matter aslightly as possible. It assured itself--and others--that, given areasonable parade of strength, the small boy, blubbering, his fists inhis eyes, would speedily and humbly beg pardon and promise to mind hismanners in future. A few persons, it is true, remembered Majuba Hill, and doubted the small boy's immediate reduction to obedience. A fewothers dared to suspect that English society was suffering from wealthapoplexy and the many unlovely symptoms which, in all ages of history, have accompanied that form of seizure, and to doubt whether blood-letting might not prove salutary. Dominic Iglesias was among these. His recent observations upon and excursions into the world of fashion, stray words let drop by Poppy St. John on the one hand, and by unhappyde Courcy Smyth on the other, had begotten in him the suspicion thatthe sobering and sorrowful influences of war might be healthful forthe body politic, just as a surgical operation may be healthful forthe individual body. Next to the Jew, the Dutchman is the moststubbornly tenacious of human creatures. He is a fighting man into thebargain. Iglesias could not flatter himself that the campaign wouldresult in an easy walk-over for so much of the British army as asupine and annoyed Government condescended to place in the field. Thewhole affair lay heavy on his soul. It lay there all the heavier thata few days subsequent to the declaration of war Mr. Iglesias' thoughtwas unexpectedly swept back into the arena of speculative finance. 

In the portion of his morning paper allotted to business subjects, hehad lighted on a long and evidently inspired article dealing with theflotation of a company just now in process of acquiring control overextensive areas in Southeast Africa. The prospects held out toinvestors were of the most golden sort. The land was declared to benot only remarkably rich in precious stones and precious metals, butalso adapted for corn-growing on a vast scale--thus, both above andbelow the surface, promising prodigious wealth were its resourcesadequately developed. 

Iglesias did not dispute the truth of these statements. The dataquoted appeared trustworthy enough. Moreover, he was already fairlyconversant with the enterprise, since Mr. Reginald Barking--thatjunior member of the great banking firm whose name has been mentionedin connection with strenuous modern business methods--was, to hisknowledge, deeply interested in the promotion of it. That whichtroubled him, striking him as unsound and misleading, was the factthat the profits, as set forth in the newspaper article, werecalculated--so at least it was evident to Iglesias--on the results ofsuch development when completed, irrespective of the lapse of timerequired for such development; irrespective of possible and arrestingaccident; irrespective, too, of immediate and even protracted loss bythe tying-up of huge sums of money which could yield but little or noreturn until the said process of development was an accomplished fact. To Iglesias' clear-seeing and logical mind the enterprise, therefore, presented itself as one of those gigantic modern gambles of which theincidental risks are emphatically too heavy, since they more oftenthan not make rich men poor, and poor men paupers, before they comethrough--if, indeed, they even come through at all. 

Reginald, in virtue of his youth, his energy, and relentlessconcentration of purpose, had rapidly become the ruling spirit of thehouse of Barking Brothers & Barking. Iglesias had no cause to lovehim, since to him he owed his dismissal. But that fact failed tocolour his present meditations. Under the influence of his cherishedand new-found charity, Dominic had little time or inclination forpersonal resentment. Too, the habits of the best part of a lifetimecannot be thrown aside in a day. Directly he touched business on thelarge scale, it became to him serious and imposing. And so the futureof the firm and the issue of its operations, in face of currentevents, concerned him deeply, all the more that he gauged ReginaldBarking's temper of mind and proclivities. 

The young man's father--now happily deceased--had offered aninstructive example of social and religious survival--survival, to beexplicit, of the once famous Clapham Sect, and that in its leastagreeable aspect. His theology was that of obstinately narrowmisinterpretation of the Scriptures; his piety that of self-inventedobligations; his virtue that of unsparing condemnation of the sins ofothers. His domestic morality was Hebraic--death kindly playing intohis hands in regard of it. He married four times--Reginald, the onlychild of his fourth marriage, having the further privilege of beinghis only son. The boy was delicate and of a strumous habit. This fact, combined with his parents' ingrained conviction that a public schoolis synonymous, morally speaking, with a common sewer, caused hiseducation to be conducted at home by a series of tutors asundistinguished by birth as by scholarship--tentative apologetic youngmen, the goal of whose ambitions was a wife and a curacy, failingwhich they resigned themselves to the post of usher in some ultra-Protestant school. Sport in all its forms, art and literature, beingalike forbidden, the boy's hungry energy had found no reasonableoutlet. He had been miserable, peevish, ailing, until at barelyeighteen--after a discreditable episode with a scullery-maid--he hadbeen shipped off to New York to learn business in the house of certainbrokers and bill-discounters with whom Messrs. Barking Brothers hadextensive financial relations. Life in the land of the Puritans wasnot, even at that time of day, inevitably immaculate. Freedom fromparental supervision and the American climate went to the lad's head. He passed through a phase of commonplace but secret vice, emergingthere-from with an unblemished social reputation; a blank scepticismin matters religious, combined with bitter animosity against the Deitywhom he declared non-existent; and a fiercely driving ambition, not somuch for wealth in itself, as for that control ever the destinies ofmen, and even of nations, with which wealth under modern conditionsendows its possessor. He was a pale, dry, lizard-like young man, suggesting light without heat, and excitement without emotion. Earlyin his career he recognised that the great sources of wealth and powerlie with the younger countries, in the development of their naturaland industrial resources, of their railways and other forms oftransport. The phenomenal advance of America, for example, was due toher enormous territory and the opportunities of expansion, with thebounds of nationality, which this afforded her people. But he alsorecognised that America was essentially for the Americans, and that itwas useless for an outsider, however skilful, however evenunscrupulous, to pit his business capacity against that of the nativeborn. His dreams of power and speculative activity directedthemselves, consequently, to the British Colonies, and to those as yetunappropriated spaces of the earth's surface where British influenceis still only tentatively present. 

Meanwhile he had espoused Miss Nancy Van Reenan, daughter of a famoustransatlantic merchant prince, first cousin, it may be added, to thebeautiful Virginia Van Reenan whose marriage with Lawrence Rivers, ofStoke Rivers in the county of Sussex, so fluttered the smartestsection of New York society a few years ago. He returned to England inthe spring of 1897, convinced that America had taught him, commercially speaking, all there was to know. This knowledge heprepared to apply to waking up the venerable establishment inThreadneedle Street, while employing the unimpeachable respectabilityand solvency of the said establishment as a lever towards therealisation of his own far-reaching ambitions. He brought with himfrom the United States, in addition to his elegant wife, two dry, palechildren, whose contours were less Raphaelesque than gnat-like, andthe acuteness of whose critical faculty was very much more in evidencethan that of their affections. These bright little results ofmodernity and applied science--in the shape of the incubator--tooktheir place in the social movement, at the ages of three and fiverespectively, with the hard and chilling assurance of a world-wearyman and woman. They never exhibited surprise. They rarely exhibitedamusement. They were radically disillusioned. They frequently referredto their nerves and their digestions, in the interests of which theyconsistently repudiated every form of excess. 

With these rather terrible little gentry Dominic Iglesias was, happilyfor himself, unacquainted; but with their father he was very wellacquainted, as has already been stated. Hence his fears. Folding hisnewspaper together, he laid it on the table and proceeded to walkmeditatively up and down his sitting-room. The morning was keen withsunshine, the leaves of the planes and balsam-poplars fell in brownand yellow showers upon the Green, on the further side of which thedetails of the red and yellowish grey houses stood out in high reliefof sharp-edged light and shadow. Mr. Iglesias had risen in a hopefulframe of mind. Of late it had become his habit to call weekly on PoppySt. John. Today was the one appointed for his visit. Since he hadspoken to her about his mother his friendship with Poppy St. John hadentered upon a new phase. It was no longer experimental, but absolute, the more so that she had in no way presumed upon his confidence. Hefelt very safe with her--safe to tell or safe to withhold asinclination should move him. And in this there was a strange anddelicate lessening of the burden of his loneliness, without anyencroachment on his pride. He had found, moreover, that behind herpatter lay an unexpected acquaintance with public affairs and thetendencies of current events, so that it was possible to talk onsubjects other than personal with her. He was coming to have muchfaith in her judgment as well as in her sincerity of heart. And, so, with the prospect of seeing her before him, Dominic had risen in thehappiest disposition, had so remained till the newspaper articledisturbed his mind. For what, as he asked himself, did it portend, this extravagant puff of the company's lad and the company'sprospects, at this particular juncture? Why was it so urgently andeloquently forced upon the market just now? Was it but another proofof the contemptuous attitude adopted by Englishmen of all classestowards the Boer Republics? Or did it take its origin very muchelsewhere--namely, in the fact that Reginald Barking had so deeplyinvolved the capital and pledged the credit of the firm that it becamenecessary to make violent and doubtfully honest bid for popularsupport before the position of the said firm, through difficulty andaccident induced by war, became desperate?

This last solution of the perplexing question aroused all Mr. Iglesias' loyalty towards his old employers. He saw before them theugly possibility of failure and disgrace. The mere phantom of thething hurt him as unseemly, as a shame and dishonour to those who intheir corporate capacity had benefited him, and therefore as a shameand dishonour, at least indirectly, to himself. The thought agitatedhim. He needed to take council with someone; and so, pushed by anecessity of immediate action uncommon to him, he laid hands on hatand coat and set forth to talk matters over with his old friend andformer colleague, George Lovegrove. 

Out of doors the air was stimulating. The voice of London had a toneof urgency in it, as the voice of the young and strong who court thecoming of stirring events. 

"The moods of the monstrous mother are inexhaustible, " Iglesias saidto himself. "She is changeful as the great ocean. To-day she isvirile, and shouts for battle--. Well, it may be she will get her fillof that before many months are out!"

Then the thought of his afternoon visit returned upon him. If the airwould remain as exhilarating, the sunshine as daring as now, thesewould heighten enjoyment. 

Mr. Iglesias smiled to himself, an emotion of tenderness mingling withhis anxiety. He felt very much alive, very ready to meet any demandwhich the future might make on him--battle for him, too, perhaps, andat this moment he welcomed the thought of it! Thus, a little exaltedin spirit, Dominic walked on rapidly across the Green between the ironrailings, conscious of colour, of light, and of sound; but unobservantof the details of his immediate surroundings, until a drifting femalefigure barred his path, undulating uncertainly before him. He moved tothe right to let it pass. It moved to the right also. He moved to theleft, it did so, too. 

"I beg your pardon, " he said. 

"Oh!" cried Serena Lovegrove. 

"I beg your pardon, " Iglesias repeated, raising his hat. "Excuse me, Idid not see who it was. "

"How very odd!" Serena remarked. She stood still in the middle of thepath. Her eyes snapped. Her silk petticoat rustled. Serena was veryparticular about her petticoats. It gave her great moral and socialsupport to hear them rustle. "How very odd!" she said again. "Did younot know that I had come back?"

Dominic might truthfully have replied that he did not know that shehad ever gone away; but he abstained. 

"It must be a great pleasure to your cousins to have you with them, "he said courteously. 

Serena looked at the falling leaves. 

"I wonder whether it is--I mean I wonder whether it is a pleasure tothem, or whether they ask me out of a sense of duty. " She paused, gazing at Mr. Iglesias. "Of course, I know George has a strong regardfor me, and for Susan. It is only natural, as we are first cousins. But I am not sure about Rhoda. Of course we never heard of Rhoda untilshe married George. "

"She has made him an excellent wife, " Iglesias put in. 

"I suppose she has, " Serena said reflectively. "But I sometimes wonderwhether, if George had married somebody else, it might not have beenmore satisfactory in some ways. "

Serena felt very proud in making this remark. It elicited no reply, however, from Mr. Iglesias. 

"I wonder if he really sees that Rhoda is on a different level fromus, and won't admit it; or whether he doesn't see. If he doesn't see, of course that means a good deal. "

"Do you usually go out walking in the morning?" Dominic inquired. Thesilence was becoming protracted. Courtesy demanded that he shouldbreak it. 

Serena looked at him with heightened intelligence. 

"We were always brought up to take a walk twice a day. Mamma was veryparticular about it. She believed that health had so much to do withregular exercise. Sometimes I wonder whether she did not carry thattoo far. But, of course, Susan is very strong, much stronger than Iam. I believe she would have been strong in any case, even if mammahad not insisted on our taking so much exercise. " Serena paused. "ButI did not know you went out in the morning. That is, I mean I havenever seen you go out before. "

"Indeed, " Iglesias exclaimed, a little startled at the closeobservation of his habits implied by this remark. 

"No, " she said; "of course one can see Cedar Lodge very plainly fromGeorge's house, and I often look out of window. I think it among thepleasures of London to look out of window. I have never seen you goout in the morning before. " Again she paused, adding reflectively: "Itreally seems rather odd that neither George nor Rhoda should have toldyou that I had come back. "

To this remark no suitable answer suggested itself. Moreover, Mr. Iglesias was growing slightly impatient. He wished she would see fitto move aside and let him pass. 

"You will get cold standing here, " he said. "You must not let medetain you any longer. "

Serena's eyes snapped. She was excited. She was also slightlyoffended. "He is very abrupt, " she said to herself; but she did notmove aside and let him pass. "Yes, he is abrupt, " she repeated;"still, he has a very good manner. If one didn't know that he had beena bank clerk, I wonder if one would detect it. I don't think it wouldbe a thing that need be mentioned, for instance, at Slowby. Only Susanwould be sure to make a point of mentioning it. Susan has an idea sheowes it to herself to be truthful. Of course, it would be wrong todeny that anyone had been a bank clerk; but that is different fromtelling everybody. I wonder if Susan would feel obliged to telleverybody. "

When she reached the near side of the Green, Serena looked back. Mr. Iglesias was in the act of entering the Lovegroves' front door, whichthe worthy George held open for him. Serena stood transfixed. 

"So he was going there!" she said to herself. "How extraordinary notto mention it to me. What could have been his object in not mentioningit? I wonder if he has only gone to see George, or to see Rhoda aswell. If he has gone to see Rhoda, then I think he has beenexceedingly rude to me. And he has been very short-sighted, too, if hedidn't want me to know, for he might have taken it for granted that ofcourse I should look back. Unless he did do it on purpose, meaning tobe rude. But--"

Serena resumed her walk. She was very much excited. 

"Of course he may have done it on purpose that I should see, andunderstand that he meant something special--that he was going to speakto George and Rhoda about something in particular, which he could notsay before me. He may have wanted to sound them. But then it is sovery odd that he should have said that George had never told him I hadcome back. But I don't believe he ever did say that. " Serena wasgrowing more and more excited. She drifted along the pavement, in herrustling petticoats, with the most unusually animated expression ofcountenance. 

"I remember--of course he did not say it. He avoided the question eachtime. How very extraordinary! I think he must mean me to understandsomething by that. I wonder if George will refer to it at luncheon. Ifhe does I must find out from Rhoda, but without letting her suspectthat I observed anything, of course. "

Serena had quite ceased to be offended. Her fancy, indeed, had taken amost wildly ingenious flight. She felt very remarkable, very acute, quite dangerous, in short--and these sensations, however limited theirjustification by fact, were highly agreeable to her. 

CHAPTER XV

The heavens remained clear, the air exhilarating, and Iglesias setforth on his weekly pilgrimage in a serene frame of mind. GeorgeLovegrove's view had been reassuring. 

"I know you are much more far-sighted than I am, " he had said, hishonest face beaming with combined cleanliness and affection, "so Ialways hesitate to set up my opinion against yours. It would bepresumptuous. Still, you do surprise me. I never had an inkling ofanything of the sort; and between ourselves--for I should never hintat the subject before the wife, you know--it might upset her, femalesare so sensitive--but between ourselves it would fairly unman me tothink there could be any unsoundness in Barking Brothers & Barking. You know the phrase current in the city about them--'as safe as theBank of England'? And I have always believed that. I know I leftbefore Mr. Reginald had any active share in the business, and I neverhave cared about American speculation. It is all beyond me. Still Icannot suppose the senior partners would let him have too much his ownway. Depend upon it, Sir Abel keeps an eye on him. And then as to thiswar, of course you have studied it all more deeply than I have thepower to do; still I cannot help thinking you distress yourselfunnecessarily. As I said to the wife when I first heard of it, it'ssuicidal. One can only feel pity for such poor ignorant creatures, rushing headlong on their ruin. Depend upon it, they will very sooncome to their senses and deplore their own rash action. A very fewweeks will see the finish of it all. I only hope there will not bemuch bloodshed first, for of course they couldn't stand up againstEnglish troops for an hour, poor things. "

Encouraged by which cheerful optimism Dominic Iglesias began to thinkhis fears exaggerated, as he descended from an omnibus top atHammersmith Bridge that afternoon, crossed the river, and walked ondown the long suburban road. The sky was sharply blue. Multicolouredleaves danced down from the trees in the villa gardens. Gaily cladchildren, pursued by anxious mothers and nursemaids, ran and shouted, the sunshine and fresh air having gone to their heads. Perched on thebrick pier of an entrance gate, a robin uplifted its voice inpiercingly sweet song. Autumn wore her fairest face, speaking ofpromise rather than of decay. It was good to be alive. Even to Mr. Iglesias' sober and chastened spirit horror of war, disgrace offinancial failure, seemed remote and inconsiderable things, morbiddelusions such as sane men brush aside scorning to give themharbourage so much as of thought. 

Poppy was mirthful, too, in her greeting of him. 

"My dear man, " she cried, "the house is out of windows! You find us inthe throes of a great domestic event. Cappadocia has done her duty byposterity. She has been brought to bed, if you'll excuse my mentioningit, of four puppies. Perfect little lambs, not a white hair amongthem. And she shows true maternal feeling, does Cappadocia. Wheneveryou go near her she tries to bite. "

Poppy spoke very fast, holding his hand, looking him full in the face, her singular eyes very gentle in expression, yet all alight. 

"Ah! it's good to see you. My stars, but it is good to see you, " shesaid. 

And Dominic, moved beyond his wont, stood silent for a space. 

"You're not offended? Surely, at this time of the day, you're notgoing to stiffen up?" she asked. 

He shook his head. 

"No, no, dear friend, " he said; "but this greeting is a littlewonderful to me. Except my mother, years ago, nobody has ever caredwhether I came or went. "

"More fools they, " Poppy answered, with a fine disregard of grammar. "But all that's over now. You know it's over. All the same I can't bealtogether sorry it was so, because it gives me my chance. --Sit down;I'll expound to you. Let us talk. --You see, my beautiful innocent, with most men worth knowing--I am not talking about boys running aboutwith the shell still on their heads and more affections to place thanthey can find a market for, but men. Well then, with most all of them, when one comes to discuss matters, one finds one's had such an awfullot of predecessors. At best one comes in a bad third--more often abad three-and-twentieth--I mean nothing risky. Don't be nervous. Butthey have romantic memories of half-a-dozen women. And so, though theyare no end nice and kind to one, play up and give one a good time andhave a jolly good one themselves--trust 'em to take care of that--oneknows all the while, if one knows anything, that the whole show'smerely a _réchauffé_. Visions of Clara and Gladys, and dearlittle Emily, and Rosina, and Beatrice, and the lovely Lucinda--angels, every one of them, if you haven't seen them for ten years, andwouldn't know them again if you met them in the street--haunt thebackground of every man's mind by the time he's five-and-thirty, andcut entrancing capers against the sky-line, so that--when one comes tothrash the matter out--one finds the actually present woman, here inthe foreground, hasn't really any look-in at all. "

Poppy threw her head back against the yellowish red cushions of thesettee, her teeth showing white as she laughed. 

"Boys aren't worth having. They're too crude, too callow. Moreover, itisn't playing the game. One doesn't want to make a mess of theirfutures, poor little chaps. And grown men, except as I say of the verypreëngaged sort, are not to be had. So don't you understand, mostdelightful lunatic, how it comes to pass that you and your friendshipare precious to me beyond words? When you go I could cry. When youcome I could dance. "

Her tone changed, becoming defiant, almost fierce. 

"And it is all right, " she said, "thank heaven, right, --right, clean, and honest, and good for one's soul. Now I've done. Only we are veryhappy in our own quaint way, aren't we? And we can leave it at that. Oh, yes, we can very well leave it at that if"--she looked sideways atMr. Iglesias, her expression half-humorous, half-pathetic--"if only itwill stay at that and not play the mischief and scuttle off intosomething quite else. "

She got up quickly, with a little air of daring and bravado. 

"I must move about. I must do something--there, I'll make up the fire. No, sit still, dear man"--as Dominic prepared to rise also--"I likedoing little odd jobs with you here. It takes off the company feeling, and makes it seem as if you belonged, and like the bicycle, had 'cometo stay. '"

Poppy threw a couple of driftwood logs upon the smouldering fire. Around them sharp tongues of flame--rose and saffron, amber, sea-green, and heliotrope, glories as of a tropic sunset--leaped upward. She stood watching these, her left hand resting on the edge of themantelpiece, her right holding up the front of her black skirt. Herright foot rested on the fender curb, thereby displaying a discreetinterval of openwork silk stocking and a neatly cut steel-buckledshoe. The many-hued firelight flickered over her dark figure; over thesoft lace jabot at her throat and ruffles at her wrists; over her paleprofile; and glinted in the heavy masses of her hair. The room, facingeast, was cold with shadow, which the thin fantastic colours of theflames appeared to emphasise rather than to relieve. And Iglesias, obedient to her entreaty, sat quietly waiting until it should againplease her to speak. For he had begun to accept her many changes ofmood as an integral element of her personality--a personality rich inrapid and subtle contradictions. Often he had no clue to the meaningof these many changes. But he did not mind that. Not absence of vulgarcuriosity alone, but an unwilling sub-conscious shrinking from any tooclose acquaintance with the details of her life contributed to renderhim passive. He had a conviction, though he had never formulated iteven in thought, that ignorance in relation to her made for securityand content. And there was a refined charm in this--namely, that eachto the other, even while friendship deepened, should remain somethingof an undiscovered country. Moreover, had she not told him that herested her? To ask questions, however sympathetic, to volunteerconsolation, however delicately worded, is to risk being officious;and to be officious, in however mild a degree, is to drive away theshy and illusive spirit of rest. And so Dominic Iglesias was coming, in the good nautical reading of that phrase, simply "to stand by" andwait where this woman was concerned. After all, it was but thereapplication of a lesson learned long ago for the support and solaceof another woman, by him supremely loved. To act thus was, therefore, not only natural but poignantly sweet to him, as a new and gentleoffering laid upon the dear altar of his dead. It rejoiced him to findthat now, as of old, the demand created a supply of silent butsustaining moral force, ready to pass into the sphere of active helpshould necessity arise. 

Nevertheless as the minutes passed, while daylight and firelight alikebegan to fade, Dominic Iglesias grew somewhat troubled and sad. And itwas with a distinct movement of relief that he, at last, saw Poppydraw herself up, push the soft masses of her hair back from herforehead with a petulant gesture, and turn towards him. As she did soshe let her hands drop at her sides, as though she had finished withand dismissed some unwelcome form of thought, while her face showedwan, and her eyes large and vague, as though they saw beyond andthrough all that which they actually looked on. 

"There, there, " she said harshly, with an angry lift of her head, "what a silly fool I am, wasting time like this when you are here. Butmy soul went out of my body; and I could afford to let it go, justbecause you were here, and I felt safe. " Her tone softened. "Sure Idon't bore you?" she asked. 

Dominic shook his head, smiling. 

"Very sure, " he said. 

"Bless you, then that's all right. " Poppy strolled back and sat downlanguidly. "I've gone confoundedly tired, " she said. "You see, I satup half the night acting Gamp to Cappadocia--if you excuse my againalluding to the domestic event. --Oh! my being tired doesn't matter. Mydear man, I'm never ill. I'm as strong as a horse. Let's talk ofsomething more interesting--let's review the topics of the hour--onlyfor the life of me I can't remember what the topics of the hour are!Yes, I know though--the management of the Twentieth Century Theatrehas given Dot Parris a leading part. Does that leave you cold?Impossible! Why, in theatrical circles it's a world-shaking event. Iown I'm curious to see how she does in legitimate drama, after hercareer in musical comedy and at the halls, myself. I'm really veryfond of her, poor little Dot. She's going to call herself MissCharlotte Colthurst in the future, I understand. Did you ever hearsuch cheek? But then she always had the cheek of the old gentlemanhimself, and that makes for success. Cheek does go an awfully long waytowards bringing you through, don't you think so?"

"Probably, " Dominic said. "My opportunities of exercising thatparticular form of virtue have been so limited that I am quiteprepared to accept your ruling on the point. "

Poppy laughed softly, looking at him with a great friendliness. 

"Ah! but it wouldn't have been cheek in your case, anyhow. It wouldmerely have been that you stepped into your right place, ascended anythrone that happened to be right divine. I can see you doing it, sostatelily and yet so innocently. It would be a perfectly delicioussight. I believe you will do it yet, some day, somehow, and make a lotof people sit up. But that reminds me, joking apart, there is a topicof the hour I wanted to ask you about. Tell me what you think of thiswar. "

And Dominic Iglesias, once more obedient to her changing mood, repliedwith quiet sincerity:

"I am told I am an alarmist. I hope I may prove to be so, for in thismatter I should much prefer the optimists to be in the right. But Iconfess I do not like the outlook. Both on public and private groundsthis war makes me anxious. "

Poppy's languor had vanished. She had grown very much alive again. Nowshe leaned forward, pressing her hands together, palm to palm, betweenher knees, and making herself small, as a child does when it is deeplyin earnest and wants to think. 

"You're right, " she assented. "I'm perfectly certain all this cocksureJohnny-head-in-air business, 'sail to-day and see you again at teatomorrow, so it's not worth while saying good-by'--you know thestyle?--is fatuous and idiotic. It is not bluff, because the Englishofficer-man doesn't bluff. He hasn't the brains, to begin with, andthen he is a very sound sort of an animal. He doesn't need to hide hisfright for the simple reason that he's not frightened. A friend ofmine was talking about it all yesterday. He thinks as you do, and he'sno silly, though he is a member of the House of Lords. --After all, hecan't help that, poor dear old chap, " she added apologetically, looking sideways at Mr. Iglesias. "But there, you've seen him, Ibelieve. You met him the first time you came here. Don't you remember, I had to turn you out because I had to see him on business, and youran across him in the hall as you were going?"

"I remember meeting someone, " Dominic said, rather loftily. He did notwant to hear any more. The conversation had become displeasing to him, though he could have given no reason for his displeasure. But Poppysuddenly turned mischievous and naughty. She patted her hands gentlytogether between her knees and swayed with rather impish merriment. 

"Ah, of course you were much too grand to take any particular noticeof him, poor brute. But he wasn't a bit too grand to take a lot ofnotice of you. He was fearfully impressed. Yes, I tell you he was. Don't be cross. I am speaking the veracious truth. I give you my wordI'm not gassing. He was awfully keen to know who you were, and whereyou came from, and how I met you. And it was the sweetest thing out tobe able to reply that I'd been introduced to you on a bench--a mightyuncomfortable one, too, with no back to it!--on Barnes Common byCappadocia; and that as to your name and local habitation I hadn't thefaintest ghost of a notion what they were. Are you cross? Don't becross, " Poppy pleaded. 

"No, no, of course not, " Mr. Iglesias answered, goaded from hishabitual calm and speaking almost sharply. 

Poppy patted her palms together again, swaying backwards and forwards. Her eyes were dancing. 

"Oh! but you are, though, " she cried. "You're just a wee bit jealous. You are--you know you are, and I'm not a scrap sorry. On the contrary, I'm enchanted. For it shows that you are human after all, and musthave a name and address tucked away somewhere about you. I don't wantto know what they are, but it's comfortable to be assured of theirexistence. It shows you don't drop straight down from heaven--as I wasbeginning to be afraid you did--once a week, into the Mortlake Road, and then go straight up again. It shows that I could get on to you bypost, or telephone, or other means of communication common to mortals, if I was in a tight place and really wanted you, without walking asfar as Hammersmith Bridge and waiting in the wind and the wet on thebare chance you might take it into your august head to materialise, and break out of paradise, and take a little stroll round oursublunary sphere. "

For a moment Poppy laid her hand lightly on Mr. Iglesias' shoulder. 

"Yes, be cross, " she repeated. "Just as cross as ever you like, solong as you don't keep it up too protractedly. It's the most engagingpiece of flattery I've come across for a month of Sundays. Only youneedn't worry in this particular instance, dear man, I give you myword you needn't. It's a sheer waste of feeling. For Fallowfeild'salways been perfectly decent with me. I know people think him anawfully risky lot, but they're noodles. He's racketed in his day--ofcourse he has. But if he'd been more of a hypocrite, people would havetalked less. As the man says in the play, it's not the sin but thebeing found out which makes the scandal. And Fallowfeild was toohonest. He never pretended to be better than he was. He is a man ofgood nature who has done wrong things, which is quite different tobeing a man of bad nature who does wrong things, and still moredifferent to being a man of weak nature who pretends to do rightthings. That last is the sort I hate most, and I speak out of beastlyintimate experience. "

She made a most expressive grimace, as though she had a remarkablydisagreeable taste in her mouth. 

"No salvation for that sort, I believe, " she went on, "either here orhereafter. Now, are you better? You do believe it has always beenperfectly square and above-board between Fallowfeild and me, don'tyou?"

"Unquestionably, I believe it, " Dominic answered. He spoke slowly. 

Poppy turned her head sharply and looked hard at him. 

"Ah! but I don't quite like that, " she said. "I've muddled it somehow--I see I have. I've hurt and offended you. You're farther off thanyou were ten minutes ago. In spirit you've got up and gone away. Ihave muddled it. I have made you distrust me. "

"No, " Dominic answered, "you have not made me distrust you; but youhave perplexed me. It is the result of my own dulness, no doubt. Myimagination is not agile enough to follow you, and so--"

He hesitated. That which he had in his mind was not easy to put intowords without discourtesy. He would far rather have left it unsaid;but to do so would have been, in truth, to stand farther off, to erecta barrier which might prove insuperable to happy companionship in thefuture. 

"Yes?" Poppy queried. Her voice shook just perceptibly. In thedeepening dusk neither could see the other distinctly, and thiscontributed to Dominic's decision to speak. 

"It pains me, " he said at last, "if you will pardon my frankness, thatyou should think it necessary to account for yourself and justifyyourself as you often appear to do. "

"Yes?" Poppy queried again. 

"That you should do so distresses and disturbs me. "

"Yes, " Poppy murmured. 

"I am afraid I grow selfish, " Iglesias went on gently; "but you havebeen good enough to tell me that my poor friendship is of value toyou. Does it not occur to you that yours is of far greater value tome? And that for many and obvious reasons--these among others, thatwhile you are young, and have a wide circle of acquaintances, and in afuture to which, brilliant as you are, you may look forward with hopeand assurance, I am absolutely alone in the world. Save for one oldschool-fellow, who has been very faithful to me, there is no one towhom it matters, except in the most superficial degree, whether I liveor die. "

"Ah!" Poppy said softly. 

"Do not misunderstand me, I do not complain, " Iglesias added. "Ientertain no doubt but that the circumstances in which I find myselfare the right and profitable ones for me, if I only lay to heart thelessons they teach, and use the opportunities which they afford me. "

"I don't know about that--I doubt that, " Poppy put in hastily. 

"You doubt it because you are young, " he answered, "and yourcircumstances are capable of alteration and development. Except undervery exceptional conditions, resignation is no virtue in the young. Itis more often an excuse for cowardice and sloth. But at my age theworld changes its complexion. My circumstances are incapable ofalteration and development. They are final. Therefore I do well toaccept them unreservedly. The work of my life is done. I do not saythat it has been a failure, for I fulfilled the main object I had inview. But it has certainly been obscure and inglorious. The sun willsink dimly enough into a bank of fog. My present is meagre in interestand activity. My future, a brief enough one in all probability, mustof necessity be meagre likewise. Therefore your friendship is ofsupreme importance to me. "

Iglesias paused. His voice was grave, distinct, weighted with feeling. He did not look at his companion; he could not trust himself to do so, for he had discovered in himself unexpected depths of emotion. 

"And just on that account, " he went on, "I grow childishly nervous, childishly apprehensive if anything arises which seems to cloud or, inhowever small a measure, to endanger the serenity of our intercourse. "

He turned and looked at her. 

"This constitutes no slight to you, dear friend. "

"No, " she said, "very certainly it is no slight. On the contrary, itis very beautiful; but it's an awful responsibility, too. "

She sat quite still, her head carried high, her hands clasped in herlap. 

"I've underrated the position, I see. I've only thought of myself sofar and how you pleased me. But though I'm pretty cheeky, too--almostas cheeky as little Dot--I never had the presumption to put the affairthe other way about. "

Poppy began to sway slightly again and pat the palms of her handstogether between her knees. 

"It's been a game, the finest game I've ever played; and I swore byall my gods to play fair. But, as you look at it, our friendshipamounts to a good deal more than a game. It goes very deep. And I'mnot sure--. No, I'm not--whether I'm equal to it. "

She glanced at Iglesias strangely through the clinging grey of thedusk. 

"Dear unknown, " she said, "I give you my word I'm frightened--I who'venever been frightened at any man yet. In my own little way I've playedpitch and toss with their hearts and made footballs of them--exceptthat poor young fellow--I told you about him the first time we met--who gave me the scarf, and whose people wouldn't let him marry me. Butthis affair with you is different. It goes very far, it means--itmeans nothing short of revolution for me, of putting away andrenouncing very much. "

Poppy got up, stood pushing her hair back with both hands from herforehead. Then she moved across to the further side of the fireplace. Dominic had risen also. He stood on the near side of the hearth. Hewas penetrated with the conviction that a crisis was upon them both, involving all the happiness of their future relation to one another. 

"You don't understand, " Poppy cried passionately. "And I don't wantyou to understand--that's half the trouble. I want to keep you. Yourfriendship's the loveliest thing I've ever had. And yet I don't know. For I'm not one woman--I'm half-a-dozen women, and they all pull allsorts of ways so that I daren't trust myself. I want to keep you, Itell you, I want horribly to keep you. Yet I'm ghastly afraid I'm notequal to it. The price is too big. "

As she spoke Poppy dashed her hand against the push of the electricbell, and held it there, ringing a prolonged alarum, in quick responseto which Phillimore, the respectable elderly parlour maid, appeared, bearing two rose-shaded lamps. Noiselessly and deftly--as oneaccustomed to agitations, whose eyes did not see or ears hear if itshould be unadvisable to permit them to do so--she drew the curtains, made up the fire, set out the tea-table. And with that change of sceneand shutting out of the dusk, Poppy seemed to change also; gravity andstrength of purpose departing from her, and leaving her--notwithstanding her sober dress--unreal, fictitious, artificial, thered-lipped carmine-tinted lady of the footlights, of the windsweptdust and embroidered dragons again. She chattered, moreover, ceaselessly, careless of interruption, and of criticism alike. 

"Here, let's hark back to the ordinary conduct of material existence, "she said. "Tea? Won't you sit down? No--well, just as you like best. Take it standing. Let me see, what were we discussing when we gotswitched on to unexpectedly personal lines of conversation? The war--yes, I remember. I was just going to tell you that Fallowfeildbelieves it's going to be a nasty dragging unsatisfactory business. Everyone gasses about the Boers being a simple pastoral people. ButFallowfeild says their simplicity is just another name for guile, andthat he anyway can't conceive a more disconcerting job than fighting anation of farmers and huntsmen and gamekeepers in their own country, every inch of which they know. People say they've no military science. But so jolly much the better for them. They can be unfetteredopportunists, with nothing to think of but outwitting the enemy andsaving their property and their skins. The poor British Tommy will beno match for them; nor will the British officer-man either, till he'sunlearned his parade-ground etiquette, and his haw-haw red-tapemethods and manner, and learned their very primitive but very cute andfoxy ones. By which time, Fallowfeild says, the mourning warehouseshere at home will have made a record turnover, and there will bealtogether too many new graveyards for comfort in South Africa. "

Poppy paused in her harangue, for Dominic Iglesias had set down hiscup, its contents untasted. He was sad at heart. 

"Are you going?" she asked. 

"Yes, " he answered. "It grows late. It's time I went, I think. "

"Perhaps it is. " Poppy's eyes had become inscrutable. "I really oughtto attend to my Gamping, and pass the time of day with Cappadocia. Hersnappishness has scared the maids. They refuse to go within a measuredfurlong of her. "

Poppy bent down over the tea-table, arranging the teacups withelaborate neatness. 

"Good-by, " she said. "I don't quite know when we shall meet again. "

"Why?" Iglesias asked. The muscles of his throat were rigid. He hadmuch ado to speak plainly and naturally. "Are you leaving home?"

"Home?" she answered. "Yes, I'm leaving it. Good-by again. Don't letme keep you. Certainly I'm leaving home. Indeed, I believe I have leftit already--for good. "

And she threw back her head and laughed. 

Upon the doorstep a cold rush of air met Mr. Iglesias. Above, the skywas blue-black and very clear. The road was vacant and grey withfrost. The flame of the gaslamps quivered, giving off a sharpbrightness in the keen atmosphere. Mr. Iglesias turned up the collarof his coat and descended the steps. Just then a hansom emerged fromthe distance and drew up with a rattle and grind against the curb sometwenty paces ahead. The occupant, a young man, flung back the doorswith a thud, and stood a moment on the footboard paying the driver, who raised himself, leaning forward with outstretched hand across theglistening black roof of the cab. Then the young man turned round, swung himself down on to the asphalt pavement, and came forward asrapidly as a long motor-coat, reaching to his heels, would permit. Hewas tall and fair, well-favoured, preoccupied, not to say morose. Hedid not vouchsafe Mr. Iglesias so much as a glance as he brushed pasthim. The road was still vacant, and in the frosty air sounds carried. Mr. Iglesias distinctly heard him race up a neighbouring flight ofsteps, heard the click and turn of a latchkey in a lock, heard theslam of a front door pulled to violently. And so doing Dominic turnedcold and a little faint. He would not condescend to look back; but hehad recognised Alaric Barking, and was in no doubt which house he hadentered. 

"Keb, sir? 'Ere yer are, sir, " the cabby called cheerily. "Very coldnight. Just set one gentleman down, and 'appy to tike another up. Wantto get back to my comfy little West End shelter, so I'll tike yer for'alf fares, sir, though we are outside the blooming radius. "

But Iglesias shook his head. The horse stood limply in a cloud ofsteam. Alaric Barking had evidently pushed the pace. But even had theanimal been in better condition, Iglesias had no desire to drive inthat particular cab. He would rather have walked the whole way toCedar Lodge. 

Opposite the Bell Inn, where the roads fork--one turning away throughMortlake, the other leading to Barnes Common, Roehampton, and Sheen--the row of smart little houses degenerates into shops. By the time hereached these Mr. Iglesias discovered that he was unaccountably tired. The keen air oppressed his chest, making his breath come short. It wasuseless to attempt to go home on foot. Then, with a sense of relief, he saw that on the far side of the road a couple of omnibuses stood, the horses' heads turned Londonwards. He crossed, climbed the stairwayof the leading vehicle slowly, and sank into a seat. The 'bustop wasunoccupied, yet Dominic was not by himself. Two companions had climbedthe winding stairway with him and taken their places beside him, OldAge on his left hand, Loneliness on his right. All up the longsuburban road, while the omnibus bumped and jolted and the fallenleaves whirled and scurried before the searching breath of the nightwind Iglesias' two companions seemed to lean across him, talking. There were tones of mockery in their talk, while behind and throughit, as some discordant refrain, he heard the ring of a young man'seager footsteps, the click and turn of a latchkey, and the slam of adoor as it shut. On nearing the river the cold grew intense. Crossingthe bridge, the waterside lights were reflected in the surface of thestream, which ran full and strong from the autumn rains, swirlingseaward with an ebbing tide. To Iglesias' eyes the reflectionsconverted themselves into fiery dragons, writhing in the heat ofdeadly conflict, as upon Poppy St. John's oriental scarf. A glare hungover London, palpitating as with multitudinous and angry life; andwhen the omnibus slowed up in Hammersmith Broadway the voice of thestreets grew loud--the monstrous city, so it seemed to DominicIglesias, shouting defiance to the majestic calm and solemnity of theeternal stars. 

CHAPTER XVI

"He says it is nothing serious, only a slight chill; and sends kindregards and many thanks for kind inquiries, and hopes to be out in aday or two, when he will call and thank you in person. "

This from George Lovegrove to his wife, the latter arrayed in garmentsof ceremony and seated upon the Chesterfield sofa awaiting guests. Itwas her afternoon at-home. 

"Well, I'm sure I hope it is no more than that, Georgie, " she answeredcomfortably. "Chills are always going about in November, and veryoften gentlemen encourage them--especially bachelors--by not changinginto their winter vests and pants early enough. A great deal ofillness is contracted that way. "

Here Serena rustled audibly. She stood by the window, holding the lacecurtain just sufficiently aside to get a narrow and attenuated view ofthe fog-enshrouded Green. The outlook was far from inspiriting, andSerena was keenly interested in the conversation going forward betweenher host and hostess. But it was not in her programme to let thisappear. She, while straining her ears to listen, therefore maintainedan air of detachment. The word "pants" was, however, too much for herfortitude, and she rustled. "Really, Rhoda does use the mostdreadfully unladylike expressions sometimes, " she commented inwardly. "She never seems to remember that everyone is not married, though evenif they were I should hope they would not mention those sort ofthings. Rhoda is wanting in refinement. I wonder if George noticesthat and feels it. If he does notice it, I think he ought to tell herabout it, because--"

But here she fell to listening again, since the said George took uphis parable once more. 

"Still, I own I don't like his looks somehow. His face is so thin anddrawn. It reminds me of the time his mother, poor Mrs. Iglesias, died. I told him, just jocularly, that his appearance surprised me, but heput it all aside--you know he has a very high aristocratic manner attimes that makes you feel you have been intrusive--and then talked ofother things. "

"He has lived too solitary, " Mrs. Lovegrove said judicially, "toosolitary, and that tells on any one in middle life. I should neverforgive myself if we left him to mope. You must just try to coax himover here to stay, Georgie, and I'll nurse him up and humour him, andfortunately Serena's here, you see, for pleasant company. "

Mrs. Lovegrove looked meaningly at her spouse, while the figure at thewindow again rustled. 

"I am sure you would exert yourself to help cheer poor Mr. Iglesiasup, if he came over to stay, would you not now, Serena?" she inquiredinsinuatingly. 

"Are you speaking to me, Rhoda?"

"Yes, about Mr. Iglesias coming here to stay. "

Serena turned her head and answered over her shoulder. 

"Of course you and George are quite at liberty to ask anyone here whomyou like. And if Mrs. Iglesias came I should be perfectly civil tohim. But I should not care, Rhoda, to bind myself to anything morethan that, because I do not find him an easy person to get on with. "

She turned to her contemplation of the fog with a renewed assumptionof indifference. George Lovegrove's shiny forehead puckered intolittle lines. He looked anxiously at his wife. The good lady, however, laid a fat forefinger upon her lips and nodded her head at him in themost archly reassuring manner. 

"That's funny, " she said, "because Mr. Iglesias is quite the cleverestof all Georgie's gentlemen friends--except, of course, the dear vicar--and so I always took for granted anyone like yourself was sure toget on nicely with him, Serena. Even I hardly ever find him difficultto talk with. "

"I never talk easily to strangers, " Serena put in loftily. 

"Oh! but you'd hardly call Mr. Iglesias a stranger. "

"Yes, I should, " Serena declared with emphasis. "I should certainlycall him a stranger. I always call everyone a stranger till I knowthem intimately. It is much safer to do so. And it would be absurd topretend that I know Mr. Iglesias intimately. You, of course, do, but Ido not. You and George may have seen him frequently since I have beenhere, but I have really seen him very seldom, four or five times atthe outside. He has generally appeared to call when I was likely to beout. I could not help observing that. It may be a coincidence, ofcourse. But I cannot pretend that I have not thought it rathermarked. "

Serena had advanced into the centre of the room. She held herselferect. She enjoyed making a demonstration. "Rhoda may think I am acipher, " she said to herself, "but she is mistaken. She may think Ican be hoodwinked and used as a mere tool, but I will let her see thatI cannot. " She felt daring and dangerous, and her eyes snapped. Therustling of her skirts and the emphatic tones of her voice aroused theparrot, which had been dosing on its perch, its head sunk between itsshoulders and its breast-feathers fluffed out into a little greenapron over its grey claws. 

"Pollie's own pet girlie, " it murmured drowsily, with dry clickings ofits tongue against its beak, the words jolting out in foolish twos andthrees. "Hi! p'liceman--murder! fire! thieves!--there's another jollyrow downstairs. "

Poor George Lovegrove gazed in bewilderment from Serena to the parrot, from the parrot to his wife, and then back to Serena again. 

"You do surprise me! And I am more mortified than I can say that youshould have the most distant reason, Serena--or Susan either--ever tofeel the least slighted in this house. You do surprise me--I can'tbelieve it has been the least intentional on Iglesias' part. But Iwould not have had anything of the kind happen for twenty pounds. "

"Pray don't apologise, George, " Serena cried, "or I shall feel quiteannoyed. Of course everyone has a right to their own preferences; butI had been led to expect something different. As I say, it may only bea coincidence. Nothing may have really been meant. Only it has seemedrather marked. But in any case it has not been your fault, George. "

"I am very glad you allow that, Serena, " the good creature saidhumbly. 

"Oh! yes. I quite excuse you of any intentional slight, George. Iquite trust you. Still, nothing could be more unpleasant than for meto feel that my being here put any restriction upon your friendscoming to the house. Of course I know Susan and I move in ratherdifferent society from Rhoda and yourself. "

"Yes, " he assented hurriedly, agonised as to the wife's feelings--"yes, yes. "

"And so it is quite possible that I may not suit some of youracquaintances. "

"Excuse me, " he panted--"no, Serena, I cannot think that. "

"I am not sure, " she returned argumentatively. "Not at all sure, George. And nothing could be more unpleasant to me than to feel I wasthe least in the way. Of course, I should never have come back if Ihad supposed I should be in the way; but Rhoda made such a point ofit. "

Here the parrot broke forth into prolonged and earpiercing shriekings, flapping its wings violently and nearly tumbled backwards off itsperch. 

"Throw a handkerchief over the poor bird's cage, Georgie dear, " criedMrs. Lovegrove from the sofa. Her face was red. She had becomedistressingly hot and flustered. --"And just as I was flattering myselfit was all turning out so nicely, too, " she said to herself. --"No, notyour own, Georgie dear"--this aloud--"you may need it later. The redbandana out of the right-hand corner of the top drawer of the work-table. "

"I think it would be much simpler for me to go, " Serena continued, hervoice pitched in a high key to combat the cries of the parrot and therattle of the table drawer, which George Lovegrove in his presentstate of agitation found it impossible to shut with accuracy anddespatch. 

"Of course, it may inconvenience Susan to have me return sooner thanshe expected. She is away speaking at a number of missionary meetingsin the North. And the maids will be on board wages, and the drawing-room furniture will have been put into holland covers. She counted onmy staying here till I go to my cousin, Lady Samuelson, in LadbrokeSquare, the third week in December. But, of course, all that must bearranged. I can give up my visit. Lady Samuelson will be annoyed, andI don't know what excuse I can make to her. Still, I think I hadreally much better go; and then you can have Mr. Iglesias, or anyother of your and Rhoda's friends, to stop here without my feelingthat I am in the way. Nothing could be more odious to me than feelingI was encroaching or forcing myself upon you. Mamma would never havecountenanced such behaviour. It is the sort of thing we were alwaysbrought up to have the greatest horror of. It is a thing I never havedone and never could do. I hope you understand that, George. Nothingcould be further from my thoughts when I accepted Rhoda's invitationto----"

"Miss Hart, please, ma'am, " the little house-parlour-maid trumpeted, her face very pink from the exertion of attracting her mistress'sattention and making herself heard. Mrs. Lovegrove bounced up from thesofa. Usually, it must be allowed, the great Eliza was rather at adiscount. Now she was astonishingly welcome. Her hostess's greeting, though silent, was effusively cordial. She clutched at her guest'shand as one in imminent risk of drowning at a lifebelt. The said guestwas in her sprightliest humour. She was also in a scarlet flannelblouse thickly powdered with gradated black discs. This, inconjunction with purple chrysanthemums in a black hat, her tawny hairand freckled complexion, did not constitute a wholly delicious schemeof colour; but to this fact Mrs. Lovegrove was supremely indifferent. 

"Good-afternoon, " Miss Hart said in a stage whisper, glancing towardsSerena, still bright-eyed and erect. "Don't let me interrupt, pray. Myconversation will keep. I will just sit and listen. "

"Listen to what?" Serena cried, almost inarticulate with indignation. 

"Why, to your recitation. Our gentlemen often treat us to a little inthat line of an evening, Mrs. Lovegrove, after dinner. I dote onrecitation. Pieces of a comic nature specially, when well delivered. "

"I should never dream of reciting, " Serena declared heatedly. 

"No, really now, " Miss Hart returned. "That seems quite a pity. It issuch a pleasant occupation for a dull afternoon like this, do you notthink so, Miss Lovegrove? I declare I was quite sure, from the momentI came into the hall--while I was taking off my waterproof--that yourcousin was giving you a little entertainment of that kind, Mr. Lovegrove. Her voice was running up and down in such a very tellingmanner. "

If glances could scorch, Miss Hart would unquestionably have beenreduced to a cinder, for rage possessed Serena. She had worked herselfup into a fine fume of anger over purely imaginary injuries. And now, that Eliza Hart, of all people in the world, should intervene withsuggestions of comic recitations!

"Detestable person!" Serena said to herself. "Her conduct ispositively outrageous. Of course she knew perfectly well I was doingnothing of the kind. Really, I believe anybody would feel her mannerquite insulting. I wonder how George and Rhoda can tolerate her. Itshows George has deteriorated much that he should tolerate her. I amnot so surprised at Rhoda. Of course she never had good taste. I thinkI ought to go to my room. That would mark my displeasure. But then shemay have come on purpose to say something particular. I wonder if shehas done so? Of course if she has, she wants to get rid of me. That isher object. But she is mistaken if she thinks that I shall gratifyher. I think I owe it to myself to make sure exactly what is going on. I will certainly stay. That will show her I am on the watch. "

During this protracted, though silent, colloquy, Serena had remainedstanding in the middle of the room. Now she rustled back to thewindow, held aside the lace curtain and resumed her contemplation ofthe fog-enshrouded Green. Good George Lovegrove gazed after her indeep dejection and perplexity. Somebody, it appeared to him, had beenextremely unreasonable and disagreeable; but who that somebody was forthe very life of him he could not tell. The wife was out of thequestion; while to suppose it Serena approached high treason. Still hewas very sure it could not be that most scrupulously courteouspersonage Dominic Iglesias. There remained himself--"Yet I wouldn'tknowingly vex a fly, " he thought, "and as to vexing Serena! Sometimesones does wish females were not quite so sensitive. "

Miss Hart, meanwhile, had taken the unaccustomed post of honour besideher hostess upon the sofa. She was enjoying herself immensely. Shehad a conviction of marching to victory. 

"Yes, " she said, "Mrs. Lovegrove, dear Peachie Porcher asked me justto run across as she has missed your last two afternoons, lest youshould think her neglectful. I am well aware I am but a poorsubstitute for Peachie--no compliments now, Mr. Lovegrove, if youplease!"

"Mrs. Porcher is in good health, I trust"--this from Rhoda. 

"At present, yes, I am happy to say, thank you. But how long it willcontinue, " Miss Hart spoke impressively--"at this rate I am sure Icannot tell. "

"Indeed, " George Lovegrove inquired anxiously. "You don't tell me so?Nothing wrong, I trust. "

"Well, as I always tell her, her sense of duty amounts almost to afault--so unselfish, so conscientious, it brings tears to my eyesoften at times. I hope it is appreciated in the right quarter--I dohope that, Mr. Lovegrove. "

Here Rhoda's bosom heaved with a generous sigh. 

"There is much ingratitude in the world, Miss Hart, I fear, " she saidpensively. 

Her husband looked at her in an anguish of apology--whether for hisown sins or those of others he knew not exactly. 

"So there is, Mrs. Lovegrove, " Eliza responded warmly. "And nobody isa more speaking example of that truth than Peachie Porcher. When Ithink of all she went through during her married life, and yet sounsuspicious, so trusting--it is enough to melt an iceberg, that itis, Mrs. Lovegrove. Now, as I was saying to her only this morning, 'You must study yourself a little, get out in the air, take a peep atthe shops, and have some amusement. ' But her reply is always thesame. --'No, Liz, dear, ' she says, 'not at the present time, thank you. I know the duties of my position as mistress of Cedar Lodge. When anyone of our gentlemen is ailing, my place is at home. I must remain inthe house in case of a sudden emergency. I should not have an easymoment away from the place, ' she says. "

Miss Hart looked around upon her hearers demanding approbation andsympathy. 

"Very affecting, is it not?" she inquired. 

After a moment's embarrassed silence, George Lovegrove murmured asuitable, if timid, assent. His wife assumed a bolder attitude. Goadedby provocations recently received, she went over--temporarily--to theside of the enemy. 

"I always have maintained Mrs. Porcher was full of heart, " shedeclared, throwing the assertion across the room, much as though itwas a stone, in the direction of the figure at the window. 

Serena drew herself up with a rustle. 

"I wonder exactly what Rhoda means by that?" she commented inwardly. "I think it very odd. Of course, she must have some meaning, and Iwonder what it is. She seems to be changing her line. I am glad Istayed. I am afraid Rhoda is rather deceitful. I excuse George ofdeceit. I believe George to be true; but he is sadly influenced byRhoda. I am rather sorry for George. "

"So she is, Mrs. Lovegrove, " Eliza Hart resumed--"Peachie's too fullof heart, as I tell her. She is forever thinking of others and theircomforts. She grudges neither time nor money, does not Peachie. Thereis nothing calculating or cheese-paring about her--not enough, I oftenthink. Fish, sweetbreads, game, poultry, and all of the very best--where the profits are to come from with a bill of fare like thatpasses my powers of arithmetic, and so I point out to her. I hope itis appreciated--yes, I do hope that, Mr. Lovegrove"--there the speakerbecame extremely coy and playful. "A little bird sometimes seems totwitter to me that it is. And yet I am sure I don't know. The membersof your sex are very misleading, Mr. Lovegrove. Do not perjureyourself now. You cannot take me in. And a certain gentleman is veryclose, you know, and stand-offish. It is not easy to get at his realsentiments, is it, now?"

Serena laid back her ears, so to speak. "I was quite right to stay, "she reflected wrathfully. 

"I think Mr. Iglesias is unusually considerate, Miss Hart, " GeorgeLovegrove said tentatively. "He is quite sensible of Mrs. Porcher'skind attentions. But naturally he is very tenacious of upsetting herhousehold arrangements and giving additional trouble. "

"And then the position of a bachelor is delicate, Miss Hart, you mustadmit, " Mrs. Lovegrove chimed in. "That's what I always tell Georgie. It may do all very well in their younger days to be unattached, but asgentlemen get on in life they do need their own privateestablishments. I am sure I am sorry for them in chambers, or even ingood rooms like those at Cedar Lodge. For it is not the same as ahome, Miss Hart, and never can be. There must be awkwardnesses on bothsides at times, especially when, it comes to illness. "

Then the great Eliza gathered herself together, for it appeared to herher forecast had been just and that she was indeed marching tovictory. 

"Yes, there is no denying all that, " she said, "and I am more thanglad you see it in that light, Mrs. Lovegrove. Between ourselves, Ihave more and more ever since a certain gentleman gave up work in theCity. It would be premature to speak freely; but, just between friendsand under the rose, you being interested in one party and I in theother, there can be no harm in dropping a hint and ascertaining howthe land lies. Of course if it came to pass, it would be to my owndisadvantage, for I do not know how I should ever bear to part withPeachie Porcher. Still, I could put myself aside, if I felt it was forher happiness. "

"You do surprise me, " George Lovegrove exclaimed. He was filled withconsternation, his hair nearly rising on his head. "I had no notion. Dear me, you fairly take away my breath. " He could almost have wept. "To think of it!" he repeated. "Only to think of it! Miss Hart, you dosurprise me. "

"Oh! you must not run away with the notion anything is really settledyet, " she replied. "And I could not say Mrs. Porcher really would, when it came to the point, after the experiences she had in her firstmarriage. She is very reserved, is Peachie. Still, she might. And veryfortunate a certain gentleman would be if she did--it does not takemore than half an eye to see that. "

"Dr. Nevington, please, ma'am, " announced the parlour-maid, and thefine clerical voice and clerical presence filled all the room. Thereupon Serena graciously joined the circle. She was unusually self-possessed and definite. She embarked in a quite spirited conversationwith the newcomer. And when Eliza Hart, after a few pleasantries of aparochial tendency with the said newcomer--in whose favour she hadvacated the place of honour upon the sofa--rose to depart, Serenabowed to her in the most royally distant and superior manner. Heramiability remained a constant quantity during the rest of theevening; and when an opportunity occurred of speaking in private toher cousin, she did so with the utmost cordiality. 

"I do hope, George, " she said, "you will not think any more of ourlittle unpleasantness. I can truly say I never bear malice. I own Iwas annoyed, for I felt I had not been quite fairly treated by Rhoda. But, of course, I may have been mistaken. I am quite willing tobelieve so and to let bygones be bygones, and stay, as Rhoda pressedme to do, until I go to my cousin, Lady Samuelson, in December. Ofcourse it would be more convenient to me in some ways. But I am notthinking of that. I am thinking of you and Rhoda. I should not like todisappoint her by leaving her when she wants me to help entertain yourfriend, Mr. Iglesias. Of course, I cannot pretend I take easily tostrangers. Mamma was very particular whom we associated with, and so Ihave always been unaccustomed to strangers, and I cannot pretend I ampartial to making new acquaintances. Still, I should be very sorry toseem unaccommodating, or to hurt you and Rhoda by refusing to stay andassist you. "

"Thank you truly, Serena; I am sure you are very kind, " the good mananswered. And the best, or the worst, of it was he actually believedhe was speaking the truth!

CHAPTER XVII

The easterly wind blew strong and shattering, bleak and dreary, against the windows of the bedchamber at the back of the house. Thecomplaint of the cedar tree, as the branches sawed upon one another, was long-drawn and loud. These sounds reached Iglesias in the sitting-room, where he sat, alone and unoccupied, before the fire. For morethan a week now he had been confined to the house. He had set the doorof communication between the two rooms open, so as to gain a greatersense of space and that he might take a little exercise by walking thewhole length of them. The cry of the wind and the moan of the sawingbranches was very comfortless, yet he made no effort to shut it out. To begin with, he was so weak that it was too much trouble to move. Togo on with, the melancholy sounds were not ill-suited to his presenthumour. For a great depression was upon him, a weariness of spiritwhich might be felt. Out of doors London shivered, houses and sky andthe expanse of Trimmer's Green, with its leafless trees and ironrailings, livid, a greyness upon them as of fear. Dominic had noquarrel with this either. Indeed it gave him a certain bittersatisfaction, as offering a not inharmonious setting to his ownthought. 

Though not robust he was tough and wiry, so that illness of such anature as to necessitate his remaining within doors was a new andtrying experience. Crossing Hammersmith Bridge on the 'bustop ten dayspreviously, the chill of the river had struck through him. Yet this, in all reasonable probability, would merely have resulted in passingphysical discomfort, but for the moral and spiritual hurt immediatelypreceding it. How far the mind has power to cure the body is still anopen question. But that the mind can actively predispose the body tosickness is indubitable. To realise and analyse, in their severalbearings, the causes and consequences of that same moral hurtIglesias' pride and loyalty alike refused. In respect of them he sethis jaw and sternly averted his eyes. Yet, though the will may besteady to resist and to abstain, the tides of feeling ebb and flow, contemptuous of control as those of some unquiet sea. They defyvolition, notably in illness when vitality is low. Refuse as he mightto go behind the fact, it remained indisputable that the Lady of theWindswept Dust had given him his dismissal. Out of his daily life ajoy had gone, a constant object of thought and interest. Out of hisheart a living presence had gone, leaving a void more harsh thandeath. And all this had happened in a connection peculiarly painfuland distasteful to him; so that it was as though a foul miasma hadarisen, and, drifting across the face of his fair friendship, distorted its proportions, rendering all his memories of it suspect. Further, in this discrediting of friendship his hope of the discoveryof that language of the soul which can alone effect a true adjustmentbetween the exterior and interior life had suffered violent eclipse. He had been thrown back into the prison-house of the obvious and thematerial. The world had lost its poetry, had grown narrow, sordid, dim, and gross. His own life had grown more than ever barren ofopportunity and inept. In short, Dominic Iglesias had lost sight ofthe far horizon which is touched by the glory of the Uncreated Light;and, so doing, dwelt in outer darkness once again, infinitelydesolate. 

On the afternoon in question he had reached the nadir of disillusionand distrust. He leaned back in the red-covered chair, his shapelyhands lying, palms downward, along the two arms of it, his vision ofthe room and its familiar contents blurred by unshed tears. It was anhour of supreme discouragement. 

"Nothing is left, " he said, half aloud, "nothing. The future is asblank as the present. If this is to grow old, then indeed those whomthe gods love have need enough to die young. "

For a space he listened to the shattering wind as it cried in thewindow-sashes, to the branches of the cedar sawing upon one anotherand moaning as in self-inflicted pain. Newsboys were calling earlyspecials. The coarse cockney voices, strangled by the easterly blast, met and crossed one another, died away in a side street, to emergeagain and again encounter. Such words as were distinguishable seemedof sinister import, agitating to the imagination. Then de CourcySmyth's shuffling footsteps crossed the floor of the room overhead. The wire-wove mattress of his bed creaked as he sat on the edge of it, kicking off his slippers and putting on walking boots, as might begathered from floppings followed by an equally nerveless but heaviertread. A door opened, closed, and the footsteps descended the stairs. On the landing without they paused for an appreciable time; but, toMr. Iglesias's great relief, deciding against attempt of entry, continued their cheerless progress down to the hall below. Yet, justnow Iglesias could have found it in his heart to envy the man, notwithstanding his unsavouriness of attitude and aspect. For in himambition still stirred. He had still definite work to do, and the hopeof eventual fame to support him during the doing of it; had thetriumph of the theatre, the applause of an audience in the white heatof enthusiasm to dream of and strive after. 

"But, for me, nothing, " Iglesias repeated, "whether vital as of thosefar-away southern battle-fields, or fictitious and close at hand as ofthe stage. Not even the sting of poverty to whet appetite and give anedge to bodily hunger. Nothing, either of fear or of hope. The measureof my obscurity is the measure of my immunity from change of fortune, bad or good. I am worthless even as food for powder. Danger herselfwill have none of me, and passes me by. "

With that he raised his hands and let them drop despairingly along thearms of the chair again, while the unbidden tears overflowed. For aminute or more he remained thus, weeping silently with bowed head. Then, a movement of self-contempt taking him, he regained his calm, sat upright, brushing away the tears. 

And it was as though, in thus regaining a clearer physical vision, heregained a clearer mental vision likewise. Purpose asserted itself asagainst mere blind acquiescence. Iglesias looked up, demanding as ofright some measure of consolation, some object promising help. Sodoing, his eyes sought a certain carven oak panel set in an ebonyframe. From his earliest childhood he remembered it, for it had hungin his mother's bedchamber; and in those far-away years, while shestill had sufficient force to disregard opposition and make an openpractice of prayer, she had kneeled before it when engaged in herdevotions. Waking at night--when as a baby-child, during his father'slong absences, he slept in her room--Dominic had often seen thedelicate kneeling figure, wrapped in some loose-flowing garment, thehands outstretched in supplication. Even then, in the first push ofconscious intelligence, the carven picture had spoken to him assomething masterful, for all its rigidity and sadness, and very strongto help. It had given him a sense of protection and security, so thathis little soul was satisfied; and he could go to sleep again inpeace, sure that his mother was in safe keeping while--as he said--she"talked to it. " In the long interval which had elapsed since then hehad lost touch with the spirit of it, though preserving it as amongthe most cherished of his family relics. His appreciation of it hadbecome aesthetic rather than religious. But now, as it hung on thedimly white wall above his writing-table on the window side of thefireplace, the dreary London afternoon light took the surface of it, bringing all the details of the scene into prominence. Suddenly, unexpectedly, the old power declared itself. The picture came alive asto the intention and meaning of it. It spoke to him once again, andthat with no uncertain voice. 

Three tall narrow crosses uplifted against a cloudless sky. Below, amultitude of men, women, and horses, carved in varying degrees ofrelief. Some starting into bold definiteness, some barely indicatedand as though imprisoned in the thickness of the wood; but all grave, energetic, and, whether inspired by compassion or by mockery, fierce. These grouped around a great web of linen--upheld by some of them atthe four corners, hammock-wise, high at the head, low at the foot--wherein lay the corpse of a man in the very flower of his age, ofheroic proportions, spare yet muscular, long and finely angular oflimb, the articulations notably slender, the head borne proudly thoughbent, the features severely beautiful, the whole virile, indomitableeven in the physical abjection of death. 

In this Spanish presentment of the closing act of the Divine Tragedythe sensuous pagan element, which mars too many otherwise admirableworks of religious art, was absent. Its appeal was to the intellectrather than to the emotions, inculcating effort rather than invitingany sentimental passion of pity. Its message was that of conquest, ofiron self-mastery and self-restraint. This was bracing and courage-begetting even when viewed from the exclusively artistic standpoint. But now not merely the presentment of the event held Iglesias'attention, but the event presented, the thing in itself. His heart andintelligence grasped the meaning of it, not only as a matter ofsupreme historic interest in view of its astonishing influence uponhuman development during the last two thousand years; but as an ever-present reality, as an exposition of the Absolute, of that whicheverlastingly has been, and everlastingly will be, and hence ofincalculable and immediate importance to himself. It spoke to him ofno vague and general truth; but of a truth intimate and individual, coming to him as the call to enter upon a personal inheritance. Ofobedience to the dictates of natural religion, and faithful practiceof the pieties of it, Dominic Iglesias had, all his life, been aremarkable if unconscious exponent. But this awakening of the spiritto the actualities of supernatural religion, this crossing of thatdark immensity of space which appears to interpose between AlmightyGod and the mind of man, was new to him. He had sought a language ofthe soul which might effect an adjustment between the exterior andinterior life. Here, in the Word made Flesh, with reverent amazementhe found it. He had sought it through the instrumentality of thethings of time and sense; and they, though full with promise, hadproved illusory. He had fixed his hope on relation to the creature. But here, all the while, close beside him, waiting till the scalesshould fall from his eyes and he should see and understand, had stoodthe Creator. Fair, very fair--while it lasted--was human friendship. But here, had he but strength and daring to meet it, was a friendshipinfinitely fairer, immutable, eternal--namely, the friendship ofAlmighty God. 

The easterly wind still cried in the window-sashes, harsh andshattering. The branches of the exiled cedar tree sawed upon oneanother, uttering their long-drawn complaint. The voices of thenewsboys, hoarse and raucous, shouting their sinister message, stillcame and went. The livid light of the winter afternoon grew moredreary as it sank into, and was absorbed by, the deepening dusk. Butto Dominic Iglesias these things had ceased to matter. Dazzled, enchanted, confounded, alike by the magnitude and the simplicity ofhis discovery, he remained gazing at the carven panel; gazing throughand beyond it to that of which it was the medium and symbol, gazing, clear-eyed and fearlessly, away to the far horizon radiant with thesurpassing glory of the Uncreated Light. 

CHAPTER XVIII

The Black Week had just ended; but the humiliation of it lay, as adead weight, upon the heart of London. Three crushing reverses ineight days--Stormberg, Magersfontein, and finally Colenso! There wasno getting rid of the facts, or the meaning of them in respect ofincapacity, blundering, and reckless waste of personal valour. It wasa sorry tale, and one over which Europe at large chuckled. It has beenuniversally assumed that the English are a serious nation. This is anerror. They are not serious, but indifferent, a nation ofindividualists, each mainly, not to say exclusively, occupied with hisown private affairs. With the vast majority unity of sentiment issuspect, and patriotism a passive rather than an active virtue. But atthis juncture, under the stress of repeated disaster, unity ofsentiment and patriotism--that is, a sense of the national honour andnecessity for the vindication of it--became strongly evident. Londonwas profoundly and visibly moved. Not with excitement--that camelater, manifesting itself in hysterical outcries of relief--but with agrim anger and sadness of astonishment that such things could indeedbe. Strangers, passing in the street, looked one another in the eyesquestioningly, a common anxiety forging unexpected bonds of kinship. The town was curiously hushed, as though listening, always listening, for those ugly messages rushed so perpetually by cable from overseas. Men's faces were strained by the effort to hear, and, hearing, tojudge justly the extent and the bearings of both national andindividual damage. Already mourning struck a sensible note in women'sdress. If the Little Englander capered, he was careful to do so athome, or in meeting-places frequented only by persons likeminded withhimself. It may be questioned whether he is not ever most courageouswhen under covert thus; since shooting out of windows or from behindhedges would appear to be his inherent, and not particularly gallant, notion of sport. The newsboys alone openly and blatantly rejoiced, dominating the situation--as on Derby Day or Boat-race Night--andputting a gilded dome to the horror by yelling highly seasoned lieswhen truth proved insufficiently evil to stimulate custom to theextent of his desires. Depression, as of storm, permeated the socialatmosphere. Churches were full, places of amusement comparativelyempty. To laugh seemed an indiscretion trenching on indecency. 

Amid surrounding bravery of imperial purple, cream-colour, and gold, Poppy St. John sat at the extreme end of the first row of balconystalls in the newly opened Twentieth Century Theatre. This was a calmand secluded spot, since the partition, dividing off the boxes, flanked it on the right. Partly on this account Poppy had selected it. Partly, also, because it afforded an excellent view of the left of thestage; and it was on the left--looking from the body of the house--that the principal action of the piece, as far as Dot Parris's partwas concerned, took place. Poppy was unattended. She wanted anevening's rest, an evening free of conversation and effort; but shewanted something to look at, too, something affording just sufficientemotional stimulus to keep importunate thought at bay. This thetheatre supplied. It had ceased long ago to tire her. She knew theways of it from both sides of the footlights uncommonly well, andloved them indifferently much. She was a shrewd and cynical critic. Nevertheless, to go to the play was a sort of going home to her--ahome neither very socially nor morally exalted, perhaps, but oneoffering the advantages of perfect familiarity. 

Huddled in a black velvet fur-lined sacque, reaching to her feet andabundantly trimmed with jet embroidery and black lace, she settledherself in her place. The soft fur was cosey against her bare neck. She felt chilly. Later she might peel, thereby exhibiting the valuesof the rest of her costume. But it was not worth while to do so yet. The first piece was over, but the house was still a poor one. It mightfill up. She hoped it would for Dot's sake; for few things are moredisheartening than to play to empty benches. But, at present, theaudience was altogether too sparse for it to be worth while tosacrifice comfort to effect. In point of fact, Poppy was cold fromsheer fatigue. For the last month, to employ her own rather variegatedphraseology, she had racketed, had persistently and pertinaciouslybeen "going the pace. " No doubt they do these things better in France;yet, as she reflected, provided you are unhampered by prejudice, arefairly in funds and know the ropes, even grimy fog-bound London is, inthis particular connection, by no means to be sneezed at. And trulyPoppy's autobiography during the said month would have made extremelymerry reading, amounting in some aspects to a positive classic--thoughof the kind hardly suited as a basis of instruction for the pupils ofa young ladies' school. Setting aside adventures of a morequestionable character, a positively alarming good luck had pursuedher, everything she touched turning to gold. Even in this hour offinancial depression the market favoured her both in buying andselling. If she put money on a horse, that horse was sure to win. Ifshe played cards--and she had played pretty constantly--she inevitablyplundered her opponents. This last alone, of all her doubtful doings, really troubled her; for her opponents had frequently been youthful, and it was contrary to Poppy's principles to pluck the buthalf-fledged chick. 

Barring this solitary deflection from her somewhat latitudinarian codeof ethics, she had, on the face of it, ample cause for self-congratulation. Never had she been more gaily audacious in word ordeed. Never had she been better company, keeping her audience--analmost exclusively masculine one--in a roar, all the louder perhapsbecause of inward defiance of the news from over-seas, the humiliationof which had now culminated in the disasters of the Black Week. Flameonly shows the brighter for a sombre background. And Poppy, duringthis ill-starred period, had been as a flame to her admirers andassociates--a fitful, prankish flame, full of provocation andbedevilment, the light of it inciting to all manner of wild doingsand, in the end, not infrequently scorching those pretty shrewdly whowere over-bold in warming themselves at the heat of it. For fires ofthe sort lighted by Poppy are not precisely such as contribute to thepeace and security of the domestic hearth. 

But now she was tired. The fun seemed fun no longer; so that, notwithstanding her successes, she found herself a prey todissatisfaction, discontent, and a disposition to recall all the lesshappy episodes of her varied career. She yawned quite loudly, as shelaid opera-glasses and play-bill upon the velvet cushion in front ofher, and pulled the soft fur-lined garment up closer about hershoulders. 

"The first act's safe to be poorish anyhow, and Dot does not come ontill just the end of it. I wonder if I dare go to sleep?" she askedherself, gently rubbing her eyes. "It would be awfully nice to forgetthe whole blooming show, past, present, and to come, for a littlewhile and plunge in the waters of oblivion. Oblivion with a capital O--a dose of that's what I want. Beautiful roomy consolation-stakesof a word, oblivion, if one could only believe in the existence ofit--which, unluckily, some-how I can't. "

Here the strains of the orchestra ceased. The lights were turned lowin the body of the house. The curtain went up. As it did so a colddraught drew from regions behind the stage, laden with thatindefinable odour of gas, glue, humanity, flagged stair and alleyways, paint, canvas, carpentry, and underground places the sun neverpenetrates, which haunts the working part of every theatre. Poppysmiled as she snuffed it, with a queer mingling of enjoyment andrepulsion. For as is the smell of ocean to the seafarer, of mother-earth to the peasant, of incense to the priest, so is the smell of thetheatre to the player. Nature may revolt; but the spell holds. Once anactor always an actor. The mark of the calling is indelible. Even tothe third and fourth generation there is no rubbing it out. 

"I suppose it would have been wiser if I had stuck to the profession, "Poppy commented to herself. "I should have been a leading lady by now, drawing my thirty to forty pounds a week. I had the root of the matterin me. Have it still, worse luck; for it's the sort of root whichasserts its continued existence by aching at times like that of abroken tooth. It was a wrench to give it all up. But then those rottenplays of his, inflated impossible stuff, which would never act--couldn't act!--and I carrying them round to manager after manager andusing all the gentle arts I knew to get them accepted. Oh! it was verydignified, it was very pretty! And then his perpetual persecutions formoney, his jealousy and spite, and his fine feelings, his infernalsuperiority--yes, that was what really did the job. Flesh and bloodcouldn't stand it. To prove to a woman, at three meals daily, that shecouldn't hold a candle to you in birth, or brains, or education; andthen expect her to slave for you--and make it jolly hot for her if shedidn't, too--while you sat at home and caressed the delusion of yourown heaven-born genius in the only decently comfortable chair in thehouse! No, it was not good enough--that it was not. "

Poppy surveyed the stage, unseeing, her great eyes wide with unlovelymemories. 

"I wonder what's become of him, " she said presently. "He hasn't dunnedme for months. Has he found some other poor wretch to bleed? Musthave, I imagine, for he always declared he was on the edge ofstarvation. Supposing that was true, though--supposing he hasstarved?"

Her thought sank away into a wordless reverie of the dreariestdescription. Suddenly she roused herself, clenching her hands in herlap. 

"Well, supposing he has, what does it matter to me? If ever a mandeserved to starve, he did, vain, lazy, cowardly, self-seeking jackalof a fellow. Why in the name of reason should I trouble about him--specially to-night? But then why, whenever I am a bit done, does theremembrance of him always come back?"

Poppy yawned again, staring blankly at the persons on the stage, hearing the sound of their speech but knowing only the sense of herown thought. 

"Why? Because it's like him, because it's altogether in the part. Hewas always on the watch for his opportunity; wheedling orblackguarding, directly he saw one had no fight left in one, till hegot his own way. "

She leaned forward, resting her hands on the velvet cushion. 

"I am confoundedly tired, " she said. "All the same, it's ratherhorrible. If the thing came over again, which mercifully it can't, Ishould do precisely the same as I did. And yet I'm never quite surewhich of us was really in the right. And, therefore, I suppose just aslong as I live, whenever I'm dished--as I am to-night--I shall workthe whole hateful business through again, and the remembrance of himwill always come back. "

She pushed the soft heavy masses of hair up from her forehead withboth hands. 

"In the main it was your own fault, de Courcy Smyth, and you know thatit was. Most women would not have held out nearly as long as I did. Solie quiet. Let me be. Starve, if you've got as far on the downgrade asthat. What do I care? I owe you nothing. You never gave me a child. Sostarve, if you must--yes, starve, " she said. 

Then she gathered herself back into her stall. Her expression changed. 

"Ah, there's Dot. They're giving her a reception. Bless them--howawfully sweet! Hurrah for poor little Dot!" Her hands went up toapplaud. And for the ensuing ten minutes her fatigue was forgotten. She became absorbed in the action of the piece. 

CHAPTER XIX

Dot Parris earned a recall at the end of the first act, conquering bysheer force of personality that gloomy and half-hearted audience. AndPoppy St. John--among whose many faults lack of generosity certainlycould not be counted--standing up, leaned right out over the velvet-cushioned barrier of the dress circle, crying "Brava!" and clappingher hands. To achieve the latter demonstration with befittingresonance she had stripped off her gloves. Then as the lights wereturned up and the curtain swung into the place, she proceeded tofurther stripping--namely, that of her black embroidered sacque, which she threw across the back of the empty stall beside her, therebyrevealing a startling costume. For she was clothed in rose-scarletfrom shoulder to foot; and that without ornament of any description tobreak up the daring uniformity of colour, save the stiff unstandingblack aigrette in her hair, tipped with diamond points which flashedand glittered as she moved. The soft _mousseline-de-soie_ ofwhich her dress was made swathed her figure, cross-wise, withoutapparent fastening, moulding it to the turn of the hips. Thence theskirt flowed down in a froth of rose-scarlet gaugings and fluted frills, which trailed behind her far. The bodice was cut in a deep V back andfront, showing her bare neck. Her arms were bare, too, from the elbow. Her skin, somewhat sallow by day, took on a delicate ivory whitenessunder the electric light. By accident or design she had omitted totinge her cheeks to-night; and the even pallor of her face emphasisedthe largeness of her eyes--luminous, just now, with sympathy andenthusiasm. For the artist in Poppy dominated all else, vibrant andalert. The glamour of the actor's life was upon her; the seamy side ofit forgotten--its unworthy rivalries and bickerings, the slangings andprolonged weariness of rehearsals, its many disappointments, heart-burnings, and sordid shifts. These were as though they were not;so that the stage called her, even as the sea calls one, and mother-earthanother, and religion a third. 

"Pou-ah! aren't I just hot, though!" she said, half aloud, as sheflung off her sacque. "And what a changeling imp of a creature Dot is, after all! An imp of genius. --well, she's every right to that, as oneknows when one looks at James Colthurst's pictures. He'd genius. Hedidn't shirk living. My stars! there was a man capable of adding tothe number of one's emotions! And she's inherited his gifts on her ownlines. What a voice, what gestures! She is as clever as she can stick. Oh! she's a real joy of a demon of a thing, bless her; and she'snothing like come to her full strength yet. "

Then growing aware that she herself and her vivid attire werebeginning to attract more attention than, in the interests of a quietevening, she desired, Poppy subsided languidly into her stall, and, picking up her opera-glasses, slowly surveyed the occupants of thehouse. 

There to begin with was Bobby Saville in the second row of the stalls, flanked on either hand by a contingent of followers. His round darkhead and the set of his tremendous shoulders were unmistakable. Saville was very far from being a model young man, yet Poppy had asoft spot in her heart for this aristocratic bruiser and bravo. Hisconstancy to Dot Parris was really touching. With a dog-likefaithfulness and docility, this otherwise most turbulent of his sexhad followed the object of his affections from music-hall to comicopera, from comic opera to the high places of legitimate drama. AndDot meanwhile remained serenely invulnerable, tricking and mocking herhigh-born heavy-weight lover, telling him cheerfully she really had nouse for him, though his intentions were strictly honourable. Twenty-five years hence, she added, when he was an elderly peer, and she hadbegun to grow broad in the beam, and the public had begun to growtired of her, she might perhaps contemplate the thraldom of wedlock. But not yet awhile--no, thank you. Her art held all her love, satisfied all her passions; she had none to waste upon mankind. Twodays hence, as Poppy knew, Bobby Saville would sail for South Africa, to offer an extensive target to Boer bullets. He had come to bidfarewell, to-night, to the obdurate object of his affections. And hisfollowers--some of whom were also bound for the seat of war--had cometo support him during those pathetic proceedings. 

In the boxes she recognised more than one woman whose rank of richeshad rendered her appearance common property through the medium of theillustrated papers. But upon these social favourites she bestowedscant scrutiny. To her they did not matter, since she had acomfortable conviction that, given their chances, she might safelyhave backed herself to beat them at their own game. One large andgentle-looking lady did attract her, by the innocence of her mild eyesset noticeably wide apart, and by the beauty of her small mouth. Herlight brown hair, touched with grey, rippled back from her lowforehead under a drapery of delicate lace. She was calm, yet there wasan engaging timidity in her aspect as she sheltered behind the farthercurtain of the box. Beside her sat a young girl, white-clad, deliciously fresh in appearance, an expression of happy half-shyexpectation upon her charming face. Behind them, in the shadow, kindly, handsome, debonnair, stood Lord Fallowfeild. His resemblanceto the large and gentle lady declared them brother and sister. PoppySt. John watched the little party with a movement of tenderness. Sheperceived that they were very fond of one another; moreover they wereso delightfully simple in bearing and manner, so excellently well-bred. But of what was the pretty maiden so shyly expectant? Ofsomething, or somebody, far more immediately interesting to her thanplayers or play--so Poppy judged. 

Turning from the contemplation of these pleasant people with a sighshe could hardly have explained--even to herself--Poppy swept thedress circle with her opera-glasses. Presently she paused, and with alift of surprise looked steadily again, then let both hands andglasses drop upon her rose-scarlet cap. Four rows up and back, on thefar side, in a stall next the stepped gang-way, a man sat. His facewas turned away, his shoulder being towards her, as he leaned sidewaystalking to the woman beside him--a slender, faded, yet elegant personof uncertain age, dressed in fluffy black. In the seat beyond, alsoleaning forward and taking part in the conversation, was another manof so whimsical an appearance as very nearly to make Poppy laughaloud. She would unquestionably have done so had she been at leisure;but she was not at leisure. Her eyes travelled back to the figurebeside the gang-way, which intrigued both her interest and her memory. Tall, spare, faultlessly dressed, yet with an effect of somethingexotic, aloof, unusual about him, he provoked her curiosity withsuggestions of times and places quite other than of the present. 

"Who is it?" Poppy said to herself. "Surely I know him. Who theDickens is it?"

The conversation ceased. The man drew himself up, turned his head; andPoppy gave a little choking cry, as she found herself staring DominicIglesias straight in the face. 

Whether he recognised her she did not know, did not want to know justyet. For she needed a minute or two to reckon with the position. Itwas so wholly unexpected. It affected her more deeply than she couldhave anticipated. Not without amusement she realised that she hadnever, heretofore, quite believed in him as an ordinary mortal, whoate and drank, went to plays, had relations with human beings otherthan herself, and conducted himself generally on the commonplace linesof modern humanity. Therefore to see him under existing circumstanceswas, in a sense, a shock to her. She did not like it. Absurd andunreasonable though it undoubtedly was to feel it so, yet his presencehere struck her as in a way unseemly, derogatory. She had neverthought of him in this connection, and it took a little time to getaccustom to this aspect of him. Then she discovered, with half-humorous annoyance, that she was called upon to get accustomed tosomething else as well--namely, to her memories of the past monthsince she parted from him. For it was undeniable that the saidmemories took on a queer enough complexion in the light of this suddenencounter with Dominic Iglesias. If an hour ago they had beenunsatisfactory, now they were very near odious. And that seemed hardlyfair. Poppy turned wicked. 

"For what's the worry, after all?" she asked herself. "Why on earth amI either disappointed or penitent? Is he no better than the rest ofus, or am I no worse? And with what am I quarrelling, in any case--hisbeing less of a saint, or I less of a sinner than I'd been pleased toimagine? I'm sure I don't know. "

Instinctively her eyes sought that kindly worlding, Lord Fallowfeild. With him at least, as she reflected, one knew exactly where one was, since his feet were always very much upon the floor. But here againdiscomfiture, alas! awaited her. For another person, and evidently awelcome one, had joined that pleasant little party. Standing besidethe large and gentle lady, speaking quickly, gaily, his face keen andeager, she beheld Alaric Barking. Lord Fallowfeild, smiling, pattedthe young man affectionately on the shoulder. And then, with a shudderof pain gnawing right through her, Poppy St. John, glancing at thegraceful white-clad maiden, understood of whose coming this one hadbeen so sweetly and gladly expectant. 

To the strong there is something exhilarating in all certainty, evencertainty of disaster. And it was very characteristic of Poppy that atthis juncture no cry came to her lips, no sob to her throat. Sheshuddered that once, it is true. But then, setting her teeth, thewhole daring of her nature rose to the situation, as a high-mettledhorse rises to a heavy fence. What lay on the other side of that fenceshe did not know as yet, nor did she stop to consider. Desperatethough it looked, she took it gallantly without fuss or funking. 

"Well, there's no ambiguity about this affair, anyhow, " she saidgrimly. "Of course it had to come sooner or later, and I knew it hadto come. Well, here it is, that's all, and there's no use whining. Andthat's why he's been so jumpy lately: he had a bad conscience. Poorold chap, he must have been having a beastly bad time of it. "

Poppy mused a little. 

"Still, it's a facer, " she added, "and a precious nasty one, too. "

She stretched herself, shaking back her head, while the diamond pointsof her aigrette danced and glittered. Took a deep breath, filling herlungs; listened to herself, so to speak, noting with satisfaction thatneither heart nor pulse fluttered. 

"No serious damage, " she commented. "I must have the nerves of alocomotive. Here I am perfectly sound, perfectly sober, standing atthe parting of the ways, between the dear old devil of love and thedeep sea of friendship. Poppy Smyth, my good soul, you've always beenrather fatally addicted to drama. Are you satisfied at last? For justnow, heaven knows, you've jolly well got your fill of it. "

Then, for a space, she sat staring out into the house, thinking hard, intently, yet without words. The future, as she knew, hung in thebalance, for herself and for others; but, as yet, she could not decideinto which scale to throw the determining weight. Presently she lookedsteadily at Dominic Iglesias. He was again engaged in conversation, trying, with his air of fine old-world courtesy, suitably to entertainhis strangely assorted neighbours. Poppy had an idea he found itrather hard work. She was not in the least sorry. That faded piece offeminine elegance, in fluffy black, bored her. She entertained amalicious hope that the said piece of feminine elegance bored Mr. Iglesias also. Finally, with rather bitter courage, she turned hereyes once more upon Lord Fallowfeild and his companions. 

"Poor little girl, poor little girl, " she said, quite gently, "sothat's your heaven on earth, is it? I'm afraid a mighty big crop ofwild oats is on show in your Garden of Eden. Still to you, apparently, it is a blissful place enough. Only the question is, do I intend torelinquish my rights in that particular property and make it over toyou in fee simple, my pretty baby, or do I not? Shall I give it you, or shall I keep it? For it is mine to give or to keep still--very muchmine, if I choose to make a fight for it, I fancy. "

Yet even as she communed thus with herself, the white-clad maiden andthe other occupants of the box became indistinct and shadowy. The buzzof conversation in the theatre had ceased; so had the strains of theorchestra. The lights had been turned low and the curtain had risenupon the second act. 

About half-way through that act Poppy St. John got up, threw hervelvet sacque over her arm, and, slipping past the three interveningstalls, made her way up the steps of the near gang-way to the swing-doors opening out to the couloir. Her movements, though studiouslyquiet, were, owing to the vivid hue of her attire, very perceptibleeven in the penumbra of the dress circle, provoking attention andsmothered comment. The lady in fluffy black, for example, followed herwith glances of undisguised and condemnatory interest, finally callingthe attention of both her cavaliers to the progress of this glowingfigure. 

The New Century Theatre is one of those enterprises of trans-Atlanticorigin, undertaken with the praiseworthy and disinterested object ofteaching the Old World "how to do it, " and is built and furnishedregardless of expense. The couloirs are wide, lofty, richly carpeted;the walls of them encrusted with pale highly polished marbles, pilasters of which, with heavily gilded capitals, flank vast panels oflooking-glass. The moulded ceilings are studded with electric lights, the glare of which is agreeably softened by pineapple-shaped globes ofcrystal glass. The scheme of colour, ranging from imperial purplethrough crimson and rose-pink to softest flesh tints, formed anharmonious setting to the rose-scarlet of Poppy's dress, with itsfroth of trailing frills and flounces, as she stood discoursing to asmart, black-gowned, white-aproned box-keeper. 

"You understand, fourth row on the left, next the gang-way? Tell him alady wishes particularly to speak to him between the acts. Then bringhim to me here. "

"Yes, madam, I quite understand, " the young person replied, with muchintelligence, scenting something in the shape of an adventure. 

Poppy moved across and sat down on one of the wide divans, and sodoing began to know, once more, how very tired she was. A newtiredness seemed, indeed, to have been added to the original one. Thatfirst was, at worst, bored and irritable. This was of a different, amore sad and intimate character. 

"I feel as if I had been beaten all over, " she said to herself. "Well, perhaps that's just what it is. I have been beaten. I wish I couldsleep. Oh! dear, oh! dear, how I wish I could sleep. "

Her thought fell away into the vague, the inarticulate, though she didnot sleep. Still there was a temporary suspension of volition, ofconscious mental activity, which, in a degree, rested her. Persons, passing now and again, looked with curiosity at the brilliant figure, and inscrutable eyes in the dead-white face. The smart box-keeper, moved by some instinct of pity, came back more than once, finallyoffering one of those unwholesome-looking cups of coffee and boxes ofchocolate of which so few have the requisite audacity to partake. Poppy roused herself sufficiently to reject these terrible delicacies, while smiling at the conveyor of them. Then she relapsed into thevague again, and waited, just waited. 

"There's the end of the act, madam, " the young woman remarked at lastencouragingly. 

"All right, " Poppy answered. "Go straight away and bring the gentlemanhere to me. I'm in a hurry. I want to get home. "

The glass doors of the exits swished back and forth, letting out theconfused stir and murmur of the house, letting out a crowd of men aswell. And the aspect the said crowd presented to Poppy's overstrainednerves and exalted sensibility was repulsive. For it suggested to hera flight of gigantic black locusts, strong-jawed, pink-faced, andwhite-breasted, driven forth by a common hunger, rather cruelly activeand intent. Her sense of humour was in abeyance, as was her usuallytriumphant common sense; so that her thought, going behind appearancesand the sane interpretation of them, declined to that fundamentalregion in which the root laws of animal life become hideously bare anddistinct. Out of the deep places of her own womanhood a hatred towardsthis crowd of men arose; that secular enmity which exists between thesexes asserting itself and, for the time being, obscuring both reasonand justice. For upon what, as she asked herself bitterly, when all issaid and done, do these male human locusts pasture, save on the soulsand bodies of women, finding a garden before them, and, too often, leaving but a desert behind? Sex as sex became abhorrent to her, itspenalties unpardonable, its pleasures as loathsome as its sins. 

But from the black-coated throng the trim figure of the box-keeperjust then detached itself; and a moment later Poppy, looking up, beheld Dominic Iglesias standing before her. 

CHAPTER XX

"You sent for me, so I have come, " Iglesias said, for Poppy St. John, usually so voluble, just now appeared speechless. 

From the moment he had become aware of her presence in the theatre, Dominic had been sensible that she presented herself under a newaspect. Of the many different Poppys he had seen, this was by far themost powerful and dramatic. She stood out from the rest of theaudience as some splendid tropic flower stands out from a thick-setmass of foliage, conspicuous in form and colour and in promise. Therewere handsome women, smart women, beautifully dressed women in plenty, but Poppy did not shade in with all these, making but part of ageneral effect. She remained unique, solitary; and this not merely onaccount of her vivid raiment. The effect of her told upon the mindquite as much as upon the sight. Yet she did not look out of place. She looked, indeed, preeminently at home. Out of doors, in the countrysunshine, she had struck Dominic as a slight creature, unreal andfictitious. Here, amid highly artificial and conventionalsurroundings, she seemed to him the most natural and vital beingpresent, retaining the completeness of her individuality, the energyand mystery of it alike, almost aggressively evident and untouched. Iglesias ceased to consider her in relation to his and her brokenfriendship, or in relation to that which he so reluctantly divined ofher private life. He contemplated her in herself, finding an elementof things primitive in her, which commanded his admiration, though itfailed, so far, to touch his heart. And if this was the impression hereceived seeing her at a comparative distance, that impression wasgreatly intensified seeing her now at close quarters. The contrastbetween the subtle softness and the flare--as of a conflagration--ofher dress, the weariness of her attitude, and the unfathomablemelancholy of her eyes, stirred him profoundly. 

"Yes, " she answered quietly, almost coldly, "I know I sent. This wasabout the last place I should have expected to run across you. Iflattered myself I was safe enough here. I didn't wish to meet you onelittle bit. Still, when I did see you, I wanted you. You're the mostplaguey impossible person to rid oneself of somehow"--her voice andmanner softened a little--"so I sent for you. I don't know why, because now I've got you I seem to have changed my mind. I havenothing to say. "

"I can easily go, " Iglesias remarked gravely. 

"No, no, no, " she replied, "why should you hurry? I'm sure those twofreaks you're herding--the beetle turned hind-side before and thewithered leaf--can't be frantically interesting. And I like to look atyou. I never saw you before in evening dress, and you're more _grandseigneur_ than ever. But something's happened to you. I can't telloff-hand what it is, whether you've come on or gone back. But you'realtered. "

"I have had an illness, " Iglesias said simply; "and I have been veryunhappy. "

"Neither of those are good enough, " Poppy answered. "The alteration isright inside you, in your soul. But you're well again now?" she added. 

"Yes, I am well again now. "

"And you're no longer unhappy?"

"No, " he said. "I am sad, for life is sad; but I am no longerunhappy. "

"That's a nice distinction, " Poppy put in, with a rather scornfulinflection. "What's cured your unhappiness? Not an affair of theheart? Please don't tell me it's anything to do with a woman, for Iwarn you I'm awfully off the affections to-night. "

"You can make yourself quite easy on that point, " Dominic said with alift of the head, his native pride asserting itself. 

"Ah! that's more like old times!" Poppy's voice softened again, so didthe expression of her face. "Suppose you sit down, dear lunatic. Thiswait is a long one, I know. Dot Parris told me it was. Let the freaksplay about together for a little. It will do them good. And I find Iwanted you rather more than I knew at first. I'm beginning to havesomething to say after all. Words, only words, perhaps; still it's a_soulagement_ to sit here with you like this. " The corners ofPoppy's mouth drooped and quivered. "I'm having an infernally badtime; and there's worse ahead. "

"I am sorry. I am grieved, " Iglesias said. For the charm had begun towork again, and friendship, as he began to know, although broken-winged, was very far from dead. 

"We won't talk about that, " she put in, "or I might make a fool ofmyself. Dear man, I think I'd better go home. I'm awfully tired. Still, I'm better for seeing you. " She stood up. "Just help me on withmy coat. Thanks--that's right. Oh! I say, there are the freaks on theprowl, looking for you!" Poppy's tragic eyes turned naughty, malicious, gay even for a moment. "What sport!" she said--"unhappyfreaks! The withered leaf has intentions. I see that. She'd like toeat me without salt. Don't marry her--promise me you won't. Ah!heavenly, heavenly, " she cried. "I need no promises, bless you. Yourface is quite enough. Wretched withered leaf! But look here, " she wenton, as she gathered the soft warm garment about her, "I'm tired ofyour incognito. Give me your card. I may want you again. So let mehave your name and address. "

And Iglesias giving it to her as she requested, she studied it for aminute silently. Then she turned away. 

"I want nothing more. Don't come down with me. One of the boys willget me a hansom. I'd rather be alone; so just go back to yourflabbergasted freaks, beloved and no-longer-nameless one, " she said. 

CHAPTER XXI

Thin sunshine slanted in through the lace curtains of the dining-roomwindow. Encouraged thereby, the parrot preened its feathers, makinglittle snapping and clicking noises meanwhile with its tongue andbeak. The grass of the Green, seen between the black stems of theencircling trees, glittered with hoarfrost, while the houses on theopposite side of it looked flat and featureless owing to theinterposing veil of bluish mist. Tradesmen's carts clattered by at asharp trot, the defined sound of them breaking up the all-pervadingmurmur of London, and dying out into it again as they passed. At thestreet corner, some twenty yards away, a German band discourseddoubtfully sweet music, the trombone making earnest efforts to keepthe rest of the instruments up to their work by the emission of loudand reproachful tootings. It was a pleasant and cheery morning asDecember mornings go, yet constraint reigned at the Lovegrovebreakfast-table. 

The day of Serena's oft-discussed departure had dawned. A few hourshence she would remove herself and her boxes to her cousin LadySamuelson's residence in Ladbroke Square. This should have proved asource of regret to her host and hostess; and they were conscience-stricken, confessing to themselves--though not to one another, sinceeach accredited the other with more laudable sentiments than his orher own--that relief rather than regret did actually possess them. Asecret from one another, and that a slightly discreditable one, was soforeign to the experience of the excellent couple that it lay heavyupon their hearts. Each, moreover, was aware of shame in the presenceof Serena, as in that of a person upon whom they had inflicted aninjury. Hence constraint, which the sunshine was powerless todissipate. 

"May I pass you the eggs, or bacon, or both, Serena?" George Lovegroveinquired, his childlike blue eyes meanwhile humbly imploring pardonfor his lack of sorrow at her impending departure. Serena's manner wasstiff and abstracted. This, combined with the rustling of herpetticoats, filled him with anxiety. Was it possible that she knew?

"Thank you, George, only an egg. Not that one, please, it is much toolarge. I prefer the smallest. I am not feeling hungry. "

"I should never call you much of a breakfast-eater, Serena, " Mrs. Lovegrove observed in her comfortable purring voice, from behind thetea urn. She was desirous to pacify her guest. "Now I am rather heartymyself in the morning, always have been so. I do not know whether itis a good thing or not, as a habit. Still, I think to-day you shouldforce yourself a little. You should always make provision against ajourney. And then no doubt you are rather fatigued with packing andgetting home so late from the theatre. I am pleased to think you hadan outing your last night here, Serena. Georgie tells me the play wasvery comical. "

"I dare say it was, " Serena replied. "Of course George would be a muchbetter judge of that than I am. Mamma was always very particular whatwe heard and saw when we were children, and I know I am inclined tothink things vulgar which other people only find amusing. "

"I did not remark any vulgarity, and do not think Mr. Iglesias wouldcountenance anything of that kind in the presence of a lady. He wouldascertain beforehand the nature of the piece to which he invited anylady"--this from George Lovegrove tentatively. 

"Oh! of course I don't say there was anything vulgar. I should notlike to commit myself to an opinion. I really have been to the theatrevery seldom. Mamma never encouraged our going. And then, of course, old Dr. Colthurst, the rector of St. Jude's at Slowby, whose church wealways attended, disapproved of the theatre. He had great influencewith mamma. And he thought it wicked. "

"Indeed, " Mrs. Lovegrove commented. "I should be sorry to think that, as so many go. But he may have come across the evils of it personally. He had a son, an artist, who was very wild, I believe. And I rememberto have heard our dear vicar speak of Dr. Colthurst as stern, but atrue Protestant and a very grand preacher. "

"I dare say he was--I don't mean that his son was wild--I know nothingabout that, of course, but that Dr. Colthurst was a great preacher. "

Serena spoke abstractedly, inspecting the yolk of her poached eggmeanwhile as though on the watch for unpleasant foreign bodies. 

"But, " she continued, "I cannot, of course, be expected to rememberhis sermons, though I may have been taken to hear him. I suppose Icertainly was taken, but I was quite too much of a child to remember. Susan remembers them, but then Susan was so very much older. "

She ceased to contemplate her egg, and looked up at her hostess. 

"Susan must be very nearly your age, Rhoda; or she may be a year oreighteen months younger. Yes, judging by the difference between herage and mine, she must be quite eighteen months younger. Of course, now, Susan thinks going to the play wicked. I often wonder whetherthat is not partly because she dislikes sitting still and listeningwhen other people are doing something. Susan likes to take part ineverything herself. I often wonder what she would do in church if itwas not for the responses and the singing. I am sure she would neversit out a service where the congregation did not join in. Susan cannotbear a choral service. She calls it un-English and Romanising. I donot dislike it--I mean I do not dislike a choral service. But then Ido not consider the theatre wicked. I am not prejudiced against it, asSusan is. Still, I cannot deny that I think you do hear very oddthings and see very over-dressed people at the theatre. "

Serena looked severely at her host, thereby heightening the anxietywhich possessed him. For once again, as so often during the past eightor ten hours, a picture presented itself perplexing and fascinating tohis mental vision--namely, that of his dear and honoured friend, thegrave and stately Dominic Iglesias, helping an unknown lady, ofremarkably attractive personal appearance, on with a wonderful blackvelvet garment--doing so in the calmest way in the world, too, asthough it were an event of chronic occurrence--while the frills andfurbelows of her voluminous skirts flowed in rosy billows about hisfeet. What did the picture portend, George Lovegrove asked himself, and still more, what did Serena suppose it portended?

"Do you, indeed?" Mrs. Lovegrove put in, in amiable response to herguest's last remark. She was sensible of being hurt by the allusion toher age. But then Serena was going, and she knew that fact did notdistress her as deeply as it might have done. She therefore rosesuperior to wounded feelings. "It's many years since I've been much ofa playgoer, " she continued, "and people tell me it's all a good dealchanged, and not for the better. I suppose the dressing nowadays issadly extravagant. I am sure I don't know, and I should always betimid of condemning anybody or their amusements. But there, as Ialways do say, if you want to keep a happy mind there is so much it iswell to be ignorant of. "

"I wonder if it is--I mean I wonder if it is well to be ignorant ofthings, " Serena said reflectively. "Of course, if people think you arewilling to be ignorant, it encourages them in deceiving you. I thinkit is very wrong to be deceitful. Sooner or later it is sure to comeout, and then it is very difficult to forgive people. Indeed, I am notsure it is right to forgive them. "

With difficulty George Lovegrove restrained a groan. His food was asashes in his mouth; his tea as waters of bitterness. 

"Oh! I should be sorry to go as far as that, Serena, " Mrs. Lovegroveremonstrated. "If you give way to unforgiving feelings you can nevertell quite where they may carry you. But as I was going to say, thoughI am not much of a playgoer, I was very pleased to have Mr. Iglesiasinvite me. Only, as I explained to him, I am very liable to find theseats too narrow for comfort in places of amusement, and theatmosphere is often so very close, too. He was most polite andsympathising; but then that's Mr. Iglesias all over. He always is theperfect gentleman. "

Serena paused, her fork arrested in mid-transit to her mouth. 

"I am not sure that I agree with you, Rhoda, " she said. "I am not surewhether I think Mr. Iglesias is really polite, or whether he onlyappears to be so because it suits his purpose. Of course you andGeorge know him far better than I do. Perhaps you understand--I cannotpretend that I understand him. I may be wrong, but I often wonderwhether there is not a good deal which is rather insincere about Mr. Iglesias. "

After throwing which bomb, Serena gave her whole attention to herbreakfast. Usually George Lovegrove would have waxed valiant indefence of his friend, but a guilty conscience held him tongue-tied. Not so Rhoda; strive as she might, those allusions to her age stillrankled. And, under cover of protest against injustice to the absent, she paid off a little of her private score, to her warm satisfaction. 

"Well, I am sure, " she cried, "I never could have credited thatanybody could question Mr. Iglesias's genuineness! I would soonerdoubt Georgie, that I would, and fear him deceitful. "

Again the good man came near groaning. It was as though the wifeplanted a poignard in his heart. 

"And after you playing the piano to him so frequently the few days Mr. Iglesias stopped here, and seeming so comfortable together andfriendly, and his inviting us all to the theatre! Really, I must say Ido think you sadly changeable, Serena, that I do. "

"No, I am not changeable, Rhoda, " the other lady declared, both voiceand colour rising slightly. "Nobody ever accused me of beingchangeable before, and I do not like it. I do not think you are at alljustified in making such an accusation. But I am observant. I alwayshave been so. Even Susan allows that I am very observant. I cannothelp being so, and I do not wish to help it. I think it is much safer. It helps you to find out who you can really trust. And, of course, Iobserved a great deal that happened last night. I felt from the firstthat I owed it to myself to be particularly on my guard, becausecertain insinuations had been made--you know, Rhoda, you have madethem more than once yourself--and some people might have thought thatthings had gone rather far when Mr. Iglesias was stopping here. Ibelieve Mrs. Porcher and that dreadful Miss Hart did think it. I donot say that things did go far; I only say that people might naturallythink that they had. On several occasions Mr. Iglesias' conduct didseem very marked. And, of course, nothing could be more odious to methan to be placed in a false position. One cannot be too careful, especially with foreigners. Mamma always warned us against foreignerswhen we first came out. I never had any experience of foreigners untilI met Mr. Iglesias, here at your house. But, I am sorry to say, Ibelieve now mamma was perfectly right. "

As she ended her harangue, Serena with a petulant movement of her thinhands pushed her plate away from the table edge, leaving a vacantspace before her. This was as a declaration of war. She scornedfurther subterfuge. She announced a demonstration. A bright spot ofcolour burned on either cheek, her small head, on its long stalk ofneck, was carried very erect. It was one of those pathetic momentswhen--the merciless revelations of the morning sunshinenotwithstanding--this slim, faded, middle-aged spinster appeared torecapture, and that very effectively, the charm and promise of hervanished youth. Excited by foolish anger, animated by a sense ofinsult wholly misplaced and imaginary, she became a very passablypretty person, the immature but hopeful Serena of eighteen lookingforth from the eyes of the narrow-souled disappointed Serena of eight-and-forty. 

"Of course, George may have some explanation of what happened lastnight, " she went on, speaking rapidly. "If he has, I think it would beonly fair that he should offer it to me. I took for granted he woulddo so this morning as soon as we met; or that he would send you to me, Rhoda, to explain if he felt too awkward about speaking himself. Butas you both are determined to ignore what happened, I am forced tospeak. I dare say it would be much more convenient to you, knowing youhave made a mistake, to pass the whole thing over in silence. But Ireally cannot consent to that. If Mr. Iglesias meant nothing allalong, then I think he has behaved disgracefully. If he did meansomething at first, and then"--the speaker gasped--"changed his mind, he might at least have given some hint. He ought to have refused tostop here, of course. "

"He did refuse, " George Lovegrove faltered. This was really dreadful, far worse than anything he had anticipated--and he had not a notionwhat it was safe to say. "I do wish females' minds were a little lessingenious, " he commented to himself. "They see such a lot which wouldnever have entered my head, for instance. "

"Still, Mr. Iglesias came, " cried the belligerent Serena. 

"Yes, I over-persuaded him. He was very unwilling, very so indeed, saying that staying out was altogether foreign to his practice. But Ipointed out to him that you and the wife might feel rather mortifiedif he omitted to come, having taken such an interest in his illnessand--"

If you made use of my name, George, you took a great liberty. "

"I am very distressed to hear you say that, Serena. Both the wife andI certainly supposed you wished him to come. "

He looked imploringly at his spouse, asking support. But for once thelarge kindly countenance failed to beam responsive. A plaintiveexpression overspread its surface. Then the unhappy man stareddespondently out into the misty morning sunshine, plastering down hisshiny hair with a moist and shaky hand. Even the wife turned againsthim, making him feel an outcast at his own breakfast-table. He couldhave wept. 

"I have been so very guarded throughout, " Serena resumed, "that it isimpossible you should have the slightest excuse for using my name. But, of course, if you have done so, my position is more than everodious. There is nothing for me to do but to go. Fortunately I amgoing--and I am thankful. If I had followed my own inclinations, Ishould have gone long ago. Then I should have been spared all this, and nothing would have been said. Now all sorts of things may be said, because, of course, it must all look very odd. It shows how foolish itis to allow one's judgment to be overruled. I stayed entirely tooblige Rhoda. And I cannot but see I have been trifled with. "

"No, no, Serena, not that--never that, " her host cried distractedly. "If I have been in the wrong, I apologise from my heart. But triflingnever entered my thoughts. How could it do so, with all the respect Ihave for you and Susan? I may have been clumsy, but I acted for thebest. "

"I am afraid I cannot agree, " she retorted. "It is useless toapologise. I am sorry to tell you so, George, for I have trusted youuntil now; but I do feel, and I am afraid I always shall feel, I havebeen very unkindly treated by you and Rhoda. "

She rose, rustling as she spoke, the parrot, meanwhile, leaving offpreening its feathers, regarding her, its head very much on one side, with a wicked eye. 

"No, please leave me to myself, " she said. "I do not want anybody tohelp me, and if I do I shall ring for the maids. I want to composemyself before I go to Lady Samuelson's. After all this unpleasantness, it is much better for me to be alone. "

"Good-bye, girlie, poor old girlie. Hi! p'liceman, bring a four-wheeler, " shrieked the parrot, as Serena opened and closed the dining-room door, flapping wildly in the sunshine till the sand and seedhusks on the floor of its cage arose and whirled upwards in a crazylittle cloud. 

George Lovegrove, who had risen to his feet, sank back into his chair, resting his elbows on the table and covering Ids face with his hands. 

"I would rather have forfeited my pension, " he murmured. "I wouldrather have lost a hundred pounds. "

Then raising his head he gazed imploringly at his wife. And this timeher tender heart could not resist the appeal. He had not been openwith her, but she relented, giving him opportunity to retrieve hiserror. Moreover--but that naturally was a very minor consideration--she was bursting with curiosity. 

"Georgie, " she asked solemnly, "whatever did happen last night?"

"Mr. Iglesias met a lady friend. She sent for him to talk to her, inthe lobby, between the acts, " he answered, the red deepening in hisclean fresh-coloured face. 

"Not any of that designing Cedar Lodge lot?"

"Oh! dear no, not all, " he replied, his childlike eyes full ofgratitude. He blessed the magnanimity of the wife. But speedilyembarrassment supervened. He found this subject singularly difficultto deal with. "Not at all of their class. I confess it did surpriseme, for though I have always taken it for granted Dominic belonged toa higher circle by birth than that in which we have known him, I hadno idea he had such aristocratic acquaintances. His looks and mannerin public, last night, made him seem fitted for any company. Still, Iwas surprised. "

"Did he not introduce you?"

"No. I cannot say he had a convenient opportunity, and the lady maynot have wished it. I could fancy she might hold herself a littleabove us. But, between ourselves, I believe that was what so upsetSerena. "

"I am of opinion Mr. Iglesias is just as well without Serena, " Mrs. Lovegrove declared. "I suppose she cannot help it, but her temper issadly uncertain. I begin to fear she would be very exacting inmarriage. But was the lady young, Georgie?"

The good man blushed furiously. 

"Yes, under thirty, I should suppose, and very striking to look at. Serena had called my attention to her already. She thought her over-dressed. I am no judge of that, but I could see she was verybeautiful. "

"Oh! Georgie dear!" This in high protest. For the speaker belonged tothat section of the British public in which puritanism is even yetdeeply ingrained, with the dreary consequence that beauty, whether ofperson or in art, is suspect. To admit its existence trenches onimmodesty; to speak of it openly is to skirt the edges of licence. 

George Lovegrove, however, had developed unaccustomed boldness. 

"So she was, my dear, " he repeated, not squinting in the least foronce. "She was beautiful, dark and splendid, with eyes that lookedright through you, mocking and yet mournful. They made a noble couple, she and Dominic, notwithstanding the disparity of age. As they stoodthere together I felt honoured to see them both. And if DominicIglesias is to have friends with whom we are unacquainted--though Ido not deny the thing hurt me a little at first--I am glad they shouldbe so handsome and fine. It seems to me fitting, and as if he was inhis true sphere at last. "

A silence followed this profession of faith, during which Mrs. Lovegrove's face presented a singular study. She stared at her husbandin undisguised amazement, while the corners of her mouth and her largesoft cheeks quivered. 

"Well, I should never have expected to hear you talk so, Georgie, " shesaid huskily. "It seems unlike you somehow, almost as though you weredespising your own flesh and blood. "

"No, no, " he answered, "I could never do that. I could never be soforgetful of all I owe to my own family and to yours, Rhoda. I amunder deep obligations to both. But it would be dishonest to deny thatI set a wonderfully high value on Dominic Iglesias' regard, and havedone so ever since we were boys together at school. To me Dominic hasalways stood by himself, I knowing how superior he was to me in mindand in all else, so that it has been my truest honour and privilege tobe admitted to intimacy with him. But the difference between us nevercame home to me as it did when I saw him in other company last night. He is fitted for a higher position than he has ever filled yet--we allused to allow that in old days at the bank--or for any society we canoffer him. So, though I felt humiliated in a measure, I felt glad. ForI can grudge him nothing in the way of new friends, even though theymay be differently placed to ourselves and should come between him andme a little, making our intercourse less frequent and easy than in thepast. From my heart I wish him the very best that is going, althoughit should be rather detrimental to myself. "

Mrs. Lovegrove's cheeks still quivered, but the expression of her facewas unresponsive once more, not to say obstinate. Jealousy, indeed, possessed her. For the first time in her whole experience she realisedher husband as an individual, as a human entity independent ofherself. To contemplate him otherwise than in the marital relation wasa shock to her. She felt deserted, a potential Ariadne on Naxos. Hencejealousy, resentment, cruel hurt. 

"Well, to be sure, what a long story!" she cried, in tones approachingsarcasm, "and all about someone who is no relation, too! Whateverpossesses you, Georgie? You aren't a bit like yourself. It seems to methis morning everybody's bewitched. " She heaved herself up out of herchair. "I shall go and try to make it up with Serena, " she continued. "It is only Christian charity to do so; and, poor thing, I can wellunderstand she may have had cause enough for mortification now I havemade out what really did take place last night. "

Usually, left alone in the dining-room, George Lovegrove would haveproceeded methodically to do a number of neat little odd jobs, hummingsoftly the while funny, shapeless little tunes to himself in thefulness of his guileless content. He would have piled up the fire withsmall coal and dust, thus keeping it alight but saving fuel tillluncheon-time, when one skilful stir with the poker would produce acheerful blaze. Then he would have proceeded to the littleconservatory opening off his box of a sanctum at the back of thehouse--containing his roller-top desk, his papers, Borough Council andparish reports, his magazines, his best and second-best overcoats hungon pegs against the wall along with his silk hat. In the conservatory, still humming, he would have smoked his morning pipe, feeding thegold-fish in the small square glass tank--a tiny fountain in thecentre of which it pleased him to set playing--and later carefullyexamining the ferns and other pot-plants in search of green-fly, scale, or blight. But to-day the innocent routine of his life wasrudely broken up. He had no heart for his accustomed tidy potterings, but lingered aimlessly, fingering the gold watch-chain strained acrossthe convex surface of his waistcoat, sand looking pitifully enoughbetween the lace curtains out on to the Green. 

The sun had climbed the sky, burning up the hoarfrost and mist, sothat the houses opposite had become clearly discernible. Presently hebeheld a tall, upright figure emerge from the front door of CedarLodge. For a moment Mr. Iglesias stood at the head of the flight ofimmaculately white stone steps, rolling up his umbrella and putting onhis gloves preparatory to setting forth on his morning walk. And, watching him, a wave of humility and self-depreciation swept overGeorge Lovegrove's gentle and candid soul, combined with an aching orregret that destiny had not seen fit to deal with him rather otherwisethan it actually had. He felt a great longing that he, too, werepossessed of a stately presence, brains, breeding, and handsome looks. There stirred in him an almost impassioned craving for romance, forescape from the interminable respectabilities and domesticities ofEnglish middle-class suburban life. He went a step further, rebellingagainst the feminine atmosphere which surrounded him, in which"feelings" so constantly usurped the place of actions, andsuppositions that of fact. Then, the vision of a beautiful woman witha strange rose-scarlet dress, in whose eyes sorrow struggled withmocking laughter, once again assailed him. Who she might be, and whather history, he most emphatically knew not; yet that she breathed akeener and more tonic air than that to which he was habituated, thatfeelings in her case did not stand for actions, or suppositions forfact, he was fully convinced. 

"Poor old chappie, take a brandy and soda. Got the hump?"--this, shrilly, from the parrot hanging head downwards from the roof of itscage. 

At the sound of that at once unhuman and singularly confidential voiceclose beside him, George Lovegrove gave a guilty start. 

"Yes, the wife is quite right, " he said, half aloud. "If you want tokeep a happy mind there is very much of which it is as well to beignorant. "

Then shame covered him, for in his recent meditations andapprehensions had he not come very near turning traitor, and being, inimagination at all events, subtly unfaithful to that same large kindlycomfortable wife?

CHAPTER XXII

Two months had passed, and February was about to give place to March--two months empty of outward event for Dominic Iglesias, but big withthought and consolidation of purpose. He had been more than eversolitary during this period, for his acquaintance, even to thefaithful George Lovegrove, stood aloof. But Dominic hardly noticedthis. Though solitary, he had not been lonely, since his mind wasabsorbed in question, in pursuit, in the consciousness of deepeningconviction. For the recognition not merely of religion, but ofChristianity, as a supreme factor in earthly existence, which had cometo him in the dreary December twilight, as, broken in health and inspirit, he gazed upon the carven picture of Calvary, had proved nofugitive experience. It remained by him, entracing his imagination andsatisfying both his heart and his intelligence; so that he looked backupon the hour of his despair thankfully, seeing in it the starting-point of a journey the prosecution of which promised not only to bethe main occupation of his remaining years here in time, but, theriver of death once crossed, to stretch onward and onward throughrealms, at present inconceivable, of beauty, of knowledge, and oflove. And so, for the moment, solitude was sweet to him, leaving himfree of petty cares and anxieties--he moving forward, ignorant of thegossip which in point of fact surrounded him, innocent of the feminineplots and counterplots of which his blameless bachelorhood was atonce the provoking cause and the object; while in his eyes--though ofthis, too, he was ignorant--dwelt increasingly reflection of thatmysterious and lovely light which, let obstinately purblind man denyit as he may, lies forever along the far horizon, for comfort of godlywayfarers and as beacon of the elect. 

Yet it must not be supposed that the outset of Iglesias' spiritualjourney was wholly serene, free from obstacle or hesitation, from riskof untoward selection, or rejection, of the safe way. Many roads, andthose bristling with contradictory signposts, presented themselves. Noisy touts, each crying up his own special mode and means ofconveyance, rushed forth at every turn. 

Modern Protestantism, as he encountered it in the pages of popularnewspapers and magazines, at Mrs. Porcher's dinner-table, or in thegood Lovegroves' drawing-room, had small attraction for him, since itappeared to advance chiefly by negations stated with rather blatantself-sufficiency and self-conceit. It might tend to the making ofrespectable municipal councillors; but, in his opinion, it was idle topretend that it tended to the making of saints--and for the saints, those experts in the divine science, Iglesias confessed a weakness. Ofspirituality it showed, to his seeing, as little outward evidence asof philosophy or of art. The phrases of piety might still be upon thelips of its votaries; but the attitude and aspirations engendered bypiety were unfortunately dead. Its system of ethics was franklyutilitarian. Its goal, though hidden from the simple by a maze ofhigh-sounding sentiment, was Rationalism pure and simple. Its god wasnot the creator of the visible universe, of angels and archangels, dominions, principalities, and powers, of incalculable natural andsupernatural forces, but a jerky loose-jointed pasteboard divinity, the exclusive possession, since it is the exclusive invention, of theAnglo-Saxon race, through whose gaping mouth any and every self-elected prophet was free to shout, as heaven-descended truth, in thename of progress and liberty, whatever political or social catchwordchanced to be the fashion of the hour. 

Nor did the neo-mystics, whose utterances are also sown broadcast incontemporary literature and who are so lavish with their offers ofdivine enlightenment, please Iglesias any better. For his mind, thanksto his Latin ancestry, was of the logical order, while a businesstraining and long knowledge of affairs had taught him the value ofmethod, giving him an unalterable reverence for fact, and impressingupon him the existence of law, absolute and immutable, in everydepartment of nature and of human activity--law, to break which is todestroy the sequence of cause and effect, and so procure abortion. Therefore this new school of thinkers--if one can dignify by the nameof thinkers persons of so vague and topsy-turvy a mental habit--nourishing themselves upon the windy meat of secular and time-explodedfallacies, upon the temple-sweepings of all the religions, orientaland occidental, old and new, combined with ill-attested marvels ofmodern physical and psychological experiment, were far from commendingthemselves to his calm and patient judgment. Such excited persons, asa slight acquaintance with history proves beyond all question, haveexisted in every age; and, suffering from chronic mental dyspepsia, have ever been liable to mistake the rumblings of internal flatulencefor the Witness of the Spirit. In their current pronouncementsIglesias met with a wearisome passion for paradox, and an equallywearisome disposition to hail all eccentricity as genius, all hysteriaas inspiration. While in their exaltation of the "sub-conscious self"--namely, of those blind movements of instinct and foreboding commontothe lower animals and to savage or degenerate man alike--as againstthe intellect and the reasoned action of the will, he saw a menace tohuman attainment, to civilisation--in the best meaning of that word--to right reason and noble living, which it would be difficult tooverestimate. These good people, while pouring contempt on the body, and even denying its existence, in point of fact thought and talkedabout little else. All of which struck him as not only very tiresomeand very silly, but very dangerous. Modern Protestantism mighteventuate in Rationalism, in a limiting of human endeavour exclusivelyto the end of material well-being. But this worship of the pseudo-sciences, this tinkering at the accepted foundations and accepteddecencies of the social order, this cultivation of intellectual andmoral chaos, could, for the vast majority of its professors at allevents, eventuate only in the mad-house. And to the mad-house, whetherby twentieth-century esoteric airship or occult subway, DominicIglesias had not the very smallest desire to go. 

For he had no ambition to be "on time" and up-to-date, to electrifyeither himself or his contemporaries by an exhibition of mentalsmartness. He merely desired, earnestly yet humbly, to be given graceto find the road--however archaic in the eyes of the modern world thatroad might be--which leads to the light on the far horizon and beyondto the presence of God. The more he meditated on these things the moreinconceivable it became to him but that this road veritably existed;and that, not by labour of man, but by everlasting ordinance of God. It was absurd, in face of a state of being so complex, so highlyorganised, so universally subjected to law, as the one in which hefound himself, that a matter of such supreme importance as the channelof intercourse between the soul and its Maker should have been left tohaphazard accident or blundering of lucky chance. And so, havingsupplemented his researches in print, by listening to the discoursesof many teachers, from one end of London to the other in lecture-hall, chapel, and church, having even stood among the crowds which gatheraround itinerant preachers in the Park, Dominic found his thoughtfixing itself with deepening assurance upon the communion in which hehad been born and baptised, which his father, in the interests of therevolutionary propaganda, had so bitterly repudiated, and from whichhis mother, broken by the tyranny of circumstance and bodily weakness, had lapsed. 

Outside that communion he beheld only weltering seas of prejudice andconflicting opinion, heard only the tumult of confused and acrimoniouscontest. Within he beheld the calm of fearlessly wielded authority andof loyal obedience; heard the awed silence of those who worship beingglad. For the Catholic Church, as Iglesias began to understand, issomething far greater than any triumphant example of that which can beattained by cooperation and organisation. It is not an organisation, but an organism; a Living Being, perfectly proportioned, with inherentpowers of development and growth; ever-existent in the Divine Mindbefore Time was; recipient and guardian of the deepest secrets, themost sacred mysteries of existence; endlessly adaptable to changingconditions yet immutably the same. Hence it is that Catholicismpresents no questionable historic pedigree and speaks with nouncertain voice. Claiming not only to know the road the soul musttread would it reach the far horizon, but to be the appointed wardenof that same road and sustainer of it, she points with proudconfidence to the vast multitude which, under her guidance, hasjoyfully trodden it--a multitude as diverse in gifts and estate, as inage and race--as proof of the authenticity of her mission to thetoiling and sorrowful children of men. 

Yet, since unconditional surrender must ever strike a pretty shrewdblow at the roots both of personal pride and worldly caution, DominicIglesias hesitated to take the final step and declare himself. To onewho has long lived outside the creeds, and that not ungodly, stillless bestially, it is no light matter to subject attitude of mind anddaily habit to distinct rule. Not only does the natural man rebelagainst the apparent limiting of his personal freedom, but theconventional and sophisticated man fears lest agreement should, afterall, spell weakness, while indifferentism--specially in outwardobservances--argues strength. A certain shyness, moreover, withheldIglesias, a not unadmirable dread of being guilty of ostentation. Itwas so little his custom to obtrude himself, his opinions, and hisneeds upon the attention of others, that he was scrupulous anddiffident in the selection of time and place. The affair, however, decided itself, as affairs usually do when the intention of thoseundertaking them is a sincere one--and thus. 

The tide of war had begun to turn. Earlier in the week had come thenews of General Cronje's surrender, after the three days' shelling ofhis laager at Paardeberg. Hence satisfaction, not only of victory butof compassion, since a sense of horror had weighed on the hearts ofeven the least sentimental at thought of the stubborn thousands, penned in that flaming rat-trap of the dry river-bed, ringed about bysun-baked rock and sand and death-belching guns. To-day came news ofthe relief of long-beleaguered Ladysmith, and London was shaken byemotion, under the bleak moisture-laden March sky, the air thick withthe clash of joy-bells, buildings gay with riotous outbreak of many-coloured flags, the streets vibrant with the tread and voices ofsurging crowds. 

Iglesias, who early that afternoon had walked Citywards to see theholiday aspect of the town and glean the latest war news, growingsomewhat weary on his homeward journey of the humours of his fellow-citizens--which became beery and boisterous as the day drew on--turnedin at the open gates of the Oratory, in passing along the BromptonRoad. His purpose was to gain a little breathing space from thejostling throng, by standing at the head of the steps under the wideportico of the great church. Looking westward, above the wedge of meanand ill-assorted houses that marks the junction of the Fulham and theCromwell Roads--the muddy pavements of which, far as the eye carried, were black with people--the yellowish glare of a pallid sunset spreaditself across the leaden dulness of the sky. The wan and sickly lighttouched the architrave and columns of the facade of the great church, bringing this and the statue of the Blessed Virgin which surmounts itinto a strange and phantasmal relief--a building not material and ofthis world, but rather of a city of dreams. To Iglesias it appeared asthough there was an element of menace in that cold and melancholyreflection of the sunset. It produced in him a sense of insecurity anddistrust, which the roar of the traffic and horseplay of the crowdwere powerless to counteract. London, the monstrous mother, in thishour of her rejoicing showed singularly unattractive. Her featureswere grimed with soot, her dull-hued garments foul with slush, hergestures were common, her laughter coarse. His soul revolted from thesight and sound of her; revolted against the fate which had bound himso closely to her in the past, and which bound him still. The spiritof her infected even the sky above her, painting it with the sadcolours of perplexity and doubt. He stepped farther back under theportico, moved by desire to escape from the too insistent thought andspectacle of her. Doing so, he became aware of music reaching himfaintly from behind the closed doors of the church, fine yet sonorousharmonies supporting the radiant clarity of a boy's voice. 

Then Iglesias understood that he was presented here and immediatelywith the moment of final choice. Delay was dishonourable, since it wasnothing less than a shirking of the obligations which his convictionshad created. So there, on the one hand--for so the whole matterpictured itself to his seeing--was London, the type, as she is in factthe capital, of the modern world--of its ambitions, material andsocial, of its activities, of its amazing association of pleasure andmisery, of the rankest poverty and most plethoric wealth--at onceformless, sprawling, ugly, vicious, while magnificent in intelligence, in vitality, in display, as in actual area and bulk. On the otherhand, and in the eyes of the majority phantasmal as a city of dreams, was Holy Church, austere, restrictive, demanding much yet promisinglittle save clean hands and a pure heart, until the long and difficultroad is traversed which--as she declares--leads to the light on thefar horizon and beyond to the presence of God. 

"If one could be certain of that last, then all would be simple andeasy, " Iglesias said to himself, looking out over the turbulence ofthe streets to the pallid menace of the western sky. "But it is in thenature of things, that one cannot be certain. Certainty, whether forgood or evil, can only come after the event. One must take the risk. And the risk is great, almost appallingly great. "

For just then there awoke and cried in him all the repressed andfrustrated pride of a man's life--lust of the flesh, lust of the eyes, overweening ambition of power and place, of cruelty even, of grosslicence and debauch. For the moment he ceased to be an individual, limited by time and circumstances, and became, in desire, thepossessor of the passions and reckless curiosity of the whole humanrace. So that, in imagination he suffered unexampled temptations; and, in resisting them, flung aside unexampled allurements of grandeur andconceivable delight. Not what actually was, or ever had been, possibleto and for him, Dominic Iglesias, bank-clerk, assailed him withprovocative vision and voice; but the whole pageant of earthly being, and the inebriation of it. Nothing less than this did he behold, anddrink of, and, in spirit, repudiate and put away forever, as at lasthe pulled open the heavy swing doors and passed into the church. 

Within all was dim, mist and incense smoke obscuring the roof of thegreat dome, the figures of the kneeling congregation far below showingsmall and dark. Only the high altar was ablaze with many lights, inthe centre of which, high-uplifted, encircled by the golden rays ofthe monstrance, pale, mysterious, pearl of incalculable price, showedthe immaculate Host. 

Quietly yet fearlessly, as one who comes by long-established right, Dominic walked the length of the nave, knelt devoutly on both knees, prostrating himself as, long ago, in the days of early childhood hismother had taught him to do at the Exposition of the BlessedSacrament. Now, after all these years--and a sob rose in his throat--he seemed to feel her hand upon his shoulder, the gentle pressure ofwhich enjoined deepest reverence. Then rising, he took his place inthe second row of seats on the gospel side, and remained there, through the concluding acts of the ceremonial, until the silentcongregation suddenly finds voice--penetrated by austere emotion--inrecitation of the Divine Praises. 

Some minutes later he knelt in the confessional, laying bare thesecrets of his heart. 

Thus did Dominic Iglesias cast off the bondage of that monstrousmother, London-town, cast off the terror of those unbidden companions, Loneliness and Old Age, using and, taking the risks, humbly reconcilehimself to Holy Church. 

CHAPTER XXIII

Good George Lovegrove wandered solitary in Kensington Gardens. He hadchosen the lower path running parallel with Kensington Gore, whichleads, between flowerborders and thickset belts of shrubbery, from theBroad Walk to the railings enclosing the open space around the AlbertMemorial. This path, being sheltered and furnished with many greengarden seats, is specially nurse and baby haunted, and it was to seethe babies, whether sturdily on foot or seated in their littlecarriages, that George Lovegrove had come hither, being sad. Thrushessang lustily from the treetops. The flowerborders grew resplendentwith polyanthus, crocus yellow, purple, and white, with earlydaffodils, and the heaven blue of _scilla sibirica_. Above, hereand there a froth of almond or cherry blossom overspread the darktwigs and branches, while a ruddiness of burgeoning buds flushed thegreat elms. But babies of position, looking like tiny pink-faced polarbears, still wore their long leggings and white furs, the March windbeing treacherous. They galloped, trumpeting, the clean air and merrysunshine going to their heads in the most inebriating fashion. It wasearly, moreover, so that they were full of the energy of a goodnight's sleep, of breakfast, and of comfortable nursery warmth. AndGeorge Lovegrove stepped among them carefully, watching their gambolsmoist-eyed, nervously anxious lest his quaintly solid figure shouldobstruct the erratic progress of toy-horse, or hoop, or ball. Hecraved for notice, for even the veriest scrap of friendly recognition, yet was too diffident to attempt any direct intercourse with thesedelectable small personages, who, on their part, were royallyindifferent to his existence so long as he did not get in their way. This he clearly perceived, yet for it bore them no ill-will, preferring, as does every truly devout lover, to worship the belovedfrom a respectful distance rather than not worship at all. 

And it was thus, even as a large and dusky elephant picking its wayvery gently through a flock of skippeting and lively lambs, that Mr. Iglesias, entering the sheltered walk from the far end, first caughtsight of him. To Dominic, it must be admitted, babies, song-birds, burgeoning buds and blossoms, alike presented themselves as butelements in the setting of the outward scene--a scene sweet enough hadone leisure to contemplate it, touched by the genial vernal influence, witness to nature's undying youth. But his appreciation of thatsweetness was just now cursory and indirect. His thought was absorbedand eager, penetrated by apprehension of matters lying above andbeyond the range of ordinary human speech. For he was in that exaltedinterval of a many hours' fast when the spiritual intelligence iswholly alive and awake, the body becoming but the vesture of the soul--a vesture without impediment or weight, a beautifully negligiblequantity in the general scheme of existence. Later reaction sets in. The claims of the body become dominant; and the exalted moment is toooften paid for sorrowfully enough in sluggish brain and irritatednerves. Dominic, however, had not reached that stage of thetragi-comedy of the marriage of flesh and spirit. He was happy, with the white unearthly happiness of those who have been admittedto the Sacred Mysteries. And it was not without a sense of shock, as of rough descent to common things, of pity and of regret, that herecognised good George Lovegrove cruising thus, elephantine, among theroystering babes. Then Iglesias checked himself sternly. To humblethemselves, remembering their own great unworthiness, to come downfrom the Mount of Transfiguration to the dwellers in the plain, and begentle and human towards them--this surely is the primary duty ofthose who have assisted at the Divine Sacrament? And so Iglesias wentforward and hailed his old school-fellow in all tenderness andfriendship, causing the latter to raise his eyes from patheticcontemplation of those charming but wholly self-absorbed small humananimals, and look up. 

"Dominic!" he cried. "Well, to be sure, you do surprise me. Who wouldhave expected to meet you out at this hour of the morning? I docongratulate myself. I am pleased, " he said. His honest face beamed, his fresh colour deepened. As a girl at the unlooked-for advent of herlover, he grew confused and shy. And Iglesias warmed towards him. Whimsical in appearance, simple-minded, not greatly skilled in anysort of learning, yet he had a heart of gold--about that there couldbe no manner of doubt. 

"Turn back then, and let us walk together, " Iglesias saidaffectionately. "It is a long while since we have had a quiet talk--that is, of course, if you have no particular business which calls youto town. "

"I have no business of any description, " he answered. "And betweenourselves, Dominic, since I lost my seat on the borough council, Ihave had too much time on my hands, I think. It is beginning to bequite a trouble with me. "

"Is life too softly padded, too dead-level easy and comfortable?"Iglesias inquired. "Are you beginning to quarrel a little with yourblessings?"

George Lovegrove became very serious. 

"Yes, " he said, "I am afraid you are right. As usual you have laidyour finger on the spot. I do reproach myself for unthankfulnessoften. I know I have a good home, and everything decent andrespectable about me; more so, indeed, than a man in my position hasany right to expect. And yet I regret the old days in the city, Dominic, that I do. I should enjoy to be back at my old desk at thebank--just the little snap of anxiety in the morning as to whetherone would catch the 'bus; the long ride through the streets with one'smorning paper; the turning out with the other clerks--good fellows allof them, on the whole, were they not?--to get a snack of lunch. Andthen the coming home at night, with some trifling present or dainty toplease the wife; and a look round the greenhouse and garden afterwardsin your lounge suit; and hearing and retailing all the day's news, andtalking of the good time coming when you would retire and be quite theindependent gentleman; and the half-day on Saturday, too, taking somenice little outing to Richmond or Kew, or an exhibition or somethingof the sort, and then the Sunday's rest. "

He hesitated and sighed, looking wistfully at the white-clad babies. 

"If one had two or three of those little people of one's own it mightbe very different--though I would never breathe a word of such athought to the wife. Females are so easily upset; and if it raisesregrets in us men, it must be much more trying for them, poor things, to be childless. But where was I? Yes, well now the good time hascome--and I feel a criminal in saying so, but it appears to me to begrowing stale already, Dominic. It was better in anticipation than infact. I am an ungrateful fellow, that I am, I know it; but sometimes Iam inclined to ask myself whether all the things we set such fondhopes on are not like that. "

"No, not all, " Iglesias answered, with a certain subdued enthusiasm. "There are things--a few--which never grow stale. One may build onthem as on a foundation of rock. If they ever seem to fail us, to beshaken and overthrown, it is an evil delusion, and the cause lies notin them but in ourselves. It is we who fail, who are shaken andoverthrown through palsied will and feebleness of faith. They remainforever inviolate. "

"I suppose so, " the other man said timidly. He was unused to suchvehemence of assertion on the part of his friend. He wondered to whatit could refer. His thought, carrying back to the evening at thetheatre, played around visions of distinguished amours. Then hesteadied himself to heroic resolve. 

"I suppose it is, " he repeated, "and that makes my conduct appear allthe more discreditable to me. My circumstances are too comfortable andeasy. It is just that. And so I take to fretting over trifles andseeing slights and unkindness where none were intended. " He looked upat Iglesias, his squinting eyes full of apology and admiration. "Yes, I am sadly poor-spirited and I have no excuse. I have been nursing asense of injury towards those to whom I have most occasion forgratitude--the wife and you. Dominic, believe me I am heartily ashamedof myself. "

"Come, come, " Iglesias answered, brought very much back to earth, yettouched and softened. "My dear friend, you of all men have small causefor self-reproach. In every relation of life--and our knowledge of oneanother dates back to early youth--I have found you perfect in loyaltyand unselfish kindness. "

George Lovegrove walked on for a moment in silence. He had to clearhis throat once or twice before he could command his voice. 

"Praise from you is very encouraging, " he managed to say at last. "ButI am afraid I do not deserve it. I have felt mortified latelysometimes, and I am afraid envious. I--but after your last words I ammore than ever ashamed to own it--I have fancied that you werebecoming distant and that an estrangement was growing up between us. Of course I have always understood, though we happened to be school-fellows and in the same employment afterward, that your position andmine were different. And I want you to know that I would never be aclog on you, Dominic"--he spoke with an admirably simple dignity--"believe me, I never would be that. Lately I have been troubled by thethought that I had extracted a promise from you to remain at Trimmer'sGreen. Now I beg of you most earnestly not to let that promise, givenin a moment of generous indulgence, weigh with you in the slightest, if circumstances have arisen which point at your residing in a morefashionable part of the town. "

"But why should I want to go to a more fashionable part of London?"Iglesias asked, smiling. 

"Well, you see, " the other returned, his face growing furiously red, "it came to my knowledge, unexpectedly, that you have acquaintances inquite another walk of life to ours--the wife's and mine, I mean. Andit would pain me deeply, very deeply, Dominic, that any promise givento me, regarding your place of residence, should stand between you andmixing as freely with those acquaintances as you might otherwise do. "

They had come to the place where the sheltered pathway is crossed bythe Broad Walk--the upward trend of which showed blond, in thesunshine, against the brilliant green of the grass and the dark bolesof the great trees bordering it. Here Iglesias paused. He was notaltogether pleased. 

"I do not quite follow you, " he said coldly. Then looking at theguileless and faithful being beside him, he softened once more. Was itnot only more just, but more honourable, to treat this matter withcandour? "You are alluding to the lady who was good enough to send forme the night you and Miss Lovegrove went with me to the play?"

"Yes, " the excellent George assented in a strangled voice. He wantedto know badly. He was agonised by fear of having committed anindiscretion offensive to his idol. 

"Set your mind quite at rest on that point then, my dear friend. Herworld is not my world and never will be. In it I should be very muchout of place. "

Iglesias moved forward again, crossing the Broad Walk and makingtowards the small iron gate, at the lower corner of the Gardens, whichopens on to Kensington High Street. But he walked slowly, becomingconscious that he grew tired and spent. The glory of the spiritdominant was departing, the tyranny of the body dominant beginning toreassert itself. His features contracted slightly. He feltunreasoningly sad. 

George Lovegrove walked beside him in silence, his eyes downcast, hisheart stirred by vague tumultuous sympathy, his modest nature at onceinflamed and abashed, recognising in his companion the hero of anexalted and tragic romance. 

"Well, he looks it. It suits his character and appearance, " he said tohimself, adding aloud--for the very life of him he could not help it--"But she was very beautiful, Dominic. "

"Yes, " Iglesias answered, "she is beautiful and very clever and--veryunhappy. "

The good George's heart positively thumped against his ribs. "And tothink of all the plans the wife and I have been making!" he said tohimself. 

"If she wants me, she will send for me, " Iglesias continued quietly, "and I shall go to her at once, as I went that evening, withouthesitation or delay, wherever she may be. But, " he added, "it becomesincreasingly improbable that she will send for me. I have not seen heror heard from her since that night. And so, my dear friend, youperceive that your kindly fears of having circumscribed my liberty ofchoice in respect of a place of residence are quite unfounded. I haveno reason for leaving Cedar Lodge or altering my accustomed habits. "

Iglesias smiled affectionately, as dismissing the whole matter. 

"And now, " he continued, "that little misunderstanding being clearedup, will you mind my turning into the restaurant just here, in HighStreet, for a cup of coffee and a roll? I have not breakfasted yet. "

Whereupon George Lovegrove pranced before him, incoherent in kindlyremonstrance and advice. 

"At 11 A. M. , and after your severe indisposition at Christmas, too, out walking on an empty stomach! It is positively suicidal. Where haveyou been to?" he cried. 

"To Mass, " Iglesias answered, still smiling, though with something ofa fighting light in his eyes and a lift of his head. 

His companion stared at him in blank amazement. 

"To what?" he said. 

"To Mass, " Iglesias repeated. "I have been waiting for a suitableopportunity to speak to you of this, George. I, too, have felt theweight of enforced leisure. It has not been a particularly cheerfulexperience; but it has given me time to read, and still more to think, with the consequence that I have returned to the faith of mychildhood. I have made my peace with the Church. "

They continued to walk slowly onward; but George Lovegrove drew awayto the further side of the path as though contact might be dangerous, as though infection was hanging about. He kept his eyes averted, hishead bent. 

"You do surprise me, " he said at last. "I had not the slightestinkling that you were contemplating such a step. I give you my word, you have fairly taken away my breath. I do not seem to be able tograsp it, that you, whom I have always looked up to as so mentallysuperior, so independent in your thought, should have become aRomanist--for that is your meaning, I take it, Dominic?"

"Yes, that is my meaning, " Iglesias answered. 

"You do surprise me, " George Lovegrove said again presently, and in alamentable voice. "My mind refuses to grasp it. I would rather havelost five hundred pounds than have heard this. I declare I am fairlyunmanned. I have never received a greater shock. "

Iglesias remained silent. He was weary and sad. But he straightenedhimself, trying to keep his gaze fixed steadily upon the far horizonwhere dwells the everlasting light. 

"It is presumptuous in me to criticise your action, perhaps, " hiscompanion continued. "I never did such a thing before, having alwayshesitated to set up my views against yours; but I cannot but fear youhave made a sad mistake. And if you were contemplating any change ofthis kind, why did you not come into our own national English Church?"

"Very much because it is English and national, I think, " he answered. "In my opinion there is an inherent falsity of conception insubjecting our approach to the Absolute to restrictions imposed bycountry or by race, if these can, by any means, be avoided. Why hamperyourself with a late, expurgated, and mutilated edition, when theoriginal, in all its splendour and historic completeness, bearing thesign-manual of the Author, is there ready to your hand?"

Again Iglesias spoke with subdued but unmistakable enthusiasm. The twofriends had just reached the iron gate leading into High Street. HereGeorge Lovegrove stopped. He still kept carefully at a distance, averting his eyes as from some distressing, even disgraceful, sight, while his good honest face worked with emotion. 

"I think if you will kindly excuse me, I will go no farther, " hefaltered. "What you say may be true--I am sure I don't know. It is allbeyond me. But I should prefer not to talk any more about it until Ihave accustomed myself to the thought of this change in you. Nothingdoes come between people like religion, " he added with unconsciousirony. "So I think, if you will kindly excuse me, I will just go away, Dominic. "

And, without more ado, he turned back into the Gardens. 

The small polar bears, meanwhile, satiated with exercise, air, andlight, had begun to grow restive and fretty. Their stomachs criedcupboardwards, and they were disposed to filch each other's toy horsesand hoops, and use each other's small persons as targets for balls, thrown as bombs in a fashion far from polite. Anxious maids and nurseshunted them homewards, not without slight asperity on the one part, onthe other occasional squealings and free fights. But upon the babies, engaging even in naughtiness, George Lovegrove had ceased to bestowany attention. He went forward blindly, cruising among them and theirattendants and smart little carriages, elephantine, careless where heplaced his feet, to the obstruction of traffic and heightening ofgeneral annoyance, as sorrowful a man as any would need to meet. Forit seemed to him things had gone wrong, just then, past all hope ofsetting right. His idol, light of his eyes and joy of his guilelessheart, has fallen from his high estate, discovering capacity ofplaying the most discreditable and soul-harrowing pranks. Prejudice ismyriad-lived here on earth; and in George Lovegrove all the bigotry, all the semi-superstitious, terror fostered by the accumulatedignorance which generations of Protestant forefathers have bequeathedto the English middle-class, reared itself, not only stubborn, butmilitant. His thought travelled back to those barbarities of rougherages which are, in point of fact, more common to the secular than tothe religious criminal code; but which Protestant teachers, even yet, find it convenient to put down wholly to the account of the CatholicChurch. Practically ignorant of the spoliation and persecutionpractised under Henry the Eighth--of blessed domestic memory--of thefurther persecution which disfigured the "spacious days of greatElizabeth, " not to mention the long and shameful history of the PenalLaws, he fixed his mind upon lurid legends of the reign of unhappyMary Tudor, illustrated by prints in Fox's Book of Martyrs; uponinquisitorial tortures, the very thought of which--even out of doorsin the pleasant spring sunshine--made him break into a heavy sweat, and which, by some grotesque perversion of ideas, he believed to benot only the necessary outcome of, but vitally essential to, thepractice of the Faith. Against this hideous background he set the calmand stately figure of his beloved friend Iglesias--seeing him nolonger as the faithful comrade of more than half a lifetime, but as aforeign being, an unknown quantity, a worshipper of graven images, aparticipant in blasphemous rites, a believer, in short, in just allthat which sound, respectable, and godly British common sense castforth, with scorn and contumely, close on four centuries back. He wasfrightened. His everyday, comfortable, jog-trot, little odd and end ofa local parochial suburban middle-class world was literally turnedupside down and inside out. 

"And however will the wife take it--however will she take it?" hemourned to himself. "To think we have been harbouring a Papist indisguise! I dare not contemplate her feelings. She will be upset. Imust keep it from her as long as possible. And Serena, too, and Susan!I don't know how I can face them. Females are so very eloquent whenput out. Of course I have known there was something wrong for a longtime past. I saw there was a change in him, and felt there was somecause of coldness; but it never entered my head it could be as bad asthis. Oh! my poor, dear friend. Oh! my poor Dominic, perhaps I havebeen overattached to you and this comes as a judgment. It would behard enough to have anything break up our friendship, but this folly, this dreadful doting apostasy--"

He walked on blindly along the sheltered path between the flower-borders, deaf to remonstrant nurses and scornful, beautiful babesclothed in spotless white. 

"If anything must come between us I would rather it was a woman, " hemourned, "ten thousand times rather, whoever and whatever she was, than this. "

CHAPTER XXIV

It happened on the afternoon of that same day that Eliza Hart, inpursuance of her domestic avocations, had occasion to go into Mr. Farge's room on the first floor to lay out a new coverlet on his bed. When, as thus, compelled to enter the apartments of either of thegentlemen guests of the establishment it was her practice to leave thedoor half open, as a concession to propriety in the abstract and atestimony to her own discretion in the concrete. The handsome mahoganydoors of Cedar Lodge, unhappily painted white by some vandal of aformer inhabitant, being heavy were hung on a rising hinge. Hence, when half open, a space of some three inches was left between the backof the door and the jamb, through which it was easy to get a good viewof the hall or the landing unobserved. Little Mr. Farge professed awarm predilection for gay colours, and Eliza had selected the newbedspread with an eye to this fact. It was of bright raspberry-redcotton twill, enriched with a broad printed border in a flowing designof lemon-yellow tulips and bottle-green leaves. The salesman, inexhibiting it to her, had described it as "very chaste and pleasing. "Eliza herself qualified it as "tasty"; and had just disposed it, muchto her own satisfaction, upon the young man's bed, when her attentionwas arrested by the tones of an unknown feminine voice in the hallbelow. Shortly afterwards she heard Frederick, the valet's largefootsteps hurtling upstairs at a double, followed by a prolonged andleisurely whispering of silken skirts. Here, clearly, was a matterinto which, for the reputation of Cedar Lodge, it was desirable tolook without delay. Eliza, therefore, moved to the near side of thedoor, and, through the three-inch aperture afforded by the risinghinge, raked the landing with a vigilant eye. 

The door of Mr. Iglesias's sitting-room immediately opposite stoodopen. In the doorway Frederick indulged in explanatory gesticulation. While, slowly ascending the last treads of the stairs, was a lady ofunmistakable elegance, arrayed in a large black hat with droopingplumes to it, a sable cape--the price of which, Eliza felt assured, ran easily into three figures--and a black cloth dress in the cut ofwhich she read the last word of contemporary fashion. Arrived at thestair-head the intruder stood still, calmly surveying her surroundings, presenting, as she turned her head, a pale face, very red lips, andeyes--so at least it appeared to the vigilant orbs of Eliza--quiteimmodestly large and lustrous, melancholy and somehow extremelyimpertinent, too. Then Mr. Iglesias emerged from his sitting-room, anexpression upon his countenance which startled Eliza. She verycertainly had never seen it before. For a moment the lady looked up athim, as though silently asking some question. Then she patted himlightly upon the back, and passed into the sitting-room hand in handwith him, while Frederick with his best flourish closed the door. 

"Well, of all the things!" cried Eliza, half aloud; and, obliviousboth of discretion and of the new raspberry-red cotton twill coverlet, she backed, and sat, plump, upon the edge of the bed. Just then, asshe asserted in subsequently recounting this remarkable incident, youmight have knocked her down with a feather. 

"Of all the things!" she repeated, after an interval of breathlessamazement. "And how long has this been going on, I should like toknow? So that is the reason of a certain gentleman's iciness, and hisstand-offish high-mightiness. Well, I never! And poor darling Peachie, so trustful and confiding all the time; not that she need fearcomparison with anybody. --Bah! the serpent. "

Nevertheless she was deeply impressed, and fell into a vein of furiousspeculation as to who this unlooked-for smart lady might be. Then, suddenly remembering the highly compromising nature of her ownexisting position sitting not only in the lively little Farge's bed-chamber, but actually upon his bed, she rose with embarrassment andhaste, and made her way downstairs to the offices--treadingcircumspectly in dread of creaking boards--to interview Frederick. Butfrom that functionary she obtained scant information. 

"Zee lady she ask for Mr. Iglesias. I tell her I go to find him. I puther in zee drawing-room. "

"Quite right, Frederick, "--this encouragingly from Eliza. 

"But she no stay zere. She come again out quick. She not any name, notany visiting card give; only write somezing, very fast, on a piece ofpaper and screw it togezzer. Zen she not wait till I return, butbehind me upstairs chase. "

So there was nothing for it, as the great Eliza perceived, but toretire to the drawing-room, and--Mrs. Porcher happened to be out--notethe hour and, with the door discreetly half open, await the descent ofthe intruder from the floor above. 

"I can just catch darling Peachie, too, " she said to herself, "anddraw her aside. To meet such a person unexpectedly, on the stairs orin the hall, would be enough to make her turn quite faint. "

CHAPTER XXV

Poppy St. John laid her hands lightly on Mr. Iglesias' shoulders andsmiled at him. She looked very young, yet very worn; and the cornersof her mouth shook. 

"If you were anybody else, " she said, "I believe I should give you akiss. But I am not going to, so don't be nervous, dear man. I'll beperfectly correct, I promise you--only I had to come. I have beengood, absolutely tiptop beastly good, I tell you. I have washed theslate. It is as clean as a vacuum, as the inside of an exhaustedreceiver. And I feel as dull as empty space before the creation gotstarted. "

Poppy shivered a little, putting one hand over her eyes, and restingher head with its great black hat and sweeping plumes against Mr. Iglesias' chest. And Iglesias quietly put his arm round her, supporting her. The day had been full of experiences. This last, though of a notably different complexion to the rest, promised to beby no means the least searching and surprising. Iglesias steadiedhimself to take it quite calmly, in his stride; yet his jaw grew rigidand his face blanched in dread of that which might be coming. 

"I have sent Alaric Barking about his business, " Poppy continuedhoarsely. "Sent him back to his soldiering, helped to cart him off tothat rotten hole, South Africa. He is a smart officer, and he'll makea name, if he don't get shot. And he won't get shot--I should feel itin my bones if he was going to, and I don't feel it. I broke with himmore than a month ago. But I had to see him again to say good-bye, this morning, before he sailed. "

Poppy moved a step or two away, turning her back on Iglesias. 

"And it hurt a jolly lot more than I expected. I don't suppose I am inlove"--she looked around inquiringly at him, as though expecting himto solve the complicated problem of her affections. "It's not likelyat this time of day, is it? But I was fonder of Alaric than I quiteknew. He is a good sort, and we have had some ripping times together. He had become a sort of habit, you know; and when you have knockedabout a lot, as I have, you get rather sick at the notion of anychange. "

She stood, looking down, leisurely unbuttoning and pulling off herlong gloves. 

"I don't know that I should have made up my mind to sack him in theend, but that I wanted to please Fallowfeild. "

Mr. Iglesias became very tall. His expression was hard, his eyesalight. This the lady noted. She returned and patted him gently on theback again. 

"There, there, don't sail off on a wrong tack, my beloved fire-eater. Fallowfeild was quite right. The game was up, really it was; and hewanted me to walk out, like the gentlemanlike dog, so as to avoidbeing kicked out. I always knew the break was bound to come some time;and it's a long sight pleasanter to break than to be broken with, don't you think so?--You see, Alaric has formed a virtuousattachment. " Poppy's lips took a cynical twist. "It was time, hightime, he should, if he meant to go in for that line of business atall. The young lady is a niece of Fallowfeild's--a pretty littlegirl, really quite pretty--I saw her that night we were both at theplay--all new, and pink and white, and well-bred, and _ingénue_, and in every respect perfectly suitable. "

Poppy looked mutinously, even mischievously, at Dominic Iglesias. 

"Poor, dear old Alaric, " she said. "I don't quarrel with him. Hiselder brother's no children, and there are pots and pots of money. That he should want to marry, and that his people should press it onhim, is perfectly natural, and obvious, and proper. "

"But, " Dominic asked fiercely, "if this young man, Captain Barking, proposes to marry, why has he not married you--always supposing youwere willing to entertain his suit?"

Poppy flung her long gloves upon the table, unhooked her sable capeand sent it flying to join them. 

"Pou-ah! I'm hot!" she exclaimed. "I think I'll sit down, if you haveno objection. Yes, that chair, thanks--it looks excellentlycomfortable. By the way, you've got an uncommonly nice lot of thingsin this room. I am going to make a tour of inspection presently. Itpleases me frightfully to see where you live and look at yourpossessions. " She stared absently at the furniture and pictures. --"Butabout my marrying Alaric Barking, " she continued. "Well, you see--yousee, dear man, there is an inconvenient little impediment in the shapeof a husband. "

As she finished speaking Poppy folded her hands in her lap. She satperfectly still, her lips pressed together, watching Mr. Iglesias overher shoulder but without turning her head. He had crossed the room andstood at one of the tall narrow windows, looking out into the brightwindy afternoon. 

For here it was in plain English, at last, that underlying secretthing which he had known yet dreaded to know. It begot in him animmense regret and inevitable repulsion at admitted wrongdoing. Hemade no attempt to juggle with the meaning of her words. Yet, alongwith them, came a feeling of gladness that Poppy St. John would remainPoppy St. John still; and a movement of hope--intimate and verytender--since in this tragic hour of her history she had come directlyto him, asking comfort and sympathy. Dominic, cut to the quick by thedefection of the heretofore ever-faithful George Lovegrove, hailedwith a peculiar thankfulness this mark of confidence and trust. Sinful, greatly erring, still the Lady of the Windswept Dust hadreturned to him; and thereat he soberly, yet very deeply, rejoiced. Intruth, the sharp-edged breath of persecution he had encountered thismorning, while paining him, had braced him to high endeavour. TheCatholic Church, so he argued, must indeed be a mighty and livingpower since men fear her so much. And this power he felt to be behindhim, sustaining him, inciting him to noble undertakings--he strong invirtue of her strength, fearless through the courage of her saints, able with the energy of their accumulated merit and their prayers. Again, as on his way home that morning from hearing Mass, the spiritwas dominant, his whole nature and outlook purified and exalted by theDivine Indwelling. To fail any human creature calling on him for helpwould be contemptible, and even dastardly, in one blessed as hehimself was. Thus his relation to Poppy St. John fell into line. Hecould afford to love and serve her well, since he loved and purposed, in all things, to serve Almighty God best. 

These meditations occupied but a few moments, yet Poppy's patience ranshort. 

"Dominic Iglesias, " she cried suddenly, sharply, "I am tired ofwaiting. "

He crossed the room and stood in front of her, serious but light ofheart. 

"See here, it is all right between us?" she asked imperatively. 

"Yes, all is perfectly right between us, " he answered. "Your cominggives me the measure of your faith in me. I am grateful and I am veryglad. "

"Ah!" Poppy said softly. 

She sat forward in her chair, making herself small, patting her handstogether, palm to palm, between her knees, and swaying a little as shespoke. 

"You see, " she went on, "to be quite honest, I didn't break withAlaric simply to enable him to marry and live happy ever after. Nordid I do it exclusively to please Fallowfeild. It would take a greaterfool than I am to be as altruistic as all that. I always like to havemy run for my money. I--I did it more to get you back. "

She paused and raised her head, looking full at him. 

"And I have got you back?" she said. 

"Yes, " he answered, smiling. "I ask nothing better than to come back. "

"Do you mean that you are prepared to take everything on trust--afterwhat I have just told you--without wanting explanations?"

"Friendship has no need of explanations, " Iglesias said, with a touchof grandeur--"that is, as I understand friendship. It accepts what isgiven without question, or cavilling as to much or to little, leavingthe giver altogether free. Friendship, as I understand it, should havehonourable reticences, not only of speech but of thought; wiseeconomies of proffered sympathy. In its desire of service it shouldnever approach too near or say the word too much; since, if it is toflourish and obtain the grace of continuance, it must be rooted inreverence for the individuality of the person dear to it. This is mybelief. " His bearing was courtly, his expression very gentle. "Therefore rest assured that whatever confidence you repose in me issacred. Whatever confidence you withhold from me is sacred likewise. "

Poppy mused a little, a smile on her lips and an enigmatic look in hersingular eyes. 

"You're beautiful, dear man, " she murmured. "You're very beautiful. You're worth chucking the devil over for; but you'll take a jolly lotof living up to. So see here, you're bound to look me up prettyconstantly just at first, for I tell you life is not going to beexactly a toy-shop for me for some little time to come. You hear? Youpromise?"

"I promise, " Iglesias returned. 

"And there's another thing, " she continued rather proudly, "a thingmen too often blunder over--with the very best intentions, bless them, only they do blunder, and that leads to ructions. Please put thequestion of money out of your head once and for all. I have a certainamount of my own, nothing princely well understood, but quite possibleto live on. It was to prevent his playing ducks and drakes with itthat I finally left the jackal of a fellow whom I married. Well, Ihave that, and I have made a little more, one way and another. "--Poppypermitted herself a wicked grimace. --"Poor old Alaric used to tell meI was a great financier wasted, that I should have been invaluable aspartner in their family banking concern--that's more than he'll everbe, poor chap, unless marriage makes pretty sweeping changes in him. Some of my sources of income naturally are cut off through thecleaning of the slate. For I have been tiptop beastly good--indeed Ihave, as I told you! No more cards, and oh dear, no more racing. Butno doubt Cappadocia will contribute in the way of puppies. _Noblesseoblige_--she realises her duty towards posterity, does Cappadocia. So I shall scrape along quite tidily. And then, as long as I keep myvoice and my figure, at a push there's always my profession. --Youhadn't arrived at the fact that I had a profession? Such is fame, dearman, such is fame. Why, I started as a child-actress at thirteen; andwent on till the jackal made that impossible, like virtue, and self-respect, and a decent home, and a few kindred trifles in favour ofwhich every clean-minded woman has, after all, a strongish prejudice. "

Poppy's voice shook. She had much ado to maintain an indifferent andmatter-of-fact manner. Iglesias drew up a chair and sat down besideher. She put out her hand, taking his and holding it quietly. 

"There, that's better, " she said. "I feel babyish. I should like agood square cry. But I won't have one. Don't be afraid. The motto is'No snivelling, full steam ahead. '--But as to the stage, I'm not surethat won't prove the solution of most difficulties in the end. Sometimes it pulls badly at my heartstrings, and I shouldn't be halfsorry for an excuse for taking to it again. It's a rotten professionfor a man, and not precisely a soul-saving one for a woman. But itgives you your opportunity; and, at bottom, I suppose that's the mainthing one asks of life--one's opportunity. Too, your art is your art;and if it is bred in you, you sicken for it. I was awfully glad thatnight to see you at the play, though in a way it shocked me. It seemedincongruous. Tell me, do you really care for the theatre?"

"To a moderate extent I do, " Dominic answered. She wanted, so hedivined, to give a lighter tone to the conversation. He tried to meether wishes. --"I am not a very ardent playgoer, I am afraid. But at thepresent time I happen to be involved indirectly in theatricalenterprise. I am interested in the production of a play, which I amassured will prove a remarkable success. "

"You're not financing it?" Poppy asked sharply. 

"Within certain limits I am, " he answered, smiling. "An appeal wasmade to me for help which it would have been cruel to refuse. "

Poppy's expression had become curiously sombre, not to say stormy. Shegot up and began to roam about the room. 

"I hope to goodness the limits are clearly defined, and very narrowones, then, " she exclaimed. "For my part I don't believe in talentwhich can't find a market in the ordinary course of business. I grantyou managers sometimes put a play on which is no good; and sometimescripple what might be a fine play by doctoring it, in deference to therulings of that archetype of all maiden aunts and incarnation ofBritish hypocrisy, the censor; but they very rarely, in my experience, reject a play which has money in it. Why should they? Poor brutes, they are not exactly surfeited with masterpieces. The play whichrequires private backing, though a record-breaker in the opinion ofits author, is usually rubbish in that of the public. And the public, take it all round, is very fairly level-headed and just; you must notjudge it by the stupidities of the censor. He represents only anextreme section of it, if at this time of day he really representsanybody--a section which does the screaming sitting sanctimoniously athome, getting its information at second-hand through the papers, andnever darkens the doors of a play-house at all. Moreover, you mustremember that the public is master. There is no getting behind itsverdict. "

Poppy's peregrinations had brought her back beside Mr. Iglesias again. She patted him on the shoulder. 

"See here, my beloved no-longer-nameless one, " she said. "Be advised. Learn wisdom. For I tell you I've been through that gate if ever awoman has. The jackal--I wish to heaven we could keep him out of ourtalk, but, for cause unknown, he persistently obtrudes himself--heinvariably does so when I'm hipped and edgy--well, you see, he was anunappreciated genius in the way of a dramatist, from which fact Iderived first-hand acquaintance with the habits of the species. What Idon't know about those animals is not worth knowing. They're justsimply vermin, I tell you. Their utter unprofitableness is onlyequalled by their lunatic vanity. They imagine the whole world, layand professional, is in league to balk and defraud them. So don'ttouch them, I entreat you, as you value your peace of mind and yourpocket. They'll bleed you white and never give you a penn'orth ofthanks--more likely turn on you and make out, somehow or other, youare responsible for the failure of their precious productions. --Nowlet's try to forget them, and talk of pleasanter subjects. Theseobtrusions of the jackal always bring me bad luck. I'm downrightscared at them. --Tell me about your goods, your books and yourpictures. And show me something which belonged to your mother--thatis, if it wouldn't pain you to do so. I should like to hold somethingshe had touched in my hands. It would be comforting, somehow. And justset that door wider open, there's a dear. I want to have a look intothe other room and see where you sleep. "

For the ensuing half hour Poppy was an enchanting companion, whollywomanly, gentle and delicate; eager, too, with the pretty spontaneouseagerness of a child, at the recital of stories and exhibition oftreasures beloved by her companion. The lonely cedar tree, lamentingits exile as the wind swept through the labyrinth of its dry branches, moved her almost to tears. 

"It is tragic, " she said; "still, I am glad you have it. It's verymuch in the picture, and lifts the sentiment of the place out of theawful suburban rut. It's a little symbolic of you yourself, too, Dominic--there's style, and poetry, and breeding about it. Only, thankthe powers, you differ from it mightily in this, that its best daysare over, while you are but in the flower of your age. And your roomsare delightful--they're like you, too. --The rest of the house? My dearsoul, the manservant ushered me into a drawing-room, when I arrived, the colours of which were simply frantic. I bolted. If I'd stayedanother five minutes they'd have given me lockjaw. --Now I must go. "She smiled very sweetly upon Mr. Iglesias. "I'm better, ten thousandtimes better, " she said. "When I came I was rather extensivelynauseated by my own virtuous actions. Now it's all square between themand me. I'm good right through, I give you my word I am. If only it'lllast!"

Poppy's lips quivered, and she looked Iglesias rather desperately inthe face. 

"Never fear, " he answered, "but that it will last. "

"Still you'll come and see me often, very often, till I settle downinto the running? It will be beastly heavy going--must be, I'm afraid--for a long while yet. "

Dominic Iglesias, holding her hand, bent low and kissed it. 

"I will serve you perfectly, God helping me, as long as I live, " hesaid. 

Five minutes later Mrs. Porcher, supported by the outraged andsympathetic Eliza, watched, through the aperture afforded by therising hinge of the dining-room door, an unknown lady, escorted by Mr. Iglesias, sweep in whispering skirts and costly sables across thehall. 

Passing out and down the white steps, Poppy, usually so light of footand deft of movement, stumbled, and but for Iglesias' promptassistance would have fallen headlong. At that same moment de CourcySmyth, slovenly in dress, with shuffling footsteps, crossed the road, and then slunk aside, his arm jerked up queerly almost as thoughwarding off a blow. 

"No, no, I'm not hurt, not in the least hurt, " Poppy saidbreathlessly, in response to Iglesias' inquiry. "But it's given me abad fright. I'll go straight home. Put me into the first hansom yousee. --No, I'll go by myself. I'd far rather. I give you my word I'mnot hurt; but I've a lot of things to think about--I want to be alone. I want to be quiet. Come soon. I was very happy. Good-bye--good-night. "

CHAPTER XXVI

A featureless landscape of the brand of ugliness peculiar to thepurlicus of a great city, to that intermediate region where thestreets have ended and the country has not yet fairly begun. A wasteof cabbagefields--the dark lumpy earth between the rows of yellowishstumps strewn with ill-smelling refuse of decaying leaves--seenthrough the rents in a broken, unkempt, quickset hedge. Runningparallel with the said hedge, shiny blacktarred palings, shutting offall view of the river. Between these barriers, a long stretch of drab-coloured high road, flanked by slightly raised footpaths, a verge ofcoarse weedy grass to them in which a litter of rags, torn posters, and much other unloveliness found harbourage. To the northwest andnorth, a sky piled to the zenith with mountainous swiftly movingclouds, inky, blue-purple, wildly white, from out the torn bosoms ofwhich rushed, now and again, flurrying showers of hail and sleetdriven by a shrieking wind. March was in the act of asserting itsproverbial privilege of "going out like a lion"; but the lion, as seenin this particular perspective, was a frankly ignoble and ill-conditioned beast. 

And Poppy St. John, heading up against wind and weather along theleft-hand footpath, felt frankly ignoble and ill-conditioned, too. Herpoor soul, which had made such valiant efforts to spread its wings andfly heavenward--a form of exercise sadly foreign to its habit--crawled, once more, soiled and mud-bespattered, along the commonthoroughfare of life. At this degradation, her heart overflowed withbitterness and disgust, let alone the blind rage which possessed her, as of some trapped creature frustrated in escape. She had broken gaol, as she fondly imagined, and secured liberty. Not a bit of it! In thehour of reconciliation, of sweetest security, she met her gaoler faceto face and heard the key grind in the lock. 

Save for the occasional passing of a market waggon, or high-shoulderedscavenger's cart, the road was deserted. Once a low-hung two-wheeledvehicle rattled by, on which, insufficiently covered by sacking, lay adead horse, the great head swinging ghastly over the slanting tail-board, the legs sticking out stark in front. A man, perched sidewayson the carcass, swore at the rickety crock he was driving, and lashedit under the belly with a short-handled heavy-thonged whip. He wascollarless, and the scarlet and orange handkerchief, knotted about histhroat, had got shifted, the ends of it streaming out behind him as helifted his arm and swayed his whole body madly using his whip. Poppyshut her eyes, sickened by the sound and sight. Just then a scourgingstorm of sleet struck her, causing her to turn her back and pause, where a curve in the range of paling offered some slight shelter. Forstrong though she was, and well furnished against the inclementweather in a thick coaching coat, buttoned up to her chin and down toher feet, her cloth cap tied on with a thick veil, the stinging windand sleet were almost more than she could face. Her depression was notphysical merely, but moral likewise. For over and above her personaland private sources of trouble, it was a day and place whereon evildeeds seemed unpleasantly possible. The swearing driver and danglinghead of the dead horse had served to complete her discomfiture; andpresently, the storm slackening a little, hearing footsteps behindher, she wheeled round, her chin bravely in the air, but her heartgalloping with nervous fright, while her fingers closed down on thebutt of the small silver-plated revolver which rested in the right-hand waist pocket of her long coat. 

De Courcy Smyth was close beside her. Poppy set her lips together andbraced herself to endure the coming wretchedness. It was some yearssince she had had speech of him--some years, indeed, since she hadseen him, save during that brief moment, twenty-four hours previously, as she descended the steps of Cedar Lodge. Even in his most prosperousdays he had been unattractive in person, at once untidy and theatricalin dress. Now Poppy registered a distinct deterioration in hisappearance. His puffy face, red-rimmed eyes, and shambling gait wereodious to her. She noted, moreover, that he was poorly clad. His greyfelt hat was stained and greasy; his ginger-coloured frieze overcoatthreadbare at the elbows, thin and stringy in the skirts. The soles ofhis brown boots were splayed, the upper leathers seamed and cracked. This might denote poverty. It might, also, only denote carelessnessand sloth. In any case, it failed to move her to pity, provoking inher uncontrollable irritation; so that, forgetful of diplomacy, stirred by memories of innumerable kindred provocations in the past, Poppy spoke without preamble, asking him sharply as he joined her:

"Have you no better clothes than that?"

Smyth paused before answering, looking her up and down furtively yetdeliberately, wiping the wet of his beard and face, meanwhile, with afrayed green silk pocket-handkerchief. 

"It offends your niceness that your husband should dress like a tramp, does it?" he said hoarsely. "And pray whose fault is it that he isreduced to doing so? Judging by your own costume, you can easilyremove that cause of offence if you choose. It does not occur to you, perhaps, that while you live on the fat of the land I, but for thecharity of strangers--which it is loathsome to me to accept--shouldnot have enough to pay for the food I eat or for the detestable garretin which I both work and sleep? Under these circumstances I amscarcely prepared to call in a fashionable tailor to replenish mywardrobe, lest its meagreness should, on the very rare occasions onwhich I have the honour of meeting you, offer an unpleasing reflectionupon your own super-elegance. "

To these observations, delivered with a somewhat hystericalvolubility, Poppy made no direct reply. Surely it was cruel, cruel, that at this juncture, when she had so honestly striven to refuse theevil and choose the good, this recrudescence of all that was mosthateful to her should take place? Moreover, now as always, just thatmodicum of truth underlay Smyth's exaggerated accusations andperverted statements which made them as difficult to combat as theywere exasperating to listen to. For a minute or so Poppy could nottrust herself to speak, lest she should give way to foolish invective. His looks, manner, intonation, the phrases he employed were odiouslyfamiliar to her. She fought as in a malicious dream, to which thesqualor of the surrounding landscape offered an only too appropriatesetting. Turning, she walked slowly in the direction whence she hadcome--namely, in that of Barnes village and Mortlake. There the quaintriverside houses would afford some shelter and sense of comradeship. 

"I am sorry to make you come farther out, " she said, with an attemptat civility. 

"That is unexpectedly considerate, " he commented. 

"But it is impossible to talk in the teeth of this wind, " shecontinued, "and I imagine we're neither of us particularly keen toprolong our interview. "

"Excuse me, speak for yourself, " Smyth interrupted. "I find itdecidedly interesting to meet my wife again. She has gone up in theworld, and climbed the tree of fashion in the interval. I have gonedown in the world, as every scholar and gentleman, every man withbrains and high standards of art and culture, is bound to go downsooner or later, in this hideous age of blatant commercialism andMammon rampant. I don't quarrel with it. I would far rather be one ofthe downtrodden, persecuted minority. But, just on that account, mywife is all the more worth contemplating, since she offers a highlyinstructive object-lesson in the advantages which accrue from allyingoneself with the victorious majority. See--"

A rush of wind and flurry of cold rain rendered the concluding wordsof his tirade inaudible. It was as well, for Poppy was growing wicked, anger dominating every more humane and decent feeling in her. 

"Look here, " she said, when the storm had somewhat abated. "I knowthat sort of talk as well as my old shoe. Haven't I listened to it forhours? For goodness' sake, quit it. It doesn't wash. Let us come tothe point at once without all this idiotic brag and gassing. You wroteme a letter shouting danger and ruin. What did it mean? Anything real, or merely a melodramatic blowing off of steam? Tell me. Let us have itout and have finished with it. What do you want?"

The softening medium of a gauze veil failed to hide the fact thatPoppy's expression was distinctly malignant, her great eyes full ofsombre fury, her red lips tense. Smyth backed away from her againstthe palings in genuine alarm. 

"I--I believe you'd like to murder me, " he said. 

"So I should, " Poppy answered. "I should very much like to kill you. And I've the wherewithal here, in my pocket, and there's no one on theroad. But you needn't be anxious. I'm not going to murder you. Theconsequences to myself would be too inconvenient. "

As she spoke she thought of yesterday, of the renewal of herfriendship with Dominic Iglesias, and of all that he stood for to herin things pure, lovely, and of good report. A sob rose in her throat, for nothing, after all, is so horrible as to feel wicked; nothing sohard to forgive as that which causes one to feel so. Poppy walked onagain slowly. 

"What do you want?" she repeated miserably. "Be straight with me foronce, if you can, de Courcy, and tell me plainly--if there's anythingto tell. What is it you want?"

"I have my chance at last, " he said hurriedly, "of fame, and success, and recognition--of bringing those who have despised me to theirknees. I thought I was safe. But yesterday I found that you--yes, you--come into the question, that you may stand between me and therealisation of my hopes--more than hopes, a certainty, unless you playsome scurvy trick on me. I had to have your promise, and there was notime to lose--so I wrote. "

Poppy looked at him contemptuously. 

"What does all that mean?--more money?" she asked. "Haven't you grownashamed of begging yet? I raised your allowance last year, and it'sbeing paid regularly--Ford & Martin have sent me on your receipts. Togive it you at all is an act of grace, for you've no earthly claim onme, and you know it. From the day I married you I never cost you afarthing; I've paid for everything myself, down to every morsel ofbread I put into my mouth. You, talked big about your incomebeforehand, when you knew you were up to your eyes in debt. Well, indebt you may stay, as far as I am concerned. I'll give you thatseventy-five a year if you'll keep clear of me; but I won't give you apenny more, for the simple reason that I shan't have it to give. It'llbe an uncommonly close shave in any case--I have myself to keep. "

"Yourself to keep?" Smyth snarled. "Since when have you taken towholesale lying, my pretty madam? That is a new development. "

"I'm not lying, " Poppy blazed out. "I am speaking honest, sobertruth. "

Smyth laughed. It was not an agreeable sound. 

"Is not that a little too brazen?" he asked. "Even with such anegligible quantity as a deserted husband, it is a mistake to overplaythe part. "

Then, frightened by her expression, he slunk aside again. But Poppydid not linger. Slowly, steadily, she walked on down the rain-lashedfootpath. 

"For God's sake tell me what you want--tell me what you want, " shecried, "and let me get away from all this rottenness. "

"You do not believe in me, " Smyth replied sullenly, "and that is whyit is so difficult to speak to you about this matter. You have alwaysdepreciated my powers and scoffed at my talents. No thanks to you Ihave any self-confidence left. "

"All right, all right, " Poppy said. "We can miss out the remainder ofthat speech. I know it by heart. Come to the point--what do you want?"

"I was just filling in the sketch of the third act. "

Poppy shrugged her shoulders and raised her hands with a despairinggesture. 

"Oh, heavens, " she ejaculated, "a play again! Are you mad? You know, just as well as I do, every manager Mill refuse it unread. "

"It will be unnecessary to approach any manager. I go straight to thepublic this time. I have the promise of money to meet the expenses oftwo matinees at least. I have no scruple in accepting--it is aninvestment, and an immensely profitable one--for I know the worth ofmy own work. It is great, nothing less than great--"

"Of course, " Poppy said. "But pray where do I come in?" Then shepaused. Suddenly she pieced the bits of the puzzle together, saw andunderstood. Misery, deeper than any she had yet experienced, overflowed in her. "Ah, it is you, then, you who are bleeding DominicIglesias, " she cried. "Robbing him by appeals to his charity and lyingassurances of impossible profits. You shall not do it. I will put astop to it. You shall not, you shall not!"

"Why?" Smyth inquired. "Do you want all his money yourself?"

"You dirty hound, " Poppy said under her breath. 

"I did not know of your connection with him till yesterday, " Smythcontinued--in proportion as Poppy lost herself, he became cool andastute--"though we have lived in the same house for the last eighteenmonths. I supposed you to be in pursuit of larger game thansuperannuated bank-clerks. However, your modesty of taste, combinedwith your charming attitude towards me, might, as I perceived, lead tocomplications. I ascertained how long you had been at Cedar Lodgeyesterday. Then I wrote to you. "

Poppy stood still in the wind and wet, listening intently. 

"For once, " he went on exultantly, "it is my turn to give orders, myfine lady, and yours to obey. If you interfere, in the smallestdegree, between Iglesias and me, I will call his attention to certainfacts, the appearance of which is highly discreditable to him. He willpay to save his reputation, if he ceases to pay out of charity--notthat it is charity. He is making an investment of which, as a businessman, he fully appreciates the worth. If you interfere I will make hisposition a vastly uncomfortable one. The women who keep Cedar Lodgeare as jealous as cats. It would not require much blowing to make thatfire burst into a very lively flame, I promise you. "

"You live there, then?" Poppy said absently. "You live there?" livethere?"

"Yes, " he answered. "Does that offend your niceness, too? Do youconsider the place too good for me? You need not distress yourself. Ihave only one room, a small one--on the second floor immediately aboveyour friend's handsome sitting-room, but only half the size of it. Thefloors are old. I can gather a very fair sense of any conversationtaking place below. "

Poppy moved on again. 

"May I inquire what you propose to do?" Smyth asked presently--"warnyour mature commercial admirer and compel me, in self-protection, toblast his reputation, or hold your tongue like a reasonable woman?"

They had reached the end of the tarred palings. Upon the left thequaintly irregular bow-windowed rose-and-ivy-covered houses of BarnesTerrace--no two of them alike in height or in architecture--frontedthe road. Upon the right was the river, dull-coloured and wind-tormented. A cargo of bricks, supplying a strong note of red in theotherwise mournful landscape, was being unloaded from a barge; cartsbacked down the slip to within easy distance of the broad bulwarklessdeck, horses shivering as they stood knee-deep in the water. Thebricks grated together when the men, handling them, tossed themacross. With long-drawn thunderous roar and shriek, a train, headingfrom Kew Station, rushed across the latticed iron-built railwaybridge. Poppy waited, watching the progress of it, watching theunloading of the barge. The one perfectly pure and beautiful giftwhich life had given her was utterly profaned, so it seemed to her;that which she held dearest and best hopelessly entangled with thatwhich to her was most degrading and abhorrent. And what to do? To besilent was to be disloyal. To speak was to expose Dominic Iglesias todishonour and disgust far deeper than that which loss of money couldinflict. Poppy weighed and balanced, clear that her thought must bewholly for him, not letting anger sway her judgment. Of two evils shemust choose that which, for him, was least. 

"I will not give you away. I will say nothing, " she said at last. 

"You swear you will not?"

"Yes, I swear, " Poppy said. 

"I want it in writing. "

"Very well, you shall have it in writing, witnessed if you like, " sheanswered. "The precious document shall be posted to you to-night. Noware you satisfied, you contemptible animal? Have you humbled meenough?"

But Smyth came close to her, pushing his face into hers. He wasshaking with excitement, hysterical with mingled fear and relief. 

"I am not ungenerous, my dear girl, " he whispered. "I am willing tocondone the past--to take you back, to acknowledge you as my wife andlet you share my success. There is a part in the new play which mighthave been written for you. You could become world-famous in it. I amnot ungenerous, I am willing to make matters up. "

"Do you want me to murder you, after all?" Poppy asked. "If you try memuch further, I tell you plainly, I can't answer for myself. Therefore, as you value your life, let me alone. Get out of my sight. "

CHAPTER XXVII

During the watches of the ensuing night, amid bellowings of wind in thechimneys, long-drawn complaint of the great cedar tree, rattle of sleet, and those half-heard whisperings and footsteps--as of inhabitants longsince departed--which so often haunt an old house through the hours ofdark, Dominic Iglesias' mind, for cause unknown, was busied withreminiscences of the firm of Barking Brothers & Barking, and the manyyears he had spent in its service. He had no wish to think of thesethings. They came unbidden, pushing themselves upon remembrance. Allmanner of details, of little histories and episodes connected both withthe financial and human affairs of the famous banking-house, occurred tohim. And from thoughts of all this, but transmogrified and perverted, when, towards dawn, the storm abating, he at length fell asleep, hisdreams were not exempt. For through them caracoled, in grotesque and mostirregular inter-relation, those august personages, the heads of the firm, along with his fellow-clerks, living and dead, that militant Protestant, good George Lovegrove, and the whole personnel of the establishment, downto caretaker, messenger-boys, porters and the like. Never surely had beensuch wild doings in that sedate and reputable place of business--doingsin which gross absurdity and ingenious cruelty went hand in hand; while, by some queer freak of the imagination, poor Pascal Pelletier, of hecticand pathetic memory, appeared as leader of the revels, at which the Ladyof the Windswept Dust, sad-eyed, inscrutable of countenance, herdragon-embroidered scarf drawn closely about her shoulders, looked on. 

Dominic arose from his brief uneasy slumbers anxious and unrefreshed. Thephantasmagoria of his dream had been so living, so vivid, that it wasdifficult to throw off the impression produced by it. Moreover, he wasslightly ashamed to find that, the restraining power of the will removed, his mind was capable of creating scenes of so loose and heartless acharacter. He was displeased with himself, distressed by this outbreak ofthe undisciplined and unregenerate "natural man" in him. Later, cominginto his sitting-room, he unfortunately found matters awaiting him by nomeans calculated to obliterate displeasing impressions or promote suavityand peace. 

For the pile of letters and circulars lying beside his plate upon thebreakfast-table was topped by a note directed in de Courcy Smyth's nervousand irritable hand. Dominic opened it with a curious sense of reluctance. Only last week he had lent the man ten pounds; and here was anotherdemand, couched in terms, too, so bullying, so almost threatening, thatDominic's back stiffened considerably. 

Smyth requested, or rather commanded, that fifty pounds should bedelivered to him without delay. "It was conceivable that Mr. Iglesias hadnot that amount by him in notes. But, since he had really nothing to do, it would be a little occupation for him to go and procure them. " Smythinsisted the money should be paid in a lump sum, adding that, his timebeing as valuable as Iglesias' was worthless, he could not reasonably beexpected to waste it in perpetual letters respecting a subject soessentially uninteresting and distasteful to him as that of ways andmeans. Such correspondence annoyed him, and put him off his work; and, asit clearly was very much to Iglesias' interest that the play should befinished as soon as possible, it was advisable that he should accede toSmyth's present request without parley and pay up at once. 

Reading this mandatory epistle, Dominic was gravely displeased and hurt. Poppy St. John had warned him against the insatiable and insolent greedof persons of this kidney. He had discounted her speech somewhat, supposing it infected with such prejudice as the recollection of privatewrongs will breed even in generous natures. Now he began to fear herstrictures had been just. The egoism of the unsuccessful is a moraldisease, destructive of all sense of proportion. Those sufferingfrom it must be reckoned as insane; not sick merely, but actuallymad with self-love. Smyth, to gain his play a hearing, would beggarhim--Iglesias--without scruple or regret. But Dominic had no intentionof being beggared in this connection. Thrice-sacred charity is one story;the encouragement of the unlimited borrower, the fostering of so colossala selfishness quite another. A point had been reached where to accedeto Smyth's demands was culpable, a consenting, indeed, to wrongdoing. Here then was occasion for careful consideration. Iglesias gravely laidthe offensive missive aside, and proceeded to eat his breakfast beforeopening the rest of his letters. In the intervals of the meal he glancedat the contents of the morning paper. 

The war news was unimportant. A skirmish or two, leaving a few morewomen's lives maimed and hearts desolate. A lie or two of continentalmanufacture, tending to blacken the fair fame of the most humane andgood-tempered army which, in all probability, ever took the field. A shriek or two from soft-handed sentimentalists at home, who--forreasons best known to themselves--are ardent patriots of every countrysave their own. Such items formed too permanent a part of the daily menu, during the year of grace 1900, to excite more than passing notice. At thebottom of the column a paragraph of a more unusual character attractedIglesias' attention. It announced it had authority for stating thatAlarmist rumours, current regarding the unstable financial position ofa certain well-known and highly respected London bank, were grosslyexaggerated. No doubt the losses suffered by the bank in question hadbeen severe, owing to its extensive connection with land and miningproperty in South Africa, and the disorganisation of business in thatcountry consequent upon the war. The said losses were, however, of atemporary character, and had by no means reached the disastrousproportions commonly reported. Granted time, and a reasonable amount ofpatience on the part of persons most nearly interested, the storm wouldbe successfully weathered, and the bank would resume the leading positionwhich it had so long and honourably enjoyed. No names were given, butIglesias had small difficulty in supplying them. It appeared to him thatBarking Brothers must be in considerable straits or they would never, surely, put forth disclaimers of this description. His mind went backupon the dreams which had left such disquieting impressions upon hismind. In the light of that newspaper paragraph they took on an almostprophetic character. Absently he turned over the rest of the pile ofletters, selected one, the handwriting upon the envelope of which was atonce well-known and perplexing to his memory, opened it, and turned tothe signature to find that of no less a personage than Sir Abel Barkinghimself. 

During the next quarter of an hour Dominic Iglesias lived hard inthought, in decision, in struggle with personal resentment bred byremembrance of scant courtesy and ingratitude meted out to him. Helearned that Messrs. Barking Brothers & Barking's embarrassments did, inpoint of fact, skirt the edge of ruin. Their affairs werein apparently inextricable confusion, owing to Reginald Barking'sreckless speculations, while, to add to the general confusion, thatstrenuous young man had broken down utterly from nervous verstrain, and was, at the present time, incapable of the slightest mental orphysical exertion. Things were at a deadlock. "Under these terriblecircumstances, " Sir Abel Barking wrote, "I turn to you, my goodfriend, as a person intimately acquainted with the operation of ourfirm. Your experience may be of service to us in this crisis, and, in virtue of the many benefits you have received from us in thepast, I unhesitatingly claim your assistance. In my own name andthat of my partners, I offer to reinstate you in your formerposition, but with enlarged powers. It has always been myendeavour, as you are well aware, to reward merit and to treatthose in our employment with generosity and consideration. You willbe glad, I am sure, to embrace this opportunity of repaying, insome small measure, your debt towards me and mine. " More followedto the same effect. Neither the taste of the writer nor his mannerof expression was happy. Of this Dominic was quite sensible. Patronage, especially after his period of independence, was farfrom agreeable to him. Yet behind the verbiage, the platitudes andbombastic phrases, his ear detected a very human cry of fear andcry for help. Should he accede, doing his best to allay that fearand render that help?

He rose, still holding the wordy letter in his hand, and paced the room. Of his own ability to render effective help, were he allowed freedom ofaction, Iglesias entertained little doubt--always supposing that thesituation did not prove even worse than he had present reason forsupposing. It was not difficult to see how the trouble had come about. The senior partners, lulled into false security by lifelong prosperity, had grown supine and inert. Sooner, in their opinion, might the stars fallfrom heaven than the august house of Barking prove unsound of foundationor capable of collapse! To hint at this, even as a remote possibility, waslittle short of blasphemous. Their amiable nephew, meanwhile, hadregarded them as a flock of silly fat geese eminently fitted for plucking. He let them complacently hiss and cackle, congratulate themselves upontheir worldly wisdom and conspicuous modernity, while, all the time, silently, diligently, relentlessly plucking. Now, awakening suddenly tothe fact of their nudity, they were in a terrible taking; scandalised, flustered, very sore, poor birds, and quite past recollecting thatfeathers grow again if the system is sound and the cuticle health. ToIglesias these purse-proud, self-righteous, middle-aged gentlemenpresented a spectacle at once pathetic and humorous in their present sadplight. A calm head and clear judgment might do much to ameliorate theirposition, and a calm head and cool judgment he was confident ofpossessing. Only was he, after all, disposed to place these usefulpossessions at their service?

For in the last nine months Dominic Iglesias' habits and outlook hadchanged notably. The values were altered. It would be far harder toreturn to the monotonous routine of business life now--even though afine revenge, a delicate heaping of coals of fire, accompanied thatreturn--than it had been to part company with it last year. Loneliness, the emptiness induced by absence of definite employment, no longeroppressed him. Holy Church had cured all that, giving him a definiteplace, and definite purpose, beautiful duties of prayer and worship, therestrained, yet continuous, excitement of the pushing forward of soul andspirit upon the fair, strange, daily, hourly journey towards the farhorizon and the friendship of Almighty God. His retirement had become verydear to him, since it afforded scope for the conscious prosecution of thatjourney. Dominic's state of mind, in short, was that of the lover whodreads any and every outside demand which may, even momentarily, distracthis attention from the object of his love. Threadneedle Street, theglass and mahogany walled corridors, and the moral atmosphere ofthem--money-getting and of this world conspicuously worldly--were notthese ironically antagonistic to the journey upon which he had set forthand the habit of mind necessary to the successful prosecution of it? Therewas Poppy St. John, too, and the closer relation of friendship into whichhe had just entered with her. This must not be neglected. And, thinkingof her, he could not but think of that younger son of the greatbanking-house, Alaric Barking, and his dealings with her--enjoying her aslong as it suited him to do so, leaving her as soon as his passion cooledand a more advantageous social connection presented itself. Towards thehandsome young soldier Iglesias was, it must be owned, somewhat merciless. Why should he go to the rescue of this young libertine's family, andindirectly facilitate his marriage, and increase its promise of happiness, by helping to secure him an otherwise vanishing fortune? Let him pay theprice of his illicit pleasures and become a pauper. Such a consummationDominic admitted he, personally, could face with entire resignation. 

And yet--yet--on closer examination were not these reasons againstundertaking the work offered him based upon personal disinclination, personal animosity, rather than upon plain right and wrong, and, consequently, were they not insufficient to justify abstention andrefusal? That earlier dream of his, on the night following his dismissallast year, came back to him, with its touching memories of the narrow towngarden behind the old house in Holland Street, Kensington--the goldenlaburnum, the shallow stone basin beloved of sooty sparrows, poor, dearPascal Pelletier and his Huntley & Palmer's biscuit-box infernal machineand very crude methods of adjusting the age-old quarrel between capitaland labour. On that occasion the lonely little boy, though at risk ofgrave injury to himself, had not hesitated to save the ill-favouredchunk-faced grey cat--which bore in speech and appearance so queer alikeness to Sir Abel Barking--from the ugly fate awaiting it. He hadgathered it tenderly in his arms, pitying and striving to heal it. Was thechild, by instinct, finer, nobler, more self-forgetful, than the man inthe full possession of reason, instructed in the divine science, fortifiedby the example and merits of the saints? That would, indeed, be amelancholy conclusion. And so it occurred to him, not merely asconceivable but as incontestable, that the road to the far horizon, instead of leading in the opposite direction to the city banking-house, for him, at this particular juncture, led directly into and through it; sothat to refuse would be to stray from the straight path and risk theobscuring of the blessed light by a cowardly and selfish lust of theimmediate comfort of it. 

He would go and help those distracted plucked geese to grow new feathers. Only to do so meant time, labour, unremitting application, a wholesalesacrifice of leisure; so he must see Poppy St. John first. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

"I did not call yesterday, " Iglesias said, "in consequence of yourprohibitory telegram. But to-day I have come early and without permission, first because I was anxious to assure myself you were really unhurt, andsecondly because something has occurred regarding which I wish toconsult you. I must have your sanction before taking action in respect ofit. "

Entering from the blustering wind and keen, fitful sunshine without, thelittle drawing-room struck Iglesias as both stuffy and dingy. And Poppy, standing in the centre of it, huddled in a black brocade tea-gown, asparse pattern of bluey mauve rosebuds upon it, which hung in limp foldsfrom her bosom to her feet, concealing all the outline of her figure, cameperilously near looking dingy likewise. The garment, cut square at theneck, had long seen its first youth. The big outstanding black ribbon bowbetween her shoulders and that upon her breast was creased and crumpled. Beneath the masses of her dark hair her face looked almost unnaturallysmall, sallow and bloodless, while her eyes were enormous--duskydwelling-places, as it seemed to her visitor, of some world-old sorrow. Her face did not light up, neither did she make any demonstration ofgladness or greeting, but stood, one toy spaniel tucked under either arm, their forelegs lying along her wrists, their fringed paws resting upon herpalms. Dominic had a conviction she had snatched up the little dogs onhearing his voice, and held them so as to render it impossible for him totake her hand. Less than ever, looking upon her, had he any mercy forAlaric Barking. Less than ever did the prospect of spending weeks, perhapsmonths, in shoring up the imperilled fortunes of that young gentleman'sfamily prove alluring to him. 

"You were hurt, " he broke out, almost fiercely. "You are suffering, and, worse, you are unhappy. It makes me very angry to see you thus. I wish Icould reach those who are guilty of having distressed and injured you. "

Poppy's face went a shade paler, and alarm mingled with the sorrow in hereyes, but she made a courageous effort to patter as usual. 

"You'd give them the what for, dear man, wouldn't you?" she said. "But youwould have to go way back in the ages for that, and get behind theseed-sowing of which this gay hour is the harvest. Still, I love to seeyou ferocious. It is very flattering to me, and it's mightily becoming toyou. Don't snore, Cappadocia. Manners, my good child, manners. All thesame, I wasn't hurt slipping on those gorgeous white steps of yours. Uponmy honour, I wasn't. But I had to go out yesterday afternoon, and I gotcaught in one of those infernal hailstorms. It was altogether too cold forcomfort, and I feel a bit cheap this morning in consequence. That's why Iput on this odious gown. I always try to dress for the part, and the partjust now is dismality. From the start this gown has been a disappointment. I counted on the roses fading pink, but the beasts faded blue instead. Ifeel as if I was dressed in a bruise, and that's appropriate--for I alsofeel as if I had been beaten all over. Merely the hail--I give you myword. Nothing more than that. I'm never ill. " Poppy paused, dropped thelittle dogs on the floor. They cowered against her, looking up woefully ather. "No, I don't want you, " she said. "You're heavy. I'm tired of you. "

Then she blew her nose, and, over the top of her hand-kerchief, lookedfull at Iglesias for the first time. 

"Well, what is it? What do you want my sanction for?"

Without waiting for his answer she swept aside, knelt down, crouching overthe fire, extending both hands to the heat of it, while her open sleevesfalling back showed her arms bare to the elbow. 

"Tell me, and, if you don't mind, shove along. I own I am a triflejumpy--only the weather--but I need humouring, so shove along, there's agood dear, " she said. 

Whereupon, in as few words as possible, Dominic unfolded to her thecontents of Sir Abel Barking's letter. As she listened, Poppy raisedherself, turned round, stood upright, her hands clasped behind her. 

"Oh! that's it, is it?" she said. She looked less bloodless, moreanimated, more natural. "I'm not altogether surprised. The poor old ladshave found out the cuckoo in their nest at last, have they? Alaric had anotion Reginald Barking--not a nice person Reginald--I saw him once andhe looked a cross between a pair of forceps and a bag of shavings--Ididn't trust him--you don't, do you? Alaric had a notion this preciouscousin was making hay of the whole show. But it was utterly useless forhim to intervene. In the eyes of the elder generation he is the originaldog with a bad name, only fit for hanging. "

Poppy paused, took a long breath, smiled a little. 

"What do you think? Is it a very bad business?"

"I cannot tell till I have gone into details, " Iglesias replied. He wasslightly put about by the lady's change of demeanour, by the interest shedisplayed, by the alteration in her expression and bearing. 

"And they howl to you to save the sinking ship?" Poppy continued lightly. "Shall you go?"

"That is the question I have come to ask you. "

"To ask me?" she said. "But, heart alive, dear man, where do I come in?"

"My duty to you stands before every other duty, " Iglesias answeredgravely. "Those who have caused you sorrow and injured you, are myenemies. How can it be otherwise? A member of this family--I do not chooseto name him--has, in my opinion, played a detestable part by you;therefore only with your sanction, freely given, can I consent to behelpful to his relatives. "

The colour leaped into Poppy's cheeks, the light into her eyes, her lipsparted in pretty laughter; yet she still kept her hands clasped behind herback. 

"Ah! I see--I see, " she cried. "But how did you contrive to get leftbehind, most beloved lunatic, and be born five or six centuries out ofyour time into this shouting, pushing, modern world which knows notchivalry? Do you imagine this is the fashion most men treat women? HereI am laughing, yet I could cry that you should come to me--me, of allpeople--on such a lovely, fine, fanciful errand. "

"My conduct appears to me perfectly obvious and simple, " Iglesias repliedrather coldly. 

"I know it does, my dear, and there's the pathetic splendour of it, " Poppydeclared, soft mothering tones in her voice. "All the same we must keepour heads screwed on the right way. So, tell me, will it be of anypersonal advantage to you to help pull these elderly plungers out of thequagmire?"

"None whatever. "

"At least they will make it worth your while by paying up handsomely?"

"No doubt they will make me some offer, but I shall decline it, " Iglesiassaid. "I draw a pension. I will continue to do so. That is just. I have aright to it in virtue of my past work. But I shall refuse to accept anysalary over and above that. I shall make it a condition that I give myservices. And that which I give I give, whether it be to king or tobeggar. To make profit out of my giving would be intolerable to me. "

Poppy mused, her head bent, pushing away the tiny dogs with her foot asthey fawned upon her. 

"Don't bother! you little miseries, " she said, "don't bother! I'm busynow. I've no use for you. " Presently she glanced up at Mr. Iglesias, whoheld himself proudly, as he stood waiting before her. "Do you care forthese barking people? Is it a question of affection between any of themand you?"

"I am afraid not, " he answered. "Ours has been a purely businessconnection throughout. How should it be otherwise? The social intervalbetween employers and employed is not easily bridged. "

"Stuff-a-nonsense!" Poppy put in scornfully. "They might feel honoured totie your shoe. "

"Any attempt to ignore differences of wealth and station, which others arepleased to remember, would be unbecoming, " he continued. "Nor do I relishcondescension on the part of my social betters. It does not suit me. Iprefer to remain within my own borders. Still, there is the tie of longassociation with these merchant princes and their undertakings, and this, I own, influences me strongly. It would be shocking to me to witness thefailure or ruin of those with whom I have been in daily intercourse. Then, too, there is a certain challenge in the present position which appeals tothe fighting instinct in me. If not altogether by nature, still by habit Iam a business man. Affairs interest me, and consequently the moreembarrassed and apparently hopeless the existing state of things is, thegreater would be my satisfaction in mastering the intricacies of it andreducing them to order. These practical matters are not without very realexcitement and drama to those who have the habit of handling them. "Iglesias paused, and then added quietly, "But I am contented enough as Iam, and should not voluntarily have touched business again had there notbeen another consideration over and above those I have enumerated--namely, the plain obligation of right doing, whether the said doing be congenialto one or not. This obligation is supreme, or should be so, in the case ofone who, like myself, has bound himself by definite acts of obedience andself-dedication. "

His expression had changed, taking on something of exaltation. He nolonger looked at Poppy, but away to the far horizon and the light thereonresident. 

And the Lady of the Windswept Dust was quick to realise this, though uponwhat fair unseen object the eyes of his spirit did, in fact, rest she wasignorant. Against it the vanity inherent in her womanhood rebelled. Shewas piqued and jealous of the unnamed, unknown object which absorbed hisattention more than she herself and her friendship did. From the firstIglesias had appealed to her very various nature in a threefold manner. Tothe artist in her he appealed by the clearness of his individuality, hisfinish of person and of feature, his gravity and poise--these last takingtheir rise not in insensibility, but in reasoned will, in passionateemotion held, as she had learned, austerely in check. He appealed to themotherhood in her by his unworldliness, by his ignorance of base motives, thus making her attitude towards him protective; she instinctively tryingto stand between him and a naughty world, to stand, too, between him andher own too often naughty self. He appealed to the child in her by theexotic and foreign elements in him, which captivated her fancy, endowinghim with an effect of mystery, making him seem to hail from some region oflegend and high romance. But the events of the last few days had beenfar from beneficial to Poppy St. John. They had demoralised her, so thatthe artistic, maternal, and childlike aspects of her nature were alikeoverlaid by the bitterness, the cynicism, the recklessness engendered byher unhappy childless marriage and the irregular life she had led. Poppy'sfeet were held captive in the quicksands of the things of sense; heroutlook was concrete and gross. Finer instincts lit up but momentaryflickering fires in her, speedily dying out into the gloom begotten by thedeplorable scene of yesterday with her husband, and shame at theconspiracy of silence into which, as the lesser of the two evils presentedto her, she had entered, remembrances of which, on his first arrival, had made her feel unworthy and a traitor in the presence of Iglesias. Thisdemoralisation worked in her to rebellion against just all that which, inher happier moods, rendered Iglesias delightful to her. His exaltation, his calm, the mystery which so delicately surrounded him, the verydistinction of his appearance irritated her, so soon as she becameconscious that she was no longer the sole object of his thoughts. She waspushed by a bad desire to force from him a more complete self-revelation, to cheapen him in some way and break him up. 

"Dominic Iglesias, " she cried suddenly and imperatively, "you are a trifletoo empyrean. I don't quite believe in you. Be more ordinary, morevulgarly human. For who are you, after all? What are you?" she said. 

And he, his thoughts recalled from a great distance, regarded herquestioningly and as without immediate recognition. Her voice was harsh, and the transition was so abrupt from the radiant land of the spirit tothe dingy realities of Poppy's drawing-room, her tired, black, bluey-mauvepatterned tea-gown, and her absurdly artificial little dogs. It took himsome few seconds to adjust himself. Then he smiled in apology, and spokevery courteously and gently. 

"Who am I, what am I, dear friend? Why this, I think--a commonplace, veryordinary person who, long ago, in early childhood, by mournful accident, for which it would be an impiety to hold those on whom he was dependentresponsible, lost his sight. Through all the years which men count, andrightly, the best of life--when courage is high and the hand strong, andopportunity fertile, circumstance as a block of precious many-colouredmarble out of which to carve fine fortune for ourselves and those welove--he wandered in darkness, insecure of footing, missing the very endand object for which earthly existence has been bestowed upon us mortals. He was sad and homesick for that which he had not; yet ignorant of thenature of his own loss, disposed to blame the constitution of things, rather than his own incapacity, for that which he suffered. "

"And then?" Poppy put in sharply. Listening, she had started to mock, thecynic and worldling being hot in her, but, looking at the speaker, somehow, she dared not mock. 

"And then--recently--since I have known you in short, it has pleasedAlmighty God by degrees to restore my sight. "

Poppy regarded him intently, her singular eyes wide with question and withdoubt, her lips pressed together. 

"I see--you have got religion, " she said. "But do you seriously mean totell me that I--I--have had anything to do with that?"

"Yes, " Iglesias answered. "You have had much to do with it. First bylove--for your friendship woke up my heart. Then by sorrow"--he paused, divided by the desire to spare her and to tell her the whole of histhought--"sorrow, when I came to know you better and value your characterand gifts at their true worth, because I saw noble things put to ignobleuses, which of all pitiful sights is perhaps the most profoundly pitiful. "

Silence followed, broken only by minute and reproachful snorings on thepart of Cappadocia and her spouse. The little dogs, sensible of neglect, had become the victims of wounded self-love, that most primitive, as it isthe most universal, of passions throughout all grades of living things. Poppy meanwhile turned her head aside, unable or unwilling to speak. Againshe blew her nose with complete disregard of the unromantic quality ofthat action, then said huskily:

"I have cleaned the slate. I shall keep it clean. " Her voice grewsteadier. A touch of malice came into her expression. "I like compliments, and you have paid me about the biggest I ever had. It will take a littletime to digest. So I think--I think, dear man, I will not stand in the wayof your going back to the City, and saving the sinking ship--that is, ifthe work won't be too hard for you?"

"No, " he answered, touched by her more gracious aspect, yet slightlyconfused. "I have had nearly a year's holiday and rest; I am quite equalto work. But I am afraid the hours must necessarily be long, and that myopportunities of coming to see you will not be very frequent. "

"Perhaps that's just as well, " she said, "while I am still in process ofdigesting the big compliment. "

Then impulsively she swept up to him and laid her hands on his shoulders, looking him full in the face. 

"See here, you thrice dear innocent, since you have mentioned thatterrible word 'love, ' the complexion of our relation has changed somewhat. Don't you understand, made as I am, I must fight seven devils within me ifI'm to continue to play fair with you, as I swore I would? And so, justbecause you are so very much to me, I had best not see you too often untilI have settled down into my new scheme of life. In a sense Alaric was asafeguard. That safeguard's gone. "

She moved a step back, letting her hands fall at her sides, while her eyegrew hard and dark. 

"And there are other reasons, brutal, unworthy, sordid reasons, why it iswiser that you should not come here often at present. They did notexist--at least I had not the faintest conception that they did--when welast met. They have rushed into hateful prominence since. Don't ask me--Icannot tell you. You must trust me, and you must not let my silencealienate you. I can't be explicit, but I give you my word I am perfectlystraight. And you must not let your religion alienate you either. By theway, what form of faith is it?"

"The faith of my own people, " Dominic answered. "The faith of the CatholicChurch. "

Poppy smiled. 

"Then I am not so afraid I shall lose you, " she said, "for that's the onlybrand of religion I've ever come across which isn't too nice to reckonwith human nature as it really is. It can save sinners, just because itknows how to make saints--and it has made them out of jolly unpromisingmaterial at times, there's the comfort of it. "

She held out her hand in farewell. 

"Good-bye till next time. You've done me good, as you always do. Now, I amgoing to re-study some of my old parts, just to get the hang of the wholeshow again. "

But the door once shut, she flung herself down on the broad settee, whilethe tiny dogs, whimpering, crowded upon her lap. 

"Poppy St. John, you're not such a bad lot after all, " she cried. "But oh!oh! oh! it's beastly rough to be so young, and have gone so far, and knowso much. There, Willie Onions, don't snivel. It's both superfluous andunpleasant. " She sat up and wiped her eyes. "Upon my honour, I think itwas just as well I gave Phillimore the little revolver last night, to lockup in the plate chest, " she said. 

CHAPTER XXIX

It followed that Dominic Iglesias walked on across the common to BarnesStation and travelled Citywards, solaced and uplifted in spirit, yetgreatly troubled by the idea of those newly arrived complications atwhich the Lady of the Windswept Dust had hinted. He did not permit himselfto inquire what they might be. Doubtless she knew best--in her socialsense he had great confidence--so he acquiesced in her silence about them. Still, as he reflected, it is not a little lamentable that evenfriendship, the angelic relation between man and woman, should bethus beset by perils from within and pitfalls without. Where lay thefault--with over-civilisation and the improper proprieties resultanttherefrom? Or was it of far more ancient origin, resident in the veryfoundations of human nature? Woman, eternally the vehicle of man's being, eternally the inspiration of quite three-fifths of his action; yet, at thesame time, the eternal stumbling block and danger to the highest of hismoral and intellectual attainment! Mr. Iglesias smiled sadly and soberlyto himself as the train rolled on into Waterloo. In any case she remainsthe most astonishing of God's creatures. It would be dull enough here onearth without her, though, to employ one of Poppy's characteristicphrases, "it's most infernally risky" with!

But once inside the bank, such far-ranging meditations gave place toconsiderations immediate and concrete, Iglesias' whole mind being focussedto arrive at the facts of the case. And this was far from easy. For alarmstalked those usually self-secure and self-complacent rooms and glass andmahogany-walled corridors; men looking up from their desks as he, Iglesias, passed, with anxious faces, or moving with hushed footsteps asthough someone lay sick to death within the house. In Sir Abel Barking'sprivate room the drama reached its climax, panic sitting there sensiblyenthroned. Her chill presence had visibly affected Sir Abel, causing thecontrast between the overblown portrait upon the wall and the subject ofit to be ironical to the point of cruelty. For Sir Abel was aged andshrivelled. His clothes hung loose upon him. Hardly could he rally histongue to the enunciation of a single platitude even of the most obviouslystaring sort. The mighty, indeed, were fallen and the weapons ofwealth-getting perished! Yet never had Iglesias felt so drawn in sympathytowards his late employer, for the spectre of possible ruin had made SirAbel almost humble, almost human. 

"I am obliged to you for responding to my summons so promptly--yes, sitdown, my good friend, sit down, " he said. "It is necessary that I shouldconverse with you at some length, and I refuse to keep you standing. Ourpresent position is inexplicable to me. Granting that my nephew Reginaldis unworthy of the trust we reposed in his ability and probity, there wasstill our own judgment in reserve, and our own unquestioned capacity tomeet any strain upon our resources. That our confidence in these last wasmisplaced is still incredible to me. I am completely baffled. The past fewmonths, indeed, with their reiterated discovery of difficulty and of loss, have been a terrible tax upon my fortitude. Veteran financier though I am, I own to you, Iglesias, there have been moments when I feared that I, too, should give way. Only my sense of the duty I owe to my own reputation hassupported me. " Sir Abel turned sideways in his chair. His eyes sought thederisive portrait upon the wall, contemplation of which appeared toreanimate his self-confidence somewhat, for he continued in his largermanner, "Nor has the sting of private anxiety been lacking. My younger sonhas been called away to the seat of war under circumstances of apeculiarly affecting character. My earnest hopes for his future, in theshape of a very desirable marriage, touched on fulfilment--. "

But here Iglesias intervened. For his temper began to rise at the mentionof the loves of Alaric Barking. If the springs of Christian charity, justnow welling up so sweetly within him, were not to run incontinently dry, the conversation, he felt, must be steadied down to themes of otherimport. So he civilly but definitely requested Sir Abel to "come toHecuba, " and to Hecuba the poor man, haltingly yet very obediently, came. He and his ex-head-clerk seemed, indeed, to have changed places, so that, before the end of the interview, Iglesias began to measure himself asnever before, to realise his own business acumen, his quickness ofapprehension, his grasp of the issues presented to him and his ownfearlessness of judgment. Whatever the upshot as to the eventual saving ofthe credit of Messrs. Barking Brothers & Barking, Iglesias becameincreasingly confident of his own power, and quietly satisfied in theexercise of it. 

And so it happened that, although tired in brain and body, his mindweighted with thought, as were his arms with bundles of papers--which hecarried home for more leisurely inspection--Iglesias came rapidly up thewhite steps of Cedar Lodge that night. He was buoyant in spirit, contentwith his day's work, keenly interested in the development of it. Using hislatchkey he entered the square panelled hall silently--with results, forrevels were in progress within. 

Dinner was over. Mrs. Porcher and the great Eliza, linked arm in arm, stood near the dining-room door watching, while those two gay youngsparks, Farge and Worthington, inspired by memories of a recent visit tothe Hippodrome, played at lions. It was a simple game, still it gavepleasure to the players. Clad in an easy-fitting dark blue "lounge suit, "with narrow white cross-bar lines on it, an aged and faded orangesheep-skin hearthrug thrown gallantly across his shoulders, Farge, on allfours, with the mildest roarings imaginable, made rushes from under thedinner-table at the devoted Worthington, who withstood his fiery onslaughtwith lungings and brandishings of that truly classic weapon, the humblenecessary umbrella. At each rush the ladies backed and tittered, clingingtogether with the most engagingly natural semblance of terror. 

"Ha! caitiff wretch, beware!" declaimed Worthington nobly. "Only across myprostrate corse shall you reach your innocent victims. Say, Charlie boy, "he added in a hurried aside, "I didn't poke you in the eye by mistake justnow, did I?"

"Wurra--wurra--wurra, " roared Farge. "Never touched me, Bert, by a coupleof inches--wurra. "

But there the would-be ferocious animal paused, squatted upon itshaunches, pointing its finger dramatically towards the front door, thuscausing the whole company to wheel round and gaze nervously in thedirection indicated. 

"Oh, Mr. Iglesias, how you did startle me!" Mrs. Porcher criedplaintively, laying her hand upon her heart. 

"Pardon me, " he answered. "I had no idea the hall was occupied or I wouldhave rung instead of letting myself in. I must apologise further for beingso late, and for not having telephoned that I should be unable to be backin time for dinner. "

"We all know that there are counter-attractions, which may easily accountfor unpunctuality, " Miss Hart put in, with a toss of her head. 

"Hush, hush, dear Liz, " murmured Mrs. Porcher, while the two young menmade round eyes at each other, and de Courcy Smyth, leaning against thebalusters on the landing of the half-flight, announced his presence by asarcastic laugh. 

Mr. Iglesias looked from one to another in surprise. He had been thinkingso very little--perhaps, as he told himself, insolently little--about allthese good people for some time past. Now he became aware of a hostileatmosphere. For cause unknown he was in disgrace with them all. Possiblythey resented his indifference, possibly they were justified in so doing. Hence he did not feel angry, but merely sorry and perplexed. He addressedhis hostess with increased courtliness of bearing. 

"I hope I have not caused you inconvenience, Mrs. Porcher, " he said. "Iwas summoned suddenly upon business to the City this morning. The businessin question proved more complicated than I had anticipated, and I wasdetained by it till late. This leads me to tell you, if you will forgivemy troubling you with personal matters, that I shall be compelled to go tothe City daily for some weeks to come. I shall not, therefore, be able togive myself the pleasure of joining you at luncheon, or probably atdinner, either. "

"Indeed, " Mrs. Porcher remarked. "This is rather unexpected, Mr. Iglesias. "

"To me wholly unexpected, " he answered, "and in some respects unwelcome;but it is unavoidable, unfortunately. "

He bowed gravely to the two ladies and, ignoring the rest of the littlecompany, went on his way upstairs. At the half-flight Smyth stood aside tolet him pass; then, after a moment's hesitation, followed him. 

"Mr. Iglesias, " he said, "may I be permitted so far to presume upon ouracquaintance as to remind you that you received a letter from me thismorning requiring an answer?"

Dominic paused at the stair-head. 

"Yes, I received it, " he replied coldly. 

"And you condescended to read it, so I venture to imagine, notwithstandingthat you were summoned on important business to the City. We are allimpressed by that interesting fact--vastly impressed by it, needless tostate. I specially so, of course, since commerce in all its branches, asyou know, commands my profoundest admiration and respect. Literatureand art are but as garbage compared with it--no one ever recognisedthat gratifying truth more thoroughly than I do myself. Still, theshopkeeper--I beg your pardon, financier I should have said--is not whollyexempted, by the ideal character of his calling, from keeping his promiseseven to poor devils of scholars and literary men such as myself. "

Smyth swaggered, his hands in his trouser pockets, his glance at onceimpertinent and malevolent, his manner easy to the point of insolence. 

"I venture to remind you of my letter, therefore, and I may add I shallfeel obliged if you'll just hand me over those notes without delay. "

"I read your letter, " Iglesias answered. "It required consideration. "

"Oh! did it, really? I supposed that I had expressed myself with perfectlucidity. But if any point appeared to you to need explanation, I amdisengaged at the present time--I am quite willing to explain. ""Thank you, " Iglesias answered, "no explanation is necessary on your part, I believe, though perhaps a little is on mine. I must ask you to rememberthat I promised to help you within reasonable relation to my means. Whatconstitutes a reasonable relation it is for me to judge, since I aloneknow what my means are. I regret to tell you that your last demand greatlyexceeded that reasonable relation. I am therefore reluctantly obliged torefuse it. "

"To refuse it?" Smyth exclaimed incredulously. 

"Yes, to refuse it, " Iglesias said calmly. "When your play is ready forproduction I am prepared to bear the cost of two representations, as Ihave already told you. But I am not prepared to make you unlimitedadvances meanwhile. To do so would be no kindness to you--"

"Wouldn't it?" Smyth broke out excitedly. "No kindness to me? Do youimagine I want kindness, that I would accept or even tolerate kindnessfrom any man, and particularly from you? I offer you a magnificentinvestment, and you speak to me as though I was a beggar asking alms inthe street. No kindness to me? This high moral tone does not become you inthe very least, let me tell you, Mr. Iglesias. Do you suppose I am such astoneblind ass as not to see what has been happening. Doesn't it occur toyou that I hold your reputation in my two hands?"

"My reputation?" Iglesias repeated, a very blaze of pride and indignationin his eyes. 

Smyth backed hastily away from him, with a livid face and shaking knees. 

"No, no, Mr. Iglesias, " he protested. "I was a fool to say that. But I amutterly beaten by work and by worry. I do not deny that you have behavedhandsomely to me. But persistent injustice and cruelty have souredme. Is it wonderful? And then to-night those blatant young idiots, Fargeand Worthington, have set my nerves on edge by their imbecility andconceit, till I really am not accountable for what I say. I had better go. We can talk of this at another time. I dare say I can manage for a day ortwo, though it will not be easy to do so. However, I am accustomed torubbing shoulders with every created description of undeserved indignityand wretchedness. I will go. Good-night. "

Iglesias entered his sitting-room, turned up the gas, and looked round atthe orderly aspect of the place with a movement of relief. He ranged thebundles of papers upon the table. If he was to master their contents hewould have to work far into the night, and the day had been a long one, full of application and of very varied emotions. He stood for a littlespace thinking of it all. The return to his familiar quarters at the bankhad affected him less than he had expected. He had not felt it as a returnto slavery. 

"Thanks to the Church, " he said gratefully, "which confers on her membersthe only perfect freedom, namely, freedom of soul, freedom of heavenlycitizenship. "

Then he thought of Poppy--thought very tenderly of that strangelycaptivating woman of many moods! How clever she was, how accuratelyshe knew the ways of men! Her warnings regarding his dabbling inmatters theatrical, for instance, and charities to unsuccessfulplaywrights. --And at that point Dominic Iglesias drew himself up short. For, in a flash, the truth came to him that Poppy St. John's hated "jackalof a husband" was none other than his fellow-lodger, de Courcy Smyth, whose shuffling footsteps he heard even now, nervelessly crossing andrecrossing the floor of the room immediately above. 

CHAPTER XXX

"I could not write, Rhoda, because of course I could not be surebeforehand whether, when I came to London, I should really wish to see youand George again or not. " This from Serena, loftily and with rustlings. "But as Lady Samuelson was driving in this direction to-day, and offeredto drop me here if I could find my own way back, I thought I had bettercome, as I knew it was your afternoon at home. "

"And I am sure for my part I am very pleased to have you come, " Mrs. Lovegrove replied, leading the way towards the seat of honour upon theChesterfield sofa. "I always do hold with letting bygones be bygones, particularly as between relatives, when there has been any littleunpleasantness. And perhaps your calling will cheer poor Georgie up. He isvery tenacious of your and Susan's affection, is Georgie. "

Here the speaker proceeded to swallow rather convulsively, pressing herhandkerchief against her lips. 

"Perhaps I should be wiser to keep it all to myself, " she added, notwithout agitation. "But the sight of you does bring up so much. And I amsorry to tell you, Serena, things are not as happy as they used to be inthis house. "

The office of ministering angel was not, it must be conceded, exactlynative to Serena, her sympathies being restricted, the reverse of acute. But, at a push, "curiosity has been known to supply the place of sympathyvery passably; and of curiosity Serena had always a large stock at theservice of her friends and acquaintance. 

"I wonder why, " she therefore observed in reply to her hostess'sconcluding remark--"I mean I wonder why things should not be as happy asthey used to be?"

"I trace the commencement of it all to the time when you were visitinghere last November--not that I mean you were in any way to blame--"

Serena interrupted with spirit:

"No, pray do not connect anything which occurred then with me, Rhoda. Ithink it would be most misplaced. After all that I have had to go throughI really should have thought it only delicate on your part never to referto what took place during my visit. I certainly should have hesitatedabout coming here to-day if I had supposed either you or George would havereferred to it. --What dreadfully bad taste of Rhoda!" she added mentally. "I believe I had better go. That would mark my displeasure, and teach herto be more guarded with me in future. But then perhaps she has somethingto say which I really ought to know. Perhaps it would be a mistake to go. Perhaps I had better stay. I do not want to be too harsh with Rhoda. "

The truth being that she actually itched to hear more. For, to Serena, herwholly imaginary love episode with Mr. Iglesias represented the most vividof all the very limited experiences of her life. Her affections had notbeen engaged, since she possessed no affections in any vital sense of thatword. But she had been flattered and excited. 

She had seemed to herself to occupy a most interesting position, demandinginfinite tact. During the months which had elapsed she had rehearsed thehistory of every incident, of every hour of intercourse, with DominicIglesias, a thousand times; weighing each word, discounting every look ofhis, indulging in unlimited speculation and analysis, until theproportions of that which had occurred were magnified beyond allpossibility of recognition, let alone of sane relation to fact. Toherself, therefore, Serena had become the heroine of an elaborateintrigue. This greatly increased her importance in her own eyes; and, though she was studiously silent regarding the subject save in indirectallusion, the said self-importance, reacting upon those about her, gainedboth for herself and her opinions a degree of consideration to which shewas unaccustomed and which she highly relished. Never had Serena presentedso bold a front to her philanthropic and very possessive elder sister. Never had she enjoyed so much attention in the small and rigidly selectcircle of Slowby society, in which she and Miss Susan moved. Serena spokewith authority upon all subjects, on the strength of a purely fictitiousaffair of the heart. She is not the first woman who has made capital outof the non-existent in this kind, nor will she probably be the last!Nevertheless, she was very far from admitting the great benefit which Mr. Iglesias had so unconsciously conferred upon her. She regarded herself asa deeply injured person--irreparably injured, but for her own diplomacy, admirable caution, knowledge of the world and self-respect. 

"I am well aware it is a trying subject to approach, " Mrs. Lovegrovereplied, with praiseworthy mildness. "And I am far from blaming you forturning from it, Serena. I am sure it has weighed sadly on my mind and onGeorge's, too. Not that he has said much, but I could see how he felt; andthen a great deal has come out since. That is why I am so gratified tohave you call here to-day, and so will Georgie be. He has taken itdreadfully to heart finding how we have all been taken in, and seeing howwrong it must put him with you and with Susan. "

"It is very proper that you should say that, Rhoda, " the other observedwith condescension. "I think you owe it to me to express regret. I shouldhave been sorry if George had proved indifferent, for I have been verycareful in what I have told Susan. Of course, I might have spokenstrongly. I think anyone would admit I should have been quite justified indoing so. But I wished to spare George. Mamma was very much attached tohim, and of course he was constantly with us in old days, before hismarriage. "

It was significant of the wife's humble state that she received thisthrust without a murmur. 

"Poor Georgie was too upset to tell even me for a long time, " shecontinued somewhat irrelevantly, "and you may judge by that how badly hefelt. He knew how shocked I should be, and that I should take it as suchan insult to the dear vicar, after all his kindness, that any friend ofours whom he had talked to in this house should turn Romanist. "

"Who? What?" cried Serena. She had determined to maintain a superior andimpassive attitude, but at this point curiosity became rampant, refusingfurther circumlocution or delay. 

"Why, Mr. Iglesias, to be sure, " Mrs. Lovegrove answered, hardlyrestraining evidences of satisfaction. The news was lamentable, no doubt;but to have it miss fire in the recital of it would have made it ten timesmore lamentable still. "And the worst of it was, " she continued, refreshedby the effect upon her hearer, "he kept it dark for we don't in the leastknow how long. He mentioned no dates, and poor Georgie was too upset toask him. Of course it is well known how double Romanists are always taughtto be--not that I was ever acquainted with any. You never meet them out, Iam glad to think, where we visit. Still, that Mr. Iglesias, who was quiteone of ourselves, as you may say, so intimate and always appearing theperfect gentleman, so open and honest--"

"Ah! there you are wrong, Rhoda, " the other lady put in with decision, while making a violent effort to recover her impassivity and superiority. "You and George may be surprised, but I am not. I always had my suspicionsof Mr. Iglesias. I told you so more than once. At the time you and Georgewere annoyed. Now you see I was right. I am seldom mistaken. Even Susanadmits I am very observant. After his extraordinary behaviour to me Ishould not be surprised at anything which Mr. Iglesias might do. " Shepaused, breathless but triumphant. "Have you seen him since all this cameout, Rhoda?"

"Oh, no. He has called twice, but fortunately Georgie was out walking. Hegoes out walking a great deal now, does Georgie. " The speaker heaved avoluminous sigh. Her satisfaction had been short-lived. "And I told thegirl, if Mr. Iglesias asked for me, to say I was particularly engaged. Hehas written to Georgie. I know that--a long letter--but I have not beenasked to read it. "

Mrs. Lovegrove pressed her handkerchief against her lips again, agitationgaining her. 

"After all these years of marriage, you know, Serena, it is a very cuttingthing to have any concealment between me and Georgie. I should not mentionit to you but that you were here when it commenced. I never supposed--no, never, never--there could be any coldness between him and me. When I haveheard others speak of trouble with their husbands, I have always pitiedthe poor things from my heart, but held them mainly responsible. Now Ithink differently--"

"Miss Eliza Hart, mum. " This shrilly from the little house-parlourmaid. 

Serena rose as well as her hostess. Superiority counselled departure;curiosity urged remaining. 

"Of course, I should feel justified in staying if Rhoda pressed me to doso, " she said to herself. And Rhoda, in the very act of greeting her newguest, did press her to do so. 

"Surely you are not leaving yet?" she said plaintively. 

"It would hurt me not to have you stay to tea, and Georgie would be sadlydisappointed to think he had missed you. "

Thus admonished, Serena graciously consented to remain Miss Hart, as lastarrival, being necessarily invited to assume the place of honour upon thesofa, Serena selected a chair at as great a distance from that historicarticle of furniture as the exigencies of conversation permitted. "I mustshow her that I stay not to see her, but solely on Georgie's account, " shecommented inwardly. "I have been very cold in manner. I think she musthave observed that. "

But the great Eliza was in a militant humour, not easily abashed. She hadcalled with intentions, in the interests of which she plunged volubly intotalk. 

"You will excuse my coming without Peachie Porcher, Mrs. Lovegrove, " shebegan. "She was all anxiety to come, too, fearing you might think herneglectful. But I prevented it. She overrates her strength, does Peachie, and to-day her neuralgia is cruel. 'I'll run across and account for you, 'I said to her. 'You just lie down and take a nap, and let the housemaidbring you up a little something with your tea, and take it early. ' 'It'snot more nourishment I require, but less worry, Liz dear, ' she said. Andso it is, Mrs. Lovegrove. "

"We all have our troubles, Miss Hart, and often unsuspected ones whichcall for silence. "

The wife's large cheeks quivered ominously, while Serena rustled--butwhether in sympathetic agreement with the sentiments expressed by the lastspeaker, or in protest against the presence of the former one, it would bedifficult to determine. 

"I wonder whether that is not best, Rhoda--I mean I wonder whether it isnot best to be silent, " she remarked reflectively. "I think people are notusually half cautious enough what they tell. So many disagreeables can beavoided if you are really on your guard. Mamma impressed that upon us whenwe were children. I am very careful, but I often think Susan is hardlycareful enough. Most troubles arise through trusting other people toomuch. "

"And that's poor darling Peachie all over, " Miss Hart declared, with afine appreciation of opportunity. "Too great trustfulness has been herworst fault, as I always tell her, the generous pet. Not that all ourgentlemen are ungrateful, Mrs. Lovegrove. I would not have you supposethat. Poor Mr. Smyth, for instance, whom I'm afraid I have accused ofbeing very surly and bearish at times, has come out wonderfully lately. But it must be a hard nature, indeed, which Peachie's influence would notsoften. One such nature I am acquainted with. " Eliza paused, looking fromone to other of her hearers with much meaning. "But it is not the casewith poor Mr. Smyth. He has yielded. Then there is the tie of anunfortunate domestic past between him and Peachie, which helps to bringthem together. --Of course that means nothing to you, Mrs. Lovegrove. "

The lady addressed swallowed convulsively. 

"But all are not blessed with such good fortune as yours, " the great Elizacontinued. "Mr. Smyth has been very open with Peachie recently. He hassome surprising tales to tell, knowing very well all that is going on insociety. And that reminds me of a certain gentleman who does not live athousand miles from here. Mr. Smyth has hinted at much that is verystartling in that direction. "

The speaker paused again. 

"Would it be intrusive to ask whether you have been favoured with much ofMr. Iglesias' company during the last few weeks, Mrs. Lovegrove?" sheadded. 

Ruddy mottlings bespread the wife's kindly countenance. Serena movedslightly upon her chair. She was conscious, of growing excitement. 

"Perhaps not quite so much as formerly; but then Mr. Lovegrove has beenout walking most evenings. The warmer weather always causes him to feelthe need of exercise, " the excellent woman returned, putting heroicrestraint upon herself. "And I have been very occupied with the springcleaning. I make it a duty to look into everything myself, you know, MissHart. Not but what my girls are very good. I think all the talk abouttrouble with the servants is very much exaggerated. Our cook, Fanny, hasbeen with us quite a number of years. Still, I hold it is well for them tohave a mistress's supervision if the cleaning is to be thorough. If yousee to it yourself, then you can have nobody to blame. And so I have hadfrequently to deny myself to visitors. "

She gave a sigh of relief, trusting she had loyally steered theconversation into safer channels. But the great Eliza was not thus to bethwarted. 

"I asked on Peachie Porcher's account, " she declared, "not on my own, Mrs. Lovegrove. It is all of less than no consequence to me, except for thesake of Cedar Lodge, how a certain gentleman spends his time. ButPeachie's interests must be protected. With an establishment such as oursa good name is everything. 'You cannot be too particular; for any talk offastness, and the place must go down, ' as she says to me--"

But here, the wife's natural rectitude and sense of justice triumphed overprejudice and wounded sensibilities. 

"I am sure I could never believe anyone would have occasion to accuse Mr. Iglesias of fastness, " she said. "Of course, the change of religion isdreadful, particularly in one who should have known better, though aforeigner, having had the advantage of being brought up in England. Nobodycan be more aware of that than myself and Mr. Lovegrove. It has been asad grief to us"--her voice quavered--"and no doubt early rising and fishmeals do make a lot of work and unpleasantness in a house-hold. But as tofastness, well, Miss Hart, I cannot find it in my conscience to agree toanything as bad as that. "

With preternatural solemnity the great Eliza shook her head. 

"Seeing is believing, Mrs. Lovegrove, " she replied. "And when ladies call, dressed in the tiptop of the fashion! Very stylish, no doubt, but notquite the style Peachie Porcher can countenance, circumstanced as we arewith our gentlemen guests. Then there is what Mr. Smyth hinted atsubsequently, just in a friendly way. He did not say he was actuallyacquainted with the lady, but intimated that he could say very much moreif he chose. No, Mrs. Lovegrove, I regret to speak, knowing how long youand a certain gentleman have been acquainted, but there can be no questionPeachie Porcher's interests have been trifled with, and her affectionsalso. "

Here aggressive rustlings on the part of Serena arrested the flow of MissHart's eloquence. 

"You spoke, I believe, Miss Lovegrove?" she inquired. 

"No, I did not speak, " Serena cried. --"Vulgar, designing person, whatpresumption!" she cried to herself. "Anyone would feel insulted by hermanner. She thinks she has put me at a disadvantage. But she is mistaken. I know more than she supposes. " She was greatly enraged; for, unreasonablethough it may appear, if trifling were about on the part of DominicIglesias, Serena reserved to herself a monopoly in respect of it. Fewthings, perhaps, are more galling to a woman than the assertion that aLovelace has been guilty of misleading attentions to others besidesherself. If she is not the solitary object of his affections, let her atleast be the solitary victim of his perfidy. And that Mrs. Porcher shouldaspire to share her _role_ of betrayed one was, to Serena, a piece ofunheard-of impertinence. She refused to bestow further attention upon MissHart, and turned haughtily to her hostess. 

"Have you any idea when George will be in, Rhoda? I am quite willing towait a reasonable time for him, but I cannot be expected to waitindefinitely. I must consider Lady Samuelson. It is a long distance toLadbroke Square--of course Trimmer's Green is very far out--and I haveto dress for dinner. Everything is very well done at Lady Samuelson's, andshe makes a great point of punctuality. Of course it is no difficulty tome to be punctual. I was brought up to be so. Mamma was always extremelyparticular about our being in time. She said it was very rude to be late. I think it is rude, and so, of course, punctuality is quite natural to me. But I do object to being hurried; and so, unless George is likely to be inalmost directly, I really must go, Rhoda. "

"I should be very mortified to have you leave before he comes back. Itwould be a sore disappointment to Georgie to find you had been here and hehad missed you, " the good creature pleaded. 

"And it's something quite new for Mr. Lovegrove to be out on your at-homeday, isn't it?" Eliza put in, not without covert sarcasm. "I neverremember to have known it happen before. "

"Mrs. And Miss Ballard, please, mum"--this from the house-parlourmaid. 

Mrs. Lovegrove arose with alacrity, retail trade and nonconformity alikeforgiven. 

"I am afraid Miss Hart grows very spiteful, " she said to herself. "I wishshe would go. I should be vexed to have her outsit Serena. --Well, Mrs. Ballard, very pleased, I am sure, to see you"--this aloud--"and yourdaughter, too. The spring is coming on nicely, is it not? Quite warm thisafternoon, walking? I dare say it is. You and my husband's cousin, MissLovegrove, have met, I believe? Miss Ballard, Miss Lovegrove. --Are yougoing, Miss Hart? Kind regards to Mrs. Porcher, and sincere hopes she maysoon lose her neuralgia. Very trying complaint, Mrs. Ballard, is itnot?--and very prevalent, so they tell me, this year. --Why, you're nevergoing to leave, too, Serena? You'll come again, or Georgie will be sotroubled. "

But Serena held out small hope of her reappearance. 

"Of course I should be glad to see George, but I could not bind myself toanything, Rhoda. You see, Lady Samuelson"--the Ballard ladies, mother anddaughter, looked at one another, fluttered and impressed--"LadySamuelson, " Serena repeated, her voice rising a little, "has such a numberof engagements, and of course if she wishes to take me with her I cannotrefuse. At home she always likes me to help entertain. I really have verylittle time to call my own, and so I should not feel justified in makingany promise. Of course it was just a chance my being able to come to-day. You can tell George I am sorry not to have seen him. I should like him toknow that I am sorry. "

"You are very kind, Serena, " the other said humbly. 

"I think Rhoda has improved, " Serena said to herself, as she walked acrossTrimmer's Green between the black iron railings. "I think she has moresense of my position than she did. I wonder whether she thinks that if Mr. Iglesias had proposed I should have accepted him. Of course she thinks Iwas very badly treated. I think her manner shows that. Certainly she tookhis part rather against that odious Miss Hart. But I don't believe shereally sided with him. I think she only appeared to do so to snub MissHart. Of course if she had stayed, I should have had to stay, too. Ishould have owed it to myself to do so. But, as she went, there was noobject in staying; and it was wiser to seem quite indifferent about seeingGeorge. I hope he won't attempt to call upon me at Lady Samuelson's! Ishould hardly think he would presume to do that. I must tell the butler, if a gentleman calls, to say I am not at home. If it was only George itwould not so much matter, but I could not run the chance of having LadySamuelson and Rhoda meet. It would not do at all to have Rhoda climbinginto society through me. I think it is too bad to have people make use ofyou like that. And Rhoda has no tact. I see I must be on my guard withGeorge and Rhoda. I wonder whether I had better tell Susan Mr. Iglesiashas become a Roman Catholic? Of course she would think I had had a greatescape; but in any case that does not excuse him. He behaved very badly. I don't believe for an instant he ever took any notice of Mrs. Porcher. Ibelieve that is an entire invention. I wonder if the lady who called isthe same lady we saw at the theatre--"

And so on, and so on, all the way home by the Uxbridge Road, and NettingHill, and then northward to the august retirement of Lady Samuelson'slarge corner house in Ladbroke Square. For a deeply injured person Serenahad really enjoyed herself very much. 

CHAPTER XXXI

The burden of August, dense and heavy, lay upon London. Radiating outwardin lifeless and dull-glaring sunshine, it involved the nearer suburbs; sothat Dominic Iglesias, sitting on a bench beside the roadway crossingBarnes Common, notwithstanding the hour--past six o'clock--and the openspace surrounding him, found the atmosphere hardly less oppressive thanthat of the streets. The great world, which plays, had departed. Thelittle world, outnumbering the great by some five or six millions, whichworks, remained. And Dominic Iglesias, since he too worked, remainedlikewise, sharing with it the burden of the August heat and languor; andsharing also, to-day being Sunday, its weekly going forth over the face ofthe scorched and sun-seared land seeking rest, and, too often, findingnone. 

For the past two months he had seen Poppy St. John but seldom, nor had heheard from her. Whether by accident or by design he knew not, she hadrarely been at home on those occasions when he had been free to call. Forthe last three weeks she had been away up the river, so he understood, with her friend Dot Parris--_alias_ Miss Charlotte Colthrust. Ablight seemed to Iglesias to have fallen upon his and her friendship, eversince the day of his return to Messrs. Barking Brothers & Barking; and hisdiscovery, or rather divination, of the relation in which de Courcy Smythstood to her. While her husband remained nameless, an unknown quantity, Dominic deplored the fact of her marriage, but as an abstraction. So soonas that fact had acquired in his mind--whether rightly or wrongly--aname and local habitation, now that he was liable to meet it dailyincarnate--and that in most unsavoury shape--liable to be constantlyreminded of its near neighbourhood, to witness a thousand and oneunpleasing peculiarities of speech, habit, and manner, unlooked-foremotions arose in Iglesias, and those of a character of which he was by nomeans proud. Resentment took him, indignation, strange movements ofjealousy and hatred; all very natural, no doubt, but decidedly bad for thesoul. It was idle for him to remind himself that his belief regardingde Courcy Smyth was based upon supposition, upon circumstantial evidencewhich might prove merely coincident. He could not rid himself of thatbelief, nor of the emotional consequences of it; and these so vexed himthat he questioned whether it would not be better to remove from CedarLodge and seek a domicile uninfected by the perpetual provocation ofthe man's presence. But it was not easy to give a plausible reason tohis hostess for any immediate change of residence; nor was it easy, inthe present stress of business at the bank, to find time or energy forhouse-hunting. The atmosphere of Cedar Lodge had become inimical. Hisrooms had ceased to be a place of security and repose. Yet whither shouldhe go? The great wilderness of London seemed vastly inhospitable when itcame to the question of selecting a new dwelling-place. 

Meanwhile, he was grievously conscious of the growing estrangement betweenhimself and Poppy St. John, which he connected, in some way, with thishaunting yet unspoken suspicion of her relation to de Courcy Smyth--asuspicion which tended to rob intercourse of all spontaneity byintroducing into it a spirit of embarrassment and constraint. He wouldhave given so very much to know the truth and be able to reckon finallywith it; but he judged it unpermissible that he should approach the uglysubject first. It was Poppy's affair, her private and unlovely property. While she elected to keep silence, therefore, it would be disloyal for himto speak. Still it distressed him, adding to his mental and emotionalunrest. The happiness might have gone out of their intercourse, yet therewere times when he wearied for sight and for speech of her more than hequite cared to admit. George Lovegrove still held aloof. Dominic ralliedhis faith in the divine purpose, rallied his obedience to the divineruling, fixed his eyes more patiently upon the promise of the far horizon;yet it must be owned he felt very friendless and sad at heart. 

To-day, driven in part by that friendliness, he had come out on the chanceof gaining some news of Poppy. Disappointment, however, awaited him. Forthe discreet Phillimore, though receiving him graciously, reported hermistress resident at home again, it is true, but gone into town onbusiness, probably theatrical, and unlikely to return until late. Therefore Dominic had walked on to Barnes Common, and finding theuncomfortable bench by the roadside--whereon Cappadocia, the toy spaniel, had sought his protection more than a year ago--untenanted, had sat downthere to meditate. Cedar Lodge was no longer a refuge. He preferred tokeep away from it as long as might be. Perhaps, too, as the sun droppedthe air would grow cooler, and the southeasterly draught, parched andscorching as from the mouth of a furnace, which huffled at times only tofall dead, might shift to some more merciful quarter. A coppery haze hungover London, above which the rusty white summits of a range of cumuluscloud towered into the thick grey-blue of the upper sky. Possibly thecloud harboured thunder and the refreshment of rain amid its giant cragsand precipices. On the chance of such refreshment he would stay. 

For in good truth he needed refreshment, and that speedily, being verytired, fagged by long hours in the City, by heavy responsibilities, by theburden of the airless August heat, let alone those more intimate causes ofdisturbance already indicated. Iglesias could not disguise from himselfthat the close application to business was beginning to tell injuriouslyupon his health. This same morning, coming back from early Mass, passingthrough the flagged passage which leads from Kensington Palace Green intoChurch Street, he had become so faint from exhaustion, that reaching--andnot without difficulty--his former home in Holland Street, he had summonedthe neat bald-headed little caretaker and asked permission to enter thehouse and rest. The ground-floor rooms were cool and dusky, sheltered byclosed shutters from the summer sun. Only the French-window of the backdining-room stood open, on to the flight of wrought-iron steps leadingdown into the garden. Beside it the caretaker, not without huskycoughings, placed a kitchen chair for Iglesias and fetched him a glass ofwater. 

"I could wish I had something better to offer you, sir, " he said, "but Iam an abstainer by habit myself; and I have no liquor of any kind, unfortunately, in the house. "

The water, however, was pleasantly cold, and Dominic drank it thankfully. He could have fancied there was virtue in it--the virtue of thingsblessed by long-ago mother-love. And, thinking of that, his eyes filledwith tears as he looked out over the small neglected garden. Of the onceglorious laburnum there remained only an unsightly stump, but jasminestill clothed the enclosing walls, the dark green of its straggling shootsstarred here and there with belated white blossoms. About the lip of theempty stone basin, vigorously chirruping, sparrows came and went, while inthe far corner a grove of starveling sunflowers lifted their brown andyellow-rayed faces towards the light. Dominic, resting gratefully in thecool semi-darkness of the empty room, until the faintness which hadattacked him was passed, found the place very gentle, soothing, and sweet. The sadder memories had died out here, so he noted. Only gracious andtender ones remained. He wished he could stay on indefinitely. As theyears multiply, and the chequered story of them lengthens, it iscomforting to dwell in a place where, once on a time, one had been greatlyloved. 

Dominic turned to the waiting caretaker, who regarded him with mingledsolicitude, admiration, and deference. 

"So the house is still unlet?" he said. 

"Yes, sir, and is likely to remain so, I apprehend. The lease, as Iunderstand, falls in a very few years hence, and the landlord is unwillingto make any outlay on the house, which will probably then be pulled down;while no tenant, I opine, would be willing to rent a residence so wantingin modern decoration and modern conveniences. Weeks pass, sir, without anypersons calling to view. "

"Yet the rent is low?" Iglesias said. 

"Very low for so genteel a district--I am a native of Kensington, 'theroyal village, ' myself, sir--and no premium is asked. "

Now, sitting on the uneasy bench upon the confines of Barnes Common--whilethe little many-millioned world, which works, in gangs, and groups, andamatory couples, and somewhat foot-weary family parties, saunteredby--that same oppression of faintness came over Dominic Iglesias, alongwith a great nostalgia for the cool, dusky, low-ceilinged rooms, and theneglected yet still bravely blossoming garden of the little house inHolland Street. 

"It would be pleasant to spend one's last days and draw one's last breaththere, " Iglesias said to himself; "when the sum of endeavour is complete, when the last cable has been sent, the last column of figures balanced andaudited, when the ledgers are closed and one's work being fairly finishedone is free to sit still and listen--not fearfully, but with reverentcuriosity--for the footsteps of Death and the secrets he has in hiskeeping. "

And there he paused, for the scorched dusty land and pale dense sky, eventhe rusty white summits of the great range of cloud, slowly, slowlyclimbing high heaven--even the light dresses of passing women andchildren--went suddenly black, indistinct, and confused to his sight, sothat he seemed to be falling through some depth of dark and untenantedspace, while the dust, thick, stifling, clinging, fell with him, encircling, enveloping him with a horror of suffocation, of crushing, impalpable, yet unescapable, dead weight. 

Then out of the darkness, out of the dust, in voluminous dusty drab motorveil and dusty drab motor coat, the Lady of the Windswept Dust herselfcame towards him, bringing consolation and help. 

CHAPTER XXXII

"You are coming round, dear man. You really look better. What you wantedwas a sensible Christian meal. For, I tell you, you were most uncommonlydone, and it was a near shave whether I should get you home here withouthaving to call on the populace for assistance. Don't go and worry now. Youwere superb as usual, with enough personal dignity to supply a wholedynasty, and have some left over for washing-day into the bargain. Youshould give lessons in the art of majestic collapse--not that you didcollapse, thank goodness! But you came precious near it. --Yes, I mean it, I mean it, dear man"--Poppy nodded her head at him, leaned across thecorner of the table and patted his arm with the utmost friendliness. "Iwant to terrify you into being more careful. There are plenty of peopleone could jolly well spare; but you're not among them. So lay that toheart, or I shan't have an easy moment. And then as to personal dignity, if you will excuse my entering into details of costume, in that greytop-hat, grey frock-coat, et cetera, et cetera, you looked more fit forthe Ascot Royal Enclosure than for Barnes Common on a broiling AugustSunday. The populace eyed you with awe. --Don't be offended, there's adear. You can't help being very smart and very beautiful; and you oughtn'tto want to help it even if you could, since it gives me so much pleasure. Your tailor's a gem. But how he must love you, must be ready to dress youfree of cost for the simple joy of fitting on. "

The little dinner had been excellent. The clear soup hot, and theninety-two Ayala, extra dry, chilled to a nicety--and so with the rest ofthe menu. Glass, silver, china, were set forth daintily upon the finewhite damask, under the glow of scarlet-shaded candles. The double doorsconnecting the small drawing-room and dining-room stood open; this, combined with the fact that lights were limited to the dinner-table, giving an agreeable effect of coolness and of space. While, as arrayed ina crisp black muslin gown--the frills and panels of it painted with shadedcrimson roses and bronze-green leaves--Poppy St. John ministered to herguest, chattered to, and rallied him, her eyes were extraordinarily darkand luminous, and her voice rich in soft caressing tones. Never had sheappeared more engaging, more natural and human, never stronger yet moretenderly gay. Dominic Iglesias yielded himself up gladly, gratefully, tothe charm of the woman and to the comfort of his surroundings. Temperatein all things, he was temperate in enjoyment. Yet he was touched, he washappy. Life was very sweet to him in this hour of relief from physicaldistress, of renewed friendship, and of pretty material circumstance. 

"It was such a mercy I had a decent meal to offer you, " Poppy went on. "Often the commissariat department is a bit sketchy on Sunday, in--well, in these days of the cleaned slate. But you see, Lionel Gordon, of theTwentieth Century Theatre, was to tell me, this afternoon, what decisionhe had come to about the engagement I have been spelling to get. He is anappalling mongrel, three-parts German Jew and one part Scotchman--sweetmixture of the Chosen and Self-Chosen people! He never was pretty, andincreasing years have not rendered his appearance more enticing; but he'sthe cleverest manager going, on either side of the Atlantic, and hedoesn't go back on his word once given, as too many of them do. Well, hewas to let me know; and to tell the truth, beloved lunatic, I was ratherkeen about this engagement. I knew if he did not give it me I should be alittle hipped, and should stand in need of support and consolation; while, if he did, I should be rather expansive, and should want suitably tocelebrate the event. So I ordered a good dinner to be ready in eithercase"--Poppy laughed gently. "Queer thing the artist, " she said, "with itsinstinct of falling back on creature comforts. Whatever happens, good luckor bad luck, it always eats. "

"And they gave you the engagement?" Iglesias inquired. 

Poppy nodded her head in assent. 

"Yes, dear man, Lionel gave it me. He'd have been a fool if he hadn't, forhe knows who I am and what training I've had. And then Fallowfeild hasmade things easy. He's a thundering good friend, Fallowfeild is; and inview of late events--once I had told him to go, I wouldn't, of course, take a penny of Alaric's--I had no conscience about letting Fallowfeild beuseful. He was lovely about it. I shall only draw a nominal salary for thefirst six months until I have proved myself. What I want is myopportunity; and money matters being made easy helped materially. Both theChosen and Self-Chosen People have a wonderfully keen eye to the boodle, bless their little hearts and consciences!"

She paused, leaning her elbows on the table and looking sideways atIglesias, her head thrown back. 

"I am dreadfully glad to have you here to-night, " she went on, "becauseyou see it's a turning-point. I have pretty well climbed the ridge andreached the watershed. The streams have all started running in the otherdirection--towards the dear old work and worry, the envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness, and all the fun, too, and good comradeship, andambition, and joy, of the theatre. Can you understand, I at once adore anddetest it, for it's a terribly mixed business. Already I keep on seeingthe rows of pinky-white faces rising, tier above tier, up to the roof, which turn you sick and give you cold shivers all down your spine when youfirst come on. And then I go hot with the fight against their apathy oropposition, the glorious fight to conquer and hold an audience, and bendits emotions and its sympathies, as the wind bends the meadow grass, toone's will. "

Poppy stretched out her hand across the corner of the table again, layingit upon Iglesias' hand. Her eyes danced with excitement, yet her voiceshook and the words came brokenly. 

"But, dearly beloved, I have your blessing on this new departure, haven'tI?" she asked. "After all, it's you, just simply you, that sends me backto an honest life and to my profession. So I should like to have yourblessing--that, and your prayers. "

"Can you doubt that you have them, " Iglesias answered, and his voice, too, shook, somewhat, "now and always, dearest of friends?"

For a little minute Poppy sat looking full at him, he looking full at her. Then, with a sort of rush, she rose to her feet. 

"Come along, this won't do, " she said. "Sentiment strictly prohibited. It's not wholesome for you after the nasty turn you had on BarnesCommon--and it's not particularly wholesome for me either, though forquite other reasons. Moreover, it's fiendishly hot in here. So see, dearman, you're not going just yet. I telephoned to the Bell Inn stables for aprivate hansom to be on hand about ten thirty for you. Meanwhile, you'reto take it easy and rest. It is but five steps upstairs, and that won'ttire you. Come up into the cool and have your coffee on the balcony. "

And so it came about that Dominic Iglesias followed Poppy St. Johnupstairs--she moving rapidly, in a way defiantly--followed her into abedchamber, where a subtle sweetness of orris-root met him; and afantastic brightness of gaslight and moonlight, coming in through openwindows, chequered the handsome dark-polished brass-inlaid furniture, thegreen silk coverlet and hangings, the dimly patterned ceiling and walls. Without hesitation or apology, Poppy walked straight through thisapartment, and passed out on to the white-planked and white-railedbalcony. 

The dome of the sky was immense and had become perfectly clear, the greatclouds having boiled up during the afternoon only to sink away and vanishat sunset, as is their wont in seasons of drought. North and east theglare of London pulsed along the horizon; and above it the stars werefaint, since the radiant first-quarter moon rode high, drenching roadwayand palings, the stretch of the polo-ground, the shrubberies and grove ofgiant elms, with white light blotted and barred, here and there, by blackshadow. The air was still, but less oppressive, the cruelty of sun-heathaving gone out of it and only a suavity remaining. The _facade_ ofthe terrace of smirking, self-conscious, much-be-flowered and be-balconiedlittle houses had taken on a certain worth of picturesqueness, suggestiveof the bazaar of some far-away Oriental city rather than of a vulgarLondon suburb, the summer night even here producing an exquisiteness ofeffect and making itself very sensibly felt. Poppy silently motioned herguest to the further of the two cane deck-chairs set in the recess, arranged a cushion at his back, drew up a little mother-of-pearl inlaidtable beside him, poured coffee into two cups. Then she moved across tothe rail of the balcony, and stood there, her head thrown back, her handsclasped behind her, facing the moonlight, which covered her slenderrounded figure from head to foot as with a pale transparent veil ofinfinite tenuity. Iglesias could see the rise and fall of her bosom, theflutter of her eyelids, the involuntary movement of her lips as shepressed them together, restraining, as might be divined, words to whichshe judged it wiser to deny utterance. 

And this hardly repressed excitement in Poppy's bearing and aspect, alongwith the peculiar scene and circumstances in which he found himself, worked profoundly upon Dominic Iglesias. In passing through that scented, half-discovered, fantastically lighted bedchamber and stepping out intothe magic of the night, he had stepped out, in imagination, into regionsdreamed of in earlier years--when reading poetry or hearing music, --butnever fairly entered, still less enjoyed, since all the duties andobligations of his daily life militated against and even forbadesuch enjoyment. The weariness of his work in the City, the pettyannoyances he suffered at Cedar Lodge, the haunting disgust of de CourcySmyth's presence, fell away from him, becoming for the time as though theywere not. He never had been, nor was he now, in any degree self-indulgentor a sentimentalist. The appeal of the present somewhat enchanted hour wasto the intellect and the spirit, rather than sensuous, still less sensual. Nevertheless, an almost passionate desire of earthly beauty took him--ofthe beauty of things seen, of things plastic, beauty of the human form;beauty of far-distant lands and the varied pageant of their aspect andhistory; of great rivers flowing seaward; of tombs by the wayside; of theglorious terror of the desert's naked face; of languorous fountain-cooledgardens, close hid in the burning heart of ancient cities; beauty ofsound, beauty of words and phrases, above all, of the eternal beauty ofyouth and the illimitable expectation and hope of it. 

And it was out of all this, out of the mirage of these vast elusiveprospects and apprehensions, that he answered Poppy St. John, as withserious eyes yet smiling lips she turned, and coming across the whitefloor sat down beside him, saying:

"How goes it, Dominic? Are you rested?"

"Yes, " he answered, "I am rested. And more than that, I am alive andawake, strangely awake and full of vision--thanks to you. "

Poppy's expression sweetened, becoming protective, maternal. She leanedback in her chair and folded her hands in her lap; yet there was still acertain tension in her expression, an intensity as of inward excitement inher gaze. 

"Tell me things, then, " she said, "tell me things about yourself, if thegift of seeing is upon you. --There's no one to overhear. The neighbours onboth sides are away for the holidays, thank the powers! and their housesstand empty. While the voices and footsteps down in the road only make usmore happily alone. So tell me things, Dominic. I am a trifle stirred upwith all this affair of the theatre, and you always quiet me. I'm really avery good child. I deserve a treat. And there are things I dreadfully wantto know. "

"Alas! there is so absurdly little to tell, " Iglesias answered, "that, here and now, in face of my existing sense of life and of vision, I amhumbled by my own ignorance and poverty of achievement. That poverty, Isuppose, is all the more apparent to me, because twice to-day I havebeen--so I judge, at least--within measurable distance of bidding farewellto this astonishingly wonderful world and the fashion of it. It comes hometo me how little I have seen, how little I have profited, how little Iknow. I would have liked to leave it; it would be more seemly to do so, having profited more largely by my sojourn here. "

Iglesias paused, excitement which his natural sobriety disapproved gaininghim, too, through that ache of unrealised beauty. For a moment hestruggled with it as with a rising tide, then resigned himself. 

"And yet, " he added, "in other respects I should not be sorry to hear thehour strike, for curiosity of the unknown is very strong in me. Opportunity may have been narrow, and one may have been balked of highendeavour and rich experience, by lack of talent and by adversecircumstances; but in the supreme, the crowning experience, that of deathand all which, for joy or sorrow, lies beyond it, even the most obscure, the most uncultured and untravelled must participate. "

"Don't be in too great a deuce of a hurry to satisfy that curiosity, dearman, " Poppy put in. "You must contrive to exercise patience for a littlewhile yet, please; always remembering that it is entirely superfluous torun to catch a train which is bound not to start until you are on board ofit. And then, too, you see--well, there's me, after all, and I want you. "

Iglesias' face grew keen, as he looked at her through that encompassingwhiteness of moonlight. 

"I am glad of that, " he said very quietly, "because you are to me, dearfriend, what no other human being has ever yet been. The saddest thingthat could happen to me, save loss of faith, would be that you shouldcease to want me. I only pray God, if it is not self-seeking, that youmay continue to want me as long as I live. "

"But your religion?" she asked, a point of jealousy pricking her. 

"My religion forbids sin, whether of body or mind; forbids violation ofthe eternal spiritual proportion, by any placing of the creature beforethe Creator in a man's action or in his heart. But my religion enjoinslove and stimulates it; since only through loving can we fulfil thehighest possibility of our nature, which is to grow into the likeness ofAlmighty God. "

"You believe that?" Poppy asked again. 

"I do more, " Iglesias said. "I know it. "

Then both fell silent, having reached the place where words hinder ratherthan help thought. And, as it happened, just then the stillness wassensibly broken up, and the magic of the night encroached upon by thepassing of a couple of _char-a-bancs_ in the road below, loaded upwith trippers faring homewards from a day's outing at Hampton Court. Thetired teams jog-trotted haltingly. The wheels whispered hoarsely in themuffling dust; and voices mingled somewhat plaintively in the singing ofa then popular khaki sing--"The Soldiers of the Queen. " Hearing all ofwhich, as the refrain died away Londonwards up the great suburbanroad, the compelling drama and pathos of life as the multitude livesit--stupidly, without ideas, without any conscious nobility of purpose, yet with a certain blundering and clumsy heroism--took Poppy St. John bythe throat. Those who stand aside from that democratic everyday drama, rejecting alike the common joys and common sorrows of it, have need--so itseemed to her--to account for and justify themselves lest they becomesuspect. Therefore she looked at Dominic Iglesias intently, questioningly, hesitated a moment, and then spoke. 

"Still I don't understand you, in your determined detachment of attitude. Tell me, if you are not afraid of love, why have you never married?" shesaid. 

And he, divining to an extent that which inspired her question, smiled ather somewhat proudly as he answered. 

"Be under no misapprehension, dear friend. I am a perfectly normal pieceof flesh and blood, with a man's normal passions, and his natural cravingfor wife, and child, home, family, and the like. But during my mother'slifetime I was bound to other service than that of marriage. "

"But in these years since her death?" Poppy asked. 

"There is a time for everything, as the Preacher testifies, a due andproper time which must be observed if life is to be a reasoned progress, not a mere haphazard stumbling from the weakness of childhood to theincapacity of old age. And, can anything be more objectionably at variancewith that wise teaching than the spectacle of amorous uxoriousefflorescence in a man of well over fifty?"

Poppy permitted herself a lively grimace. 

"All the same you have sacrificed yourself, as usual, " she said. 

"Not so very greatly, perhaps, " Iglesias replied, with a soberly humorousexpression. "For I have always been very exacting and have asked verymuch. I am culpably fastidious. My tastes are far beyond my means, mydesires out of all reasonable relation to my station and my merits. And itshould be remembered that my circle of acquaintances has been a verylimited one, until quite recently--I do not wish to appear more glaringlyarrogant or discourteous than I actually am. I had my ideal. It happenedthat I failed to realise it; and I am very impatient of compromise inmatters of intimate and purely personal import. In respect of them I holdI have an unqualified right to consult my own tastes. It has always beeneasier to me to go without than to accept a second-best. "

"In point of fact no woman was good enough! Poor brutes!"

Poppy mused a little, with averted face. 

"How beastly cheap they'd all feel--I've not forgotten the undulating andaspiring withered leaf--if they knew how mightily they all fell short!"she added naughtily. Suddenly she looked round at Dominic Iglesias. Hereyes were as stars, but her lips trembled. "Bless me, but you'veextensively original methods of conveying information! It's lucky for meI've a steady head. So--so it comes to this--I reign all alone?" she said. 

"Yes, dear friend, save for my love for my mother--such as the throne isor ever has been--you reign alone, " Iglesias answered quietly. 

Poppy rested her elbows upon her knees, dropped her face into her hands, and sat thus bowed together in the whiteness of the moonlight. 

"Ah, dear!" she murmured presently, brokenly, "I've got my answer. It'sbetter and--worse, than I expected. All the same I'm content--that's tosay, the best of me is--royally, consummately content. --Thank you athousand times, thrice-beloved and very most exceedingly unworldy-wiseone, " she said. 

Then for a while both were silent, wrapped about by, and resting in, themagic of the summer night. When Poppy roused herself at last to speak, itwas in a different key, studiously matter-of-fact. 

"Look here, dear man, do you in the least realise how extremely far goneyou were when I arrived to you on Barnes Common this evening? Because Itell you plainly I didn't in the very least like it. In my opinion it ishigh time you gave up dragging that Barking Brothers & Barking cart. "

"I shall give up doing so very soon, " Iglesias replied. "Just now I amacting as manager. Sir Abel is at Marienbad, and the other partners areout of town. "

"I like that--lazy animals!" Poppy said. 

"But the situation is in process of righting itself--has practicallyrighted itself already. "

"Thanks to you. "

"In part, no doubt. There was a disposition to panic, which rendered itexceedingly difficult to get accurate and definite information at first. However, I arrived at the necessary data with patience and diplomacy, andwas able to draw out a clear detailed statement. This proved so farsatisfactory that Messrs. Gommee, Hills, Murray & Co. And Pavitt's Bankhave considered themselves justified in undertaking to finance BarkingBrothers until business in South Africa has resumed its ordinary course. "

"Then the elderly plungers are saved?"

"Yes, I believe, practically they are saved, " Iglesias said. "And, therefore, as soon as Sir Abel has finished his cure and returns I shallretire. "

Poppy rose, clapping her hands together with irritation. 

"Sir Abel's cure be hanged!" she cried. "What do I care about his idioticold liver or his gout, or anything else. Let him pay the price of steadilyover-eating himself for more than half a century. I've no use for him. What I have a use for is you, dear man; more than ever now, don't yousee, " her voice softened, became caressing, "after our recent littleexplanation. And you shan't kill yourself. I won't have it. I won't allowit. Therefore be reasonable, my good dear. Put away your mania ofself-immolation--or keep it exclusively for my benefit. Write and tell theBarking man to hurry up with his liver and his gout. Tell him you're beingsweated to death dragging his rotten old banking cart, and that he's justgot to come home and set you free, and get between the shafts and do thedragging and sweating himself. --Ah, there's the hansom. You must go. I'dno notion it was so late. "

And so it came about that, once more, Dominic Iglesias followed theLady of the Windswept Dust into the faintly scented bedchamber, wherefantastic brightness of gaslight and moonlight chequered the polishedsurfaces of the dark furniture, the green silk coverlet and hangings, the dimly-patterned ceiling and walls. His instinct was to pass on, asquickly as might be, to the secure commonplace of the landing without. Buthalf-way across the room, at the foot of the low-pillared and brass-inlaidbedstead, Poppy St. John stopped, and turned swiftly, barring his passagewith extended arms. 

"Stay a minute, for probably we shall never meet in this poor little houseagain, best beloved one, " she said. "It is too far out. I must move intotown. Lionel puts the play into rehearsal next week, and I must live nearthe theatre. And then, too--well, you know, since I've made up my mind, it's best to clean the slate even in respect of one's dwelling-place. Memories stick, stick like a leech; and they raise emotions of a slightlydisturbing character sometimes. I am sure of myself; and yet I know it'ssafest to make a clean sweep of whatever reminds me of all the forbiddendear damned lot. I regret nothing--don't imagine that. I'm keen on mywork. The artist, after all, is the strongest thing in me. I'm quitehappy, now I have made up my mind. My nose is in the air. I can lookcreation in the face without winking an eyelid. I can respect myself. AndI'm tremendously grateful to Lionel Gordon for taking me on spec, and toFallowfeild for greasing the creature's Caledonian-Teutonic-Hebraic palmfor me. Still--still--you can imagine, can't you, that, take it all round, it's not precisely a Young Woman's Christian Association blooming picnicparty for me just at present?"

Poppy dashed her hand across her eyes, half laughing, half sobbing. 

"Ah, love me, Dominic, love me, in your own way, the clean way--that's allI ask, all that I want--only love me always, " she said. 

She laid her hands on Iglesias' shoulders and threw back her head. And he, holding her, bending down kissed her white face, soft heavy hair, over-redlips, her tragic and unfathomable eyes--which looking on the evil andmeasuring the very actual immediate delights of it, still had courage, inthe end, to reject it and choose the good--kissed them reverently, gravely, proudly, with the chastity and chivalry of perfect friendship. 

"Ah! that's better. I'm better. Bless you; don't be afraid. I'll play fairto the finish--only keep well. Quit that rotten old bank. --Now go, dearman, go, " Poppy said. 

CHAPTER XXXIII

During the past six weeks events had galloped. To Iglesias it appearedthat changes were in course of arriving in battalions. He neither hailednor deplored them, but met them with a stoical patience. To realise themclearly, in all their bearings, would have been to add to the sense offatigue from which he too constantly suffered. More than sufficient toeach day was the labour thereof. So he looked beyond, to the greaterrepose and freedom which, as he trusted, lay ahead. 

Upon the morning immediately in question he had closed his work at thebank. Sir Abel's demeanour had been characteristic. His clothes, it istrue, still hung loosely upon him. His library chair and extensivewriting-table appeared a world too big. For he was shrunken and hadbecome an old man. Yet, though signs of chastening thus outwardly declaredthemselves, in spirit he had regained tone and returned to his former highestate. Along with the revival of financial security had come a revival ofpomposity, an addiction to patronage in manner and platitudes in speech. He had ceased to be humble and human, self-righteous self-complacencyagain loudly announcing itself. 

"So you propose to retire, you ask to be relieved of your duties, my goodfriend?" he asked of Iglesias, who had requested the favour of aninterview in his private room. "Let us, then, congratulate ourselves uponthe fact that I have returned from my sojourn upon the continent with sofar renovated health that I feel equal to meeting the arduousresponsibilities of my position unaided; and am not, consequently, compelled, out of a sense of duty either to myself or to my colleagues, tooffer any objection to your retirement. Before we part I should, however, wish to place it clearly on record that my confidence, both in thesoundness of my own judgment and in our capacity, as capitalists, to meetany strain put upon our resources, was not misplaced. This no one can, Ithink, fail to admit. Our house emerges from this period of trial with thehall-mark of public sympathy and esteem upon it. And, in this connection, it is instructive to note the working of the law of compensation. Thiswar, for example, which to the ordinary mind might have appeared anunmixed evil, since it threatened to jeopardise our position among theleading financiers of the capital of the civilised world, has, in theevent, served, not only to consolidate our position, but to unmask thepractices of that unscrupulous and self-seeking member of our firm, myunhappy nephew Reginald, and afford us legitimate excuse for his removal. We appeared to touch on disaster; but, by that very means, we have beenenabled to rid ourselves of a canker. Still this must remain a painfulsubject. "

Sir Abel became pensive, fixing his gaze, the while, upon the portraitadorning the wall over against him. To an acute observer the said portraithad always been subtly ironical. Now it had become coarsely so--amerciless caricature of the shrivelled old gentleman whom it represented, and to whom it bore much the same resemblance as a balloon soaringskywards, fully inflated, bears to that same object with half the gas letout of it in a condition of flabby and wobbling semi-collapse. 

"A painful subject, " he repeated nobly--"I refrain from enlarging upon it, and pass to other matters. As to the part you yourself have borne in thehistory of our recent anxieties, Iglesias, I feel I cannot do less thantender you the thanks of myself and my co-partners. I do not disguise fromyou that a tendency existed to criticise my action in summoning you, todub your business methods antiquated, and question your ability to marchwith the times. But these objections proved, I am happy to think, unfounded. The faith I reposed in you has been justified. And I may tellyou, in confidence, that, should the occasion for doing so arise, mycolleagues will in future have as little hesitation in calling upon yourservices as I should have myself. "

The speaker paused, as for applause. And Dominic, who had remainedstanding during this prolonged oration--no suggestion having been made onthe present occasion that he should be seated--proceeded to acknowledgethe peculiar compliment just paid him, with somewhat sardonic courtesy. 

"Your words are extremely reassuring, Sir Abel, " he remarked calmly. 

The gentleman addressed regarded him sharply for a moment, as thoughdoubtful of the exact purport of his words. Then, suspicion of covertsarcasm being clearly inadmissible, Sir Abel spoke again in his largestplatform manner, although the tones of his voice, like his person, wereshrunken, docked of the fulness of their former rotundity and unction. 

"It has ever been my effort to reward merit by encouragement, " he replied. "And, were testimony to the wisdom of my practice, in this particular, needed, I should point, I candidly tell you, my good friend, to theexcellent results of my recent demand upon your cooperation and support. "He leaned sideways in his chair, assuming the posture of the portrait, conscious of having really said a very handsome thing indeed to hisex-head-clerk. "For, " he added, "I sincerely believe in the worth ofexample. It is hardly too much to assert that a generous and high-mindedemployer eventually stamps the employed with a reflection, at least, ofhis own superior qualities. "

Again he paused. But truth to tell, Dominic Iglesias had not only grownvery weary of discourse and discourser, but somewhat impatient also. He hadhoped better things of the man after the nasty shaking fortune hadrecently given him. Consequently he was disappointed; for it was veryeffectually borne in upon him that only absence of feathers makes forgrace in a goose. Once the nudity of the foolish bird covered, it hisses, and that loudly, to the old tune. Hence, in the interests of Christiancharity, he agreed with himself to cut short the interview, lest angershould get the better of toleration. 

"I think we have now discussed all questions calling for your personalattention, Sir Abel, " he said, "and all documents and correspondencerelating to affairs during your absence have been placed in your hands. Iftherefore you have nothing further to ask me, I need not encroach anylonger upon your valuable time. "

With that, after a brief pause, he moved towards the door; but the otherman, half rising from his chair, called after him. 

"Iglesias, your attention for one moment--that matter of a salary?"

"I supposed I had made my terms perfectly clear, Sir Abel, " Dominicremarked coldly. 

"No doubt, in the first instance. But should you have reconsidered yourdecision, and should you think the pension you enjoy an insufficientremuneration, I am empowered to make you the offer, in addition, of afixed salary for the past six months. "

Listening to which tardy and awkward recognition of his own ratherprincely dealings, Mr. Iglesias' temper began to rise, his jaw to growrigid, and his eyes dangerously alight. 

"I am not in the habit of changing my mind, Sir Abel, " he said. "Iproposed to make you a free gift of my time and such experience as Imay possess. Nothing has occurred to alter or modify that intention. There are circumstances, into which I do not choose to enter, which wouldrender it extremely distasteful to me to accept anything--over and abovemy pension--from yourself or from any member of your family or firm. "

Here Sir Abel, who had been standing, sagged down, half-empty-balloon-like, into his chair. Again he eyed Iglesias sharply, doubtful of the exact purport of his speech. But again suspicion of covertsarcasm, still more of covert rebuke, being to him quite inconceivable, herejoined with a condescension which he could not but feel was altogetherpraiseworthy:

"Enough, enough, my good friend. That is sufficient. I will detain you nolonger; but will merely add that I commend your reticence whileappreciating the sentiments which dictate your refusal. These it is easyto interpret. They shall not be forgotten, since they constitute a verysuitable acknowledgment of the advantages and benefits which have accruedto you during you long association with my partners and myself. "

Later, journeying westward upon the 'bustop, Dominic Iglesias meditated ina spirit of humorous pity upon the above conversation. He was very glad hehad not lost his temper. Eyes blinded by self-worship, an inpenetrablehide, these things, too, have their uses in time--very practical uses, which it would be silly to ignore. Why, then, be angry? The truly wiseman, as Dominic told himself with a somewhat mournful smile, learns toleave such time-wise fools as Sir Abel Barking to Almighty God forchastisement, because--if it can be said without irreverence--theAlmighty alone has wit enough to deal with them. And, for his comfort onlower levels, he reminded himself that though the house of Barking mightshow him scant gratitude, and attribute its financial resurrection to itsown inherent virtue, this was not the opinion held by outsiders. Themanager of Pavitt's Bank, and certain members of Goome, Hills, Murray &Co. , had congratulated Iglesias, personally, upon his admirable conductof affairs during the crisis, and assured him of the high respect they hadconceived for his judgment, his probity, and business acumen. In thisthere was satisfaction of a silent but deep-seated sort--satisfaction ofpride, since he had accomplished that which he had set forth toaccomplish: satisfaction of honour through unbiassed and unsolicitedcommendation. With that satisfaction he bade himself rest thankfullycontent, while turning his thoughts to other and more edifying subjects. 

And, in this connection, it was inevitable that a former journeyingwestward upon a 'bustop should occur to him, with its strange record oflikeness and unlikeness in circumstance and outlook. Then, as now, somewhat outworn in mind and in health, he had closed a period oflabour and faced new conditions, new habits, unaccustomed freedom andleisure. But now on matters of vital, because of eternal, importance, hismind was at rest. Loneliness and on-coming old age had ceased to disquiethim. The ship of his individual fate no longer drifted rudderless orrisked danger of stranding, but steered steadily, fearlessly, towards thepromise of a secure and lovely harbourage. The voyage might be long orshort. At this moment Dominic supposed himself indifferent in the matter, since he believed--not presumptuously, but through the outreaching of agreat faith--that the end was certain. And meditating, just now, upon thatgracious conviction, while the red-painted half-empty omnibus fared onwarddown Piccadilly, a sense of the unusual graciousness of things immediateand visible took hold on him. 

For to-day the monstrous mother, London-town, wore a pensive and delicateaspect. The tender melancholy of early autumn was upon her, she lookingetherealised and even youthful, as does a penitent cleansed from the soilof past transgressions by fasting and tears. No doubt she would sin againand befoul herself, for the melting moods of a great city are transient;yet for the moment she showed very meek and mild. The atmosphere wasclear, with the exquisite clarity which follows abundant and welcome rainafter a spell of heat and drought. The trees, somewhat sparse in foliage, were distinct with infinite gradations of blonde, golden, and umber tints, as of burnished metal, against their black branches and stems. The endlessvista of grey and red buildings, outlined finely yet without harshness, towered up into a thin, sad, blue sky overspread with long-drawn shoalsand islands, low-shored and sinuous, of pale luminous cloud. Upon thegrey pavements the bright-coloured dress of a woman--mauve, green, orpink--took on a peculiar value here and there, amid the generality ofdarkly clad pedestrians. And in the traffic, too, the white tilt of a vanor rather barbaric reds and yellows of the omnibuses, stood away from thesombre hues of the mass of vehicles. The air, as Iglesias met it--heoccupying the seat on the right immediately behind that of the driver--wassoft, yet with a perceptible freshness of moisture in it; a cool, wistfulwind seeming to hail from very far, the wings of it laden less withhopeful promise than with rare unspoken farewells, gentle yet penetratingregrets; so that Dominic, even while welcoming the refreshment of it, wasmoved in spirit with impressions of impending finality as though it spoketo him of things finished, laid aside, not wholly without sorrowrelinquished and--so far as outward seeming went--forgot. 

Involuntarily his eyes filled with tears. Then he reproached himself. Ofwhat had he to complain? The will must indeed be weak, the spiritualvision reprehensively clouded, if these vague voices of nature could sodisturb the serenity of the soul. Thus he reasoned with himself, almoststernly. But, just then, the flaming rose-scarlet bill on the knife-boardof a passing omnibus attracted his attention, along with the announcement, in big letters, which it set forth. To-night the Twentieth Century Theatreopened its winter season with a new piece by that admirable but all tooindolent and intermittent dramatist, Antony Hammond; and in it Poppy St. John played the leading lady's part. 

CHAPTER XXXIV

Opposite St. Mary Abbott's church Mr. Iglesias lighted down from the'bustop. His eyes were still dazzled by those flaming bills. --LionelGordon was advertising handsomely. The knife-board of every second omnibusdisplayed them, now he came to look. --His thought turned in quickenedinterest towards the Lady of the Windswept Dust and all that the saidadvertisements stood for in her case. He had seen her a few days ago, after rehearsal, and she had warned him off being present tonight. 

"It's all going like hot cakes, dear man, " she had said gaily, "still, asyou love me, don't come. I should be more nervous of you than ninety dozencritics. I shall want you badly, all the same, don't doubt that; and Ishall play to you, all the while, though you're not there. But--don't youunderstand?--if I actually saw you it might come between me and my part. Ishouldn't be sure who I really was, and that would make me as jumpy as asick cat. You shall know--I'll wire to you directly the show's over; butI'd best have my first round quite alone with the public. And then a firstnight is always a bit jungly--not quite fair on the play or the company, or the audience either for that matter. A play's the same as a ship, ifthere's any real art in it. It needs time to find itself. So just wait, like a lamb, till we've all shaken into place, and I'm quite at home inthe saddle. "

And in truth Dominic Iglesias had plenty to occupy his time and attentionat this particular juncture, irrespective of Poppy's _debut_ at theTwentieth Century Theatre. For tomorrow would close his connection withCedar Lodge, as to-day had closed his connection with Messrs. BarkingBrothers & Barking. The mind in hours of fatigue, when vitality is low andthe power of concentration consequently deficient, has a tendency to workin layers, so to speak, one strain of thought overlying another. Hence itwas that Iglesias' contemplation of those gaudy advertisements, and oftheir bearing upon Poppy's fortunes, failed to oust the premonitions offinality which had come to and somewhat perturbed him as he looked uponthe pensive tearwashed face of London-penitent, cleansed by the breath ofthe wistful far-hailing autumn wind. Involuntarily, and notwithstandinghis repudiation of them, he continued to question those premonitions andthe clinging melancholy of them, asking whether they bore relationmerely to the two not wholly unwelcome partings above indicated; orwhether the foreboding induced by them did not find its source in somesentiment, some intuition of approaching change, far more intimate andprofound than cessation of employment or alteration of dwelling-place. Then, as he walked on up Church Street another layer of thought presenteditself. For he could not but call to mind how many hundred times he hadtrodden that pavement before close against the close-packed traffic, thehigh barrack-wall on the right hand, the row of modest shop-fronts onthe left, on his way home to the little house in Holland Street. Once morethat house was home to him. He would cross its familiar threshold to-dayas master. Yet how differently to of old! How steep the hill was! Howlanguid and spent he became in ascending it--slowly, deliberately, insteadof with light-footed energy and indifference! And this made him askhimself, what if these premonitions of finality, of impending farewells, of compulsory relinquishment, had indeed a very special and definitesignificance, being sent to him as heralds of the approach of a commonyet--to each individual being--unique and altogether tremendous change?What if that haunting curiosity of the unknown--concerning which he hadspoken with Poppy St. John amid the white magic of the moonlight duringthe enchanted hour of his and her friendship--was to be satisfied verysoon?

Iglesias drew himself up to his full height, fatigue and bodily weaknessalike forgotten, and stood for a little space at the turn into HollandStreet, hat in hand, facing the delicately chill wind and looking awayinto the fine perspective of sky overspread by shoals and islands of paleluminous cloud. Calmly--yet with the sharp amazement inevitable whenthings taken for granted, tacitly and nominally accepted throughout alifetime, suddenly advance into the immediate foreground, becoming actual, tangible, imperative--he asked himself, was death so very near, then? Atthe church of the Carmelite Priory just above--the high slated roofs andslender iron crockets of which overtopped the parapets of the interveninghouses--a bell tolled as the officiating priest, in giving theBenediction, elevated the sacred Host. And that note, at once austere andplaintive, striking across the hoarse murmur and trample of the streets, was very grateful to Dominic Iglesias. For it assured him of this, atleast, that when for him the supreme hour did indeed strike and he wascalled upon to go forth alone--as every soul must go--to meet theimpenetrable mystery which veils the close of the earthly chapter, hewould not go forth unbefriended, but absolved, anointed, fortified, madeready--in so far as readiness for so stupendous an ordeal is possible--bythe rites of Holy Church. 

"_Fiat misericordia tua Domine super nos: quemad-modum speravimus te. Inte Domine speravi: non confundar in aeternum, _" he quoted half aloud. 

And then could not forbear to smile, gravely and somewhat sadly, registering the deep pathos of the fact that the majestic hymn of praiseand thanksgiving, dedicated by the use of Christendom throughout centuriesto the celebration of highest triumph, still ends brokenly with achildlike sob of shrinking, of entreaty, and very human pain. 

Meditating upon which, and upon much implied by it, not only of sorrow butof consolation for whoso is not afraid to understand, Iglesias movedonward. But so closely do things absurd and trivial jostle things augustand of profound significance in daily happenings--he was speedily arousedfrom meditation and his attention claimed by example of quite anotherorder of pathos to that suggested by the concluding verses of the _TeDeum_. Some little way ahead a brown-painted furniture van was backedagainst the curb. From the cave-like interior of it coatless white-apronedmen bore a miscellaneous collection of goods--among others a battereddapple-grey rocking-horse with flowing mane and tail--across the yard-widestrip of garden, and in at the front door of a small old-fashioned house. Bass mats were strewn upon the pavement. Sheets of packing paperpirouetted down the roadway before the wind. While, standing in the midstof the litter, watching the process of unloading with perplexed and evenagitated interest, was a whimsical figure--large of girth, short of limb, convex where the accredited lines of beauty demand, if not concavity, atleast a refined flatness of surface. 

The Latin, unlike the Anglo-Saxon, does not consider it necessary assoon as adolescence is past to extirpate his heart; or, failing successfulperformance of that heroic operation, strictly to limit the activitiesof it to his amours, legitimate or otherwise. Hence Dominic Iglesiasfelt no shame that the sight of his old plaything, or of his oldschool-fellow--now unhappily estranged from and suspicious of him--shouldprovoke in him a great tenderness. Upon the battered rocking-horse hisheart rode away to the dear sheltered happiness of childhood, whiletowards his former school-fellow it went forth in unmixed kindliness. Forit appeared to him that for one who had so lately held converse withapproaching death, it would be a very scandal of light-minded pettiness tonourish resentment against any fellow creature. In near prospect of theeternal judgment, private and temporal judgment can surely afford todeclare a universal amnesty in respect of personal slights and injuries. Therefore, after but a moment's hesitation, he went on, laid his hand uponGeorge Lovegrove's shoulder, and called him affectionately by name. 

"Dominic!" the latter cried, and stood staring. "Well to be sure--you didsurprise me! To think of meeting you just by accident to-day, like this!"

He grew furiously red, gladness and embarrassment struggling within him. Conscientiously he strove to be faithful to the menagerie of ignorancesand prejudices which he misnamed his convictions. For here was therepresentative of the Accursed Thing--persecutor, enemy of truth, ofpatriotism, of marriage, worshipper of senseless idols; but, alas! how heloved that representative! How he honoured his intelligence, admired hisperson, coveted his companionship! Beholding Iglesias once again, GeorgeLovegrove rejoiced as at the finding of lost treasure. Hence, perplexed, perspiring, lamentably squinting, yet with the innocent half-shy ecstasyof a girl looking upon her recovered lover, he gazed up into Mr. Iglesias'face. 

"I give you my word I was never more taken aback in my life, " heprotested. "As it happened I was just thinking about old times, observingthat some family is moving into your former house. But I had no notion ofmeeting you. Positively I am unable to grasp the fact. I have not a wordto say to you, because I require to say so much. I know there is a greatdeal which needs explanation on my part. And then your calling me by myname, too! I declare it went right through me, as a voice from the gravemight. "

"Put aside explanations, " Iglesias replied indulgently. "You are not goingto quarrel with me any more--let that suffice. "

"No, I cannot quarrel with you any more. I am sure I don't know whether itis unprincipled or not, but I cannot do it. "

Regardless of observation, he pulled out a handkerchief and mopped hisface. 

"If it is unprincipled I must just let it go. " he said, quite recklessly. "I cannot help myself. I give you my word, Dominic, I have held out aslong as I could. "

This appeal to Iglesias, as against himself, appeared to him abundantlyunaffected and ingenuous. 

"I cannot but believe you will find the consequences of renewedintercourse with me less damaging than you suppose, " he answered, smiling. 

"That is what the wife says, " the other man stated. "She has veered roundcompletely in her opinion, has the wife. I do not understand why, exceptthat Mrs. Porcher and Miss Hart and she seem to have fallen out. Theworkings of females' minds are very difficult to follow, even after yearsof marriage, you know, Dominic. Opposition to one of their own sex willmake them warmly embrace opinions you supposed were just those which theymost strongly condemned. She has taken a very high tone, for some timepast, about the Cedar Lodge ladies, has the wife. And when I came in, theevening of her last at-home day, I found her sadly upset at having heardfrom one of them that you were about to leave. She implied that I was toblame; whereas I can truthfully say my conduct throughout has been largelyinfluenced by the fear of hurting her feelings. " The speaker lookedhelplessly at Mr. Iglesias. "Of course we do not expect the same reticencein speech from females we require of ourselves. Still, such unfoundedaccusations are rather galling. "

"I cannot be otherwise than very grateful to Mrs. Lovegrove for espousingmy cause, you see, " Iglesias replied. This confused and gentle being, struggling with the complexities of friendship, religious prejudice, andfeminine methods and amenities, was wholly moving. "Circumstances havearisen which have made me decide to give up my rooms at Cedar Lodge. To-night is the last upon which I shall occupy them. But I do not wishMrs. Lovegrove to be under any misapprehension regarding my hostess andher companion. I have nothing to complain of. During my long residencethey have treated me with courtesy and consideration. I wish them nothingbut good. Still the time has come, I feel, for leaving Cedar Lodge. "

Here the worthy George's imagination indulged in wild flights. Visions ofa hideous and rugged cell--of the sort known exclusively to serialmelodrama--and of a beautiful woman, in voluminous rose-red skirts and acostly overcoat, presented themselves to him in amazing juxtaposition. 

"Of course, I have forfeited all right to question you as to your plans, Dominic, " he said hurriedly and humbly. "I quite realise that. I believedI was acting on principle in keeping away from you, all the more becauseit pained me terribly to do so. I believed I was being consistent. Now Ibegin to fear I was only obstinate and cowardly. Your kindness of mannerhas completely unmanned me. I see how superior you are in liberality tomyself. And so it cuts me to the quick, more than ever, to part from you. "

"Why should we part?" Iglesias asked. 

"But you are going away. The wife told me she heard you wereleaving London altogether; whether to--I hardly like to mention thesupposition--to join some brotherhood or--or, to be married, she did notknow. "

Mr. Iglesias shook his head, smiling sweetly and bravely. 

"Oh! no, no, my dear fellow, " he answered. "Rumour must have been ratherunpardonably busy with my name. I fear I am about equally ill-fitted formonastic and for married life. The day of splendid ventures, whether ofreligion or of love, is over for me; and I shall die, as I have lived, abachelor and a layman. Nor shall I cease to be your neighbour, for I amonly returning here"--he pointed to the open door, in at which coatlesswhite-aproned men carried that miscellaneous collection of furniture--"tothe little old Holland Street house. Lately I have had a great cravingupon me to be at home again--alone, save for one or two preciousfriendships; with leisure to read and to think; and, in as far as my poormental powers permit, to become a humble student of the awe-inspiringphilosophy--reconciling things natural and supernatural--of which theCatholic Church is the exponent, her creeds its textbook, her ceremoniesand ritual the divinely appointed symbols of its secret truths. " Iglesias'expression was exalted, his speech penetrated by enthusiasm. "It would beprofitable and happy, " he said, "before the final auditing of accounts, tobe a little better versed in this wonderful and living wisdom. "

And George Lovegrove stood watching him, bewildered, agitated, full ofdoubt and inquiry. 

"Ah! it is all beyond me, quite beyond me, " he exclaimed presently. "Mistaken or not, I see you are in touch with thoughts altogether outsidemy experience and comprehension. I supposed Romanism could only be held byuneducated and superstitious persons. I see I was wrong. I ask yourpardon, Dominic. I see I quite undervalued it. " Then his manner changed, quick perception and consequent distress seizing him. "Ah! but you areill. That is the meaning of it all. You are ill. Now I come to observeyou, I see how thin and drawn your face is. How shall I ever forgivemyself for not finding that out sooner! I have differed from you andblamed you. I have sulked, and thought bitterly of you, and avoided you. I have even been envious, hearing how successfully you carried throughaffairs this anxious time at the bank. I have been a contemptiblymean-spirited individual. No, I can never forgive myself. I have found youagain, only to lose you. You are in bad health. You have been suffering, and I never thought to inquire about that. I never knew it. "

But Dominic Iglesias made effort to comfort him, speaking notuncheerfully, determining even to fight the fatigue and weakness which, ashe could not but own, daily increased on him, if only for the sake of thisfaithful and simple adherent. 

"Perhaps the sands are running rather low, " he said; "but that does notgreatly matter. The conditions are in process of alteration. Now that I amfree of my City work, the strain is practically over. With care and quiet, the sands that remain in the glass may run very slowly. I have a peacefultime in prospect, here in my old home. When I left here, eight years ago, I could not make up my mind to part with any of our family belongings, soI warehoused all the contents of the house, save those which I took tofurnish my rooms at Cedar Lodge. Now these half-forgotten possessions seethe light once more. This in itself should constitute a staying of therunning sands, a putting back of the hands of the clock. Then I have twogood servants to care for me. I am fortunate in that. And your friendshipis restored to me. I should be ungrateful if I did not live on for a whileto enjoy all this kindly circumstance. So do not grieve. There are manyafter-dinner pipes to be smoked, many talks to be talked yet. --Come intothe house, and see it as you used to know it when we both were young. Surely it is a good omen that you, my earliest friend, should be my firstvisitor when I come home?"

CHAPTER XXXV

De Courcy Smyth was not drunk, but he had been drinking--persistentlynipping, as his custom was in times of mental excitement, in thefallacious hope of keeping up courage and steadying irritable nerves. Theseries of moods usually resultant on such recourse to spirituous liquors, followed one another with clock-work regularity. He was alternatelyhysterically elated, preternaturally moral, offensively quarrelsome, maudlin to the point of tears. The first _matinee_ of hislong-promised play had prospered but very ill, notwithstanding largeadvertisement and free list. The second had prospered even worse. Mercifully disposed persons, slipping out between the acts, had beencareful not to return. Less amiably disposed ones had remained to titteror hiss. Failure had been written in capital letters across the wholeperformance--and deservedly, in the estimation of every one save theunhappy author himself. The play had perished in the very act of birth. 

But of this tragic termination to so many extravagant hopes DominicIglesias was still ignorant, as he entered the dismantled sitting-room atCedar Lodge that same night a little after half-past ten o'clock. He haddined in the old house in Holland Street; served by Frederick, theGerman-Swiss valet, who, some weeks previously, hearing of his intendeddeparture, had announced his intention of "bettering himself, " had givenMrs. Porcher warning, and, in moving terms and three languages, imploredemployment of Iglesias, declaring that the other gentlemen resident atCedar Lodge were "no class, " their clothes utterly unworthy of his powersof brushing and folding. 

Iglesias stayed on in Holland Street until late, the charm and gentlenessof old associations, the sight of familiar objects, the gladness ofrestored friendship with George Lovegrove working upon him tothankfulness. He was tranquil in spirit, serene with the calm twilightserenity of the strong who have learned the secret of detachment, and, who, while welcoming all glad and gracious occurrences, have schooledthemselves to resignation, and, in the affairs of this world, do neithergreatly fear nor greatly hope. And it was in this spirit he had made hisway back to Cedar Lodge and entered the square panelled sitting-room. But, the door closed, he paused, aware of some sinister influence, some unknownyet repulsive presence. The room was nearly dark, the gas being lowered toa pin-point on either side the mantelpiece. Dominic moved across to turnit up, and in so doing stumbled over an unexpected obstacle. De CourcySmith, who had been dozing uneasily in the one remaining armchair, satupright with an oath. 

"What are you at, you swine!" he shouted. Then as the light shone forth hemade an effort to recover himself. 

"It's hardly necessary to announce your advent by kicking me, Mr. Iglesias, " he said thickly, and without attempting to rise from his seat. "Not but that there is an appropriateness in that graceful form ofintroduction. Only a kick from the benevolent patron, who professedhimself so charitably disposed towards me, was required to make up the sumof outrage which has been my portion to-day. --Have you seen the theatricalitems in the evening papers?" With trembling hands he spread out anewspaper upon his knees. "See the way that dirty reptile, Percy Gerrard, who succeeded me upon _The Daily Bulletin_, has chopped me and myplay to mincemeat, cut bits of live flesh out of me and fried them infilth, and washed down my wounds with the vitriol of hypocriticalcompassion and good advice? That is the style of recognition a reallyfirst-class work of art, fit to rank with the classics, with Wycherley, and Congreve, and Sheridan, or Lytton--for there are qualities of allthese very dissimilar masters in my writing--gets from the present-daypress. As I have told you all along, the critics and playwrights hateme because they fear me. I have never spared them. I have exposed them andtheir ignorance, and want of scholarship, in print. They know I spoke thetruth. Their hatred is witness to my veracity. They have been nursingtheir venom for years. Now with one consent they pour it forth. It is avile plot and conspiracy. They were sworn to swamp me, so they formed aring. They did not care what they spent so long as they succeeded incrushing me. Every one has been bought, miserably, scandalously bought. This is the only conceivable explanation of the reception my play has metwith. They got at the members of my company. My actors played better atfirst, better at rehearsal. Yesterday and to-day they have played like arow of wooden ninepins, of straw-stuffed scarecrows, of rot-strickenidiots! They missed their cues, and forgot their lines, or pretended to doso; and then had the infernal impertinence to giggle and gag, blast them!I heard them. I could have screamed. I tried to stop them; and thestage-manager swore at me in the wings, and the scene-shifters laughed. Itwas a hideous nightmare. The audience laughed--the sound of it is in myears now, and it tortures me, for it was not natural laughter. It was notspontaneous--how could it be so? It was simply part of this iniquitousconspiracy to ruin me. It was hired mockery, bought and paid for, themockery of subsidised traitors, liars, imbeciles, the inhuman mockery ofgrinning apes!"

He crushed the newspaper together with both hands, flung it across theroom, and broke into hysterical weeping. 

"For my play is a masterpiece, " he wailed. "It is a work of genius. Noother man living could have written it. Yet it is damned by a brainlesspublic and vindictive press, while I know and they know--they must know, the fact is self-evident--that it is great, nothing less than great. "

During this harangue Dominic Iglesias stood immovable, facing the speaker, but looking down, not at him, rigid in attitude, silent. Any attempt tostem the torrent of the wretched man's speech would have been futile. Dominic judged it kindest just to wait, letting passion tear him till, byforce of its own violence, it had worn itself out. Then, but not tillthem, it might be helpful to intervene. Still the exhibition was a verypainful one, putting a heavy strain upon the spectator. For be a fellowcreature never so displeasing in nature and in habit, never so cankered byvanity and self-love, it cannot be otherwise than hideous to see him uponthe rack. And that de Courcy Smyth was very actually upon the rack--a rackwell deserved, may be, and of his own constructing, but which wrenched hisevery joint to the agony of dislocation nevertheless--there could be nomanner of doubt. Coming as conclusion to the long day, to the peacefulevening--the thought of the Lady of the Windswept Dust, moreover, and herfortunes so eminently and presently just now in the balance, in hismind--the whole situation was horrible to Dominic Iglesias. 

But Smyth's mood changed, his tears ceasing as incontinently as they hadbegun. He ceased to slouch and writhe, passed his hands across hisblood-shot eyes, drew himself up in his chair, began to snarl, even toswagger. 

"I forget myself, and forget you, too, Mr. Iglesias--which is annoying, "he said; "for you are about the last person from whom I could expect, orshould desire to receive, sympathy. Persons of my world, scholars andidealists, and persons of your world, money-grubbing materialists, can, inthe nature of things, have very little in common. There is a great gulffixed between them. I beg your pardon for having so far forgotten myselfas to ignore that fact, and talked on subjects incomprehensible to you. What follows, however, will be more in your line, I imagine, and it isthis which has made me come here to-night. You realise that yourinvestment has turned out an unfortunate one? You have lost, irretrievablylost, your money. "

"I was not wholly unprepared for that, " Dominic answered. His temper wasbeginning to rise. Sodden with drink, maddened by failure, hardlyaccountable for his words or actions, still the man's tone was rather toooffensive for endurance. "I had made full provision for such acontingency. I accept the loss. Pray do not let it trouble you. "

"Oh! you accept it, do you? You were prepared for it?" Smyth broke in. "You can afford to throw way a cool three hundred pounds--the expenseswill amount to that at least in the bulk. How very agreeable for you!Your late operations in the City must have been surprisingly profitable. I was not aware, until now, that we had the honour of numbering amillionaire among us at Cedar Lodge. But let me tell you this extremelysuperior tone does not please me, Mr. Iglesias. It smells of insult. Iwarn you, you had better be a little careful. Even a miserable persecutedpauper like myself can make it unpleasant for those who insult him. I mustrequest you to remember that I am a gentleman by birth, and that I havethe feelings of my class where my personal honour is concerned. Do yousuppose I do not know perfectly well that the benevolent attitude you haveseen fit to assume towards me has been a blind, from first to last; andthat every penny you have advanced me until now, as well as the threehundred pounds, the loss of which you so amiably beg me not to let troubleme, is hush-money? Yes, hush-money, I repeat, the price of my silenceregarding your intrigue with my wife--my wife who calls herself--"

"We will introduce no woman's name into this conversation, if you please, "Iglesias interrupted sternly. 

The limit of things pardonable had been passed. His face was white andkeen as a sword. The weight of years and of failing health had vanished, burned up by fierce disgust and anger, as is mist by the sun-heat. He wasyoung, arrogant in bearing, careless of consequence or of danger as somefifteenth-century finely bred fighting man face to face with his enemy andtraducer, who, given honourable opportunity, he would kill or be killedby, without faintest scruple or remorse. And of this temper of mind hisaspect was so eloquent that de Courcy Smyth, muddled with liquor though hewas, seeing him, was seized with panic. He scrambled to his feet, flunghimself behind the chair, clinging to the back of it for support. 

"Don't look at me like that, you Spanish devil!" he whimpered. "Youparalyse me. You hypnotise me. My brain is splitting. You're drawing thelife out of me. I shall go mad. If you come a step nearer I'll make ascandal. I'll call for help. Ah! God in heaven, who's that?"

Only the housemaid entering, salver in hand, and leaving the door wideopen behind her. Upon the landing with out, Farge and Worthington, incomic attitudes, stood at attention. 

"A telegram for you, sir. Is the boy to wait?" she inquired, in a stifledvoice. "She could hardly keep a straight face, " as she reported downstairssubsequently, "that ridiculous Farge was so full of his jokes. "

Iglesias tore open the yellow envelope and held the telegraph-form to thelight. 

"Glorious luck. Happy as a queen. Come to supper after performanceto-morrow. Love. Poppy, "

His face softened. 

"No answer, " he said, and turned purposing to speak some word of mercy towretched de Courcy Smyth. But the latter had slunk out at the open door, while Mr. Farge, in an ungovernable paroxysm of humour--levelled at thedeparting housemaid--effectually covered his retreat by cake-walking, withvery high knee action, the length of the landing, playing appropriatedance-music, the while, upon an imaginary banjo in the shape ofWorthington's new crook-handled walking stick. 

For some time Dominic Iglesias heard shuffling, nerveless footsteps movingto and fro in the room overhead. Then Smyth threw himself heavily upon hisbed. The wire-wove mattress creaked, and creaked again twice. Unbrokensilence followed, and Iglesias breathed more easily, hoping the miserablebeing slept. For him, Iglesias, there was no sleep. His body was tootired. His mind too vividly and painfully awake. He lay down, it is true, since he did not care to remain in the dismantled sitting-room or occupythe chair in which de Courcy Smyth had sat. But, throughout the night, hestared at the darkness and heard the hours strike. At sunset the windhad dropped dead. In the small hours it began to rise, and before dawn tofreshen, veering to another quarter. Softly at first, and then with richerdiapason, the cedar tree greeted its mysterious comrade, singing offar-distant times and places, and of the permanence of nature as againstthe fitful evanescent life of man. That husky singing soothed DominicIglesias, and calmed him, assuring him that in the hands of the Almightyare all things, small and great, past, present, and to come. There isneither haste, nor omission, nor accident, nor oversight in the divineplan; but that plan is large beyond the possibility of human intellect tograsp or comprehend, therefore humble faith is also highest wisdom. 

As the dawn quickened into day Dominic drew aside the curtain and lookedout. Behind the dark branches, where they cleared the housetops and metthe open sky, thrown wide upward to the zenith, was the rose-scarlet ofsunrise, holding, as it seemed to him, at once the splendour of battleand the peace of crowned achievement and--was it but a pretty conceit or atruth of happiest import?--the colour of certain flaring omnibusknifeboard bills and the colour of a certain woman's name. 

CHAPTER XXXVI

The narrow lane, running back at right angles to the great thoroughfare, was filled with blurred yellowish light and covered in with gloom, low-hanging and impenetrable. The high, blank buildings on either side ofit looked like the perpendicular walls of a tunnel, the black roof theyapparently supported being as solid and substantial as themselves. Theeffect thereby produced was suspect and prison-like, as of a space walledin and closed from open air and day. Outside the stage entrance of theTwentieth Century Theatre a small crowd had collected and formed up in twoparallel lines across the pavement to the curb, against which a smartsingle brougham and some half a dozen four-wheelers and hansoms weredrawn up. The crowd, which gathered and broke only to gather again, wascomposed for the main part of persons of the better artisan class, respectable, soberly habited, evidently awaiting the advent of relationsemployed within the theatre. There was also a sprinkling of showy youngwomen, attended by undersized youths flashily dressed. On the fringes ofit night-birds, male and female, of evil aspect, loitered, watchful ofpossible prey; while two or three gentlemen, correct, highly-civilised, stood smoking, each with the air of studied indifference which defiesattempted recognition on the part of friend or foe. 

And among these last Dominic Iglesias must be counted; though, in hiscase, indifference was not assumed but real. His surroundings were novel, it is true, and produced on him clear impressions both pictorial andmoral; but those impressions were of his surroundings in and forthemselves, rather than in any doubtfulness of their relation to himself. For his mind was occupied with problems painful in character and difficultof solution; and to the said problems, heightening the emotional strain ofthem, his surroundings--the sense of feverish life, of all-encompassingrestless humanity; the figures anxious, degraded, of questionable purposeor merely frivolous, which started into momentary distinctness; the scrapsof conversation, caught in passing, instinct with suggestion, squalid orpassionate; along with the ceaseless tramp of footsteps, and tumult of thegreat thoroughfare just now packed with the turn-out of neighbouringplaces of entertainment--supplied a background penetratingly appropriate. 

For a good half-hour Mr. Iglesias stood there. At intervals the doors ofthe stage entrance swung open, causing a movement of interest and commentamong the crowd. One by one hansoms and four-wheelers, obtaining fares, rattled away over the stones. Yet the Lady of the Windswept Dust tarried. It grew late, and Iglesias greatly desired her coming, greatly desired tospeak with her, and speaking to find approximate solution, at least, ofsome of the problems which lay so heavy upon his mind. Meanwhile, thecrowd melted and vanished, leaving him alone in the blurred yellowishlight beneath the low-hanging roof of impenetrable gloom, save for thehaunting presence of some few of those terrible human birds of prey. 

He was about to turn away also, not particularly relishing the remainingcompany, when, with a rush, Poppy was beside him, in stately garments ofblack velvet and glimmering tissue of silver; her head and shouldersdraped with something of daring and magnificence, in her blue-purplejewelled dragon-embroidered scarf. She caught Iglesias' right hand in bothof hers and held it a moment against her breast. And during that briefinterval he registered the fact that, notwithstanding her beauty, theforce of her personality and richness of her dress, she did not look outof place in this somewhat cut-throat alley, with the questionable sightsand sounds of midnight London all about her; but vivid, exultant, truedaughter of great cities, fearless manipulator of the very variedopportunities they offer, past-master, for joy and sorrow, in the curiousarts they teach. 

"Get into the brougham, dear man, " she said, "and let me talk. There, putup the window on the traffic side. I have been in the liveliest worryabout you. Had the house turned out of windows to find you--and gavethings in general the deuce of a time. --The brougham's comfortable, isn'tit? Fallowfeild's jobbed it for the winter for me. --All the same I playedlike an angel, out of pure desperation, thinking you might be ill. I madethe audience cry big, big tears, bless 'em. And it wasn't the part--nota bit of it. It was you, just simply you. --And then I dawdled talking toAntony Hammond about some lines in the second act I want altered, so as tolet myself down easy before digesting the disappointment of driving backto Bletchworth Mansions alone. I wanted so very badly to have you see me. Beloved and most faithless of beings, why the mischief didn't you come?"

And Iglesias sitting beside her watching her joyous face, crowned by herdark hair, set in the gleaming folds of her jewelled scarf, as passinglights revealed it clearly, or shifting left it in soft shadow, divinedrather than actually seen, became sadly conscious that the problems whichoppressed him were not only hard of solution but hard of statementlikewise. It seemed heartless to propound them in this, her hour ofsuccess. Yet, unless he was deeply mistaken, the statement of them musttell for emancipation and relief in the end. 

"The play has gone well, and you are happy?" he asked her. 

"Gorgeously--I grant you I was a bit nervous as to whether during theseyears of--well--love in idleness, I had not lost touch with my art. But Ihaven't. I have only matured in mind and in method. I am not conceited, dear man, truly I am not; but I am neither too lazy nor too modest to usemy brains. What I know I am not afraid to apply. I've very little theory, but a precious deal of practice--and that's the way to get on. Don't talkabout your ideas--just use them for all you're worth. --But this is besidethe mark. You're trying to head me off. Why didn't you come?"

"I would gladly have come, " Iglesias answered. "My disappointment has beenquite as great as yours. "

"Bless your heart!" Poppy murmured under her breath. 

"But it was impossible for me to come. I was detained until it was toolate. " He paused, uncertain how best to say that which had to be said. 

"Oh! fiddle!" Poppy cried, with a lift of her head. "I stand first. Youought not to have let yourself be detained. After all, it's not every daysomeone you know blazes from a farthing dip into a star of the firstmagnitude. You might very well have crowded other things aside. I feel atrifle hurt, dear man, really I do. "

"Believe me, no ordinary matter would have prevented my coming, " Iglesiasanswered. To his relief the carriage just then turned into the comparativepeace of Langham Place. It became possible to speak softly. "There wasa death in the house last night, " he went on, "that of a person with whomI have been rather closely associated. He died under circumstancesdemanding investigations of a distressing character. No one save myselfwas qualified, or perhaps willing, to assume the responsibility of callingin the authorities. "

Iglesias glanced at his companion, conscious that while he spoke herattitude and humour had altered considerably. She was motionless. He sawher profile, dark against the square light of window-glass. Her mouth wasslightly open, as with intensity of attention. 

"Well--well--what then?" she said. 

"The man had just suffered a heavy reverse. He had staked all his hopes, all his future, upon a single venture. It proved a failure. He could notaccept the fact, and believed himself the victim of gross injustice and oforganised conspiracy. "

"Do you believe it, too?"

"No, " Iglesias answered. "I have an immense pity for him, as who wouldnot. Still, I am compelled to believe that failure came from within, rather than from without. He overrated his own powers. "

Poppy held up her hand imperiously. "Wait half a minute, " she said, in anoddly harsh voice. Leaning forward she put down the front glass and calledto the coachman:--"Don't go to Bletchworth Mansions. Drive on. Never mindwhere, so long as you keep to empty streets. Drive on and on--do youhear?--till I tell you to stop. "

She put the window up again and settled herself back in her place, dragging the scarf from off her head and baring her throat. She lookedfull at Mr. Iglesias, her face showing ghostly white against the darkupholstery of the carriage. Her eyes were wide with question and withfear, which was also, in some strange way, hope. 

"Now you can speak, dear friend, " she said quite steadily. "I shall beglad to hear the whole of it, though it is an ugly story. The man wasmiserable, and he is dead, and the circumstances of his death pointto--what--suicide?"

In reply Iglesias told her how that morning, the servants failing to getany response to their knocking, the upper part of the house being, moreover, pervaded by a sickening smell of gas, help had been called in;and, de Courcy Smyth's door being forced open, he had been found lying, fully clothed, stark and cold upon his bed, an empty phial of morphia andan empty glass on the table beside him, both gas-jets turned full onthough not alight. 

At the top of Portland Place the coachman took his way northwestward, first skirting the outer ring of Regent's Park and then making thegradually ascending slope of the Finchley Road. The detached houses oneither side, standing back in their walled gardens, were mostly blind. Only here and there, behind drawn curtains, a window glowed, telling ofintimate drama gallant or mournful within. The wide grey pavements weredeserted; the place arrestingly quiet, save for the occasional heavy treadof a passing policeman on beat, and the rhythmical trot of the horse. Andthe Lady of the Windswept Dust was quiet likewise, looking straight beforeher, sitting stiffly upright, her hands clasped in her lap, the shiftinglights and shadows playing queerly over her face and her bare neck, causing her to appear unsubstantial and indefinite as a figure in a dream. Yet a strange energy possessed her and emanated from her, so that theatmosphere about her was electric, oppressive to Iglesias as with abrooding of storm. Her very quietness was agitating, weighed with meaningwhich challenged his imagination and even his powers of reticence andself-control. Opposite Swiss Cottage Station, where the main road forks, a string of market waggons--slouching, drowsy car-men, backed by a palegreen wall of glistening cabbages, nodding above their slow-movingteams--passed, with a jingle of brass-mounted harness and grind of wheels. This roused Poppy, and the storm broke. 

"Dominic, " she said breathlessly, "do you at all know that you've justtold me means to me?"

"I have never known positively until now; but it was impossible that Ishould not have entertained suspicions. "

"Did he--you know who I mean--ever speak of me?"

"I think, " Iglesias said, "he came very near doing so, more than once. ButI put a stop to the conversation. "

"You frightened him, " Poppy rejoined. "I know one could do that. It was alast resource, a hateful one. Is there anything so difficult to forgive asbeing driven to be cruel? One was bound to be cruel in self-defence, orone would have been stifled, utterly degraded by self-contempt, bled todeath not only in respect of money but of self-esteem. "

She threw up her hands with a gesture at once fierce and despairing. 

"Oh! the weak, the weak, " she cried, "of how many crimes they are theauthors! Crimes more particularly abominable when the weak one is the man, and woman--poor brute--is strong. "

She settled herself sideways in the corner of the carriage, turning herface once more full upon her companion. 

"Look here, " she said, "I don't want to whitewash myself. What I've doneI've done. I don't pretend it's pretty or innocent, or that I haven'tjolly well got to pay the price of it--though I think a good deal has beenpaid by now. But it seems to me my real crime was in marrying him, ratherthan in leaving him. It was a crime against love--love, which alone, ifyou've any real sense of the inherent decencies of things, makes marriageotherwise than an outrage upon a woman's pride and her virtue. But, then, one doesn't know all that when one's barely out of one's teens. And, yousee, like a fool I took the first comer out of bravado, just that peoplemightn't see how awfully hard hit I was by his people interfering andpreventing my marrying the poor, dear boy who gave me this"--Poppy spreadout the end of her dragon scarf--"I've told you about him. --Stage peopleare absurdly simple in some ways, you know. They live in such a world ofpretences and fictions that they lose their sense of fact, or rather theynever develop it. They're awfully easily taken in. Words go a tremendouslong way with them. And de Courcy could talk. He was appallingly fluent, specially on the subject of himself. He made be believe he was ratherwonderful, and I wanted to believe he was wonderful. I wanted to believehe was all the geniuses in creation rolled into one. All the more I wantedto believe it because I wasn't one scrap in love with him. "

Poppy beat with one hand almost roughly on Mr. Iglesias' arm. 

"Do you see, do you see, do you see?" she repeated. "Do you understand?I want you so badly to understand. "

And he answered her gently and gravely: "Do not be afraid, dear friend. Isee with your eyes. I feel with your heart. As far as one human being canenter into and share the experience of another, I do understand. "

"But the nuisance is, " she went on, the corners of her mouth taking awicked twist, "you know so very much more about a man after you've marriedhim. Other people are inclined to forget that sometimes. Consuming egoismis hideous at close quarters. It comes out in a thousand ways, in meanlittle tyrannies and absurd jealousies which would never have entered intoone's head. --I don't want to go into all that. It's better forgot. --Onlythey piled up and up, till the shadow of them shut out the sunshine; andI got so bored, so madly and intolerably bored. You see, I had tried tobelieve in him at first. In self-defence I had done so, and stood by him, and done my very best to put him through. But when I began to understandthat there was nothing to stand by or put through, that his talent was nottalent at all, but merely a vain man's longing to possess talent--well, the situation became pretty bad. I tried to be civil. I tried to hold mytongue, indeed I did. But to be bullied and grumbled at, and expected towork, so as to give him leisure and means for the development of giftswhich didn't exist--it wasn't good enough. "

Poppy put up her hands and pushed the masses of her hair from herforehead. And all the while the shifting lights and shadows played overher white face and bare neck, and the horse trotted on, past closed shopsand curtained windows, farther out of London and into the night. 

"He didn't do anything which the world calls vicious, " she continuedpresently. A great dreariness had come into the tones of her voice. "Hewas faithful to me, as the world counts faithfulness, simply because hedidn't care for women--except for philandering with sentimental sillieswho thought him an unappreciated eighth wonder of the world, and pawedover and pitied him. La! La! The mere thought of it makes me sick! But hewas too much in love with himself to be capable of even an animal passionfor anybody else. And he made a great point of his virtue. I heard a lotabout it--oh! a lot!"

For a minute or two Poppy sat silent. Then she turned to Mr. Iglesias, smiling, as those smile who refuse submission to some cruel pain. 

"I wasn't born bad, dear man, " she said, "and I held out longer than mostwomen in my profession would, where morals are easy and it's lightly comeand lightly go in respect of lovers and love. But one fine day I packed upmy traps and cleared out. He'd been whining for years, and some littlething he said or did--I really forget exactly what--raised Cain in me, andI thought I'd jolly well give him something to whine about. I knewperfectly well he wouldn't divorce me. He wanted me too much, at the endof a string, to torment, and to get money from when times were bad. Notthat I cared for a divorce. I consider it the clumsiest invention out forsetting wrongs right. I have too great a respect for marriage, whichought, if it means anything, to mean motherhood and children, and a clean, wholesome start in life for the second generation. When a woman breaksaway and crosses the lines, she only makes bad worse, in my opinion, bythe hypocritical respectability of a marriage while her husband is stillalive. Let's be honest sinners any way, if sin we must. "

Again she paused, looking backward in thought, seeing and hearing thingswhich, for the honour of others, it was kindest not to repeat. Thecarriage moved slowly, the horse slackening its pace in climbing the laststeep piece of hill which leads to the pond on Hampstead Heath. 

"And now it's over, " Poppy said, letting her hands drop in her lap. "Donewith. The poor wretched thing's dead--has killed himself. That is afitting conclusion. He was always his own worst enemy. --Well, as far as Iam concerned, let him rest in peace. "

"Amen, " Iglesias responded, "so let him rest. 'Shall not the judge of allthe world do right, ' counting his merits as well as his demerits, makingall just excuses for his lapses and wrong-doings; knowing, as we can neverknow, exactly how far he was and was not accountable for his own and forothers' sins. And now, dear friend, as you have said, this long misery isover and done with. Whatever remains of practical business you can leavesafely to me. His memory shall be shielded as far as foresight andsympathy can shield it, and your name need not appear. "

The Lady of the Windswept Dust took his hand and held it. 

"I don't know, " she said brokenly, "why all this should all come uponyou. "

"For a very simple reason, " he answered. "What did you tell me yourself?You stand first. And that is true. "

But it may be remarked in passing that there are limits to the passiveobedience of even the best-trained of men-servants. Those of Poppy'scoachman had been reached. At the top of the hill he drew up, vigorouslydetermined to drive no farther into the wilderness, without renewed andvery distinct information as to why and where he went, perceiving whichDominic Iglesias opened the carriage door and stepped out. 

"The night is fine and dry, " he said. "Let us walk a little, and then letus drive home. You have your work to-morrow--or, rather, to-day--and youmust have a reasonable amount of rest first. The stream of your life hasbeen arrested, diverted from its natural channel; but it still runs strongand clear yet. You have genius, real, not imagined, so you must husbandyour energies. --Come and walk. Let the air soothe and calm you; and then, leaving all the past in Almighty God's safe keeping, go home and rest. "

Here the high-road stretches along the ridge of the hill, a giantcauseway, the broken land of the open heath falling away sharply to leftand right. It was windless. The sky was covered, and the atmosphere, though not foggy at this height, was thick as with smoke; so that theroad, with its long avenue of sparse-set lamps--dwindling in the extremedistance to faintest sparks--was as a pale bridge thrown across the voidof black unsounded space. All, save the road itself, the lamps, and seats, and broken fringe of grass edging the raised footpath of it, was formlessand vague, peopled by shapes, dark against darkness, such as the eyeitself fearfully produces in straining to penetrate unyielding obscurity. The effect was one of intense isolation, of divorce from humanity and theworks and ways of it, so present and overpowering it might well seem that, reaching the far end of that pale bridge, the wayfarer would part companywith the things of time altogether and pass into another state of being. 

And this so worked upon Poppy that, some fifty yards along the causeway, her black and silver skirts gathered ankle-high about her, she stopped, drawing very close to Iglesias and laying her hand upon his arm. 

"Listen to the silence, " she said. "Look at the emptiness. I don't quitelike it, even with you. It's too suggestive of death, death with no surehope of life beyond it. --I am quite good now, quite sane and reasonable. I have put aside all bitterness. I'll never say another hard word of him, or, in as far as I can, think a hard thought. "

Then turning, suddenly she gave a cry, perceiving that east and southall London lay below them--formless, too, indefinite, enormous, a City ofthe Plains, unseen in detail but indicated through the gloom as a vastsemi-circle of smouldering fire. 

Poppy stretched out both arms, letting her splendid draperies trail in thedust. 

"Ah! how I love it, how I love it, " she cried. "Let us go back, dear man. For it belongs to me and I belong to it. In the name of my art I must tryconclusions with it. I must play to it, and conquer it, and enchant, andpossess it, since I am free at last--I am free. "

CHAPTER XXXVII

Serena's manner, though gracious, was lofty, almost regal. She had, indeed, lately looked upon crowned heads, and the glory of them seemed, somehow, to have rubbed off on her. 

"Yes, " she said, "I came up for the Queen's funeral. Lady Samuelson feltit was a thing I ought not to miss, and I agreed with her. It wasinconvenient to leave home, because I had a number of engagements. Still, I felt I might regret it afterwards if I did not see it. And then, ofcourse, Lady Samuelson was so kind the year before last, when I had sovery much to worry me, that I feel I owe it to her to stay with herwhenever she asks me to do so. Where did you see the procession from, Rhoda?"

"Well, on the whole I thought it better to remain at home, " Mrs. Lovegroveconfessed, "though Georgie was most pressing I should go with him. You areslender, Serena, and that makes a great deal of difference in going about. But I find crowds and excitement very trying. And then it must all havebeen very affecting and solemn. I doubted if I could witness it withoutgiving way too much and troubling others. It is mortifying to feel you arespoiling the pleasure of those that are with you, and I wanted poorGeorgie to enjoy himself as much as he could. "

"In that case it was certainly better to remain at home, " Serena rejoined. "I have my feelings very much under control. Even when I was quite a childthat used to be said of me. It used to irritate Susan. "

"Susan has a more impetuous nature, " Mrs. Lovegrove observed. The day ofdomestic eclipse was happily passed. She had come into her own again;consequently she was disposed to be slightly argumentative, sitting hereupon her own Chesterfield sofa in her own drawing-room, even with Serena. 

"I wonder if she has--I mean I wonder whether Susan really has a moreimpetuous nature, " the latter rejoined, "or whether she is only morewanting in self-control. I often think people get credit for strongfeelings, when it is only that they make no effort to control themselves. And that is unfair. I never have been able to see why it was consideredso creditable to have strong feelings. They usually give a lot ofinconvenience to other people. I am not sure that it is not self-indulgentto have strong feelings. --We had excellent places just opposite the MarbleArch. Of course Lady Samuelson has a great deal of interest; and we saweverything. In some ways I think, as a sight, the procession wasoverrated. But I am glad I went. You can never tell whether anything isworth seeing or not until you have seen it; and so I certainly might haveregretted if I had not gone. Still, I think you were quite wise in notgoing, Rhoda, if you were likely to be upset; and then, as you say, itmust be unpleasant getting about if one is very stout. Of course, I cannotreally enter into that. I take after mamma's family. They are alwaysslender. But the Lovegroves often grow stout. George, of course, has, andI should not be surprised if Susan did when she is older. But then Susanand I are entirely different in almost everything. "

"I suppose you have heard of our dear vicar being appointed to the newbishopric of Slowby, Serena, " Mrs. Lovegrove remarked. The amplitude, ornon-amplitude, of the family figure was beginning to get upon her nerves. 

"Oh! dear, yes, of course I have, " Serena answered with raised eyebrowsand a condescending expression of countenance. "Not that it will make verymuch difference to me, I suppose. I am so little at home now. Butnaturally people, hearing we knew the Nevingtons, came to us forinformation about them. I don't think anybody had ever heard of Dr. Nevington at Slowby, and so they were very glad to learn anything we couldtell them. Of course it is a very great rise for Dr. Nevington, though hewill only be a suffragan bishop. Still, he must be very much flattered, after merely having a parish of this kind. Susan is very pleased at theappointment. She wrote to Dr. Nevington immediately and has had a numberof letters from him. I was quite willing she should write, but she toldhim how popular his appointment was in Midlandshire. And I thought thatwas going rather far, because Susan has no real means of knowing whetherit is popular or not. She could only know that she thought she liked itherself, and had praised him among her friends. And I wonder whether sheis right--I mean I wonder whether she really will like it. Of course Susanhas been very prominent and has had everything her own way with most ofthe clergymen's wives in Slowby. I think that has been rather bad forSusan and given her an undue idea of her own importance. Now naturallyMrs. Nevington will be the head of everything and the clergymen's wiveswill go for advice to her. I do not see how Susan can help disliking that. And then Mrs. Nevington is said to be a very good public speaker. I amperfectly certain Susan will dislike that. For I always observe thatpeople who speak a great deal themselves, like Susan, never get on wellwith other good speakers. "--She moved a little, throwing back the frontsof her black beaded jacket--her complimentary mourning was scrupulouslycorrect--and adjusting the black silk tie at her throat. "Of course I maybe mistaken, " she added, "but if you ask me, Rhoda, I fancy you will findthat Susan and Mrs. Nevington will not remain friends for very long. "

"I am distressed to hear you express such an opinion, Serena, " Mrs. Lovegrove returned. The tone of mingled patronage and possession in whichher guest spoke of her own two particular sacred totems, vicar andvicaress, incensed her highly. She wished she had not introduced thesubject of the Slowby bishopric. --"When the object in view is a truly goodone, " she added, with some severity, "I should suppose all right-meaningpeople would strive to sink petty rivalries and cooperate. I should quitebelieve it would prove so in Susan's case. "

"Of course she would not give Mrs. Nevington's speaking well as herreason, if they did not remain on friendly terms, " Serena returnednegligently. "But then people so very seldom give their real reasons forwhat they do, Rhoda. Surely you must have observed that. I think they aregenerally very willing to deceive themselves a good deal. "

"I am afraid it is so with too many, Serena, and with some who wouldbe the last to own it when applied to themselves. "--Then the wifedetermined by a piece of daring strategy to carry the war into the enemy'scountry. --"And that reminds me, " she said. "I suppose you have heard thatMr. Iglesias has left Trimmer's Green?"

"I do not the least know what right you have to suppose anything of thekind, Rhoda, " the lady addressed replied with a haste and asperity farfrom regal. "You must have very odd ideas of the people I meet, either atLady Samuelson's or at Slowby, if you imagine I am likely to hear anythingabout Mr. Iglesias from them. If I had not met him here, of course, Ishould never have heard of him at all; and if I had never heard of him Ishould have been spared a great deal. Still, after all that has occurred, I can quiet see that Mr. Iglesias might find it better to leave Trimmer'sGreen. "

"Miss Eliza Hart, if you please, ma'am, " this from the house-parlourmaid. 

In accordance with established precedent, Serena should have risen fromthe place of honour, upon the sofa, making room for the newcomer. But shedefied precedent. Acknowledging the said newcomer with the stiffest ofbows, she sat tight. Her hostess, however, proved equal to the occasion. 

"Dear me, Miss Hart, " she began, "I am sure you are quite the stranger. Take that chair, will you not? And how is Mrs. Porcher? The numbers, Itrust, filling up again at Cedar Lodge? Mr. Lovegrove and myself didtruly sympathise in Mrs. Porcher's trouble in the autumn. Such a terribleoccurrence to have in your house! Of course very damaging, for a time, toall prospects. And I shall always believe it was the great exertions hemade then that broke down poor Mr. Iglesias' health. --Yes, indeed, MissHart, I regret to say he does remain very ailing. Mr. Lovegrove sees himalmost daily. He has run round to Holland Street now, has Georgie; but Iexpect him back any minute. --We were just speaking of Mr. Iglesias--werewe not, Serena?--and I was about to tell Miss Lovegrove what a sweetpretty house he has. You have seen it often no doubt, Miss Hart. "

But here Serena arose, with much dignity, and retired in the direction ofthe window. 

"Pray do not think about me, Rhoda, " she said over her shoulder, "or letme interrupt your and your friend's conversation. I am going to see if thecarriage is here. Lady Samuelson said she might be able to send it for me. She could not be sure, but she might. And I told her I would be on thewatch, as she objects to the horses being kept standing in this weather. But pray do not think about me. Until it comes I can quite well amusemyself. "

Holding aside the lace curtain she looked out. Upon the rawly green grassremnants of discoloured snow lay in unsightly patches, while the barebranches of the plane-trees and balsam-poplars shuddered in the harshblast. The prospect was far from alluring, and Serena surveyed it with awrathful eye. 

"Really, Rhoda's behaviour to me is most extraordinary, " she said toherself. "I had to mark my displeasure. For poor George's sake she oughtnot to be allowed to go too far. She has grown so very self-assertive. Last year her manner was much better. I suppose she and George have madeit up again. People who are not really ladies, like Rhoda, are always sovery much nicer when they are depressed. I wonder what has happened tomake George make it up with her!"

And then she fell very furiously to listening. 

"We did talk it over, did Peachie Porcher and myself, " the great Eliza wassaying, "for I do not deny, at the time of our trouble, a certaingentleman came out very well. He may have had his reasons, but I will notgo into that, Mrs. Lovegrove. I am all for giving everybody his due. ButPeachie felt when he left it would be better the connection should ceaseas far as visiting went. 'Should Mr. Iglesias call here, dear Liz, ' shesaid to me, 'I should not refuse to see him. But, after what has passedand situated as I am, I cannot be too careful. And calling on a bachelorliving privately, with whom your name has been at all associated, mustinvite comment. Throughout all, ' she said, 'my conscience tells me I havedone my duty, and in that I must find my reward. ' Very affecting, was itnot?"

"Yes, " the other lady admitted, candour and natural goodness of heartgetting the better alike of resentment and diplomacy. "I always havemaintained there were many sterling qualities in Mrs. Porcher. "

"So there are, the sweet pet!" Eliza responded warmly. "And I sometimesquestion, Mrs. Lovegrove, whether a certain gentleman, now that he has cuthimself adrift from her, may not be beginning to find that out and wishhe had been less stand-offish and stony. Not that it would be any use now. For, if he did not appreciate Peachie Porcher, there are other and youngergentlemen, not a thousand miles from here, who do. I am not at liberty tospeak more plainly at present, as the poor young fellow is very shy abouthis secret. A long attachment, and some might think it rather derogatoryto Peachie's position to entertain it. But straws tell which way the windblows; and a little bird seems to twitter to me, Mrs. Lovegrove, that ifCharlie Farge did come to the point--why--"

Miss Hart shook her leonine mane and laid her finger on her lip in an archand playful manner. But before her hostess could rally sufficiently fromthe stupor into which this announcement plunged her to make suitablerejoinder, a fine booming clerical voice and large clerical presenceinvaded the room. 

"How d'ye do, Mrs. Lovegrove? I come unannounced but not unsanctioned. Imet with your good husband in the street just now, and he encouraged me tolook in on you. Good-day to you, Miss Hart. All is well, I trust, with ourexcellent friend Mrs. Porcher. --Ah! and here is Miss Serena Lovegrove. --Anunexpected piece of good fortune. "

Promptly Serena had emerged from her self-imposed exile; and it was withan air of assured proprietorship that she greeted the clergyman. 

"Mrs. Nevington heard from your kind sister only this morning, " hecontinued. "Full of active helpfulness as usual, Mrs. Lovegrove. --Sheproposes that we should quarter ourselves upon you and her for a few days, Miss Serena, while we are seeking a temporary residence. She kindly givesus the names of several houses which she considers worth inspection. "

Here by an adroit flank movement, rapidly executed, Serena managed topossess herself once again of the seat of honour upon the sofa, therebyinterposing a thin but impenetrable barrier between her hostess and thelatter's own particular fetish, the bishop-designate. 

"You have enough room? I do not crowd you, Rhoda?" she remarkedparenthetically. Then turning sideways, so as to present an expanseof neatly clad back and shoulder to her outraged relative, shecontinued:--"I wonder which, Dr. Nevington--I mean I wonder which housesSusan has recommended. Of course there is the Priory. But nobody has livedin it for ages and ages. It is in a very low neighbourhood, close to thecanal and brickfields on the Tullingworth Road. I should think it wasdreadfully damp and unwholesome. And there is old Mrs. Waghorn's in AbneyPark. That is well situated and the grounds are rather nice. But thereception-rooms are poor, I always think. Susan was fond of Mrs. Waghorn. I cannot say I ever cared for her myself; but there is a tower to it, ofcourse. "

"Ah! we hardly need towers yet, Miss Lovegrove. A 'suffering bishop'--yourecall the well-worn joke?--such as myself, must not aspire to anythingapproaching castles or palaces, but be content with a very modest place ofresidence. "

Here his unhappy hostess, sitting quite perilously near the edge of thesofa, craned round the interposing barrier. 

"But that is only a matter of time, Dr. Nevington, " she said, "surely. There is but one voice all round the Green, and through the parishgenerally, that this is but the first step for you; and that it will leadon--though I am far from wishing to hasten the death of the presentarchbishop--to the primacy. "

"Hardly that, hardly that, " he rejoined with becoming modesty. Yet thespeech was not unpalatable to him. "Out of the mouth of babes, " he said tohimself, leaning back in his chair, and eyeing--in imagination--the chasteoutline of an episcopal apron and well-cut black gaiter, while visions ofLambeth and Canterbury floated enticingly before him. --"Hardly that. Thisis little more than an embryo bishopric. Still, though it is a wrench toleave my dear old congregation, here in this wonderful London of ours, Icannot refuse the call to a wider sphere of usefulness. My views as achurchman are well known. I have never, even though it might have beenprofessionally advantageous to me to do so, attempted any concealment. "

"No, truly, " Rhoda put in, still balancing and craning. "Everyone, I amsure, must bear witness you have always been most nobly outspoken. "

"I trust so, " he returned. "I have never disguised the fact that I take mystand upon the Reformation Settlement. Therefore I cannot but think it amost hopeful sign of the times that I should receive this call to theepiscopate. --Ah, here is Lovegrove. You find us deep in mattersecclesiastical. I only hope I am not taxing your ladies' patience tooheavily by talking on such serious subjects. --In Slowby itself that grandold stalwart, the late Dr. Colthurst--a positively Cromwellian figure--hasleft a sound Protestant tradition. But I hear--your good sister confirmsthe rumour, Miss Serena--that there is a strong ritualistic party atTullingworth. I shall deal very roundly with persons of that persuasion. My conviction is that we must suit our teaching to the progressivespirit of this modern world of ours. Personally I am willing, ifnecessary, to sacrifice very much so-called dogma to conciliate our worthyNonconformist brethren; while I shall lose no opportunity of cutting atthe roots of those Romanising tendencies which are so lamentably andinsidiously active in the very heart of our dear old National Church. "

While the great drum-like voice was thus rolling and booming, GeorgeLovegrove had shaken hands with Serena. But there was none of theaccustomed respectful enthusiasm in his greeting. He wore a preoccupiedand dejected air. For once he looked upon that pearl of spinsterhood witha lack-lustre and indifferent eye. 

"I wonder what can have happened to George, " the lady in question saidto herself, in high displeasure. "I think his manner is really veryodd--nearly as odd as Rhoda's. I wish I had not come. But then if I hadnot come I should have had no opportunity of showing Rhoda what intimateterms Susan and I are upon with the Nevingtons. And I think it is rightshe should know. --Oh! that detestable Miss Hart is going. What adreadfully vulgar purple blouse she has on! And her hair is so unpleasant. It always looks damp and shows the marks of the comb. I wonder why hair ofthat particular colour always does look damp. " Here she bowed stifflywithout rising. --"I shall simply ignore George, and not speak to him. Ithink that will be sufficiently marked. But I shall stay as long as Dr. Nevington does--I don't for one moment believe Miranda Samuelson reallyintended to send the carriage--so I will just wait and go when he goes. I think I owe it to myself to show George and Rhoda that they cannot driveme away against my will, however much they may wish to do so. "

Having come to which amiable decision Serena turned her mind andconversation to questions of house-hunting in Slowby. The subject, however, began to pall, before long, upon her companion. Dr. Nevingtonchanged his position more than once. His replies became vague andperfunctory, while his attention evidently strayed to the conversationtaking place at the other end of the sofa. 

"I fear you did not find Mr. Iglesias very bright then to-day?" the wifewas inquiring in her kindliest tones. 

George Lovegrove shook his head sadly. "No, my dear, I am sorry to saynot. I have been rather broken up. I will tell you all later. "

The clergyman had risen. 

"Iglesias?--ah yes, " he said. "I remember meeting a person of that namehere once, eh, Lovegrove? One of our parochial oversights, unfortunately. He proved to be a dweller. His appearance pleased me and I proposed tocall on him; and then in the press of my many duties the matter wasforgotten. "

Serena had risen likewise. A spot of colour burned on either of hercheeks. Her eyes snapped. She carried her small head high. Her presenceasserted itself quite forcibly. Her skirts rustled. At that moment she wasyoung and very passably pretty--an elegant spirited Serena of eighteen, rather than a faded and, alas! spiteful Serena of close upon fifty. 

"Oh! really, I think it was just as well you did not call, Dr. Nevington, "she cried. "I do not think it would have been in the least suitable. Ofcourse I may be wrong, but I do not think you would have found anything tolike in Mr. Iglesias. There was so much that was never really explainedabout him. --You know you acknowledged that yourself at one time, Rhoda. But now you and George seem to have gone round again completely. --Onecannot help knowing he associated with such very odd people; and then theway in which he turned Roman Catholic, all of a sudden, really wasdisgraceful. "

Dr. Nevington's cold, watchful glance steadied on to the speaker, thentravelled to the two other members of the little company in sharp inquiry. George Lovegrove's innocent countenance bore an expression of agonisedentreaty, of yearning, of apology, yet of defiance. The corners of Rhoda'smouth drooped, her large soft cheeks shook; yet she stood firm, her sorrowtempered, and her whole warm-hearted person rendered stubborn, by virtuousindignation. 

"You forget yourself greatly, Serena, " she said, "and when you have timeto think it over will repent having passed such cruel remarks. They areliable to create a very wrong impression, and cannot fail to cause severepain to others. "

For an appreciable space the clergyman hesitated. But Slowby and thebishopric were ahead of him; Trimmer's Green and all its quaintunimportant little inhabitants behind. She was tedious, no doubt; but hersister promised to be very useful, so he threw in his lot with Serena. 

"Ah, well, ah, well, for I my part I admire zeal, I must confess, Mrs. Lovegrove, " he said. "No doubt these terrible lapses will occur. Superstition and bigotry will claim their victims even in our enlightenedcentury, and this free England of ours. I would not judge the case of thispoor fellow, Iglesias, too harshly. Race influences are strong; and we ofthe Anglo-Saxon stock, with our enormous advantages of brain, and grit, and hard-headed manliness of character, can afford--deeply though wedeplore their weakness and errors--to be lenient toward the less favouredforeigner. Our mission is to educate him. --And this I think you should nothave forgotten, Lovegrove. You should have acted upon it. You should havebrought your unfortunate friend to me. I should have been quite willing togive him half an hour, or even longer. A few facts, a little plainspeaking, might have saved him from more than I quite care to contemplate, both here and hereafter. --However, good-bye to you, Mrs. Lovegrove. Youare starting, too, Miss Serena? Assure your good, kind sister, when youwrite, how gladly Mrs. Nevington and I shall avail ourselves of herproffered hospitality. "

"Don't fret, don't take it too much to heart, Georgie dear, " the wife saidsoothingly later. "The vicar did seem very stern, but that was owing toSerena. I am afraid she's a terrible mischief-maker, is Serena. She turnsthings inside out so in saying them, that you do not recognise your ownwords again. All this afternoon she was most trying. If Dr. Nevingtonheard the real story, he would never blame you. You must not fret. "

"I am not fretting about Dr. Nevington, " he answered, "but about Dominic. I am afraid we shall not have him with us very much longer, Rhoda. "

"Oh! dear, oh! dear, you don't mean it? Never!" she cried in accents ofgenuine distress. "Did you see him, Georgie?"

"No, Miss St. John was there. "

The wife's large cheeks shook again. 

"You know, " she said, "I am never very partial to hearing anything aboutthat Miss St. John. Actresses are all very well in the theatre, I daresay, but they are out of place in private houses. And from what I hear, thoughthere may be nothing really wrong with many of them, they are all sadlyfree in their manners. I should be very hurt if you got into the habit offrequenting their society much, Georgie. --But there, I'm sure I cannottell what is coming to all the women nowadays! You don't seem as if youcould be safe with any one of them. To think of a middle-aged person likeMrs. Porcher, for instance, taking up with that little snip of a Farge, and she old enough to be his mother!"

The wife bustled about the room straightening the chairs, patting cushionsinto place, folding up the handkerchief which, in the interests of humanconversation, had been thrown over the cage of the all-too-articulateparrot. 

"I feel terribly stirred up somehow, " she said, "what with the vicar, andSerena, and all the talk about Roman Catholics and Protestants, and Mrs. Porcher's engagement, too, and then this bad news of Mr. Iglesias--not butthat I am sure enough we shall meet him in heaven some day, if we can evercontrive to get there ourselves in all this chatter and worry--"

She laid the handkerchief away in the drawer of the work-table. 

"Such an afternoon, " she declared, "what with one thing and another! Ialways do say there's nothing for making unpleasantnesses like religionand marriages. --But, thank God, through all of it you are spared to me, Georgie. "

CHAPTER XXXVIII

Outside, the slanting spring sunshine visited the sheltered strip ofgarden in clear lights and transparent shadows. The small grass-platsurrounding the rockery was brightly green. In the stone basin the surfaceof the water trembled, glistening in broken curves of silver white. Alongthe narrow border, beneath the soot-stained eastern wall, yellow and mauvecrocuses and yellow aconites opened wide, greeting the gentle warmth. Trees in the neighbouring gardens were thick with bud. Busily the sparrowsand starlings came and went. 

Within, the house--though not uncheerful, thanks to a scrupulouscleanliness, warm colourings, and the peculiar mellowness which comes torooms and furnishings that, through prolonged association, have grown in agreat mutual friendliness of aspect--was very still, with the strange, almost eerie, stillness which seems to listen and to wait. --A singularstillness, from which the rough utilitarian activities of ordinary lifeare banished, the rude noise of them suspended, while spiritual presences, rare apprehensions, exquisite memories and hopes, mysterious invitationsof mingled alarm and ecstasy, come forth, taking on form and voice, passing lightly to and fro--an enchantment, yet in a manner fearful fromthe subtlety of their being and piercing intimacy of their speech. Personality, that supreme moral and emotional factor in human life, mustof necessity create an atmosphere about it, permeated with its individualtastes and mental attributes, distinct and powerful in proportion to itsindividual distinction and its strength. And, without being overfanciful, it may be confidently asserted that, for some weeks now, ever since indeedthe specialists--summoned in consultation at the good Lovegroves' and theLady of the Windswept Dust's urgent request--had pronounced the cardiacaffection, from which Dominic Iglesias suffered, likely to terminatefatally in the near future, this living stillness, this alerttranquillity, had been more or less sensible to all those who entered thehouse, offering an arresting contrast to the multitudinous rush andclamour of London without. But to-day the impression was no longer anintermittent and fugitive one, as heretofore. It was constant andcomplete, those spiritual visitants being, as it would seem, in fullpossession; so that the hours appeared to move reluctantly, and as thoughenjoining watchfulness, a carefulness and economy even in prevailingrepose, lest any remaining moment and the message of it should beoverlooked and lost. 

It was characteristic of Iglesias that learning, in as far as theconsultant doctors could diagnose it, the exact conditions of his physicalstate, he should refuse all experiment, however humane in intention orplausible in theory. For he had no sympathy with the modern greediness andworship of physical life, which is willing to sacrifice the decencies anddignities of it to its possible prolongation. Courteously but plainly hebade his advisers depart. The body, though an excellent servant, is acontemptible master; and Iglesias proposed that, while his soul continuedto inhabit it, it should, as always before, be kept very much in itsplace. It must remain unobtrusive, obedient, not daring to usurp, in itspresent hour of failure and impediment, an interest and consideration towhich, in its full usefulness and vigour, it had not presumed to aspire. Therefore Dominic Iglesias held calmly on his way, seeing the circleof his occupations, pleasures, and activities dwindle and decrease, yet maintaining not only his serenity of mind, but his accustomedself-respecting outward refinement of bearing and habit. To meet deathwith a gracious stoicism, well-dressed and standing upright, is, rightlyconsidered, a very fine art, reflecting much credit upon the successfulprofessor of it. 

And it was thus that, on the day in question, Mr. Iglesias sat waiting, inthe quaint irregularly shaped drawing-room of the old house in HollandStreet, himself the centre of that peopled stillness, that alerttranquillity, which so strangely and sensibly filled it. Looking out ofthe low window, he could see the shadow of the houses shrink and the lightbroaden in the little garden below, as the sun travelled westward. Lookinginto the room itself, the many familiar objects and rich sober colours ofit, quickened by a flickering of fire-light, were pleasant to his sense. The images which passed before him, whether actually visible or not hehardly knew, appeared beautiful. Words and phrases which occurred to himwere beautiful likewise. But all were seen and heard remotely, as throughsome softly dazzling medium which, while heightening the charm of them, produced a delicate confusion leaving him uncertain whether he reallyslept or woke. More than once, not without effort, he roused himself; butonly to slip back again into the same state of fair yet gently distractedvision. 

At last the sound of opening casements in the dining-room underneath andof a voice, touched with laughter, reached him. 

"There, you absurdities--skip, scuttle, take exercise, catch birds, improve your figures!" Poppy cried, clapping her hands encouragingly asshe stood at the head of the flight of iron steps down which, with herfoot, she shot the toy spaniels unceremoniously into the sunny gardenbelow. 

The little creatures, welcoming their freedom, forgetful for once of theirlanguid overbred airs, scampered away yapping and skirmishing in themerriest fashion about the grass-plat and flower-beds. The window closedagain and there followed a sound of voices, interjectional on Poppy'spart, low and continuous on that of Mrs. Peters, the house-keeper. Then apause, so prolonged that Iglesias, who had rallied all his energy andprepared to rise and to go forward to meet his guest, sank away once moreinto half-consciousness which neither actually sleeps or wakes. When hecame fully to himself Poppy was sitting on the low window-seat closebeside him. Her back was to the light and his sight was somewhat clouded, so that at first he failed to see her clearly; but he knew that her moodhad changed and her laughter departed, through the sympathy of her touch, she holding his hand as it lay along the arm of the chair. He would havespoken, but she stopped him. 

"No, dear man, don't hurry, " she said. "I know already. Peters has justtold me, now, downstairs, that you received the Last Sacraments thismorning. That's why I didn't come up sooner. I couldn't see you directly, somehow. I had--well, I had to get my second wind, dearly beloved, so tospeak. You see it's such a heavenly day that I couldn't help feelinghappier about you. I had persuaded myself those doctors were a pack ofcroaking old grannies whose collective wisdom had eventuated in a wildmistake, and that, given time and summer weather, you would be betteragain--you know you have had ups and downs lots of times before--and thatthen, when the theatre closes and I have my holiday, I'd carry you off, somewhere, anywhere, back to your own fierce, passionate Spain, perhaps, and nurse and coax and care for you till living grew so pretty a businessyou really wouldn't have the conscience to quit. "

Poppy's voice was sweet with caressing tones, sympathetic in quality asher lingering touch. 

"Haven't you, perhaps, been a little premature after all?" she said. "Hasit really and truly come to that? Mightn't you have put off those lastgrim ceremonies a trifle longer, and let them wait?"

"They are not grim, dearest friend, but full of strong consolation, "Iglesias answered, smiling. He began to see her face more clearly. Herexpression was tragic, a world of anguish in it, for all the restraint ofher manner and playful glibness of her speech. "Nor, in any case, " headded, "can they hasten the event. "

"I'm not altogether sure of that, " Poppy declared rebelliously. 

"I could not quite trust myself as to what the day might bring forth, "Iglesias continued. "In point of fact, I have gained strength as it hasgone on. --And so it seemed wisest and most fitting to ask for theperformance of those sacred rites while I was still of sound mind, andready in my perception of that in which I was taking part. "

"You have suffered?" Poppy said. 

"Nothing unendurable. The nights are somewhat wearisome, since I cannotlie down, in ordinary fashion, to rest. But I sit here, or wander throughthe quiet, kindly house, contentedly enough. And I am well cared for--haveno fear as to that. Peters is a faithful creature. She nursed my mother atthe last, and her presence is grateful to me, for association's sake. "

Iglesias straightened himself up. 

"There, there, " he said, "do not be too sad. The road is not such a veryhard one to tread. The last few months have been the happiest I remembersince my childhood. Any anxieties I felt concerning you are set at rest. You are famous, and will be more famous yet, and I know I shall live inyour remembrance while you live. It is no slight thing, after all, for aman to have been loved so well by the two women whom he loved. And for therest, dearest friend, as one draws near to the edge of the great shadow, which we call death, one begins to trust more and fuss less; looking tothe next step only, so that one may take it neither with faltering norwith presumptuous haste. "

"Ah!" Poppy cried, "that's all very well for you. But where do I come in?I lose you. "

Iglesias smiled, lifting his shoulders slightly and raising his hands. 

"Yes, " he said, "it seems that sorrow, here on earth, is always, sooner orlater, the guerdon of love. Why, I know not; but so it is, as the mostsacred and august of all examples testifies. Only let us be thankful, youand I, that to us this parting, and the inevitable pain of it, comes whilelove is still in its full strength, having endured nothing unworthy, noshame, or diminution, or disillusionment. The more bitter the wrench, thefiner the memory, and the more desirable the meeting which lies ahead, however far distant in time it may be and in difference of condition. "

"Yes, dear man, yes, I dare say--no doubt, " Poppy answered brokenly. "OnlyI can't rise to these philosophic heights. I'm right here, don't you see, my feet well on the floor, planted in brutal commonplace. I shall wantyou--just simply I shall want you, and you won't be there, and I shall bemost cut-throat horribly lonely and sad. But, looking at you, still Idon't believe it. I won't believe it. I shall keep you a long while yet. "

She leaned over and kissed him gently on the cheek. 

"Now I must go, " she said, "if I'm to get any dinner before the theatre. Iwould have liked to stay, and put my poor little understudy on, so as togive her a chance. She's a nice little girl--not half stupid, and reallykeen to learn and to work. But I can't. I'm in honour bound to appearto-night. You see, it's our second century--the first one we could notobserve, because it came at the end of January just in the generalmourning--so there's an awful to-do and tomasha to-night, souvenirprogrammes and I don't know what all, also a rather extra specialaudience. It would be little too bad if I played them false. But, " sheadded, rising, "when it's over I shall come back--yes, I will, I will, Itell you. Don't flatter yourself you can prevent me, beloved lunatic, foryou jolly well can't. --I shall come back directly the performance is over, and watch with you, through the bad hours till the dawn. "

Dominic Iglesias had risen, too. He crossed the room, going to the doorand holding it open for her; then, standing on the little landing, hewatched her as she went down the narrow crooked stairs. And so doing, itcame to him, with a movement of thankfulness and of satisfied pride, howvery fully in the past six months the Lady of the Windswept Dust hadrealised and fulfilled all the finer promise of her complex nature. Justas her figure had matured, retaining its admirable proportions andsuppleness while gaining in distinction and dignity, her mind had maturedlikewise. Her splendid fearlessness was no longer that of naughtydare-devil audacity, but of secure position and recognised success. Indeed, she had grown into a somewhat imperial creature, for whom theworld, and rightly, is very willing to make place. 

At the bottom of the flight Poppy paused, looking up and kissing her hand. 

"Till to-night, " she cried. "Now I go to herd those two small miseries, W. O. And Cappadocia. --Take most precious care of yourself until I comeback, dear man. Good-bye and God keep you, till to-night. "

Mr. Iglesias crossed the drawing-room, glad at heart, erect and stately asin the fulness of health. For a minute or so he stood looking out into thegarden, at the stone basin full to the lip--in which the sparrows, relieved of the presence of the toy spaniels, washed with much flutteringof sooty wings--and at the spring flowers, beginning to close theirdelicate blossoms as the sun declined towards its setting in the gold andgrey of the west. In the recovered stillness, those same spiritualpresences, rare apprehensions, exquisite memories, mysterious invitations, once again obtained possession, coming forth, passing lightly to and fro, filling all the place. In aspect and sentiment they were benign, allfearfulness having gone from out them--they telling of fair things only, of human relations unbroken by treachery or self-seeking, unsullied bylust; telling, too, of godly endeavour faithfully to travel the road whichleads to the far horizon touched by the illimitable glory of the UncreatedLight. 

But presently Dominic Iglesias became aware that he was very, very tired. He sat down in the chair again. 

"Lord have mercy. Christ have mercy, " he murmured, crossing himself. "Ithink the day's work is over. I will sleep. "

That night Poppy St. John played as she had never played before; and heraudience, taking her astonishing manifestation of talent as a complimentto themselves, cried with her and laughed with her in most wholeheartedfashion. 

Antony Hammond, in the stage box on the right, turned to Adolphus Carr, his companion, saying:

"Did I really write such admirable drama as this? I have girded at thatterm, 'creating a part, ' as an example of the colossal vanity of theactor, and his very inadequate reverence for his maker, the playwright. But, I give you my word, after to-night I hide my diminished head. Theplayer and playing are greater than any fondest conception of mine, when Iput those words on paper. "

And Lionel Gordon, his habitual imperturbability altogether broken up byexcitement, stamped up and down stammering:

"Ge-ge-hanna, gehanna, what possesses the woman? I'd tour creation withher. She must be made to sign a three years' contract. If she can act likethis there's nothing less than a cool half-million sterling in her. "

And Alaric Barking, lean and haggard, invalided home from South Africa, escaping for one evening from the ministrations of gentle Lady ConstanceDecies and his pretty _fiancee_, sat huddled together at the end of arow at the back of the pit, hoping, "The deuce! nobody would see him, "with a choke in his throat. He would love, honour, and cherish his pretty, high-bred, innocent maiden; but Poppy's voice tore at his very vitals. Andhe asked himself how had he ever borne to give her up, forgetting, as isthe habit of civilised man in such slightly humiliating circumstances, that it was Poppy herself, not he, who loved and rode away. 

Twice the curtain was raised at the end of the performance, and the Ladyof the Windswept Dust made her bow with the rest of the company. --Now shecould depart; thank heaven! she could go back to the strangely stillhouse in Holland Street and fulfil her promise to Dominic Iglesias towatch with him till dawn. All through the play, the passion and excitementand pathos and mirth of it, her anxiety had deepened, her yearningincreased, so that the joy of her public triumph was barred and searedby intimate pain. Now she could go. Already the carpenters were beginningtheir nightly work of destruction, metamorphosing the so-lately brilliantstage into a vast unsightly cavern of gaunt timbers, creaking pulleys, noisy mechanical contrivances, gaudy painted surfaces of canvas and paper, piled-up properties, of uncertain lights and draughts many and chill. Careless of all save that determination of going, Poppy moved away. Butstill the unseen audience clamoured. A fury had taken it, a madness suchas will sometimes attack even the soberest and most aristocratic crowd, excitement reacting upon itself and stimulating excitement, till thedemand which had begun in kindly enthusiasm became oddly violent, evenbrutal, men and women standing up, applauding, drumming, shouting a singlename. 

"There, it's over, thank the powers! Now let me get out of all thisinfernal din, " she said, putting her hands over her ears as she pushedinto the wings. 

But Lionel Gordon met her, barring her passage, his face working withnervous agitation, and caught hold of her unceremoniously by both arms. 

"What's the matter?" she cried angrily. "I can't stay. I have a case ofillness on hand. "

"Hang illness!" he answered. "My good girl, pull yourself together. Goback. Don't be a blooming fool. Listen--it's you they're splitting theirthroats for--yes, you--about the most fastidious audience in Europeyelling like a pack of drunken bookies! Gehenna! you're the luckiest womanliving. You're made, great heavens, you're made!"

He dragged her aside, pushing her into the mouth of the narrow passagebetween the curtain and the footlights, where the roar of the house andthe welter of faces met her like a breaking wave. 

 * * * * *

Standing against the edge of the pavement in front of Mr. Iglesias' house, in Holland Street, was a covered van. As Poppy drove up a couple of mencame down the steps, in the black and white of the moonlight. Their darkclothing and somewhat sleek appearance were repulsive to her. She sweptpast them, swept past Frederick holding open the door, and on up thestairs. Her hands were encumbered by her trailing draperies of velvet andsilver tissue, and by an extravagant bouquet of orchids, lilies, androses, with long yellow satin streamers to it. She had not stayed even towash the grease paint off her face. Just as she was, the stamp of hercalling upon her, eager, fictitious, courageous, triumphant, pushed by agreat fear, she came. But in the doorway she faltered, set her teeth, bowed her head, and paused. 

For in the centre of the room a bier was dressed, and on either side of itstood lighted tapers of brownish wax, in tall black and gold candlesticks. At the foot, some distance apart, two low-seated rush-bottomed high-backed_prie-dieu_ had been placed. Upon the one on the left a little nunknelt, her loose black habit concealing all the outline of her figure. Thewhite linen pall was turned back, across the chest of the corpse, to wherethe shapely long-fingered hands were folded upon an ebony and silvercrucifix. By some harsh irony of imagination Lionel Gordon's voice rang inPoppy's ears: "My good girl, pull yourself together. Gehenna! you're theluckiest woman living. You're made, great heavens, you're made!"--while, blank despair in her heart, she went forward, the little nun looking upmomentarily from her prayers, and stood beside the bier. Beautiful indeath as in life, serene, proud, austere, but young now with the eternalyouth of those who have believed, and attained, and reached the Land ofthe Far Horizon, Dominic Iglesias lay before her. 

Presently a sound of sobbing broke up the stillness, and turning, Poppydescried good George Lovegrove, sitting in the dusky far corner of theroom, his knees wide apart, his shiny forehead showing high above thehandkerchief he pressed against his eyes. She backed away from the corpse, as in all reverence from the presence of a personage august and sacred. Coming close to him, she laid her hand gently upon George Lovegrove'sshoulder. "Go home, my best beetle, " she said, very tenderly. "You're wornout with sorrow. Come back in the morning if you will. I promised DominicI would watch with him till the dawn. I keep my promise. "

Then the Lady of the Windswept Dust laid her extravagant bouquet with itsyellow streamers, on the floor, at the foot of the bier; and kneeling uponthe vacant _prie-dieu_, beside the little nun, buried her paintedface in her hands and wept.