SIMON THE JESTER

By William J. Locke

CHAPTER I

I met Renniker the other day at the club. He is a man who knowseverything--from the method of trimming a puppy's tail for a dog-show, without being disqualified, to the innermost workings of the mind ofevery European potentate. If I want information on any subject underheaven I ask Renniker. 

"Can you tell me, " said I, "the most God-forsaken spot in England?"

Renniker, being in a flippant mood, mentioned a fashionablewatering-place on the South Coast. I pleaded the seriousness of myquestion. 

"What I want, " said I, "is a place compared to which Golgotha, Aceldama, the Dead Sea, the Valley of Jehoshaphat, and the Bowery would be leafybowers of uninterrupted delight. "

"Then Murglebed-on-Sea is what you're looking for, " said Renniker. "Areyou going there at once?"

"At once, " said I. 

"It's November, " said he, "and a villainous November at that; so you'llsee Murglebed-on-Sea in the fine flower of its desolation. "

I thanked him, went home, and summoned my excellent man Rogers. 

"Rogers, " said I, "I am going to the seaside. I heard that Murglebedis a nice quiet little spot. You will go down and inspect it for me andbring back a report. "

He went blithe and light-hearted, though he thought me insane; hereturned with the air of a serving-man who, expecting to find awell-equipped pantry, had wandered into a charnel house. 

"It's an awful place, sir. It's sixteen miles from a railway station. The shore is a mud flat. There's no hotel, and the inhabitants are likecannibals. "

"I start for Murglebed-on-Sea to-morrow, " said I. 

Rogers started at me. His loose mouth quivered like that of a childpreparing to cry. 

"We can't possibly stay there, sir, " he remonstrated. 

"_We_ are not going to try, " I retorted. "I'm going by myself. "

His face brightened. Almost cheerfully he assured me that I should findnothing to eat in Murglebed. 

"You can amuse yourself, " said I, "by sending me down a daily hamper ofprovisions. "

"There isn't even a church, " he continued. 

"Then you can send me down a tin one from Humphreys'. I believe they cansupply one with everything from a tin rabbit-hutch to a town hall. "

He sighed and departed, and the next day I found myself here, inMurglebed-on-Sea. 

On a murky, sullen November day Murglebed exhibits unimagined horrorsof scenic depravity. It snarls at you malignantly. It is like a bit ofwaste land in Gehenna. There is a lowering, soap-suddy thing a mile awayfrom the more or less dry land which local ignorance and superstitioncall the sea. The interim is mud--oozy, brown, malevolent mud. Sometimesit seems to heave as if with the myriad bodies of slimy crawling eelsand worms and snakes. A few foul boats lie buried in it. 

Here and there, on land, a surly inhabitant spits into it. If youaddress him he snorts at you unintelligibly. If you turn your back tothe sea you are met by a prospect of unimagined despair. There areno trees. The country is flat and barren. A dismal creek runs milesinland--an estuary fed by the River Murgle. A few battered cottages, ageneral shop, a couple of low public-houses, and three perky red-brickvillas all in a row form the city, or town, or village, or what youwill, of Murglebed-on-Sea. Renniker is a wonderful man. 

I have rented a couple of furnished rooms in one of the villas. It hasa decayed bit of front garden in which a gnarled, stunted stick isplanted, and it is called The Laburnums. My landlord, the owner ofthe villas, is a builder. What profits he can get from building inMurglebed, Heaven alone knows; but, as he mounts a bicycle in themorning and disappears for the rest of the day, I presume he careersover the waste, building as he goes. In the evenings he gets drunk atthe Red Cow; so I know little of him, save that he is a red-faced man, with a Moustache like a tooth-brush and two great hands like hams. 

His wife is taciturn almost to dumbness. She is a thick-set, black-haired woman, and looks at me disapprovingly out of the corner ofher eye as if I were a blackbeetle which she would like to squash underfoot. She tolerates me, however, on account of the tongues and othersustenance sent by Rogers from Benoist, of which she consumes prodigiousquantities. She wonders, as far as the power of wonder is given to herdull brain, what on earth I am doing here. I see her whispering to herfriends as I enter the house, and I know they are wondering what I amdoing here. The whole village regards me as a humorous zoological freak, and wonders what I am doing here among normal human beings. 

And what am I doing here--I, Simon de Gex, M. P. , the spoilt darling offortune, as my opponent in the Labour interest called me during the lastelectoral campaign? My disciple and secretary, young Dale Kynnersley, the only mortal besides Rogers who knows my whereabouts, trembles formy reason. In the eyes of the excellent Rogers I am horn-mad. What myconstituents would think did they see me taking the muddy air on a soggyafternoon, I have no conception. Dale keeps them at bay. He also bafflesthe curiosity of my sisters, and by his diplomacy has sent EleanorFaversham on a huffy trip to Sicily. She cannot understand why I burymyself in bleak solitude, instead of making cheerful holiday among theoranges and lemons of the South. 

Eleanor is a girl with a thousand virtues, each of which she expects tofind in counterpart in the man to whom she is affianced. Until a week ortwo ago I actually thought myself in love with Eleanor. There seemeda whimsical attraction in the idea of marrying a girl with a thousandvirtues. Before me lay the pleasant prospect of reducing them--say, tenat a time--until I reached the limit at which life was possible, and then one by one until life became entertaining. I admired herexceedingly--a strapping, healthy English girl who looked you straightin the eyes and gripped you fearlessly by the hand. 

My friends "lucky-dog'd" me until I began to smirk to myself at my owngood fortune. She visited the constituency and comported herself as ifshe had been a Member's wife since infancy, thereby causing my heart toswell with noble pride. This unparalleled young person compelled me totake my engagement almost seriously. If I shot forth a jest, it struckagainst a virtue and fell blunted to the earth. Indeed, even now I amsorry I can't marry Eleanor. But marriage is out of the question. 

I have been told by the highest medical authorities that I may manage towander in the flesh about this planet for another six months. After thatI shall have to do what wandering I yearn for through the medium of myghost. There is a certain humourousness in the prospect. Save for anoccasional pain somewhere inside me, I am in the most robust health. 

But this same little pain has been diagnosed by the Faculty as thesymptom of an obscure disease. An operation, they tell me, would killme on the spot. What it is called I cannot for the life of me remember. They gave it a kind of lingering name, which I wrote down on myshirt-cuff. 

The name or characteristics of the thing, however, do not matter a fig. I have always hated people who talked about their insides, and I am notgoing to talk about mine, even to myself. Clearly, if it is only goingto last me six months, it is not worth talking about. But the quaintfact of its brief duration is worth the attention of a contemplativemind. 

It is in order perfectly to focus this attention that I have come toMurglebed-on-Sea. Here I am alone with the murk and the mud and my ownindrawn breath of life. There are no flowers, blue sky, smiling eyes, and dainty faces--none of the adventitious distractions of theearth. There are no Blue-books. Before the Faculty made their jocularpronouncement I had been filling my head with statistics on pauperlunacy so as to please my constituency, in which the rate has increasedalarmingly of late years. Perhaps that is why I found myself theirrepresentative in Parliament. I was to father a Bill on the subject nextsession. Now the labour will fall on other shoulders. I interest myselfin pauper lunacy no more. A man requires less flippant occupation forthe premature sunset of his days. Well, in Murglebed I can think, Ican weigh the _pros_ and _cons_ of existence with an even mind, I canaccustom myself to the concept of a Great Britain without Simon de Gex. M. P. 

Of course, when I go I shall "cast one longing, lingering look behind. "I don't particularly want to die. In fact, having otherwise the prospectof an entertaining life, I regard my impending dissolution in the lightof a grievance. But I am not afraid. I shall go through the dismalformality with a graceful air and as much of a smile on my face as thepain in my inside will physically permit. 

My dear but somewhat sober-sided friend Marcus Aurelius says: "Let deathsurprise me when it will, and where it will, I may be _eumoiros_, ora happy man, nevertheless. For he is a happy man who in his lifetimedealeth unto himself a happy lot and portion. A happy lot and portion ingood inclinations of the soul, good desires, good actions. "

The word _eumoiros_ according to the above definition, tickles my fancy. I would give a great deal to be eumoirous. What a thing to say: "I haveachieved eumoiriety, "--namely the quintessence of happy-fatedness dealtunto oneself by a perfect altruism!

I don't think that hitherto my soul has been very evilly inclined, mydesires base, or my actions those of a scoundrel. Still, the negativesdo not qualify one for eumoiriety. One wants something positive. Ihave an idea, therefore, of actively dealing unto myself a happy lot orportion according to the Marcian definition during the rest of the timeI am allowed to breathe the upper air. And this will be fairly easy;for no matter how excellently a man's soul may be inclined to theperformance of a good action, in ninety cases out of a hundred he isdriven away from it by dread of the consequences. Your moral teachersseldom think of this--that the consequences of a good action are oftenmore disastrous than those of an evil one. But if a man is going to die, he can do good with impunity. He can simply wallow in practical virtue. When the boomerang of his beneficence comes back to hit him on thehead--_he won't be there to feel it_. He can thus hoist Destiny with itsown petard, and, besides, being eumoirous, can spend a month or two in apeculiarly diverting manner. The more I think of the idea the more amI in love with it. I am going to have a seraph of a time. I am going toplay the archangel. 

I shall always have pleasant memories of Murglebed. Such an idea couldnot have germinated in any other atmosphere. In the scented groves ofsunny lands there would have been sown Seeds of Regret, which would haveblossomed eventually into Flowers of Despair. I should have gone aboutthe world, a modern Admetus, snivelling at my accursed luck, withouteven the chance of persuading a soft-hearted Alcestis to die for me. Ishould have been a dismal nuisance to society. 

"Bless you, " I cried this afternoon, waving, as I leaned against apost, my hand to the ambient mud, "Renniker was wrong! You are not aGod-forsaken place. You are impregnated with divine inspiration. "

A muddy man in a blue jersey and filthy beard who occupied the next postlooked at me and spat contemptuously. I laughed. 

"If you were Marcus Aurelius, " said I, "I would make a joke--a shortlife and an eumoiry one--and he would have looked as pained as you. "

"What?" he bawled. He was to windward of me. 

I knew that if I repeated my observation he would offer to fight me. Iapproached him suavely. 

"I was wondering, " I said, "as it's impossible to strike a match in thiswind, whether you would let me light my pipe from yours. "

"It's empty, " he growled. 

"Take a fill from my pouch, " said I. 

The mud-turtle loaded his pipe, handed me my pouch withoutacknowledgment, stuck his pipe in his breeches pocket, spat again, and, deliberately turning his back, on me, lounged off to another post on aremoter and less lunatic-ridden portion of the shore. Again I laughed, feeling, as the poet did with the daffodils, that one could not but begay in such a jocund company. 

There are no amenities or urbanities of life in Murglebed to choke thegrowth of the Idea. This evening it flourishes so exceedingly that Ithink it safe to transplant it in the alien soil of Q 3, The Albany, where the good Rogers must be leading an idle existence peculiarlydeleterious to his morals. 

This gives one furiously to think. One of the responsibilities ofeumoiriety must be the encouragement and development of virtue in mymanservant. 

Also in my young friend and secretary, Dale Kynnersley. He is more to methan Rogers. I may confess that, so long as Rogers is a sober, honest, me-fearing valet, in my heart of hearts I don't care a hang aboutRogers's morals. But about those of Dale Kynnersley I do. I care a greatdeal for his career and happiness. I have a notion that he is erringafter strange goddesses and neglecting the little girl who is in lovewith him. He must be delivered. He must marry Maisie Ellerton, and thetwo of them must bring lots of capable, clear-eyed Kynnersleys into theworld. I long to be their ghostly godfather. 

Then there's Eleanor Faversham--but if I begin to draw up a programmeI shall lose that spontaneity of effort which, I take it, is one of thechief charms of dealing unto oneself a happy lot and portion. No; mysoul abhors tabulation. It would make even six months' life as jocularas Bradshaw's Railway Guide or the dietary of a prison. I prefer to lookon what is before me as a high adventure, and with that prospect in viewI propose to jot down my experiences from time to time, so that when Iam wandering, a pale shade by Acheron, young Dale Kynnersley may havenot only documentary evidence wherewith to convince my friends andrelations that my latter actions were not those of a lunatic, but also, at the same time, an up-to-date version of Jeremy Taylor's edifyingthough humour-lacking treatise on the act of dying, which I am sorelytempted to label "The Rule and Example of Eumoiriety. " I shall resistthe temptation, however. Dale Kynnersley--such is the ignorance of thenew generation--would have no sense of the allusion. He would shake hishead and say, "Dotty, poor old chap, dotty!" I can hear him. And if, inorder to prepare him, I gave him a copy of the "Meditations, " hewould fling the book across the room and qualify Marcus Aurelius as a"rotter. "

Dale is a very shrewd fellow, and will make an admirable legislatorwhen his time comes. Although his highest intellectual recreation isreiterated attendance at the musical comedy that has caught his fancyfor the moment and his favourite literature the sporting pages of thedaily papers, he has a curious feline pounce on the salient facts ofa political situation, and can thread the mazes of statistics with thecertainty of a Hampton Court guide. His enthusiastic researches (on mybehalf) into pauper lunacy are remarkable in one so young. I foreseehim an invaluable chairman of committee. But he will never become astatesman. He has too passionate a faith in facts and figures, and hasnot cultivated a sense of humour at the expense of the philosophers. Young men who do not read them lose a great deal of fun. 

Well, to-morrow I leave Murglebed for ever; it has my benison. Democritus returns to London. 

CHAPTER II

I was at breakfast on the morning after my arrival in London, when DaleKynnersley rushed in and seized me violently by the hand. 

"By Jove, here you are at last!"

I smoothed my crushed fingers. "You have such a vehement manner ofproclaiming the obvious, my dear Dale. "

"Oh, rot!" he said. "Here, Rogers, give me some tea--and I think I'llhave some toast and marmalade. "

"Haven't you breakfasted?"

A cloud overspread his ingenuous countenance. 

"I came down late, and everything was cold and mother was on edge. The girls are always doing the wrong things and I never do the rightones--you know the mater--so I swallowed a tepid kidney and rushed off. "

"Save for her worries over you urchins, " said I, "I hope Lady Kynnersleyis well?"

He filled his mouth with toast and marmalade, and nodded. He is agood-looking boy, four-and-twenty--idyllic age! He has sleek black hairbrushed back from his forehead over his head, an olive complexion, anda keen, open, clean-shaven face. He wore a dark-brown lounge suit anda wine-coloured tie, and looked immaculate. I remember him as thegrubbiest little wretch that ever disgraced Harrow. 

He swallowed his mouthful and drank some tea. 

"Recovered your sanity?" he asked. 

"The dangerous symptoms have passed over, " I replied. "I undertake notto bite. "

He regarded me as though he were not quite certain, and asked in hispronounless way whether I was glad to be back in London. 

"Yes, " said I. "Rogers is the only human creature who can properly waxthe ends of my moustache. It got horribly limp in the air of Murglebed. That is the one and only disadvantage of the place. "

"Doesn't seem to have done you much good, " he remarked, scanning mecritically. "You are as white as you were before you went away. Why theblazes you didn't go to Madeira, or the South of France, or South AfricaI can't imagine. "

"I don't suppose you can, " said I. "Any news?"

"I should think I have! But first let me go through the appointments. "

He consulted a pocket-book. On December 2nd I was to dine with Tanners'Company and reply to the toast of "The House of Commons. " On the 4thmy constituency claimed me for the opening of a bazaar at Wymington. A little later I was to speak somewhere in the North of England at aby-election in support of the party candidate. 

"It will be fought on Tariff Reform, about which I know nothing, " Iobjected. 

"I know everything, " he declared. "I'll see you through. You must buckup a bit, Simon, and get your name better known about the country. Andthis brings me to my news. I was talking to Raggles the other day--hedropped a hint, and Raggles's hints are jolly well worth while pickingup. Just come to the front and show yourself, and there's a place in theMinistry. "

"Ministry?"

"Sanderson's going. "

"Sanderson?" I queried, interested, in spite of myself, at thesepuerilities. "What's the matter with him?"

"Swelled head. There have been awful rows--this is confidential--andhe's got the hump. Thinks he ought to be the Chancellor of theExchequer, or at least First Lord, instead of an Under Secretary. Sohe's going to chuck it, before he gets the chuck himself--see?"

"I perceive, " said I, "that your conversational English style isabominable. "

He lit a cigarette and continued, loftily taking no notice of my rebuke. 

"There's bound to be a vacancy. Why shouldn't you fill it? They seem towant you. You're miles away over the heads of the average solemn dufferswho get office. "

I bowed acknowledgment of his tribute. 

"Well, you will buck up and try for it, won't you? I'm awfully proudof you already, but I should go off my head with joy if you were in theMinistry. "

I met his honest young eyes as well as I could. How was I going toconvey to his candid intelligence the fact of my speedy withdrawal frompolitical life without shattering his illusions? Besides, his devotiontouched me, and his generous aspirations were so futile. Office! It wasin my grasp. Raggles, with his finger always on the pulse of the partymachine, was the last man in the world to talk nonsense. I only had to"buck up. " Yet by the time Sanderson sends in his resignation to theKing of England, I shall have sent in mine to the King of Hosts. I movedslightly in my chair, and a twinge of the little pain inside brought agasp to my throat. But I felt grateful to it. It was saving me from anunconscionable deal of worry. Fancy going to a confounded office everymorning like a clerk in the City! I was happier at peace. I rose andwarmed myself by the fire. Dale regarded me uncomprehendingly. 

"You look as if the prospect bored you to tears. I thought you would bedelighted. "

"_Vanitas vanitatum_, " said I. "_Omnia vanitas_. "

"Rot!" said Dale. 

"It's true. "

"I must fetch Eleanor Faversham back from Sicily, " said Dale. 

"Don't, " said I. 

"Well, I give you up, " he declared, pushing his chair from the table andswinging one leg across the other. I leaned forward and scrutinised hisankles. 

"What are you looking at?"

"There must be something radically wrong with you, Dale, " I murmuredsympathetically. "It is part of the religion of your generation to wearsocks to match your tie. To-day your tie is wine-coloured and your socksare green----"

"Good Lord, " he cried, "so they are! I dressed myself anyhow thismorning. "

"What's wrong with you?"

He threw his cigarette impatiently into the fire. 

"Every infernal thing that can possibly be. Everything's rotten--butI've not come here to talk about myself. "

"Why not?"

"It isn't the game. I'm here on your business, which is ever so muchmore important than mine. Where are this morning's letters?"

I pointed to an unopened heap on a writing-table at the end of the room. He crossed and sat down before them. Presently he turned sharply. 

"You haven't looked through the envelopes. Here is one from Sicily. "

I took the letter from him, and sighed to myself as I read it. Eleanorwas miserable. The Sicilians were dirty. The Duomo of Palermo didnot come up to her expectations. The Mobray-Robertsons, with whom shetravelled, quarrelled with their food. They had never even heard ofTheocritus. She had a cold in her head, and was utterly at a loss toexplain my attitude. Therefore she was coming back to London. 

I wish I could find her a nice tame husband who had heard of Theocritus. It would be such a good thing for everybody, husband included. For, Irepeat, Eleanor is a young woman of fine character, and the man to whomshe gives her heart will be a fortunate fellow. 

While I was reading the letter and meditating on it, with my back tothe fire, Dale plunged into the morning's correspondence with an air ofenjoyment. That is the astonishing thing about him. He loves work. The more I give him to do the better he likes it. His cronies, who inraiment, manners, and tastes differ from him no more than a row of pinsdiffers from a stray brother, regard a writing-chair as a mediaevalinstrument of torture, and faint at the sight of ink. They will putthemselves to all kinds of physical and pecuniary inconvenience in orderto avoid regular employment. They are the tramps of the fashionableworld. But in vain do they sing to Dale of the joys of silk-hatted andpatent-leather-booted vagabondage and deride his habits of industry;Dale turns a deaf ear to them and urges on his strenuous career. Rogers, coming in to clear away the breakfast things, was despatched by my youngfriend to fetch a portfolio from the hall. It contained, he informedme, the unanswered letters of the past fortnight with which he hadfound himself unqualified to deal. He grasped the whole bundle ofcorrespondence, and invited me to follow him to the library and start ona solid morning's work. I obeyed meekly. He sat down at the big table, arranged the pile in front of him, took a pencil from the tray, andbegan:

"This is from Finch, of the _Universal Review_. "

I put my hand on his shoulder. 

"Tell him, my boy, that it's against my custom to breakfast at afternoontea, and that I hope his wife is well. "

At his look of bewilderment I broke into a laugh. 

"He wants me to write a dull article for his stupid paper, doesn't he?"

"Yes, on Poor Law Administration. "

"I'm not going to do it. I'm not going to do anything these people askme. Say 'No, no, no, no, ' to everybody. "

"In Heaven's name, Simon, " he cried, laying down his pencil, "what hascome over you?"

"Old age, " said I. 

He uttered his usual interjection, and added that I was onlythirty-seven. 

"Age is a relative thing, " I remarked. "Babes of five have been knownto die of senile decay, and I have seen irresponsible striplings ofseventy. "

"I really think Eleanor Faversham had better come back from Sicily. "

I tapped the letter still in my hand. "She's coming. "

"I'm jolly glad to hear it. It's all my silly fault that she went away. I thought she was getting on your nerves. But you want pulling together. That confounded place you've been to has utterly upset you. "

"On the contrary, " said I, "it has steadied and amplified my conceptionof sublunary affairs. It has shown me that motley is much moreprofitable wear than the edged toga of the senator--"

"Oh, for God's sake, dry up, " cried young England, "and tell me whatanswers I'm to give these people!"

He seemed so earnest about it that I humoured him; and my correspondentsseemed so earnest that I humoured them. But it was a grim jest. Most ofthe matters with which I had to deal appeared so trivial. Only here andthere did I find a chance for eumoiriety. The Wymington Hospital appliedfor their annual donation. 

"You generally give a tenner, " said Dale. 

"This time I'll give them a couple of hundred, " said I. 

Dale earmarked the amount wonderingly; but when I ordered him to sendfive pounds apiece to the authors of various begging letters he arguedvehemently and quoted the Charity Organisation Society. 

"They're frauds, all of them, " he maintained. 

"They're poor necessitous devils, at any rate, " said I, "and they wantthe money more than I do. "

This was a truth whose significance Dale was far from realising. Ofwhat value, indeed, is money to me? There is none to whom I can usefullybequeath my little fortune, my sisters having each married rich men. Ishall not need even Charon's obolus when I am dead, for we have ceasedto believe in him--which is a pity, as the trip across the Styx musthave been picturesque. Why, then, should I not deal myself a happy lotand portion by squandering my money benevolently during my lifetime?

It behooves me, however, to walk warily in this as in other matters, forif my actions too closely resemble those of a lunatic at large, trusteesmay be appointed to administer my affairs, which would frustrate myplans entirely. 

When my part in the morning's work was over, I informed my secretarythat I would go out and take the air till lunch-time. 

"If you've nothing better to do, " said he, "you might run round toEccleston Square and see my mother. "

"For any particular reason?"

"She wants to see you. Home for inebriate parrots or something. Gave mea message for you this morning. "

"I'll wait, " said I, "on Lady Kynnersley with pleasure. "

I went out and walked down the restful covered way of the Albany tothe Piccadilly entrance, and began my taking of the air. It was a softNovember day, full of blue mist, and invested with a dying grace by apale sunshine struggling through thin, grey rain-cloud. It was a fadedlady of a day--a lady of waxen cheeks, attired in pearl-grey andold lace, her dim eyes illumined by a last smile. It gave an airof unreality to the perspective of tall buildings, and treated withindulgent irony the passing show of humans--on foot, on omnibuses, incabs and motors--turning them into shadow shapes tending no whither. I laughed to myself. They all fancied themselves so real. They all hadschemes in their heads, as if they were going to live a thousand years. I walked westwards past the great clubs, moralising as I went, andfeeling the reaction from the excitement of Murglebed-on-Sea. I lookedup at one of my own clubs, a comfortable resting-place, and it struckme as possessing more attractions than the family vault in HighgateCemetery. An acquaintance at the window waved his hand at me. I thoughthim a lucky beggar to have that window to stand by when the street willbe flooded with summer sunshine and the trees in the green Park oppositewave in their verdant bravery. A little further a radiant being, allchiffons and millinery, on her way to Bond Street for more millinery andchiffons, smiled at me and put forth a delicately-gloved hand. 

"Oh, Mr. De Gex, you're the very man I was longing to see!"

"How simply are some human aspirations satisfied!" said I. 

"Farfax"--that's her husband, Farfax Glenn, a Member on my side of theHouse--"Farfax and I are making plans already for the Easter recess. Weare going to motor to Athens, and you must come with us. You can tell usall about everything as we pass by. "

I looked grave. "Easter is late next year. "

"What does that matter? Say you'll come. "

"Alas! my dear Mrs. Glenn, " I said, with a smile, "I have an engagementat Easter--a very important one. "

"I thought the wedding was not to take place till June. "

"It isn't the wedding, " said I. 

"Then break the engagement. "

"It's beyond human power, " said I. 

She held up her bracelet, from which dangled some charms. 

"I think you're a ----" And she pointed to a little golden pig. 

"I'm not, " I retorted. 

"What are you, then?"

"I'm a gentleman in a Greek tragedy. "

We laughed and parted, and I went on my way cheered by the encounter. I had spoken the exact truth, and found amusement in doing so. One hasoften extracted humour from the contemplation of the dissolution ofothers--that of the giant in "Jack the Giant-killer" for instance, andthe demise of the little boy with the pair of skates in the poem. Whynot extract it from the contemplation of one's own?

The only disadvantage of my position is that it give me, in spite ofmyself, an odd sense of isolation from my kind. They are looking forwardto Easters and Junes and summers, and I am not. I also have a fatuousfeeling of superiority in being in closer touch than they with eternalverities. I must take care that I do not play too much to the gallery, that I do not grow too conceited over the singularity of my situation, and arrive at the mental attitude of the criminal whose dominantsolicitude in connection with his execution was that he should be hangedin his dress clothes. These reflections brought me to Eccleston Square. 

Lady Kynnersley is that type of British matron who has children in fitsof absent-mindedness, and to whom their existence is a perpetualshock. Her main idea in marrying the late Sir Thomas Kynnersley was toassociate herself with his political and philanthropic schemes. She isthe born committee woman, to whom a home represents a place where onesleeps and eats in order to maintain the strength required for theperformance of committee duties. Her children have always been outsidethe sphere of her real interests, but, afflicted, as such women are, with chronic inflammation of the conscience, she had devoted the mostscrupulous care to their upbringing. She formed herself into a societyfor the protection of her own children, and managed them by means of acommittee, which consisted of herself, and of which she was the honorarysecretary. She drew up articles of association and regulations. If Dalecontracted measles, she applied by-law 17. If Janet slappedDorothy, by-law 32 was brought into play. When Dale clamoured fora rocking-horse, she found that the articles of association did notprovide for imaginative equitation. As the children grew up, thecommittee had from time to time to revise the articles and submit themto the general body for approval. There were many meetings before thenew sections relating to a University career for the boy and the comingout for the girls were satisfactorily drafted. Once given the effectof law, however, there was no appeal against these provisions. Bothcommittee and general body were powerless. Dale certainly owed hismethodical habits to his mechanical training, but whence he derived andhow he maintained his exuberance and spontaneity has often puzzledme. He himself accounts for it on the score of heredity, in that anancestress of his married a highwayman who was hanged at Tyburn underWilliam and Mary. 

In person Lady Kynnersley is lean and blanched and grey-haired. Shewears gold spectacles, which stand out oddly against the thin whitenessof her face; she is still a handsome, distinguished woman, who can have, when she chooses, a most gracious manner. As I, worldling and jesterthough I am, for some mysterious reason have found favour in the lady'seyes, she manifests this graciousness whenever we foregather. Ergo, I like Lady Kynnersley, and would put myself to much inconvenience inorder to do her a service. 

She kept me waiting in the drawing-room but a minute before she madeher appearance, grasped my hand, proclaimed my goodness in respondingso soon to her call, bade me sit down on the sofa by her side, inquiredafter my health, and, the gods of politeness being propitiated, plungedat once into the midst of matters. 

Dale was going downhill headlong to Gadarene catastrophe. He had noeyes or ears or thoughts for any one in the world but for a certain LolaBrandt, a brazen creature from a circus, the shape of whose limbs wasthe common knowledge of mankind from Dublin to Yokohama, and whose pathby sea and land, from Yokohama to Dublin, was strewn with the bodies ofher victims. With this man-eating tigress, declared Lady Kynnersley, was Dale infatuated. He scorched himself morning, noon, and night in herdevastating presence. Had cut himself adrift from home, from society. Had left trailing about on his study table a jeweller's bill for adiamond bracelet. Was committing follies that made my brain reel tohear. Had threatened, if worried much longer, to marry the Scarlet Oneincontinently. Heaven knew, cried Lady Kynnersley, how many husbandsshe had already--scattered along the track between Dublin and Yokohama. There was no doubt about it. Dale was hurtling down to everlastingbonfire. She looked to me to hold out the restraining hand. 

"You have already spoken to Dale on the subject?" I asked, mindful ofthe inharmonious socks and tie. 

"I can talk to him of nothing else, " said Lady Kynnersley desperately. 

"That's a pity, " said I. "You should talk to him of Heaven, or pigs, orBabylonic cuneiform--anything but Lola Brandt. You ought to go to workon a different system. "

"But I haven't a system at all, " cried the poor lady. "How was I toforesee that my only son was going to fall in love with a circus rider?These are contingencies in life for which one, with all the thought inthe world, can make no provision. I had arranged, as you know, thathe should marry Maisie Ellerton, as charming a girl as ever there was. Isn't she? And an independent fortune besides. "

"A rosebud wrapped in a gold leaf, " I murmured. 

"Now he's breaking the child's heart----"

"There was never any engagement between them, I am sure of that, " Iremarked. 

"There wasn't. But I gave her to understand it was a settledaffair--merely a question of Dale speaking. And, instead of speaking, he will have nothing to do with her, and spends all his time--and, I suppose, though I don't like to refer to it, all his money--in thesociety of this unmentionable woman. "

"Is she really so--so red as she is painted?" I asked. 

"She isn't painted at all. That's where her artful and deceitful devilrycomes in----"

"I suppose Dale, " said I, "declares her to be an angel of light andpurity?"

"An angel on horseback! Whoever heard of such a thing?"

"It's the name of a rather fiery savoury, " said I. 

"In a circus!" she continued. 

"Well, " said I, "the ring of a circus is not essentially one of thecircles in Dante's Inferno. "

"Of course, my dear Simon, " she said, with some impatience, "if youdefend him--"

I hastened to interrupt her. "I don't. I think he is an egregious youngidiot; but before taking action it's well to get a clear idea of thefacts. By the way, how do you know she's not painted?"

"I've seen her--seen her with my own eyes in Dale's company--at theSavoy. He's there supping with her every night. General Lamont toldme. I wouldn't believe it--Dale flaunting about in public with her. The General offered to take me there after the inaugural meeting ofthe International Aid Society at Grosvenor House. I went, and saw themtogether. I shall never forget the look in the boy's eyes till my dyingday. She has got him body and soul. One reads of such things in thepoets, one sees it in pictures; but I've never come across it in reallife--never, never. It's dreadful, horrible, revolting. To think that ason of mine, brought up from babyhood to calculate all his actionswith mathematical precision, should be guilty of this profligacy! It'sdriving me mad, Simon; it really is. I don't know what to do. I've cometo the end of my resources. It's your turn now. The boy worships you. "

A wild appeal burned in her eyes and was refracted oddly through hernear-sighted spectacles. I had never seen her betray emotion beforeduring all the years of our friendship. The look and the tone of hervoice moved me. I expressed my sympathy and my readiness to do anythingin my power to snatch the infatuated boy from the claw and fang of thesyren and hale him to the forgiving feet of Maisie Ellerton. Indeed, such a chivalrous adventure had vaguely passed through my mind during myexalted mood at Murglebed-on-Sea. But then I knew little beyond the factthat Dale was fluttering round an undesirable candle. Till now I had noidea of the extent to which his wings were singed. 

"Hasn't Dale spoken to you about this creature?" his mother asked. 

"Young men of good taste keep these things from their elders, my dearLady Kynnersley, " said I. 

"But you knew of it?"

"In a dim sort of way. "

"Oh, Simon--"

"The baby boys of Dale's set regard taking out the chorus to supper asa solemn religious rite. They wouldn't think themselves respectable ifthey didn't. I've done it myself--in moderation--when I was very young. "

"Men are mysteries, " sighed Lady Kynnersley. 

"Please regard them as such, " said I, with a laugh, "and let Dale alone. Allow him to do whatever irrational thing he likes, save bringing thelady here to tea. If you try to tear him away from her he'll only clingto her the closer. If you trumpet abroad her infamy he'll proclaim her aslandered and martyred saint. Leave him to me for the present. "

"I'll do so gladly, " said Lady Kynnersley, with surprising meekness. "But you _will_ bring him back, Simon? I've arranged for him to marryMaisie. I can't have my plans for the future upset. "

By-law 379! Dear, excellent, but wooden-headed woman!

"I have your promise, haven't I?" she said, her hand in mine. 

"You have, " said I nobly. 

But how in the name of Astaroth I'm going to keep it I haven't theremotest conception. 

CHAPTER III

Some letters in Dale's round handwriting lay on the library tableawaiting my signature. Dale himself had gone. A lady had called for him, said Rogers, in an electric brougham. As my chambers are on the secondfloor and the staircase half-way down the arcade, Rogers's detailedinformation surprised me. I asked him how he knew. 

"A chauffeur in livery, sir, came to the door and said that the broughamwas waiting for Mr. Kynnersley. "

"I don't see how the lady came in, " I remarked. 

"She didn't, sir. She remained in the brougham, " said Rogers. 

So Lola Brandt keeps an electric brougham. 

I lunched at the club, and turned up the article "Lola Brandt" in theliving encyclopaedia--that was my friend Renniker. The wonderful mangave me her history from the cradle to Cadogan Gardens, where she nowresides. I must say that his details were rather vague. She rode in acircus or had a talking horse--he was not quite sure; and concerningher conjugal or extra-conjugal heart affairs he admitted that hisinformation was either unauthenticated or conjectural. At any rate, shehad not a shred of reputation. And she didn't want it, said Renniker; itwould be as much use to her as a diving suit. 

"She has young Dale Kynnersley in tow, " he remarked. 

"So I gather, " said I. "And now can you tell me something else? What isthe present state of political parties in Guatemala?"

I was not in the least interested in Guatemala; but I did not care todiscuss Dale with Renniker. When he had completed his sketch of affairsin that obscure republic, I thanked him politely and ordered coffee. 

Feeling in a gregarious, companionable humour--I have had enoughsolitude at Murglebed to last me the rest of my short lifetime--I wentlater in the afternoon to Sussex Gardens to call on Mrs. Ellerton. Itwas her day at home, and the drawing-room was filled with chatteringpeople. I stayed until most of them were gone, and then Maisie draggedme to the inner room, where a table was strewn with the wreckage of tea. 

"I haven't had any, " she said, grasping the teapot and pouring a treaclyliquid into a cup. "You must have some more. Do you like it black, orwith milk?"

She is a dainty slip of a girl, with deep grey eyes and wavy brown hairand a sea-shell complexion. I absently swallowed the abomination shehanded me, for I was looking at her over the teacup and wondering howan exquisite-minded gentleman like Dale could forsake her for a LolaBrandt. It was not as if Maisie were an empty-headed, empty-naturedlittle girl. She is a young person of sense, education, and character. She also adores musical comedy and a band at dinner: an excellent thingin woman--when she is very young. 

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked. 

"Because, my dear Maisie, " said I, "you are good to look upon. You arealso dropping a hairpin. "

She hastily secured the dangling thing. "I did my hair anyhow to-day, "she explained. 

Again I thought of Dale's tie and socks. The signs of a lover's"careless desolation, " described by Rosalind so minutely, can still bedetected in modern youth of both sexes. I did not pursue the question, but alluded to autumn gaieties. She spoke of them without enthusiasm. Miss Somebody's wedding was very dull, and Mrs. Somebody Else's dancemanned with vile and vacuous dancers. At the Opera the greatest ofGerman sopranos sang false. All human institutions had taken a crookedturn, and her cat could not be persuaded to pay the commonest attentionto its kittens. Then she asked me nonchalantly:

"Have you seen anything of Dale lately?"

"He was working with me this morning. I've been away, you know. "

"I forgot. "

"When did you last see him?" I asked. 

"Oh, ages ago! He has not been near us for weeks. We used to be suchfriends. I don't think it's very polite of him, do you?"

"I'll order him to call forthwith, " said I. 

"Oh, please don't! If he won't come of his own accord--I don't want tosee him particularly. "

She tossed her shapely head and looked at me bravely. 

"You are quite right, " said I. "Dale's a selfish, ill-mannered youngcub. "

"He isn't!" she flashed. "How dare you say such things about him!"

I smiled and took both her hands--one of them held a piece of brownbread-and-butter. 

"My dear, " said I, "model yourself on Little Bo-Peep. I don't know whogave her the famous bit of advice, but I think it was I myself in apastoral incarnation. I had a woolly cloak and a crook, and she was likea Dresden china figure--the image of you. "

Her eyes swam, but she laughed and said I was good to her. I said:

"The man who wouldn't be good to you is an unhung villain. "

Then her mother joined us, and our little confidential talk came to anend. It was enough, however, to convince me that my poor little Ariadnewas shedding many desperate tears in secret over her desertion. 

On my way home I looked in on my doctor. His name is Hunnington. Hegrasped me by the hand and eagerly inquired whether my pain was worse. Isaid it was not. He professed delight, but looked disappointed. I oughtto have replied in the affirmative. It is so easy to make others happy. 

I dined, read a novel, and went to sleep in the cheerful frame of mindinduced by the consciousness of having made some little progress on thepath of eumoiriety. 

The next morning Dale made his customary appearance. He wore a morningcoat, a dark tie, and patent-leather boots. 

"Well, " said I, "have you dressed more carefully today?"

He looked himself anxiously over and inquired whether there was anythingwrong. I assured him of the impeccability of his attire, and commentedon its splendour. 

"Are you going to take Maisie out to lunch?"

He started and reddened beneath his dark skin. Before he could speak Ilaid my hand on his shoulder. 

"I'm an old friend, Dale. You mustn't be angry with me. But don't youthink you're treating Maisie rather badly?"

"You've no right to say so, " he burst out hotly. "No one has the rightto say so. There was never a question of an engagement between Maisieand myself. "

"Then there ought to have been, " I said judicially. "No decent man playsfast and loose with a girl and throws her over just at the moment whenhe ought to be asking her to marry him. "

"I suppose my mother's been at you. That's what she wanted to see youabout yesterday. I wish to God she would mind her own business. "

"And that I would mind mine?"

Dale did not reply. For some odd reason he is devotedly attached to me, and respects my opinion on worldly matters. He walked to the window andlooked out. Presently, without turning round, he said:

"I suppose she has been rubbing it in about Lola Brandt?"

"She did mention the lady's name, " said I. "So did Renniker at the club. I suppose every one you know and many you don't are mentioning it. "

"Well, what if they are?"

"They're creating an atmosphere about your name which is scarcely thatin which to make an entrance into public life. "

Still with his back turned, he morosely informed me in his vernacularthat he contemplated public life with feelings of indifference, and wasperfectly prepared to abandon his ambitions. I took up my parable, thesame old parable that wise seniors have preached to the deluded youngfrom time immemorial. I have seldom held forth so platitudinously evenin the House of Commons. I spoke as impressively as a bishop. In themidst of my harangue he came and sat by the library table and restedhis chin on his palm, looking at me quietly out of his dark eyes. Hismildness encouraged me to further efforts. I instanced cases of otheryoung men of the world who had gone the way of the flesh and had endedat the devil. 

There was Paget, of the Guards, eaten to the bone by the Syren--not eventhe gold lace on his uniform left. There was Merridew, once the hopeof the party, now living in ignoble obscurity with an old and paintedmistress, whom he detested, but to whom habit and sapped will-power kepthim in thrall. There was Bullen, who blew his brains out. In a generousglow I waxed prophetic and drew a vivid picture of Dale's moral, mental, physical, financial, and social ruin, and finished up in a masterlyperoration. 

Then, without moving, he calmly said:

"My dear Simon, you are talking through your hat!"

He had allowed me to walk backwards and forwards on the hearthrug beforea blazing fire, pouring out the wealth of my wisdom, experience, andrhetoric for ten minutes by the clock, and then coolly informed me thatI was talking through my hat. 

I wiped my forehead, sat down, and looked at him across the table insurprise and indignation. 

"If you can point out one irrelevant or absurd remark in my homily, I'lleat the hat through which you say I'm talking. "

"The whole thing is rot from beginning to end!" said he. "None of yougood people know anything at all about Lola Brandt. She's not thesort of woman you think. She's quite different. You can't judge her byordinary standards. There's not a woman like her in the wide world!"

I made a gesture of discouragement. The same old parable of the wisehad evoked the same old retort from the deluded young. She was quitedifferent from other women. She was misunderstood by the cynical andgross-minded world. A heart of virgin purity beat beneath her mercenarybosom. Her lurid past had been the reiterated martyrdom of a noblenature. O Golden Age! O unutterable silliness of Boyhood!

"For Heaven's sake, don't talk in that way!" he cried (I had beentalking in that way), and he rose and walked like a young tiger aboutthe room. "I can't stand it. I've gone mad about her. She has got intomy blood somehow. I think about her all day long, and I can't sleep atnight. I would give up any mortal thing on earth for her. She is the onewoman in the world for me! She's the dearest, sweetest, tenderest, mostbeautiful creature God ever made!"

"And you honour and respect her--just as you would honour and respectMaisie?" I asked quietly. 

"Of course I do!" he flashed. "Don't I tell you that you know nothingwhatever about her? She is the dearest, sweetest----" etc. , etc. And hecontinued to trumpet forth the Olympian qualities of the Syren and hisown fervent adoration. I was the only being to whom he had opened hisheart, and, the floodgates being set free, the torrent burst forth inthis tempestuous and incoherent manner. I let him go on, for I thoughtit did him good; but his rhapsody added very little to my information. 

The lady who had "houp-la'd" her way from Dublin to Yokohama was thespotless queen of beauty, and Dale was frenziedly, idiotically in lovewith her. That was all I could gather. When he had finished, which hedid somewhat abruptly, he threw himself into a chair and took out hiscigarette-case with shaky fingers. 

"There. I suppose I've made a damn-fool exhibition of myself, " he said, defiantly. "What have you got to say about it?"

"Precisely, " I replied, "what I said before. I'll repeat it, if youlike. "

Indeed, what more was there to say for the present about the lunaticbusiness? I had come to the end of my arguments. 

He reflected for a moment, then rose and came over to the fireplace. 

"Look here, Simon, you must let me go my own way in this. In matters ofpolitics and worldly wisdom and social affairs and honourable dealingand all that sort of thing I would follow you blindly. You're my chief, and a kind of elder brother as well. I would do any mortal thing foryou. You know that. But you've no right to try to guide me in thismatter. You know no more about it than my mother. You've had noexperience. You've never let yourself go about a woman in your life. Lord of Heaven, man, you have never begun to know what it means!"

Oh, dear me! Here was the situation as old as the return of the Prodigalor the desertion of the trusting village maiden, or any other cliche inthe melodrama of real life. "You are making a fool of yourself, " saysMentor. "Ah, " shrieks Telemachus, "but you never loved! You don't knowwhat love is. "

I looked at him whimsically. 

"Don't I?"

My thoughts sped back down the years to a garden in France. Her name wasClothilde. We met in a manner outrageous to Gallic propriety, as I usedto climb over the garden wall to the peril of my epidermis. We loved. Wewere parted by stern parents--not mine--and Clothilde was packed off tothe good Sisters who had previously had care of her education. Now sheis fat and happy, and the wife of a banker and the mother of children. 

But the romance was sad and bad and mad enough while it lasted; and whenClothilde was (figuratively) dragged from my arms I cursed and swore andout-Heroded Herod, played Termagant, and summoned the heavens to falldown and crush me miserable beneath their weight. And then her brotherchallenged me to fight a duel, whereupon, as the most worshipped of allShe's had not received a ha'porth of harm at my hands, I called him asilly ass and threatened to break his head if he interfered any morein my legitimate despair. I smile at it now; but it was real attwo-and-twenty--as real, I take it, as Dale's consuming passion for thelady of the circus. 

There was also, I remembered, a certain ---- But this had nothing to dowith Dale. Neither had the tragedy of my lost Clothilde. The memories, however, brought a wistful touch of sympathy into my voice. 

"You soberly think, my dear old Dale, " said I, "that I know nothing oflove and passion and the rest of the divine madness?"

"I'm sure you don't, " he cried, with an impatient gesture. "If you did, you wouldn't--"

He came to an abrupt and confused halt. 

"I wouldn't--what?"

"Nothing. I forgot what I was going to say. Let us talk of somethingelse. "

"It was on the tip of your impulsive tongue, " said I cheerfully, "torefer to my attitude towards Miss Faversham. "

"I'm desperately sorry, " said he, reddening. "It was unpardonable. Buthow did you guess?"

I laughed and quoted the Latin tag about the ingenuous boy of theingenuous visage and ingenuous modesty. 

"Because I don't feverishly search the postbag for a letter from MissFaversham you conclude I'm a bloodless automaton?"

"Please don't say any more about it, Simon, " he pleaded in deepdistress. 

A sudden idea struck me. I reflected, walked to the window, and, havingmade up my mind, sat down again. I had a weapon to hand which I hadoverlooked, and with the discovery came a weak craving for the boy'ssympathy. I believe I care more for him than for any living creature. Idecided to give him some notion of my position. 

Sooner or later he would have to learn it. 

"I would rather like to tell you something, " said I, "about myengagement--in confidence, of course. When Eleanor Faversham comes backI propose to ask her to release me from it. "

He drew a long breath. "I'm glad. She's an awfully nice girl, butshe's no more in love with you than my mother is. But it'll be ratherdifficult, won't it?"

"I don't think so, " I replied, shaking my head. "It's a question ofhealth. My doctors absolutely forbid it. "

A look of affectionate alarm sprang into his eyes. He broke intosympathy. My health? Why had I not told him before? In Heaven's name, what was the matter with me?

"Something silly, " said I. "Nothing you need worry about on my account. Only I must go _piano_ for the rest of my days. Marriage isn't to bethought of. There is something else I must tell you. I must resign myseat. "

"Resign your seat? Give up Parliament? When?"

"As soon as possible. "

He looked at me aghast, as if the world were coming to an end. 

"We had better concoct an epistle to Raggles this morning. "

"But you can't be serious?"

"I can sometimes, my dear Dale. This is one of the afflictingoccasions. "

"You out of Parliament? You out of public life? It's inconceivable. It'sdamnable. But you're just coming into your own--what Raggles said, whatI told you yesterday. But it can't be. You can hold on. I'll do all thedrudgery for you. I'll work night and day. "

And he tramped up and down the room, uttering the disconnected phraseswhich an honest young soul unaccustomed to express itself emotionallyblurts out in moments of deep feeling. 

"It's no use, Dale, " said I, "I've got my marching orders. "

"But why should they come just now?"

"When the sweets of office are dangling at my lips? It's pretty simple. "I laughed. "It's one of the little ironies that please the high godsso immensely. They have an elementary sense of humour--like that ofthe funny fellow who pulls your chair from under you and shrieks withlaughter when you go wallop on to the floor. Well, I don't grudge themtheir amusement. They must have a dull time settling mundane affairs, and a little joke goes a long way with them, as it does in the Houseof Commons. Fancy sitting on those green benches legislating for alleternity, with never a recess and never even a dinner hour! Poor highgods! Let us pity them. "

I looked at him and smiled, perhaps a little wearily. One can alwayscommand one's eyes, but one's lips sometimes get out of control. Hecould not have noticed my lips, however, for he cried:

"By George, you're splendid! I wish I could take a knock-out blow likethat!"

"You'll have to one of these days. It's the only way of taking it. Andnow, " said I, in a businesslike tone, "I've told you all this with apurpose. At Wymington it will be a case of 'Le Roi est mort. Vive leRoi!' The vacancy will have to be filled up at once. We'll have to finda suitable candidate. Have you one in your mind?"

"Not a soul. "

"I have. "

"Who?"

"You. "

"Me?" He nearly sprang into the air with astonishment. 

"Why not?"

"They'd never adopt me. "

"I think they would, " I said. "There are men in the House as young asyou. You're well known at Wymington and at headquarters as my right-handman. You've done some speaking--you do it rather well; it's onlyyour private conversational style that's atrocious. You've got a namefamiliar in public life up and down the country, thanks to your fatherand mother. It's a fairly safe seat. I see no reason why they shouldn'tadopt you. Would you like it?"

"Like it?" he cried. "Why I'd give my ears for it. "

"Then, " said I, playing my winning card, "let us hear no more about LolaBrandt. "

He gave me a swift glance, and walked up and down the room for a whilein silence. Presently he halted in front of me. 

"Look here, Simon, you're a beast, but"--he smiled frankly at thequotation--"you're a just beast. You oughtn't to rub it in like thatabout Lola until you have seen her yourself. It isn't fair. "

"You speak now in language distinctly approaching that of reason, " Iremarked. "What do you want me to do?"

"Come with me this afternoon and see her. "

My young friend had me nicely in the trap. I could not refuse. 

"Very well, " said I. "But on the distinct understanding--"

"Oh, on any old understanding you like!" he cried, and darted to thedoor. 

"Where are you going?"

"To ring her up on the telephone and tell her you're coming. "

That's the worst of the young. They have such a disconcerting manner ofclinching one's undertakings. 

CHAPTER IV

My first impression of Lola Brandt in the dimness of the room was thatof a lithe panther in petticoats rising lazily from the depths of aneasy chair. A sinuous action of the arm, as she extended her hand towelcome me, was accompanied by a curiously flexible turn of the body. Her hand as it enveloped, rather than grasped, mine seemed boneless butexceedingly powerful. An indoor dress of brown and gold striped Indiansilk clung to her figure, which, largely built, had an appearance ofgreat strength. Dark bronze hair and dark eyes, that in the soft lightof the room glowed with deep gold reflections, completed the pantherinesuggestion. She seemed to be on the verge of thirty. A most dangerouswoman, I decided--one to be shut up in a cage with thick iron bars. 

"It's charming of you to come. I've heard so much of you from Mr. Kynnersley. Do sit down. "

Her voice was lazy and languorous and caressing like the purr of a greatcat; and there was something exotic in her accent, something seductive, something that ought to be prohibited by the police. She sank into herlow chair by the fire, indicating one for me square with the hearthrug. Dale, so as to leave me a fair conversational field with the lady, established himself on the sofa some distance off, and began to talkwith a Chow dog, with whom he was obviously on terms of familiarity. Madame Brandt make a remark about the Chow dog's virtues, to which Ipolitely replied. She put him through several tricks. I admired histalent. She declared her affections to be divided between Adolphus (thatwas the Chow dog's name) and an ouistiti, who was confined to bed forthe present owing to the evil qualities of the November air. For thefirst time I blessed the English climate. I hate little monkeys. I alsofelt a queer disappointment. A woman like that ought to have caught anourang-outang. 

She guessed my thought in an uncanny manner, and smiled, showing strong, white, even teeth--the most marvellous teeth I have ever beheld--so evenas to constitute almost a deformity. 

"I'm fonder of bigger animals, " she said. "I was born among them. My father was a lion tamer, so I know all the ways of beasts. I lovebears--I once trained one to drive a cart--but"--with a sigh--"you can'tkeep bears in Cadogan Gardens. "

"You may get hold of a human one now and then, " said Dale. 

"I've no doubt Madame Brandt could train him to dance to whatever tuneshe played, " said I. 

She turned her dark golden eyes lazily, slumberously on me. 

"Why do you say that, Mr. De Gex?"

This was disconcerting. Why had I said it? For no particular reason, save to keep up a commonplace conversation in which I took no absorbinginterest. It was a direct challenge. Young Dale stopped playing with theChow dog and grinned. It behooved me to say something. I said it with abow and a wave of my hand:

"Because, though your father was a lion-tamer, your mother was a woman. "

She appeared to reflect for a moment; then addressing Dale:

"The answer doesn't amount to a ha'porth of cats'-meat, but you couldn'thave got out of it like that. "

I was again disconcerted, but I remarked that he would learn in timewhen my mentorship was over and I handed him, a finished product, tosociety. 

"How long will that be?" she asked. 

"I don't know. Are you anxious for his immediate perfecting?"

Her shoulders gave what in ordinary women would have been a shrug: withher it was a slow ripple. I vow if her neck had been bare one could haveseen it undulate beneath the skin. 

"What is perfection?"

"Can you ask?" laughed Dale. "Behold!" And he pointed to me. 

"That's cheap, " said the lady. "I've heard Auguste say cleverer things. "

"Who's Auguste?" asked Dale. 

"Auguste, " said I, "is the generic name of the clown in the FrenchHippodrome. "

"Oh, the Circus!" cried Dale. 

"I'll be glad if you'll teach him to call it the Hippodrome, Mr. DeGex, " she remarked, with another of her slumberous glances. 

"That will be one step nearer perfection, " said I. 

The short November twilight had deepened into darkness; the fire, whichwas blazing when we entered, had settled into a glow, and the room waslit by one shaded lamp. To me the dimness was restful, but Dale, who, with the crude instincts of youth, loves glare, began to fidget, andpresently asked whether he might turn on the electric light. Permissionwas given. My hostess invited me to smoke and, to hand her a box ofcigarettes which lay on the mantelpiece, I rose, bent over her whileshe lit her cigarette from my match, and resuming an upright position, became rooted to the hearthrug. 

With the flood of illumination, disclosing everything that hitherto hadbeen wrapped in shadow and mystery, came a shock. 

It was a most extraordinary, perplexing room. The cheap and the costly, the rare and the common, the exquisite and the tawdry jostled oneanother on walls and floor. At one end of the Louis XVI sofa on whichDale had been sitting lay a boating cushion covered with a Union Jack, at the other a cushion covered with old Moorish embroidery. The chairI had vacated I discovered to be of old Spanish oak and stamped Cordovaleather bearing traces of a coat-of-arms in gold. My hostess lounged ina low characterless seat amid a mass of heterogeneous cushions. Therewere many flowers in the room--some in Cloisonne vases, others ingimcrack vessels such as are bought at country fairs. On the mantelpieceand on tables were mingled precious ivories from Japan, trumpery chaletsfrom the Tyrol, choice bits of Sevres and Venetian glass, bottles withladders and little men inside them, vulgar china fowls sitting on eggs, and a thousand restless little objects screeching in dumb agony at oneanother. 

The more one looked the more confounded became confusion. Lengths ofbeautifully embroidered Chinese silk formed curtains for the doors andwindows; but they were tied back with cords ending in horrible littleplush monkeys in lieu of tassels. A Second Empire gilt mirror hung overthe Louis XVI sofa, and was flanked on the one side by a villainousGerman print of "The Huntsman's Return" and on the other by a daintywater-colour. Myriads of photographs, some in frames, met the eyeeverywhere--on the grand piano, on the occasional tables, on themantelpiece, stuck obliquely all round the Queen Anne mirror above it, on the walls. Many of them represented animals--bears and lions andpawing horses. Dale's photograph I noticed in a silver frame on thepiano. There was not a book in the place. But in the corner of the roomby a further window gleamed a large marble Venus of Milo, charminglyexecuted, who stood regarding the welter with eyes calm and unconcerned. 

I was aroused from the momentary shock caused by the revelation ofthis eccentric apartment by an unknown nauseous flavour in my mouth. I realised it was the cigarette to which I had helped myself from thebeautifully chased silver casket I had taken from the mantelpiece. Ieyed the thing and concluded it was made of the very cheapest tobacco, and was what the street urchin calls a "fag. " I learned afterwards thatI was right. She purchased them at the rate of six for a penny, andsmoked them in enormous quantities. For politeness' sake I continuedto puff at the unclean thing until I nearly made myself sick. Then, simulating absentmindedness, I threw it into the fire. 

Why, in the sacred name of Nicotine, does a luxurious lady like LolaBrandt smoke such unutterable garbage?

On the other hand, the tea which she offered us a few minutes later, andbegged us to drink without milk, was the most exquisite I have tastedoutside Russia. She informed us that she got it direct from Moscow. 

"I can't stand your black Ceylon tea, " she remarked, with a grimace. 

And yet she could smoke "fags. " I wondered what other contradictioustastes she possessed. No doubt she could eat blood puddings with relishand had a discriminating palate for claret. Truly, a perplexing lady. 

"You must find leisure in London a great change after your adventurouscareer, " said I, by way of polite conversation. 

"I just love it. I'm as lazy as a cat, " she said, settling with herpantherine grace among the cushions. "Do you know what has been myambition ever since I was a kid?"

"Whatever of woman's ambitions you had you must have attained, " said I, with a bow. 

"Pooh!" she said. "You mean that I can have crowds of men fallingin love with me. That's rubbish. " She was certainly frank. "I meantsomething quite different. I wonder whether you can understand. Theworld used to seem to me divided into two classes that never met--weperforming people and the public, the thousand white faces that lookedat us and went away and talked to other white faces and forgot all aboutperforming animals till they came next time. Now I've got what I wanted. See? I'm one of the public. "

"And you love Philistia better than Bohemia?" I asked. 

She knitted her brows and looked at me puzzled. 

"If you want to talk to me, " she said, "you must talk straight. I've hadno more education than a tinker's dog. "

She made this peculiar announcement, not defiantly, not rudely, butappealingly, graciously. It was not a rebuke for priggishness; it wasthe unpresentable statement of a fact. I apologized for a lunatic habitof speech and paraphrased my question. 

"In a word, " cried Dale, coming in on my heels with an elucidation of myperiphrasis, "what de Gex is driving at is--Do you prefer respectabilityto ramping round?"

She turned slowly to him. "My dear boy, when do you think I was notrespectable?"

He jumped from the sofa as if the Chow dog had bitten him. 

"Good Heavens, I never meant you to take it that way!"

She laughed, stretched up a lazy arm to him, and looked at him somewhatquizzically in the face as he kissed her finger-tips. Although I couldhave boxed the silly fellow's ears, I vow he did it in a very prettyfashion. The young man of the day, as a general rule, has no more notionhow to kiss a woman's hand than how to take snuff or dance a pavane. Indeed, lots of them don't know how to kiss a girl at all. 

"My dear, " she said. "I was much more respectable sitting on the stageat tea with my horse, Sultan, than supping with you at the Savoy. Youdon't know the deadly respectability of most people in the profession, and the worst of it is that while we're being utterly dull and dowdy, the public think we're having a devil of a time. So we don't even getthe credit of our virtues. I prefer the Savoy--and this. " She turned tome. "It is nice having decent people to tea. Do you know what I shouldlove? I should love to have an At Home day--and receive ladies, realladies. And I have such a sweet place, haven't I?"

"You have many beautiful things around you, " said I truthfully. 

She sighed. "I should like more people to see them. "

"In fact, " said I, "you have social ambitions, Madame Brandt?"

She looked at me for a moment out of the corner of her eye. 

"Are you skinning me?" she asked. 

Where she had picked up this eccentric metaphor I know not. She had manyodd turns of language as yet not current among the fashionable classes. I gravely assured her that I was not sarcastic. I commended herpraiseworthy aspirations. 

"But, " said I innocently, "don't you miss the hard training, thephysical exercise, the delight of motion, the excitement, the----?"--myvocabulary failing me, I sketched with a gesture the equestrienne'sclassical encouragement to her steed. 

She looked at me uncomprehendingly. 

"The what?" she asked. 

"What are you playing at?" inquired Dale. 

"I was referring to the ring, " said I. 

They both burst out laughing, to my discomfiture. 

"What do you take me for? A circus rider? Performing in a tent andliving in a caravan? You think I jump through a hoop in tights?"

"All I can say, " I murmured, by way of apology, "is that it's amendacious world. I'm deeply sorry. "

Why had I been misled in this shameful manner?

Madame Brandt with lazy good nature accepted my excuses. 

"I'm what is professionally known as a _dompteuse_, " she explained. "Ofcourse, when I was a kid I was trained as an acrobat, for my father waspoor; but when he grew rich and the owner of animals, which he did whenI was fourteen, I joined him and worked with him all over the worlduntil I went on my own. Do you mean to say you never heard of me?"

"Madame Brandt, " said I, "the last thing to be astonished at is humanignorance. Do you know that 30 per cent of the French army at thepresent day have never heard of the Franco-Prussian War?"

"My dear Simon, " cried Dale, "the two things don't hang together. TheFranco-Prussian War is not advertised all over France like Beecham'sPills, whereas six years ago you couldn't move two steps in Londonwithout seeing posters of Lola Brandt and her horse Sultan. "

"Ah, the horse!" said I. "That's how the wicked circus story got about. "

"It was the last act I ever did, " said Madame Brandt. "I taughtSultan--oh, he was a dear, beautiful thing--to count and add up andguess articles taken from the audience. I was at the Hippodrome. Thenat the Nouveau Cirque at Paris; I was at St. Petersburg, Vienna, Berlin--all over Europe with Sultan. "

"And where is Sultan now?" I asked. 

"He is dead. Somebody poisoned him, " she replied, looking into the fire. After a pause she continued in a low voice, singularly like the growl ofa wrathful animal, "If ever I meet that man alive it will go hard withhim. "

At that moment the door opened and the servant announced:

"Professor Anastasius Papadopoulos!"

Whereupon the shortest creature that ever bore so lengthy a name, adwarf not more than four feet high, wearing a frock coat and brightyellow gloves, entered the room, and crossing it at a sort of trot fellon his knees by the side of Madame Brandt's chair. 

_"Ah! Carissima, je vous vois enfin, Ach liebes Herz! Que j'ai envie depleurer!"_

Madame Brandt smiled, took the creature's head between her hands andkissed his forehead. She also caressed his shoulders. 

"My dear Anastasius, how good it is to see you. Where have you been thislong time? Why didn't you write and let me know you were in England?But, see, Anastasius, I have visitors. Let me introduce you. "

She spoke in French fluently, but with a frank British accent, whichgrated on a fastidious ear. The dwarf rose, made two solemn bows, anddeclared himself enchanted. Although his head was too large forhis body, he was neither ill-made nor repulsive. He looked aboutthirty-five. A high forehead, dark, mournful eyes, and a black moustacheand imperial gave him an odd resemblance to Napoleon the Third. 

"I arrived from New York this morning, with my cats. Oh, a mad success. I have one called Phoebus, because he drives a chariot drawn by sixrats. Phoebus Apollo was the god of the sun. I must show him to you, Madonna. You would love him as I love you. And I also have an angora, my beautiful Santa Bianca. And you, gentlemen"--he turned to Dale andmyself and addressed us in his peculiar jargon of French, German, and Italian--"you must come and see my cats if I can get a Londonengagement. At present I must rest. The artist needs repose sometimes. I will sun myself in the smiles of our dear lady here, and my pupil andassistant, Quast, can look after my cats. Meanwhile the brain of theartist, " he tapped his brow, "needs to lie fallow so that he can inventfresh and daring combinations. Do such things interest you, messieurs?"

"Vastly, " said I. 

He pulled out of his breast pocket an enormous gilt-bound pocket-book, bearing a gilt monogram of such size that it looked like a cartoucheon an architectural panel, and selected therefrom three cards which hegravely distributed among us. They bore the legend:

PROFESSOR ANASTASIUS PAPADOPOULOS

GOLD AND SILVER MEDALLIST

THE CAT KING

LE ROI DES CHATS

DER KATZEN KONIG

London Agents: MESSRS. CONTO & BLAG, 172 Maiden Lane, W. C. 

"There, " said he, "I am always to be found, should you ever require myservices. I have a masterpiece in my head. I come on to the scene likeBacchus drawn by my two cats. How are the cats to draw my heavy weight?I'll have a noiseless clockwork arrangement that will really propel thecar. You must come and see it. "

"Delighted, I'm sure, " said Dale, who stood looking down on theLiliputian egotist with polite wonder. Lola Brandt glanced at himapologetically. 

"You mustn't mind him, Dale. He has only two ideas in his head, his catsand myself. He's devoted to me. "

"I don't think I shall be jealous, " said Dale in a low voice. 

"Foolish boy!" she whispered. 

During the love scene, which was conducted in English, a language whichMr. Papadopoulos evidently did not understand, the dwarf scowled at Daleand twirled his moustache fiercely. In order to attract Madame Brandt'sattention he fetched a packet of papers from his pocket and laid themwith a flourish on the tea-table. 

"Here are the documents, " said he. 

"What documents?"

"A full inquiry into the circumstances attending the death of MadameBrandt's horse Sultan. "

"Have you found out anything, Anastasius?" she asked, in the indulgenttone in which one addresses an eager child. 

"Not exactly, " said he. "But I have a conviction that by this means themurderer will be brought to justice. To this I have devoted my life--inyour service. "

He put his hand on the spot of his tightly buttoned frock-coat thatcovered his heart, and bowed profoundly. It was obvious that he resentedour presence and desired to wipe us out of our hostess's consideration. I glanced ironically at Dale's disgusted face, and smiled at theimperfect development of his sense of humour. Indeed, to the young, humour is only a weapon of offence. It takes a philosopher to use it asdefensive armour. Dale burned to outdo Mr. Papadopoulos. I, havingno such ambition, laid my hand on his arm and went forward to take myleave. 

"Madame Brandt, " said I, "old friends have doubtless much to talkover. I thank you for the privilege you have afforded me of making youracquaintance. "

She rose and accompanied us to the landing outside the flat door. After saying good-bye to Dale, who went down with his boyish tread, shedetained me for a second or two, holding my hand, and again her claspenveloped it like some clinging sea-plant. She looked at me verywistfully. 

"The next time you come, Mr. De Gex, do come as a friend and not as anenemy. "

I was startled. I thought I had conducted the interview with peculiarsuavity. 

"An enemy, dear lady?"

"Yes. Can't I see it?" she said in her languorous, caressing voice. "AndI should love to have you for a friend. You could be such a good one. Ihave so few. "

"I must argue this out with you another time, " said I diplomatically. 

"That's a promise, " said Lola Brandt. 

"What's a promise?" asked Dale, when I joined him in the hall. 

"That I will do myself the pleasure of calling on Madame again. "

The porter whistled for a cab. A hansom drove up. As my destination wasthe Albany, and as I knew Dale was going home to Eccleston Square, Iheld out my hand. 

"Good-bye, Dale. I'll see you to-morrow. "

"But aren't you going to tell me what you think of her?" he cried ingreat dismay. 

The pavement was muddy, the evening dark, and a gusty wind blew thedrizzle into our faces. It is only the preposterously young who expecta man to rhapsodise over somebody else's inamorata at such a moment. Iturned up the fur collar of my coat. 

"She is good-looking, " said I. 

"Any idiot can see that!" he burst out impatiently. "I want to know whatopinion you formed of her. "

I reflected. If I could have labelled her as the Scarlet Woman, theMartyred Saint, the Jolly Bohemian, or the Bold Adventuress, my taskwould have been easy. But I had an uncomfortable feeling that LolaBrandt was not to be classified in so simple a fashion. I took refuge ina negative. 

"She would hardly be a success, " said I, "in serious political circles. "

With that I made my escape. 

CHAPTER V

I wish I had not called on Lola Brandt. She disturbs me to the pointof nightmare. In a fit of dream paralysis last night I fancied myselfstalked by a panther, which in the act of springing turned into LolaBrandt. What she would have done I know not, for I awoke; but I havea haunting sensation that she was about to devour me. Now, a woman whowould devour a sleeping Member of Parliament is not a fit consort for ayouth about to enter on a political career. 

The woman worries me. I find myself speculating on her character whileI ought to be minding my affairs; and this I do on her own account, without any reference to my undertaking to rescue Dale from herclutches. Her obvious attributes are lazy good nature and swiftintuition, which are as contrary as her tastes in tobacco and tea; butbeyond the obvious lurks a mysterious animal power which repels andattracts. Were not her expressions rather melancholy than sensuous, rather benevolent than cruel, one might take her as a model for QueenBerenice or the estimable lady monarchs who yielded themselves adorablyto a gentleman's kisses in the evening and saw to it that his headwas nicely chopped off in the morning. I can quite understand Dale'sinfatuation. She may be as worthless as you please, but she is by nomeans the vulgar syren I was led to expect. I wish she were. My taskwould be easier. Why hasn't he fallen in love with one of the choruswhom his congeners take out to supper? He is an aggravating fellow. 

I have declined to discuss her merits or demerits with him. I couldscarcely do that with dignity, said I; a remark which seemed to impresshim with a sense of my honesty. I asked what were his intentionsregarding her. I discovered that they were still indefinite. In hisexalted moments he talked of marriage. 

"But what has become of her husband?" I inquired, drawing a bow at aventure. 

"I suppose he's dead, " said Dale. 

"But suppose he isn't?"

He informed me in his young magnificence that Lola and himself would beabove foolish moral conventions. 

"Indeed?" said I. 

"Don't pretend to be a Puritan, " said he. 

"I don't pretend to like the idea, anyhow, " I remarked. 

He shrugged his shoulders. It was not the time for a lecture onmorality. 

"How do you know that the lady returns your passion?" I asked, watchinghim narrowly. 

He grew red. "Is that a fair question?"

"Yes, " said I. "You invited me to call on her and judge the affair formyself. I'm doing it. How far have things gone up to now?"

He flashed round on me. Did I mean to insinuate that there was anythingwrong? There wasn't. How could I dream of such a thing? He was vastlyindignant. 

"Well, my dear boy, " said I, "you've just this minute been scoffing atfoolish moral conventions. If you want to know my opinion, " I continued, after a pause, "it is this--she doesn't care a scrap for you. "

Of course I was talking nonsense. 

I did not condescend to argue. Neither did I dwell upon the fact thather affection had not reached the point of informing him whether shehad a husband, and if so, whether he was alive or dead. This gives me anidea. Suppose I can prove to him beyond a shadow of doubt that the lady, although flattered by the devotion of a handsome young fellow of birthand breeding, does not, as I remarked, care a scrap for him. Suppose Iexhibit her to him in the arms, figuratively speaking, of her husband(providing one is lurking in some back-alley of the world), Mr. Anastasius Papadopoulos, a curate, or a champion wrestler. He would dodesperate things for a month or two; but then he would wake up saneone fine morning and seek out Maisie Ellerton in a salutary state ofpenitence. I wish I knew a curate who combined a passion for bears and ayearning for ladylike tea-parties. I would take him forthwith to CadoganGardens. Lola Brandt and himself would have tastes in common and wouldfall in love with each other on the spot. 

Of course there is the other time-honoured plan which I have not yettried--to arm myself with diplomacy, call on Madame Brandt, and, workingon her feelings, persuade her in the name of the boy's mother andsweetheart to make a noble sacrifice in the good, old-fashioned way. Butthis seems such an unhumourous proceeding. If I am to achieve eumoirietyI may as well do it with some distinction. 

"Who doth Time gallop withal?" asks Orlando. 

"With a thief to the gallows, " says Rosalind. It is true. The dayshave an uncanny way of racing by. I see my little allotted span of lifeshrinking visibly, like the _peau de chagrin_. I must bestir myself, ormy last day will come before I have accomplished anything. 

When I jotted down the above not very original memorandum I had passed aperfectly uneumoirous week among my friends and social acquaintances. I had stood godfather to my sister Agatha's fifth child, taking uponmyself obligations which I shall never be able to perform; I had dinedamusingly at my sister Jane's; I had shot pheasants at FarfaxGlenn's place in Hampshire; and I had paid a long-promised charmingcountry-house visit to old Lady Blackadder. 

When I came back to town, however, I consulted my calendar with someanxiety, and set out to clear my path. 

I have now practically withdrawn from political life. Letters havepassed; complimentary and sympathetic gentlemen have interviewed meand tried to weaken my decision. The great Raggles has even called, and dangled the seals of office before my eyes. I said they were verypretty. He thought he had tempted me. 

"Hang on as long as you can, for the sake of the Party. "

I spoke playfully of the Party (a man in my position, with one eye onTime and the other on Eternity, develops an acute sense of values) andRaggles held up horrified hands. To Raggles the Party is the Alpha andOmega of things human and divine. It is the guiding principle of theCosmos. I could have spoken disrespectfully of the British Empire, ofwhich he has a confused notion; I could have dismissed the Trinity, onwhich his ideas are vaguer, with an airy jest; in the expression of myviews concerning the Creator, whom he believes to be under the Party'sprotection, I could have out-Pained Tom Paine, out-Taxiled Leo Taxil, and he would not have winced. But to blaspheme against the Party was thesin for which there was no redemption. 

"I always thought you a serious politician!" he gasped. 

"Good God!" I cried. "In my public utterances have I been as dull asthat? Ill-health or no, it is time for me to quit the stage. "

He laughed politely, because he conjectured I was speakinghumourously--he is astute in some things--and begged me to explain. 

I replied that I did not regard mustard poultices as panaceas, the_vox populi_ as the _Vox Dei_, or the policy of the other side as themachinations of the Devil; that politics was all a game of guess-workand muddle and compromise at the best; that, at the worst, as duringa General Election, it was as ignoble a pastime as the wit of man haddevised. To take it seriously would be the course of a fanatic, a mandevoid of the sense of proportion. Were such a man, I asked, fitted togovern the country?

He did not stop to argue, but went away leaving me the conviction thathe thanked his stars on the Government's providential escape from somaniacal a minister. I hope I did not treat him with any discourtesy;but, oh! it was good to speak the truth after all the dismal lies I havebeen forced to tell at the bidding of Raggle's Party. Now that I am nolonger bound by the rules of the game, it is good to feel a free, honestman. 

Never again shall I stretch forth my arms and thunder invectives againstwell-meaning people with whom in my heart I secretly sympathise. Never again shall I plead passionately for principles which a horribleinstinct tells me are fundamentally futile. Never again shall I attemptto make mountains out of mole-hills or bricks without straw or sunbeamsout of cucumbers. 

I shall conduct no more inquiries into pauper lunacy, thank Heaven! Andas for the public engagements which Dale Kynnersley made for me duringmy Thebaid existence on Murglebed-on-Sea, the deuce can take them all--Iam free. 

I only await the stewardship of the Chiltern Hundreds, for which quaintpost under the Crown I applied, to cease to be a Member of Parliament. And yet, in spite of all my fine and superior talk, I am glad I amgiving up in the recess. I should not like to be out of my seat were theHouse in session. 

I should hate to think of all the fascinating excitement over nothinggoing on in the lobbies without me, while I am still hale and hearty. When Parliament meets in February I shall either be comfortably dead orso uncomfortably alive that I shall not care. 

_Ce que c'est que de nous!_ I wonder how far Simon de Gex and I aredeceiving each other?

There is no deception about my old friend Latimer, who called on me aday or two ago. He is on the Stock Exchange, and, muddle-headed creaturethat he is, has been "bearing" the wrong things. They have gone upsky-high. Settling-day is drawing near, and how to pay for the shares heis bound to deliver he has not the faintest notion. 

He stamped up and down the room, called down curses on the prying foolswho came across the unexpected streak of copper in the failing mine, drew heart-rending pictures of his wife and family singing hymns in thestreet, and asked me for a drink of prussic acid. I rang the bell andordered Rogers to give him a brandy and soda. 

"Now, " said I, "talk sense. How much can you raise?"

He went into figures and showed me that, although he stretched hiscredit to the utmost, there were still ten thousand pounds to beprovided. 

"It's utter smash and ruin, " he groaned. "And all my accursed folly. Ithought I was going to make a fortune. But I'm done for now. " Latimer isusually a pink, prosperous-looking man. Now he was white and flabby, a piteous spectacle. "You are executor under my will, " he continued. "Heaven knows I've nothing to leave. But you'll see things straight forme, if anything happens? You will look after Lucy and the kids, won'tyou?"

I was on the point of undertaking to do so, in the event of thecontinuance of his craving for prussic acid, when I reflected upon myown approaching bow and farewell to the world where Lucy and the kidswould still be wandering. I am always being brought up against thisfinal fireproof curtain. Suddenly a thought came which caused me toexult exceedingly. 

"Ten thousand pounds, my dear Latimer, " said I, "would save you frombeing hammered on the Stock Exchange and from seeking a suicide's grave. It would also enable you to maintain Lucy and the kids in your luxurioushouse at Hampstead, and to take them as usual to Dieppe next summer. AmI not right?"

He begged me not to make a jest of his miseries. It was like askinga starving beggar whether a dinner at the Carlton wouldn't set him upagain. 

"Would ten thousand set you up?" I persisted. 

"Yes. But I might as well try to raise ten million. "

"Not so, " I cried, slapping him on the shoulder. "I myself will lend youthe money. "

He leaped to his feet and stared at me wildly in the face. He could nothave been more electrified if he had seen me suddenly adorned with wingsand shining raiment. I experienced a thrill of eumoiriety more exquisitethan I had dreamed of imagining. 

"You?"

"Why not?"

"You don't understand. I can give you no security whatsoever. "

"I don't want security and I don't want interest, " I exclaimed, feelingmore magnanimous than I had a right to be, seeing that the interestwould be of no use to me on the other side of the Styx. "Pay me backwhen and how you like. Come round with me to my bankers and I'll settlethe matter at once. "

He put out his hands; I thought he was about to fall at my feet; helaughed in a silly way and, groping after brandy and soda, poured halfthe contents of the brandy decanter on to the tray. I took him in a cab, a stupefied man, to the bank, and when he left me at the door with mydraft in his pocket, there were tears in his eyes. He wrung my hand andmurmured something incoherent about Lucy. 

"For Heaven's sake, don't tell her anything about it, " I entreated. "Ilove Lucy dearly, as you know; but I don't want to have her weeping onmy door-mat. "

I walked back to my rooms with a springing step. So happy was I that Ishould have liked to dance down Piccadilly. If the Faculty had not madetheir pronouncement, I could have no more turned poor Latimer's earthfrom hell to heaven than I could have changed St. Paul's Cathedral intoa bumblebee. The mere possibility of lending him the money would nothave occurred to me. 

A man of modest fortune does not go about playing Monte Cristo. He givesaway a few guineas in charity; but he keeps the bulk of his fortune tohimself. The death sentence, I vow, has compensations. It enables a manto play Monte Cristo or any other avatar of Providence with impunity, and to-day I have discovered it to be the most fascinating game in theworld. 

When Latimer recovers his equilibrium and regards the transaction in thedry light of reason, he will diagnose a sure symptom of megalomania, andwill pity me in his heart for a poor devil. 

I have seen Eleanor Faversham, and she has released me from myengagement with such grace, dignity, and sweet womanliness that I wonderhow I could have railed at her thousand virtues. 

"It's honourable of you to give me this opportunity of breaking it off, Simon, " she said, "but I care enough for you to be willing to take mychance of illness. "

"You do care for me?" I asked. 

She raised astonished eyes. "If I didn't, do you suppose I should haveengaged myself to you? If I married you I should swear to cherish you insickness and in health. Why won't you let me?"

I was in a difficulty. To say that I was in ill-health and about toresign my seat in Parliament and a slave to doctor's orders was onething; it was another to tell her brutally that I had received my deathwarrant. She would have taken it much more to heart than I do. 

The announcement would have been a shock. It would have kept the poorgirl awake of nights. She would have been for ever seeing the hand ofDeath at my throat. Every time we met she would have noted on my face, in my gait, infallible signs of my approaching end. I had not the rightto inflict such intolerable pain on one so near and dear to me. 

Besides, I am vain enough to want to walk forth somewhat gallantly intoeternity; and while I yet live I particularly desire that folks shouldnot regard me as half-dead. I defy you to treat a man who is only goingto live twenty weeks in the same pleasant fashion as you would a man whohas the run of life before him. 

There is always an instinctive shrinking from decay. I should think thatcorpses must feel their position acutely. 

It was entirely for Eleanor's sake that I refrained from taking her intomy confidence. To her question I replied that I had not the right totie her for life to a helpless valetudinarian. "Besides, " said I, "asmy health grows worse my jokes will deteriorate, until I am reduced togrinning through a horse-collar at the doctor. And you couldn't standthat, could you?"

She upbraided me gently for treating everything as a jest. 

"It isn't that you want to get rid of me, Simon?" she asked tearfully, but with an attempt at a smile. 

I took both hands and looked into her eyes--they are brave, truthfuleyes--and through my heart shot a great pain. Till that moment I had notrealised what I was giving up. The pleasant paths of the world--I couldleave them behind with a shrug. Political ambition, power, I couldjustly estimate their value and could let them pass into other handswithout regret. But here was the true, staunch woman, great of heart andwise, a helper and a comrade, and, if I chose to throw off the jesterand become the lover in real earnest and sweep my hand across thehidden chords, all that a woman can become towards the man she loves. Irealised this. 

I realised that if she did not love me passionately now it was onlybecause I, in my foolishness, had willed it otherwise. For the firsttime I longed to have her as my own; for the first time I rebelled. I looked at her hungeringly until her cheeks grew red and her eyelidsfluttered. I had a wild impulse to throw my arms around her, and kissher as I had never kissed her before and bid her forget all that I hadsaid that day. Her faltering eyes told me that they read my longing. Iwas about to yield when the little devil of a pain inside made itselfsharply felt and my madness went from me. I fetched a thing half-waybetween a sigh and a groan, and dropped her hands. 

"Need I answer your question?" I asked. 

She turned her head aside and whispered "No. "

Presently she said, "I am glad I came back from Sicily. I shouldn't haveliked you to write this to me. I shouldn't have understood. "

"Do you now?"

"I think so. " She looked at me frankly. "Until just now I was neverquite certain whether you really cared for me. "

"I never cared for you so much as I do now, when I have to lose you. "

"And you must lose me?"

"A man in my condition would be a scoundrel if he married a woman. "

"Then it is very, very serious--your illness?"

"Yes, " said I, "very serious. I must give you your freedom whether youwant it or not. "

She passed one hand over the other on her knee, looking at theengagement ring. Then she took it off and presented it to me, lying inthe palm of her right hand. 

"Do what you like with it, " she said very softly. 

I took the ring and slipped it on one of the right-hand fingers. 

"It would comfort me to think that you are wearing it, " said I. 

Then her mother came into the room and Eleanor went out. I am thankfulto say that Mrs. Faversham who is a woman only guided by sentiment whenit leads to a worldly advantage, applauded the step I had taken. As asprightly Member of Parliament, with an assured political and socialposition, I had been a most desirable son-in-law. As an obscure invalid, coughing and spitting from a bath-chair at Bournemouth (she took it forgranted that I was in the last stage of consumption), I did not take thelady's fancy. 

"My dear Simon, " replied my lost mother-in-law, "you have behavedirreproachably. Eleanor will feel it for some time no doubt; but she isyoung and will soon get over it. I'll send her to the Drascombe-Prynnesin Paris. And as for yourself, your terrible misfortune will be as muchas you can bear. You mustn't increase it by any worries on her behalf. In that way I'll do my utmost to help you. "

"You are kindness itself, Mrs. Faversham, " said I. 

I bowed over the delighted lady's hand and went away, deeply moved byher charity and maternal devotion. 

But perhaps in her hardness lies truth. I have never touched Eleanor'sheart. No romance had preceded or accompanied our engagement. Thedeepest, truest incident in it has been our parting. 

CHAPTER VI

Dale's occupation, like Othello's, being gone, as far as I am concerned, Lady Kynnersley has despatched him to Berlin, on her own business, connected, I think, with the International Aid Society. He is to staythere for a fortnight. 

How he proposes to bear the separation from the object of his flame Ihave not inquired; but if forcible objurgations in the vulgar tonguehave any inner significance, I gather that Lady Kynnersley has notemployed an enthusiastic agent. 

Being thus free to pursue my eumoirous schemes without his intervention, for you cannot talk to a lady for her soul's good when her adorer isgaping at you, I have taken the opportunity to see something of LolaBrandt. 

I find I have seen a good deal of her; and it seems not improbable thatI shall see considerably more. Deuce take the woman!

On the first afternoon of Dale's absence I paid her my promised visit. It was a dull day, and the room, lit chiefly by the firelight, happily did not reveal its nerve-racking tastelessness. Lola Brandt, supple-limbed and lazy-voiced, talked to me from the cushioned depths ofher chair. 

We lightly touched on Dale's trip to Berlin. She would miss himterribly. It was so kind of me to come and cheer her lonely hour. Politeness forbade my saying that I had come to do nothing of the sort. To my vague expression of courtesy she responded by asking me with alaugh how I liked Mr. Anastasius Papadopoulos. 

I replied that I considered it urbane on his part to invite me to seehis cats perform. 

"If you were to hurt one of his cats he'd murder you, " she informed me. "He always carries a long, sharp knife concealed somewhere about him onpurpose. "

"What a fierce little gentleman, " I remarked. 

"He looks on me as one of his cats, too, " she said with a low laugh, "and considers himself my protector. Once in Buda-Pesth he and I weredriving about. I was doing some shopping. As I was getting into the caba man insulted me, on account, I suppose, of my German name. Anastasiussprang at him like a wild beast, and I had to drag him off bodily andlift him back into the cab. I'm pretty strong, you know. It must havebeen a funny sight. " She turned to me quickly. "Do you think it wrong ofme to laugh?"

"Why shouldn't you laugh at the absurd?"

"Because in devotion like that there seems to be something solemnand frightening. If I told him to kill his cats, he would do it. If Iordered him to commit Hari-Kari on the hearthrug, he would whip out hisknife and obey me. When you have a human soul at your mercy like that, it's a kind of sacrilege to laugh at it. It makes you feel--oh, I can'texpress myself. Look, it doesn't make tears come into your eyes exactly, it makes them come into your heart. "

We continued the subject, divagating as we went, and had a nice littlesentimental conversation. There are depths of human feeling I shouldnever have suspected in this lazy panther of a woman, and although sheopenly avows having no more education than a tinker's dog, she can talkwith considerable force and vividness of expression. 

Indeed, when one comes to think of it, a tinker's dog has a fineeducation if he be naturally a shrewd animal and takes advantage of hisopportunities; and a fine education, too, of its kind was that ofthe vagabond Lola, who on her way from Dublin to Yokohama had moreprofitably employed her time than Lady Kynnersley supposed. She hadseen much of the civilised places of the earth in her wanderings fromengagement to engagement, and had been an acute observer of men andthings. 

We exchanged travel pictures and reminiscences. I found myself floatingwith her through moonlit Venice, while she chanted with startlingexactness the cry of the gondoliers. To my confusion be it spoken, Iforgot all about Dale Kynnersley and my mission. The lazy voice andrich personality fascinated me. When I rose to go I found I had spent acouple of hours in her company. She took me round the room and showed mesome of her treasures. 

"This is very old. I think it is fifteenth century, " she said, pickingup an Italian ivory. 

It was. I expressed my admiration. Then maliciously I pointed to ahorrible little Tyrolean chalet and said:

"That, too, is very pretty. "

"It isn't. And you know it. "

She is a most disconcerting creature. I accepted the rebuke meekly. Whatelse could I do?

"Why, then, do you have it here?"

"It's a present from Anastasius, " she said. "Every time he comes tosee me he brings what he calls an _'offrande'_. All these things"--sheindicated, with a comprehensive sweep of the arm, the Union Jackcushion, the little men mounting ladders inside bottles, the hen sittingon her nest, and the other trumpery gimcracks--"all these things arepresents from Anastasius. It would hurt him not to see them here when hecalls. "

"You might have a separate cabinet, " I suggested. 

"A chamber of horrors?" she laughed. "No. It gives him more pleasure tosee them as they are--and a poor little freak doesn't get much out oflife. "

She sighed, and picking up "A Present from Margate" kind of mug, fingered it very tenderly. 

I went away feeling angry. Was the woman bewitching me? And I feltangrier still when I met Lady Kynnersley at dinner that evening. LuckilyI had only a few words with her. Had I done anything yet with regard toDale and the unmentionable woman? If I had told her that I had spenta most agreeable afternoon with the enchantress, she would not haveenjoyed her evening. Like General Trochu of the Siege of Paris fame, Isaid in my most mysterious manner, "I have my plan, " and sent her intodinner comforted. 

But I had no plan. My next interview with Madame Brandt brought me nofurther. We have established telephonic communications. Through themedium of this diabolical engine of loquacity and indiscretion, I wasprevailed on to accompany her to a rehearsal of Anastasius's cats. 

Rogers, with a face as imperturbable as if he was announcing the visitof an archbishop, informed me at the appointed hour that Madame Brandt'sbrougham was at the door. I went down and found the brougham open, asthe day was fine, and Lola Brandt, smiling under a gigantic hat with anamazing black feather, and looking as handsome as you please. 

We were blocked for a few minutes at the mouth of the courtyard, andI had the pleasure of all Piccadilly that passed staring at us inadmiration. Lola Brandt liked it; but I didn't, especially when Irecognised one of the starers as the eldest Drascombe-Prynne boy whosepeople in Paris are receiving Eleanor Faversham under their protection. A nice reputation I shall be acquiring. My companion was in gay mood. Now, as it is no part of dealing unto oneself a happy life and portionto damp a fellow creature's spirits, I responded with commendablegaiety. 

I own that the drive to Professor Anastasius Papadopoulos's cattery inRosebery Avenue, Clerkenwell, was distinctly enjoyable. I forgot allabout the little pain inside and the Fury with the abhorred shears, andtalked a vast amount of nonsense which the lady was pleased to regardas wit, for she laughed wholeheartedly, showing her strong white, eventeeth. But why was I going?

Was it because she had requested me through the telephone to giveunimagined happiness to a poor little freak who would be as proud asPunch to exhibit his cats to an English Member of Parliament? Was itin order to further my designs--Machiavellian towards the lady, buteumoirous towards Dale? Or was it simply for my own good pleasure?

Professor Anastasius Papadopoulos, resplendently raimented, with theshiniest of silk hats and a flower in the buttonhole of his frock-coat, received us at the door of a small house, the first-floor windows ofwhich announced the tenancy of a maker of gymnastic appliances; andhaving kissed Madame Brandt's hand with awful solemnity and bowed deeplyto me, he preceded us down the passage, out into the yard, and into aramshackle studio at the end, where his cats had their being. 

There were fourteen of them, curled up in large cages standing againstthe walls. The place was lit by a skylight and warmed by a stove. The floor, like a stage, was fitted up with miniature acrobaticparaphernalia and properties. There were little five-barred gates, andtrapezes, and tight-ropes, and spring-boards, and a trestle-table, allthe metal work gleaming like silver. A heavy, uncouth German lad, whomthe professor introduced as his pupil and assistant, Quast, was inattendance. Mr. Papadopoulos polyglotically acknowledged the honour Ihad conferred upon him. He is very like the late Emperor of the French;but his forehead is bulgier. 

With a theatrical gesture and the remark that I should see, he openedsome cages and released half a dozen cats--a Persian, a white Angora, and four commonplace tabbies, who all sprang on to the table withmilitary precision. Madame Brand began to caress them. I, wishing toshow interest in the troupe, prepared to do the same; but the dwarfscurried up with a screech from the other end of the room. 

_"Ne touchez pas--ne touchez pas!"_

I refrained, somewhat wonderingly, from touching. Madame Brandtexplained. 

"He thinks you would spoil the magnetic influence. It is a superstitionof his. "

"But you are touching. "

"He believes I have his magnetism--whatever that may be, " she said, witha smile. "Would you like to see an experiment? Anastasius!"

"Carissima. "

"Is that the untamed Persian you were telling me of?" she asked, pointing to a cage from which a ferocious gigantic animal more like awoolly tiger than a tom-cat looked out with expressionless yellow eyes. "Will you let Mr. De Gex try to make friends with it?"

"Your will is law, meine Konigin, " replied Professor Papadopoulos, bowing low. "But Hephaestus is as fierce as the flames of hell. "

"See what he'll do, " laughed Lola Brandt. 

I approached the cage with an ingratiating, "Puss, puss!" and a hideousgrowl welcomed me. I ventured my hand towards the bars. The beastbristled in demoniac wrath, spat with malignant venom, and shot out itsclaws. If I had touched it my hand would have been torn to shreds. Ihave never seen a more malevolent, fierce, spiteful, ill-conditionedbrute in my life. My feelings being somewhat hurt, and my nerves a bitshaken, I retreated hastily. 

"Now look, " said Lola Brandt. 

With absolute fearlessness she went up to the cage, opened it, tookthe unresisting thing out by the scruff of its neck, held it up like adoor-mat, and put it on her shoulder, where it forthwith began to purrlike any harmless necessary cat and rub its head against her cheek. Sheput it on the floor; it arched its back and circling sideways rubbeditself against her skirts. 

She sat down, and taking the brute by its forepaws made it stand on itshind legs. She pulled it on to her lap and it curled round lazily. Thenshe hoisted it on to her shoulder again, and, rising, crossed the roomand bowed to the level of the cage, when the beast leaped in purringthunderously in high good humour. Mr. Papadopoulos sang out inbreathless delight:

"If I am the King of Cats, you, Carissima, are the Queen. Nay, more, youare the Goddess!"

Lola Brandt laughed. I did not. It was uncanny. It seemed as if somemysterious freemasonic affinity existed between her and the evil beast. During her drive hither she had entered my own atmosphere. She hadbeen the handsome, unconventional woman of the world. Now she seemed asremote from me as the witches in "Macbeth. "

If I had seen her dashing Paris hat rise up into a point and herumbrella turn into a broomstick, and herself into one of the buxomcarlines of "Tam O'Shanter, " I should not have been surprised. The featsof the mild pussies which the dwarf began forthwith to exhibit provokedin me but a polite counterfeit of enthusiasm. Lola Brandt had discountedmy interest. Even his performance with the ferocious Persian lacked thediabolical certainty of Lola's handling. He locked all the other cats upand enticed it out of the cage with a piece of fish. He guided it witha small whip, as it jumped over gates and through blazing hoops, and hestood tense and concentrated, like a lion-tamer. 

The act over, the cat turned and snarled and only jumped into its cageafter a smart flick of the whip. The dwarf did not touch it once withhis hands. I applauded, however, and complimented him. He laid his handon his heart and bent forward in humility. 

"Ah, monsieur, I am but a neophyte where Madame is an expert. I know thesuperficial nature of cats. Now and then without vainglory I can say Iknow their hearts; but Madame penetrates to and holds commune with theirsouls. And a cat's soul, monsieur, is a wonderful thing. Once it wasdivine--in ancient Egypt. Doubtless monsieur has heard of Pasht? Holymen spent their lives in approaching the cat-soul. Madame was born tothe privilege. Pasht watches over her. "

"Pasht, " I said politely in French, in reply to this clotted nonsense, "was a great divinity. And for yourself, who knows but what you may havebeen in a previous incarnation the keeper of the Sacred Cats in someEgyptian temple. "

"I was, " he said, with staggering earnestness. "At Memphis. "

"One of these days, " I returned, with equal solemnity, "I hope for theprivilege of hearing some of your reminiscences. They would no doubt beinteresting. "

On the way back Lola thanked me for pretending to take the little manseriously, and not laughing at him. 

"If I hadn't, " said I, "he would have stuck his knife into me. "

She shook her head. "You did it naturally. I was watching you. It isbecause you are a generous-hearted gentleman. "

Said I: "If you talk like that I'll get out and walk. "

And, indeed, what right had she to characterise the moral conditionof my heart? I asked her. She laughed her low, lazy laugh, but made noreply. Presently she said:

"Why didn't you like my making friends with the cat?"

"How do you know I didn't like it?" I asked. 

"I felt it. "

"You mustn't feel things like that, " I remarked. "It isn't good foryou. "

She insisted on my telling her. I explained as well as I could. Shetouched the sleeve of my coat with her gloved hand. 

"I'm glad, because it shows you take an interest in me. And I wantedto let you see that I could do something besides loll about ina drawing-room and smoke cigarettes. It's all I can do. But it'ssomething. " She said it with the humility of the Jongleur de Notre Damein Anatole Frances's story. 

In Eaton Square, where I had a luncheon engagement, she dropped me, anddrove off smiling, evidently well pleased with herself. My hostess wasstanding by the window when I was shown into the drawing-room. I notedthe faintest possible little malicious twinkle in her eye. 

During the afternoon I had a telephonic message from my doctor, whoasked me why I had neglected him for a fortnight and urged me to go toHarley Street at once. To humour him I went the next morning. Hunningtonis a bluff, hearty fellow who feeds himself into pink floridity so as togive confidence to his patients. In answer to his renewed inquiry as tomy neglect, I remarked that a man condemned to be hanged doesn't seekinterviews with the judge in order to learn how the rope is getting on. I conveyed to him politely, although he is an old friend, that I desiredto forget his well-fed existence. In his chatty way he requested me notto be an ass, and proceeded to put to me the usual silly questions. 

Remembering the result of my last visit, I made him happy by answeringthem gloomily; whereupon he seized his opportunity and ordered me outof England for the winter. I must go to a warm climate--Egypt, SouthAfrica, Madeira--I could take my choice. I flatly refused to obey. I hadmy duties in London. He was so unsympathetic as to damn my duties. Myduty was to live as long as possible, and my wintering in London wouldprobably curtail my short life by two months. Then I turned on himand explained the charitable disingenuousness of my replies tohis questions. He refused to believe me, and we parted with mutualrecriminations. I sent him next day, however, a brace of pheasants, apresent from Farfax Glenn. After all, he is one of God's creatures. 

The next time I called on Lola Brandt I went with the fixeddetermination to make some progress in my mission. I vowed that I wouldnot be seduced by trumpery conversation about Yokohama or allow my mindto be distracted by absurd adventures among cats. I would clothe myselfin the armour of eumoiriety, and, with the sword of duty in my hand, would go forth to battle with the enchantress. All said and done, whatwas she but a bold-faced, strapping woman without an idea in her headsave the enslavement of an impressionable boy several years her junior?It was preposterous that I, Simon de Gex, who had beguiled and fooled anelectorate of thirty thousand hard-headed men into choosing me for theirrepresentative in Parliament, should not be a match for Lola Brandt. As for her complicated feminine personality, her intuitiveness, hermagnetism, her fascination, all the qualities in fact which my poeticalfancy had assigned to her, they had no existence in reality. She wasthe most commonplace person I had ever encountered, and I had been but asentimental lunatic. 

In this truly admirable frame of mind I entered her drawing-room. Shethrew down the penny novel she was reading, and with a little cry of joysprang forward to greet me. 

"I'm so glad you've come. I was getting the blind hump!"

Did I not say she was commonplace? I hate this synonym for boredom. It may be elegant in the mouth of a duchess and pathetic in that of anoyster-wench, but it falls vulgarly from intermediate lips. 

"What has given it to you?" I asked. 

"My poor little ouistiti is dead. It is this abominable climate. "

I murmured condolences. I could not exhibit unreasonable grief at thedemise of a sick monkey which I had never seen. 

"I'm also out of books, " she said, after having paid her tribute to thememory of the departed. "I have been forced to ask the servants to lendme something to read. Have you ever tried this sort of thing? You oughtto. It tells you what goes on in high society. "

I was sure it didn't. Not a duchess in its pages talked about having ablind hump. I said gravely:

"I will ask you to lend it to me. Since Dale has been away I've had noone to make out my library list. "

"Do turn Adolphus out of that chair and sit down, " she said, sinkinginto her accustomed seat. Adolphus was the Chow dog before mentioned, an accomplished animal who could mount guard with the poker and stand onhis head, and had been pleased to favour me with his friendship. 

"I miss Dale greatly, " said I. 

"I suppose you do. You are very fond of him?"

"Very, " said I. "By the by, how did you first come across Dale?"

She threw me a swift glance and smiled. 

"Oh, in the most respectable way. I was dining at the Carlton with SirJoshua Oldfield, the famous surgeon, you know. He performed a sillylittle operation on me last year, and since then we've been greatfriends. Dale and some sort of baby boy were dining there, too, andafterwards, in the lounge, Sir Joshua introduced them to me. Dale askedme if he could call. I said 'Yes. ' Perhaps I was wrong. Anyhow, _voila_!Do you know Sir Joshua?"

"I sat next to him once at a public dinner. He's a friend of theKynnersleys. A genial old soul. "

"He's a dear!" said Lola. 

"Do you know many of Dale's friends?" I asked. 

"Hardly any, " she replied. "It's rather lonesome. " Then she broke into alaugh. 

"I was so terrified at meeting you the first time. Dale can talk of noone else. He makes a kind of god of you. I felt I was going to hate youlike the devil. I expected quite a different person. "

The diplomatist listens to much and says little. 

"Indeed, " I remarked. 

She nodded. "I thought you would be a big beefy man with a red face, youknow. He gave me the idea somehow by calling you a 'splendid chap. ' Yousee, I couldn't think of a 'splendid chap' with a white face and a waxedmoustache and your way of talking. "

"I am sorry, " said I, "not to come up to your idea of the heroic. "

"But you do!" she cried, with one of her supple twists of the body. "Itwas I that was stupid. And I don't hate you at all. You can see that Idon't. I didn't even hate you when you came as an enemy. "

"Ah!" said I. "What made you think that? We agreed to argue it out, ifyou remember. "

She drew out of a case beside her one of her unspeakable cigarettes. "Doyou suppose, " she said, lighting it, and pausing to inhale the firsttwo or three puffs of smoke, "do you suppose that a woman who has livedamong wild beasts hasn't got instinct?"

I drew my chair nearer to the fire. She was beginning to be uncannyagain. 

"I expected you were going to be horrified at the dreadful creature yourfriend had taken up with. Oh, yes, I know in the eyes of your classI'm a dreadful creature. I'm like a cat in many ways. I'm suspiciousof strangers, especially strangers of your class, and I sniff and sniffuntil I feel it's all right. After the first few minutes I felt you wereall right. You're true and honourable, like Dale, aren't you?"

Like a panther making a sudden spring, she sat bolt upright in her chairas she launched this challenge at me. Now, it is disconcerting to a manto have a woman leap at his throat and ask him whether he is true andhonourable, especially when his attitude towards her approaches theMachiavellian. 

I could only murmur modestly that I hoped I could claim thesequalifications. 

"And you don't think me a dreadful woman?"

"So far from it, Madame Brandt, " I replied, "that I think you aremarkable one. "

"I wonder if I am, " she said, sinking back among her cushions. "I shouldlike to be for Dale's sake. I suppose you know I care a great deal forDale?"

"I have taken the liberty of guessing it, " said I. "And since you havedone me the honour of taking me so far into your confidence, " I added, playing what I considered to be my master-card, "may I venture to askwhether you have contemplated"--I paused--"marriage?"

Her brow grew dark, as she looked involuntarily at her bare left hand. 

"I have got a husband already, " she replied. 

As I expected. Ladies like Lola Brandt always have husbands unfit forpublication; and as the latter seem to make it a point of honour neverto die, widowed Lolas are as rare as blackberries in spring. 

"Forgive my rudeness, " I said, "but you wear no wedding ring. "

"I threw it into the sea. "

"Ah!" said I. 

"Do you want to hear about him?" she asked suddenly. "If we are to befriends, perhaps you had better know. Somehow I don't like talking toDale about it. Do you mind putting some coals on the fire?"

I busied myself with the coal-scuttle, lit a cigarette, and settled downto hear the story. If it had not been told in the twilight hour by awoman with a caressing, enveloping voice like Lola Brandt's I shouldhave yawned myself out of the house. 

It was a dismal, ordinary story. Her husband was a gentleman, a CaptainVauvenarde in the French Army. He had fallen in love with her when shehad first taken Marseilles captive with the prodigiosities of herhorse Sultan. His proposals of manifold unsanctified delights metwith unqualified rejection by the respectable and not too passionatelyinfatuated Lola. When he nerved himself to the supreme sacrifice ofoffering marriage she accepted. 

She had dreams of social advancement, yearned to be one of the whitefaces of the audience in the front rows. The civil ceremony having beenperformed, he pleaded with her for a few weeks' secrecy on account ofhis family. The weeks grew into months, during which, for the sake ofa livelihood, she fulfilled her professional engagements in many othertowns. At last, when she returned to Marseilles, it became apparent thatCaptain Vauvenarde had no intention whatever of acknowledging her openlyas his wife. Hence many tears. Moreover, he had little beyond his payand his gambling debts, instead of the comfortable little fortune thatwould have assured her social position. Now, officers in the FrenchArmy who marry ladies with performing horses are not usually guided byreason; and Captain Vauvenarde seems to have been the most unreasonablebeing in the world. It was beneath the dignity of Captain Vauvenarde'swife to make a horse do tricks in public, and it was beneath CaptainVauvenarde's dignity to give her his name before the world. She mustneither be Lola Brandt nor Madame Vauvenarde. She must give up herfairly lucrative profession and live in semi-detached obscurity up alittle back street on an allowance of twopence-halfpenny a week and behappy and cheerful and devoted. Lola refused. Hence more tears. 

There were scenes of frantic jealousy, not on account of any humanbeing, but on account of the horse. If she loved him as much as sheloved that abominable quadruped whose artificial airs and graces madehim sick every time he looked at it, she would accede to his desire. Besides, he had the husband's right--a powerful privilege in France. Shepointed out that he could only exercise it by declaring her to be hiswife. Relations were strained. They led separate lives. From Marseillesshe went to Genoa, whither he followed her. Eventually he went away in atemper and never came back. She had not heard from him since, and wherehe was at the present moment she had not the faintest idea. 

"So you went cheerfully on with your profession?" I remarked. 

"I returned to Marseilles, and there I lost my horse Sultan. Then myfather died and left me pretty well off, and I hadn't the heart to trainanother animal. So here I am. Ah!"

With one of her lithe movements she rose to her feet, and, flinging outher arms in a wide gesture, began to walk about the room, stopping hereand there to turn on the light and draw the flaring chintz curtains. Irose, too, so as to aid her. Suddenly as we met, by the window, she laidboth her hands on my shoulders and looked into my face earnestly andimploringly, and her lips quivered. I wondered apprehensively what shewas going to do next. 

"For God's sake, be my friend and help me!"

The cry, in her rich, low notes, seemed to come from the depths of thewoman's nature. It caused some absurd and unnecessary chord within me tovibrate. 

For the first time I realised that her strong, handsome face could looknobly and pathetically beautiful. Her eyes swam in an adorable moistureand grew very human and appealing. In a second all my self-denyingordinances were forgotten. The witch had me in her power again. 

"My dear Madame Brandt, " said I, "how can I do it?"

"Don't take Dale from me. I've lived alone, alone, alone all theseyears, and I couldn't bear it. "

"Do you care for him so very much?"

She withdrew her hands and moved slightly. "Who else in the wide worldhave I to care for?"

This was very pathetic, but I had the sense to remark that compromisingthe boy's future was not the best way of showing her devotion. 

"Oh, how could I do that?" she asked. "I can't marry him. And if I dowhat I've never done before for any man--become his mistress--who needknow? I could stay in the background. "

"You seem to forget, dear lady, " said I, "that Captain Vauvenarde isprobably alive. "

"But I tell you I've lost sight of him altogether. "

"Are you quite so sure, " I asked, regaining my sanity by degrees, "thatCaptain Vauvenarde has lost sight of you?"

She turned quickly. "What do you mean?"

"You have given him no chance as yet of recovering his freedom. "

She passed her hand over her face, and sat down on the sofa. "Do youmean--divorce?"

"It's an ugly word, dear Madame Brandt, " said I, as gently as I could, "but you and I are strong people and needn't fear uttering it. Don'tyou think such a scandal would ruin Dale at the very beginning of hiscareer?"

There was a short silence. I was glad to see she was feminine enough totwist and tear her handkerchief. 

"What am I to do?" she asked at last. "I can't live this awful lonelylife much longer. Sometimes I get the creeps. "

I might have given her the sound advice to find healthy occupationin training crocodiles to sit up and beg; but an idea which advancedthinkers might classify as more suburban was beginning to take shape inmy mind. 

"Has it occurred to you, " I said, "that now you have assumed thequalifications imposed by Captain Vauvenarde for bearing his name?"

"I don't understand. "

"You no longer perform in public. He would have no possible grievanceagainst you. "

"Are you suggesting that I should go back to my husband?" she gasped. 

"I am, " said I, feeling mighty diplomatic. 

She looked straight in front of her, with parted lips, fingering herhandkerchief and evidently pondering the entirely new suggestion. Ithought it best to let her ponder. As a general rule, people will doanything in the world rather than think; so, when one sees a humanbeing wrapped in thought, one ought to regard wilful disturbance of theprocess as sacrilege. I lit a cigarette and wandered about the room. 

Eventually I came to a standstill before the Venus of Milo. But whileI was admiring its calm, mysterious beauty, the development of a formeridea took the shape of an inspiration which made my heart sing. Fate hadput into my hands the chance of complete eumoiriety. 

If I could effect a reconciliation between Lola Brandt and her husband, Dale would be cured almost automatically of his infatuation, andI should be the Deputy Providence bringing happiness to six humanbeings--Lola Brandt, Captain Vauvenarde, Lady Kynnersley, MaisieEllerton, Dale, and Mr. Anastasius Papadopoulos, who could not fail tobe delighted at the happiness of his goddess. 

There also might burst joyously on the earth a brood of gleeful littleVauvenardes and merry little Kynnersleys, who might regard Simon de Gexas their mythical progenitor. It might add to the gaiety of regimentsand the edification of parliaments. Acts should be judged, thoughtI, not according to their trivial essence, but by the light of theirfar-reaching consequences. 

Lola Brandt broke the silence. She did not look at me. She said:

"I can't help feeling that you're my friend. "

"I am, " I cried, in the exultation of my promotion to the role of DeputyProvidence. "I am indeed. And a most devoted one. "

"Will you let me think over what you've said for a day or two--and thencome for an answer?"

"Willingly, " said I. 

"And you won't----?"

"What?"

"No. I know you won't. "

"Tell Dale?" I said, guessing. "No, of course not. "

She rose and put out both her hands to me in a very noble gesture. Itook them and kissed one of them. 

She looked at me with parted lips. 

"You are the best man I have ever met, " she said. 

At the moment of her saying it I believed it; such conviction is inducedby the utterances of this singular woman. But when I got outside thedrawing-room door my natural modesty revolted. I slapped my thighimpatiently with what I thought were my gloves. They made so littlesound that I found there was only one. I had left the other inside. Ientered and found Lola Brandt in front of the fire holding my glove inher hand. She started in some confusion. 

"Is this yours?" she asked. 

Now whose could it have been but mine? The ridiculous question worriedme, off and on, all the evening. 

CHAPTER VII

The murder is out. A paragraph has appeared in the newspapers to theeffect that the marriage arranged between Mr. Simon de Gex and MissEleanor Faversham will not take place. It has also become commonknowledge that I am resigning my seat in Parliament on account ofill-health. That is the reason rightly assigned by my acquaintances forthe rupture of my engagement. I am being rapidly killed by the dolefulkindness of my friends. They are so dismally sympathetic. Everywhere Igo there are long faces and solemn hand-shakes. In order to cheer myselfI gave a little dinner-party at the club, and the function might havebeen a depressed wake with my corpse in a coffin on the table. Mysisters, dear, kind souls, follow me with anxious eyes as if I were oneof their children sickening for chicken-pox. They upbraid me for leavingthem in ignorance, and in hushed voices inquire as to my symptoms. Theyboth came this morning to the Albany to see what they could do for me. I don't see what they can do, save help Rogers put studs in my shirts. They expressed such affectionate concern that at last I cried out:

"My dear girls, if you don't smile, I'll sit upon the hearthrug and howllike a dog. "

Then they exchanged glances and broke into hectic gaiety, dear things, under the impression that they were brightening me up. I am beingdeluged with letters. I had no idea I was such a popular person. Theycome from high placed and lowly, from constituents whom my base andservile flattery have turned into friends, from Members of Parliament, from warm-hearted dowagers and from little girls who have inveigled meout to lunch for the purpose of confiding to me their love affairs. Icould set up as a general practitioner of medicine on the advice that isgiven me. I am recommended cod-liver oil, lung tonic, electric massage, abdominal belts, warm water, mud baths, Sandow's treatment, and everypatent medicament save rat poison. I am urged to go to health resortsranging geographically from the top of the Jungfrau to Central Africa. All kinds of worthy persons have offered to nurse me. Old General Wynanswrites me a four-page letter to assure me that I have only to go to hisfriend Dr. Eustace Adams, of Wimpole Street, to be cured like a shot. Ihappen to know that Eustace Adams is an eminent gynecologist. 

And the worst of it all is that these effusions written in the milk ofhuman kindness have to be answered. Dale is not here. I have to sit downat my desk and toil like a galley slave. I am being worn to a shadow. 

Lola Brandt, too, has heard the news, Dale in Berlin, and the Londonnewspapers being her informants. Tears stood in her eyes when I calledto learn her decision. Why had I not told her I was so ill? Why had Ilet her worry me with her silly troubles? Why had I not consultedher friend, Sir Joshua Oldfield? She filled up my chair with cushions(which, like most men, I find stuffy and comfortless), and if I hadgiven her the slightest encouragement, would have stuck my feet in hotmustard and water. Why had I come out on such a dreadful day? It wasindeed a detestable day of raw fog. She pulled the curtains close, and, insisting upon my remaining among my cushions, piled the grate with coalhalf-way up the chimney. Would I like some eucalyptus?

"My dear Madame Brandt, " I cried, "my bronchial tubes and lungs are asstrong as a hippopotamus's. "

I wish every one would not conclude that I was going off in a rapiddecline. 

Lola Brandt prowled about me in a wistful, mothering way, showing me afresh side of her nature. She is as domesticated as Penelope. 

"You're fond of cooking, aren't you?" I asked suddenly. 

She laughed. "I adore it. How do you know?"

"I guessed, " said I. 

"I'm what the French call a _vraie bourgeoise_. "

"I'm glad to hear it, " said I. 

"Are you? I thought your class hated the _bourgeoisie_. "

"The _bourgeoisie_, " I said, "is the nation's granary of the virtues. But for God's sake, don't tell any one that I said so!"

"Why?" she asked. 

"If it found its way into print it would ruin my reputation forepigram. "

She drew a step or two towards me in her slow rhythmic way, and smiled. 

"When you say or do a beautiful thing you always try to bite off itstail. "

Then she turned and drew some needlework--plain sewing I believe theycall it--from beneath the Union Jack cushion and sat down. 

"I'll make a confession, " she said. "Until now I've stuffed away my workwhen I heard you coming. I didn't think it genteel. What do you think?"

I scanned the shapeless mass of linen or tulle or whatever it was on herlap. 

"I don't know whether it's genteel, " I remarked, "but at present itlooks like nothing on God's earth. "

My masculine ignorance of such mysteries made her laugh. She is readilymoved to mild mirth, which makes her an easy companion. Besides, littlejokes are made to be laughed at, and I like women who laugh at them. There was a brief silence. I smoked and made Adolphus stand up on hishind legs and balance sugar on his nose. His mistress sewed. Presentlyshe said, without looking up from her work:

"I've made up my mind. "

I rose from my cushioned seat, into which Adolphus, evidently thinkingme a fool, immediately snuggled himself, and I stood facing her with myback to the fire. 

"Well?" said I. 

"I am ready to go back to my husband, if he can be found, and, ofcourse, if he will have me. "

I commended her for a brave women. She smiled rather sadly and shook herhead. 

"Those are two gigantic 'ifs. '"

"Giants before now have been slain by the valiant, " I replied. 

"How is Captain Vauvenarde to be found?"

"An officer in the French Army is not like a lost sparrow in London. Hiswhereabouts could be obtained from the French War Office. What is hisregiment?"

"The Chasseurs d'Afrique. Yes, " she added thoughtfully. "I see, it isn'tdifficult to trace him. I make one condition, however. You can't refuseme. "

"What is that?"

"Until things are fixed up everything must go on just as at presentbetween Dale and me. He is not to be told anything. If nothing comesof it then I'll have him all to myself. I won't give him up and be leftalone. As long as I care for him, I swear to God, I won't!" she said, inher low, rich voice--and I saw by her face that she was a woman of herword. "Besides, he would come raving and imploring--and I'm not quitea woman of stone. It isn't all jam to go back to my husband. Goodnessknows why I am thinking of it. It's for your sake. Do you know that?"

I did not. I was puzzled. Why in the world should Lola Brandt, whom Ihave only met three or four times, revolutionise the whole of her lifefor my sake?

"I should have thought it was for Dale's, " said I. 

"I suppose you would, being a man, " she replied. 

I retorted, with a smile: "Woman is the eternal conundrum to which thewise man always leaves her herself to supply the answer. Doubtless oneof these days you'll do it. Meanwhile, I'll wait in patience. "

She gave me one of her sidelong, flashing glances and sewed with morevigour than appeared necessary. I admired the beautiful curves of herneck and shoulders as she bent over her work. She seemed too strong towield such an insignificant weapon as a needle. 

"That's neither here nor there, " she said in reference to my lastremark. "I say, I don't look forward to going back to my husband--thoughwhy I should say 'going back' I don't know, as he left me--not I him. Anyhow, I'm ready to do it. If it can be managed, I'll cut myself adriftsuddenly from Dale. It will be more merciful to him. A man can bear asudden blow better than lingering pain. If it can't be managed, well, Dale will know nothing at all about it, and both he and I will be saveda mortal deal of worry and unhappiness. "

"Suppose" said I, "it can't be managed? Do you propose to keep Daleignorant of the danger he is running in keeping up a liaison with amarried woman living apart from her husband?"

She reflected. "If my husband says he'll see me damned first beforehe'll come back to me, then I'll tell Dale everything, and you can saywhat you like to him. He'll be able to judge for himself; but in themeanwhile you'll let me have what happiness I can. "

I accepted the compromise, and, dispossessing Adolphus, sat down again. I certainly had made progress. Feeling in a benevolent mood, I set forththe advantages she would reap by assuming her legal status; how at lastshe would shake the dust of Bohemia from off her feet, and instead ofstanding at the threshold like a disconsolate Peri, she would enter as aright the Paradise of Philistia which she craved; how her life would beone continual tea-party, and how, as her husband had doubtless by thistime obtained his promotion, she would be authorised to adopt high andmighty airs in her relations with the wives of all the captains andlieutenants in the regiment. She sighed and wondered whether she wouldlike it, after all. 

"Here in England I can say 'damn' as often as I choose. I don't say itvery often, but sometimes I feel I must say it or explode. "

"There are its equivalents in French, " I suggested. 

She laughed outright. "Fancy my coming out with a _sacre nom de Dieu_ ina French drawing-room!"

"Fancy you shouting 'damn' in an English one. "

"That's true, " she said. "I suppose drawing-rooms are the same all theworld over. I do try to talk like a lady--at least, what I imagine theytalk like, for I've never met one. "

"You see one every time you look in the glass, " said I. 

Her olive face flushed. "You mustn't say such things to me if you don'tmean them. I like to think all you say to me is true. "

"Why in the world, " I cried, "should you not be a lady? You have theinstincts of one. How many of my fair friends in Mayfair and Belgraviawould have made their drawing-rooms unspeakable just for the sake of nothurting the feelings of Anastasius Papadopoulos?"

She put aside her work and, leaning over the arm of the chair, her chinin her hands, looked at me gratefully. 

"I'm so glad you've said that. Dale can't understand it. He wants me toclear the trash away. "

"Dale, " said I, "is young and impetuous. I am a battered old philosopherwith one foot in the grave. "

Quick moisture gathered in her eyes. "You hurt me, " she said. "You'llsoon get well and strong again. You must!"

"_Ce que femme veut, Dieu le veut_, " I laughed. 

"_Eh bien, je le veux_, " she said with an odd expression in her eyeswhich burned golden. They fascinated me, held mine. For some secondsneither of us moved. Just consider the picture. There among the cushionsof her chair she sprawled beneath the light of a shaded lamp on thefurther side, and in front of the leaping flames, a great, powerful, sinuous creature of sweeping curves, clad in a clinging brown dress, herhead crowned with superb bronze hair, two warm arms bare to the elbow, at which the sleeve ended in coffee-coloured lace falling over the sideof the chair, and her leopard eyes fixed on me. About her still hung theecho of her last words spoken in deep tones whose register belongs lessto human habitations than to the jungle. And from her emanated likea captivating odour--but it was not an odour--a strange magneticinfluence. 

I have done my best to write her down in my mind a commonplace, vulgar, good-natured mountebank. But I can do so no longer. 

There is something deep down in the soul of Lola Brandt which sets herapart from the kindly race of womankind; whether it is the devil ora touch of pre-Adamite splendour or an ancestral catamount, I makeno attempt to determine. At any rate, she is too grand a creature tofritter her life away on a statistic-hunting and pheasant-shooting youngBriton like Dale Kynnersley. He would never begin to understand her. Iwill save her from Dale for her own sake. 

All this, ladies and gentlemen, because her eyes fascinated me, andcaused me to hold my breath, and made my heart beat. 

And will Captain Vauvenarde understand her? Of course he won't. But thenhe is her husband, and husbands are notoriously and _cum privilegio_dunder-headed. I make no pretensions to understand her, but as I amneither her lover nor her husband it does not matter. She says nothingdiabolical or eerie or fantastic or feline or pre-Adamite or uncanny orspiritual; and yet she _is_, in a queer, indescribable way, all thesethings. 

"_Je le veux_, " she said, and we drank in each other's souls, orgaped at each other like a pair of idiots just as you please. I had ahorrible, yet pleasurable consciousness that she had gripped hold of mynerves of volition. She was willing me to live. I was a puppet in herhands like the wild tom-cat. At that moment I declare I could havepurred and rubbed my head against her knee. I would have done anythingshe bade me. If she had sent me to fetch the Cham of Tartary's cap or ahair of the Prester John's beard, I would have telephoned forthwith toRogers to pack a suit-case and book a seat in the Orient express. 

What would have happened next Heaven alone knows--for we could not havegone on gazing at each other until I backed myself out at the door byway of leave-taking--had not Anticlimax arrived in the person of Mr. Anastasius Papadopoulos in his eternal frock-coat. But his gloves wereblack. 

As usual he fell on his knees and kissed his lady's hand. Then he roseand greeted me with solemn affability. 

"_C'est un privilege de rencontrer den gnadigsten Herrn_, " said he. 

Confining myself to one language, I responded by informing him thatit was an honour always to meet so renowned a professor, and inquiredpolitely after the health of Hephaestus. 

"Ah, Signore!" he cried. "Do not ask me. It is a tragedy from which Ishall never recover. "

He sat down on a footstool by the side of Madame Brandt and burst intotears, which coursed down his cheeks and moustache and hung like dropsof dew from the point of his imperial. 

"Is he dead?" asked Madame. 

"I wish he were! No. It is only the iron self-restraint that I possesswhich prevented me from slaying him on the spot. But poor Santa Bianca!My gentle and accomplished Angora. He has killed her. I can scarcelyraise my head through grief. "

Lola put her great arm round the little man's neck and patted him like achild, while he sobbed as if his heart would break. 

When he recovered he gave us the details of the tragic end of SantaBianca, and wound up by calling down the most ingeniously complicatedand passionate curses on the head of the murderer. Lola Brandt strove topacify him. 

"We all have our sorrows, Anastasius. Did I not lose my beautiful horseSultan?"

The professor sprang to his full height of four feet and dashed away histears with a noble gesture of his black-gloved hand. 

Base slave that he was to think of his own petty bereavement in the faceof her eternal affliction. He turned to me and bade me mark her serenenobility. It was a model and an example for him to follow. He, too, would be brave and present a smiling face to evil fortune. 

"Behold! I smile, carissima!" he cried dramatically. 

We beheld--and saw his features (smudged with tearstains and the dyefrom the black gloves which he obviously wore out of respect for thedeceased Santa Bianca) contorted into a grimace of hideous imbecility. 

"Monsieur, " said he, assuming his natural expression which was one ofpensive melancholy, "let us change the conversation. You are a greatstatesman. Will you kindly let me know your opinion on the foreignpolicy of Germany?"

Whereupon he sat down again upon his stool and regarded me with earnestattention. 

"Germany, " said I, with the solemnity of a Sir Oracle in thesmoking-room of one of the political clubs, "has dreams of an empirebeyond her frontiers, and with a view to converting the dream into areality, is turning out battleships nineteen to the dozen. "

The Professor nodded his head sagaciously, and looked up at Lola. 

"Very profound, " said he, "very profound. I shall remember it. I ama Greek, Monsieur, and the Greeks, as you know, are a nation ofdiplomatists. "

"Ever since the days of Xenophon, " said I. 

"You're both too clever for me, " exclaimed our hostess. "Where did youget your knowledge from, Anastasius?"

The Professor, flattered, passed his hand over his bulgy forehead. 

"I was a great student in my youth, " said he. "Once I could tell you allthe kings of Rome and the date of the battle of Actium. But pressure ofweightier concerns has driven my erudition from me. Pardon me. I havenot yet asked after your health. You are looking sad and troubled. Whatis the matter?"

He sat bolt upright, fingering his imperial and regarding her with thekeen solicitude of a family physician. To my amazement, Lola Brandt toldhim quite simply:

"I am thinking of living with my husband again. "

"Has the traitor been annoying you?" he asked with a touch offierceness. 

"Oh, no! It's my own idea. I'm tired of living alone. I don't even knowwhere he is. "

"Do you want to know where he is?"

"How can I communicate with him unless I do?"

Anastasius Papadopoulos rose, struck an attitude, and thumped hisbreast. 

"I will seek him for you at the ends of the earth, and will bring him toprostrate himself at your feet. "

"That's very kind of you, Anastasius, " said Lola gently; "but what willbecome of your cats?"

The dwarf raised his hand impressively. 

"The Almighty will have them in His keeping. I have also my pupil andassistant, Quast. "

Lola smiled indulgently from her cushions, showing her curious eventeeth. 

"You mustn't do anything so mad, Anastasius, I forbid you. "

"Madame, " said he in a most stately manner, "when I devote myself, it isto the death. I have the honour to salute you!"--he bowed over herhand and kissed it. "Monsieur. " He bowed to me with the profundity of ahidalgo, and trotted magnificently out of the room. 

It was all so sudden that it took my breath away. 

"Well I'm----" I didn't know what I was, so I stopped. Lola Brandt brokeinto low laughter at my astonishment. 

"That's Anastasius's way, " she explained. 

"But the little man surely isn't going to leave his cats and start on awild-goose chase over Europe to find your husband?"

"He thinks he is, but I shan't let him. "

"I hope you won't, " said I. "And will you tell me why you made sohot-headed a person your confidant?"

I confess that I was wrathful. Here had I been using the wiles of aBalkan chancery to bring the lady to my way of thinking, and here wasshe, to my face, making a joke of it with this caricature of a Paladin. 

"My dearest friend, " she replied earnestly, "don't be angry with me. I've given the poor little man something to think of besides the deathof his cat. It will do him good. And why shouldn't I tell him? He's adear old friend, and in his way was so good to me when I was unhappy. Heknows all about my married life. You may think he's half-witted; but heisn't. In ordinary business dealings he's as shrewd as they make 'em. The manager who beats Anastasius over a contract is yet to be born. "

By some extraordinary process of the contortionist's art, she curledherself out of her chair on to the hearthrug and knelt before me, herhands clasped on my knee. 

"You're not angry with me, are you?" she asked in her rich contralto. 

I took both her hands, rose, and assisted her to rise. I was not goingto be mesmerised again. 

"Of course not, " I laughed. Indeed my wrath had fallen from me. 

Her bosom heaved with a sigh. "I'm so glad, " she said. Her breath fannedmy cheek. It was aromatic, intoxicating. Her lips are ripe and full. 

"You had better find your husband as soon as possible, " said I. 

"Do you think so?" she asked. 

"Yes, I do. And it strikes me I had better go and find him myself. "

She started. "You?"

"Yes, " I said. "The Chasseurs d'Afrique are probably in Africa, and thedoctors have ordered me to winter in a hot climate, and I shall go onwriting a million letters a day if I stay here, which will kill me offin no time with brain fag and writer's cramp. Your husband will be whatthe newspapers call an objective. Good-bye!" said I, "I'll bring him toyou dead or alive. "

And without knowing it at the time, I made an exit as magnificent asthat of Professor Anastasius Papadopoulos. 

CHAPTER VIII

I do not know whether I ought to laugh or rail. Judged by the ordinarycanons that regulate the respectable life to which I have beenaccustomed, I am little short of a lunatic. The question is: Doesthe recognition of lunacy in oneself tend to amusement or anger? Icompromise with myself. I am angry at having been forced on an insaneadventure, but the prospect of its absurdity gives me a considerablepleasure. 

Let me set it down once and for all. I resent Lola Brandt's existence. When I am out of her company I can contemplate her calmly from myvantage of social and intellectual superiority. I can pooh-pooh herfascinations. I can crack jokes on her shortcomings. I can see perfectlywell that I am Simon de Gex, M. P. (I have not yet been appointed tothe stewardship of the Chiltern Hundreds), of Eton and Trinity College, Cambridge, a barrister of the Inner Temple (though a brief would causeme as much dismay as a command to conduct the orchestra at CoventGarden), formerly of the Foreign Office, a man of the world, adiner-out, a hardened jester at feminine wiles, a cynical student ofphilosophy, a man of birth, and, I believe, breeding with a cultivatedtaste in wine and food and furniture, one also who, but for a littlepain inside, would soon become a Member of His Majesty's Government, and eventually drop the "Esquire" at the end of his name and stick "TheRight Honourable" in front of it--in fact, a most superior, wise andimportant person; and I can also see perfectly well that Lola Brandtis an uneducated, lowly bred, vagabond female, with a taste, as I haveremarked before, for wild beasts and tea-parties, with whom I haveas much in common as I have with the feathered lady on a coster'sdonkey-cart or the Fat Woman at the Fair. I can see all this perfectlywell in the calm seclusion of my library. But when I am in herpresence my superiority, like Bob Acres's valour, oozes out through myfinger-tips; I become a besotted idiot; the sense and the sight andthe sound of her overpower me; I proclaim her rich and remarkablepersonality; and I bask in her lazy smiles like any silly undergraduatewhose knowledge of women has hitherto been limited to his sisters andthe common little girl at the tobacconist's. 

I say I resent it. I resent the low notes in her voice. I resent thecajolery of the supple twists of her body. I resent her putting herhands on my shoulders, and, as the twopenny-halfpenny poets say, fanningmy cheek with her breath. If it had not been for that I should neverhave promised to go in search of her impossible husband. At any rate, itis easy to discover his whereabouts. A French bookseller has telegraphedto Paris for the _Annuaire Officiel de l'Armee Francaise_, the FrenchArmy List. It locates every officer in the French army, and as theChasseurs d'Afrique generally chase in Africa, it will tell me thestation in Algeria or Tunisia which Captain Vauvenarde adorns. I cango straight to him as Madame Brandt's plenipotentiary, and if theunreasonable and fire-eating warrior does not run me through the bodyfor impertinence before he has time to appreciate the delicacy of mymission, I may be able to convince him that a well-to-do wife is worththe respectable consideration of a hard-up captain of Chasseurs. I sayI may be able to convince him; but I shrink from the impudence of theencounter. I am to accost a total stranger in a foreign army and tellhim to return to his wife. This is the pretty little mission I haveundertaken. It sounded glorious and eumoirous and quixotic and deucedlyfunny, during the noble moment of inspiration, when Lola's golden eyeswere upon me; but now--well, I shall have to persuade myself that it isfunny, if I am to carry it out. It is very much like wagering that onewill tweak by the nose the first gentleman in gaiters and shovel-hatone meets in Piccadilly. This by some is considered the quintessence ofcomedy. I foresee a revision of my sense of humour. 

This afternoon I met Lady Kynnersley again--at the Ellertons'. I wastalking to Maisie, who has grown no happier, when I saw her sailingacross to me with questions hoisted in her eyes. Being particularlydesirous not to report progress periodically to Lady Kynnersley, I madea desperate move. I went forward and greeted her. 

"Lady Kynnersley, " said I, "somebody was telling me that you are inurgent need of funds for something. With my usual wooden-headedness Ihave forgotten what it is--but I know it is a deserving organisation. "

The philanthropist, as I hoped, ousted the mother. She exclaimed atonce:

"It must have been the Cabmen and Omnibus Drivers' Rheumatic Hospital. "

"That was it!" said I, hearing of the institution for the first time. 

"They are martyrs to rheumatic gout, and of course have no means ofobtaining proper treatment; so we have secured a site at Harrogate andare building a comfortable place, half hospital, half hotel, where theycan be put up for a shilling a day and have all the benefits of thewaters just as if they were staying at the Hotel Majestic. Do you wantto become a subscriber?"

"I am eager to, " said I. 

"Then come over here and I'll tell you all about it. "

I sat with her in a corner of the room and listened to her fairy-tale. She wrung my heart to such a pitch of sympathy that I rose and graspedher by the hand. 

"It is indeed a noble project, " I cried. "I love the London cabby as mybrother, and I'll post you a cheque for a thousand pounds this evening. Good-bye!"

I left her in a state of joyous stupefaction and made my escape. If ithad not fallen in with my general scheme of good works I should regardit as an expensive method of avoiding unpleasant questions. 

Another philanthropist, by the way, of quite a different type from LadyKynnersley, who has lately benefited by my eleemosynary mania is RexCampion. I have known him since our University days and have maintaineda sincere though desultory friendship with him ever since. He is also afriend of Eleanor Faversham, whom he now and then inveigles into weirddoings in the impossible slums of South Lambeth. He has tried on manyoccasions to lure me into his web, but hitherto I have resisted. Being the possessor of a large fortune, he has been able to gratify adevouring passion for philanthropy, and has squandered most of his moneyon an institution--a kind of club, school, labour-bureau, dispensary, soup-kitchen, all rolled into one--in Lambeth; and there helives himself, perfectly happy among a hungry, grubby, scarecrow, tatterdemalion crowd. At a loss for a defining name, he has called it"Barbara's Building, " after his mother. His conception of the cosmosis that sun, moon and stars revolve round Barbara's Building. How helearned that I was, so to speak, standing at street corners and flingingmoney into the laps of the poor and needy, I know not. But he came tosee me a day or two ago, full of Barbara's Building, and departed inhigh feather with a cheque for a thousand pounds in his pocket. 

I may remark here on the peculiar difficulty there is in playing MonteCristo with anything like picturesque grace. Any dull dog that ownsa pen and a banking-account can write out cheques for charitableinstitutions. But to accomplish anything personal, imaginative, adventurous, anything with a touch of distinction, is a less easymatter. You wake up in the morning with the altruistic yearnings of aSt. Francois de Sales, and yet somehow you go to bed in the evening withthe craving unsatisfied. You have really had so few opportunities; andwhen an occasion does arise it is hedged around with such difficultiesas to baffle all but the most persistent. Have you ever tried to give abeggar a five-pound note? I did this morning. 

She was a miserable, shivering, starving woman of fifty selling matchesin Sackville Street. She held out a shrivelled hand to me, and eyes thatonce had been beautiful pleaded hungrily for alms. 

"Here, " said I to myself, "is an opportunity of bringing unimaginedgladness for a month or two into this forlorn creature's life. "

I pressed a five-pound note into her hand and passed on. She ran afterme, terror on her face. 

"I daren't take it, sir; they would say I had stolen it, and I should belocked up. No one would believe a gentleman had given it to me. "

She trembled, overwhelmed by the colossal fortune that might, and yetmight not, be hers. I sympathised, but not having the change in gold, Icould do no more than listen to an incoherent tale of misery, which didnot aid the solution of the problem. It was manifestly impossible totake back the note; and yet if she retained it she would be subjectedto scandalous indignities. What was to be done? I turned my eyestowards Piccadilly and beheld a policeman. A page wearing the name of amilliner's shop on his cap whisked past me. I stopped him and slipped ashilling into his hand. 

"Will you ask that policeman to come to me?"

The boy tore down the street and told the policeman and followed him upto me, eager for amusement. 

"What has the woman been doing, sir?" asked the policeman. 

"Nothing, " said I. "I have given her a five-pound note. "

"What for, sir?" he asked. 

"To further my pursuit of the eumoirous, " said I, whereat he gapedstolidly; "but, be that as it may, I have given it her as a free gift, and she is afraid to present it anywhere lest she should be charged withtheft. Will you kindly accompany her to a shop, where she can change it, and vouch for her honesty?"

The policeman, who seemed to form the lowest opinion of my intellect, said he didn't know a shop on his beat where they could change it. Theboy whistled. The woman held the box of matches in one hand, and in theother the note, fluttering in the breeze. Idlers paused and looked on. The policeman grew authoritative and bade them pass along. They crowdedall the more. My position was becoming embarrassing. At last the boy, remembering the badge of honour on his cap, undertook to change the noteat the hatter's at the corner of the street. So, having given the noteto the boy and bidden the policeman follow him to see fair play, andencouraged the woman to follow the policeman, I resumed my walk downSackville Street. 

But what a pother about a simple act of charity! In order to repeat ithabitually I shall have to rely on the fortuitous attendance of a boyand a policeman, or have a policeman and a boy permanently attached tomy person, which would be as agreeable as the continuous escort of ajackdaw and a yak. 

Poor Latimer is having a dreadful time. Apparently my ten thousandpounds have vanished like a snowflake on the river of liabilities. Howhe is to repay me he does not know. He wishes he had not yielded totemptation and had allowed himself to be honestly hammered. Thenhe could have taken his family to sing in the streets with a quietconscience. 

"My dear fellow, " said I through the telephone this morning. "What areten thousand pounds to me?"

I heard him gasp at the other end. 

"But you're not a millionaire!"

"I am!" I cried triumphantly. And now I come to think of it, I spoketruly. If a man reckons his capital as half a year's income, doubles it, and works out the capital that such a yearly income represents, he isthe possessor of a mint of money. 

"I am, " I cried; "and I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll settle fivethousand on Lucy and the children, so that they needn't accompany youin your singing excursions. I shouldn't like them to catch cold, poordears, and ruin their voices. "

In tones more than telephonically agonised he bade me not make a jest ofhis misery. I nearly threw the receiver at the blockhead. 

"I'm not jesting, " I bawled; "I'm deadly serious. I knew Lucy before youdid, and I kissed her and she kissed me years before she knew of yourhigh existence; and if she had been a sensible woman she would havemarried me instead of you--what? The first time you've heard of it? Ofcourse it is--and be decently thankful that you hear it now. "

It is pleasant sometimes to tell the husbands of girls you have lovedexactly what you think of them; and I had loved Lucy Latimer. She came, an English rose, to console me for the loss of my French _fleur-de-lis_, Clothilde. Or was it the other way about? One does get so mixed in thesethings. At any rate, she did not marry me, her first love, but jilted memost abominably for Latimer. So I shall heap five thousand pounds on herhead. 

I have been unfortunate in my love affairs. I wonder why? Which remindsme that I made the identical remark to Lucy Latimer a month or two ago. (She is a plump, kind, motherly, unromantic little person now. ) She hadthe audacity to reply that I had never had any. 

"_You_, Lucy Crooks, dare say such a thing!" I exclaimed indignantly. 

She smiled. "Are there many more qualified than I to give the opinion?"

I remember that I rose and looked her sternly in the face. 

"Lucy Crooks or Lucy Latimer, " said I, "you are nothing more or lessthan a common hussy. "

Whereupon she laughed as if I had paid her a high compliment. 

I maintain that I have been unfortunate in my love affairs. First, therewas an angel-faced widow, a contemporary of my mother's, whom I wooed inGreek verses--and let me tell the young lover that it is much easierto write your own doggerel and convert it into Greek than to put "ToAlthea" into decent Anacreontics. I also took her to the Eton and Harrowmatch, and talked to her of women's hats and the things she loved, andneglected the cricket. But she would have none of me. In the flood tideof my passion she married a scorbutic archdeacon of the name of Jugg. Then there was a lady whose name for the life of me I can't remember. Itwas something ending in "-ine. " We quarrelled because we held divergentviews on Mr. Wilson Barrett. Then there was Clothilde, whose tragicalstory I have already unfolded; Lucy Crooks, who threw me over for thisdear, amiable, wooden-headed stockjobbing Latimer; X, Y and Z--but here, let me remark, I was the hunted--mammas spread nets for me which by thegrace of heaven and the ungraciousness of the damsels I escaped; and, lastly, my incomparable Eleanor Faversham. Now, I thought, am I safein harbour? If ever a match could have been labelled "Pure heaven-madegoods, warranted not to shrink"--that was one. But for this rupturethere is an all-accounting reason. For the others there was none. I vowI went on falling in love until I grew absolutely sick and tired of thecondition. You see, the vocabulary of the pastime is so confoundedlylimited. One has to say to B what one has said to A; to C exactlywhat one has said to A and B; and when it comes to repeating to Fthe formularies one has uttered to A, B, C, D and E one grows almosthysterical with the boredom of it. That was the delightful charm ofEleanor Faversham; she demanded no formularies or re-enactment ofraptures. 

The _Annuaire Officiel de l'Armee Francaise_ has arrived. It is a volumeof nearly eighteen hundred pages, and being uncut both at top and bottomand at the side it is peculiarly serviceable as a work of reference. I attacked it bravely, however, hacking my way into it, paperknifein hand. But to my dismay, the more I hacked the less could I findof Captain Vauvenarde. I sought him in the Alphabetical Repertory ofColonial Troops, in the list of officers _hors cadre_, in the listsof seniority, in the list of his regiment, wherever he was likely orunlikely to be. There is no person in the French army by the name ofVauvenarde. 

I went straight to Lola Brandt with the hideous volume and the unwelcomenews. Together we searched the pages. 

"He _must_ be here, " she said, with feminine disregard of fact. 

"Are you quite certain you have got the name right?" I asked. 

"Why, it is my own name!"

"So it is, " said I; "I was forgetting. But how do you know he was in thearmy at all?"

He might have been an adventurer, a Captain of Kopenick of the day, whohad poured a gallant but mendacious tale into her ears. 

"I hardly ever saw him out of uniform. He was quartered at Marseilles onspecial duty. I knew some of his brother officers. "

"Then, " said I, "there are only two alternatives. Either he has left thearmy or he is----"

"Dead?" she whispered. 

"Let us hope, " said I, "that he has left the army. "

"You must find out, Mr. De Gex, " she said in a low voice. "I took it forgranted that my husband was alive. It's horrible to think that he may bedead. It alters everything, somehow. Until I know, I shall be in a stateof awful suspense. You'll make inquiries at once, won't you?"

"Did you love your husband, Madame Brandt?" I asked. 

She looked at the fire for some time without replying. She stood withone foot on the fender. 

"I thought I did when I married him, " she said at last. "I thought I didwhen he left me. "

"And now?"

She turned her golden eyes full on me. It is a disconcerting trick ofhers at any time, because her eyes are at once wistful and compelling;but on this occasion it was startling. They held mine for some seconds, and I caught in them a glimpse of the hieroglyphic of the woman's soul. Then she turned her head slowly and looked again into the fire. 

"Now?" she echoed. "Many things have happened between then and now. Ifhe is alive and I go to him, I'll try to think again that I love him. Itwill be the only way. It will save me from playing hell with my life. "

"I am glad you see your relations to Dale in that light, " said I. 

"I wasn't thinking of Dale, " she said calmly. 

"Of what, then, if I may ask without impertinence?"

She broke into a laugh which ended in a sigh, and then swung hersplendid frame away from the fireplace and walked backwards andforwards, her figure swaying and her arms flung about in unrestrainedgestures. 

"You are quite right, " she said, with an odd note of hardness in hervoice. "You're quite right in what you said the other day--that it washigh time I went back to my husband. I pray God he is not dead. I havea feeling that he isn't. He can't be. I count on you to find him and askhim to meet me. It would be better than writing. I don't know what tosay when I have a pen in my hand. You must find him and speak to him andsend me a wire and I'll come straight away to any part of the earth. Orwould you like me to come with you and help you find him? But no; that'sidiotic. Forget that I have said it. I'm a fool. But he must be found. He must, he must!"

She paused in her swinging about the room for which I was sorry, as herpanther-in-a-cage movements were exceedingly beautiful, and she gazedat me with a tragic air, wringing her hands. I was puzzled to find anadequate reason for this sudden emotional outburst. Hitherto she hadaccepted the prospect of a resumption of married life with a fatalisticcalm. Now when the man is either dead or has vanished into space, she pins all her hopes of happiness on finding him. And why had hersalvation from destruction nothing to do with Dale? There is obviouslyanother range of emotions at work beneath it all; but what their natureis baffles me. Although I contemplate with equanimity my littlecorner in the Garden of Prosperpine, and with indifference this commonlodging-house of earth, and although I view mundane affairs with thesame fine, calm, philosophic, satirical eye as if I were already adisembodied spirit, yet I do not like to be baffled. It makes me angry. But during this interview with Lola Brandt I had not time to be angry. I am angry now. In fact I am in a condition bordering on that of a maddog. If Rogers came and disturbed me now, as I am writing, I would bitehim. But I will set calmly down the story of this appalling afternoon. 

Lola stood before me wringing her hands. 

"What are you going to do?"

"I can get an introduction to the _Chef de bureau_ of the informationdepartment of the _Ministere de la Guerre_ in Paris, " I replied aftera moment's reflection. "He will be able to tell me whether CaptainVauvenarde is alive or dead. "

"He is alive. He must be. "

"Very well. But I doubt whether Captain Vauvenarde keeps the officeinformed of his movements. "

"But you'll go in search of him, won't you?"

"The earth is rather a large place, " I objected. "He may be in Dieppe, or he may be on top of Mount Popocatapetl. "

"I'm sure you'll find him, " she said encouragingly. 

"You'll own, " said I, "that there's something humourous in the ideaof my wandering all over the surface of the planet in search of alost captain of Chasseurs. It is true that we might employ a privatedetective. "

"Yes!" she cried eagerly. "Why not? Then you could stay here--and Icould go on seeing you till the news came. Let us do that. "

The swiftness of her change of mood surprised me. 

"What is the particular object of your going on seeing me?" I asked, with a smile. 

She turned away and shrugged her shoulders and took up her pensiveattitude by the fire. 

"I have no other friend, " she said. 

"There's Dale. "

"He's not the same. "

"There's Sir Joshua Oldfield. "

She shrugged her shoulders. 

I lit a cigarette and sat down. There was a long silence. In someunaccountable way she had me under her spell again. I felt a perfectlyinsane dismay at the prospect of ending this queer intimacy, and Iviewed her intrigue with Dale with profound distaste. Lola had become ahabit. The chair I was sitting in was _my_ chair. Adolphus was _my_ dog. I hated the idea of Dale making him stand up and do sentry with the fireshovel, while Lola sprawled gracefully on the hearthrug. On the otherhand the thought of remaining in London and sharing with my young friendthe privilege of her society was intolerable. 

I smoked, and, watching her bosom rise and fall as she leaned forwardwith one arm on the mantelpiece, argued it out with myself, and came tothe paradoxical conclusion that I could pack her off without a pang toKamtchatka and the embraces of her unknown husband, but could not handher over to Dale without feelings of the deepest repugnance. A prettyposition to find myself in. I threw away my cigarette impatiently. 

Presently she said, not stirring from her pose:

"I shall miss you terribly if you go. A man like you doesn't comeinto the life of a common woman like me without"--she hesitated for aword--"without making some impression. I can't bear to lose you. "

"I shall be very sorry to give up our pleasant comradeship, " said I, "but even if I stay and send the private inquiry agent instead of goingmyself, I shan't be able to go on seeing you in this way. "

"Why not?"

"It would be scarcely dignified. "

"On account of Dale?"

"Precisely. "

There was another pause, during which I lit another cigarette. When Ilooked up I saw great tears rolling down her cheeks. A weeping womanalways makes me nervous. You never know what she is going to do next. Safety lies in checking the tears--in administering a tonic. Still, herwish to retain me was very touching. I rose and stood before her by themantelpiece. 

"You can't have your pudding and eat it too, " said I. 

"What do you mean?"

"You can't have Captain Vauvenarde for your husband, Dale for your_cavaliere servente_, and myself for your guide, philosopher and friendall at the same time. "

"Which would you advise me to give up?"

"That's obvious. Give up Dale. "

She uttered a sound midway between a sob and a laugh, and said, as itseemed, ironically:

"Would you take his place?"

Somewhat ironically, too, I replied, "A crock, my dear lady, with onefoot in the grave has no business to put the other into the _Pays duTendre_. "

But all the same I had an absurd desire to take her at her word, notfor the sake of constituting myself her _amant en titre_, but so asto dispossess the poor boy who was clamouring wildly for her among hismother's snuffy colleagues in Berlin. 

"That's another reason why I shrink from your going in search of myhusband, " she said, dabbing her eyes. "Your ill-health. "

"I shall have to go abroad out of this dreadful climate in any case. Doctor's orders. And I might just as well travel about with an object inview as idle in Monte Carlo or Egypt. "

"But you might die!" she cried; and her tone touched my heart. 

"I've got to, " I said, as gently as I could; and the moment the wordspassed my lips I regretted them. 

She turned a terrified look on me and seized me by the arms. 

"Is it as bad as that? Why haven't you told me?"

I lifted my arms to her shoulders and shook my head and smiled into hereyes. They seemed true, honest eyes, with a world of pain behind them. If I had not regarded myself as the gentleman in the Greek Tragedywalking straight to my certain doom, and therefore holding myself alooffrom such vain things, I should have yielded to the temptation andkissed her there and then. And then goodness knows what would havehappened. 

As it was it was bad enough. For, as we stood holding on to each other'sshoulders in a ridiculous and compromising attitude, the door openedand Dale Kynnersley burst, unannounced, into the room. He paused on thethreshold and gaped at us, open-mouthed. 

CHAPTER IX

We sprang apart, for all the world like a guilty pair surprised. Luckilythe room was in its normal dim state of illumination, so that to onesuddenly entering, the expression on our faces was not clearly visible;on the other hand, the subdued light gave a romantic setting to theabominable situation. 

Lola saved it, however. She rushed to Dale. 

"Do you know what Mr. De Gex was just telling me? His illness--it isworse than any one thought. It's incurable. He can't live long; he mustdie soon. It's dreadful--dreadful! Did you know it?"

Dale looked from her to me, and after a slight pause, came forward. 

"Is this true, Simon?"

A plague on the woman for catching me in the trap! Before Dale came inI was on the point of putting an airy construction on my indiscreetspeech. I had no desire to discuss my longevity with any one. I wantto keep my miserable secret to myself. It was exasperating to haveto entrust it even to Dale. And yet, if I repudiated her impliedexplanation of our apparent embrace it would have put her hopelessly inthe wrong. I had to support her. 

"It's what the doctors say, " I replied, "but whether it's true or not isanother matter. "

Again he looked queerly from me to Lola and from Lola back to me. Hisfirst impression of our attitude had been a shock from which he found itdifficult to recover. I smiled, and, although perfectly innocent, felt avillain. 

"Madame Brandt is good enough to be soft-hearted and to take a tragicview of a most commonplace contingency. "

"But it isn't commonplace. By God, it's horrible!" cried the boy, thearrested love for me suddenly gushing into his heart. "I had no idea ofit. In Heaven's name, Simon, why didn't you tell me? My dear old Simon. "

Tears rushed into his eyes and he gripped my hand until I winced. I putmy other hand on his shoulder and laughed with a contorted visage. 

"My good Dale, the moribund are fragile. "

"Oh, Lord, man, how can you make a jest of it?"

"Would you have me drive about in a hearse, instead of a cab, by way ofpreparation?"

"But what have the doctors told you?" asked Lola. 

"My two dear people!" I cried, "for goodness' sake don't fall over mein this way. I'm not going to die to-morrow unless my cook poisons me orI'm struck by lightning. I'm going to live for a deuce of a time yet. A couple of weeks at least. And you'll very much oblige me by notwhispering a word abroad about what you've heard this afternoon. Itwould cause me infinite annoyance. And meanwhile I suggest to you, Dale, as the lawyers say, that you have been impolite enough not to sayhow-do-you-do to your hostess. "

He turned to her rather sheepishly, and apologised. My news had bowledhim over, he declared. He shook hands with her, laughed and walkedAdolphus about on his hind legs. 

"But where have you dropped from?" she asked. 

"Berlin. I came straight through. Didn't you get my wire?"

"No. "

"I sent one. "

"I never got it. "

He swung his arms about in a fine rage. 

"If ever I get hold of that son of Satan I'll murder him. He was coveredup to his beastly eyebrows in silver lace and swords and whistles andmedals and things. He walked up and down the railway station as if heowned the German navy and ran trains as a genteel hobby. I gave him tenmarks to send the telegram. The miserable beast has sneaked the lot. I'll get at the railway company through the Embassy and have the brutesacked and put in prison. Did you ever hear of such a skunk?"

"He must have thought you a very simple and charming young Englishman, "said I. 

"You've done the same thing yourself!" he retorted indignantly. 

"Pardon me, " said I. "If I do send a telegram in that loose way, Ichoose a humble and honest-looking porter and give him the exact fee forthe telegram and a winning smile. "

"Rot!" said Dale, and turning to Lola--"He has demoralised the wholerailway system of Europe with his tips. I've seen him give a franc tothe black greasy devil that bangs at the carriage wheels with a bit ofiron. He would give anybody anything. "

He had recovered his boyish pride in my ridiculous idiosyncracies, andwas in process of illustrating again to Lola what a "splendid chap"I was. Poor lad! If he only knew what a treacherous, traitorous, Machiavelli of a hero he had got. For the moment I suffered from a nastycrick in the conscience. 

"Wouldn't he, Adolphus, you celestial old blackguard?" he laughed. Thensuddenly: "My hat! You two are fond of darkness! It gives me the creeps. Do you mind, Lola, if I turn on the light?"

He marched in his young way across to the switches and set the roomin the blaze he loved. My crick of the conscience was followed by animpulse of resentment. He took it for granted that his will was law inthe house. He swaggered around the room with a proprietary air. He threwin the casual "Lola" as if he owned her. Dale is the most delightfulspecimen of the modern youth of my acquaintance. But even Dale, withall his frank charm of manner, has the modern youth's offhand way withwomen. I often wonder how women abide it. But they do, more shame tothem, and suffer more than they realise by their indulgence. When next Imeet Maisie Ellerton I will read her a wholesome lecture, for her soul'sgood, on the proper treatment a self-respecting female should apply tothe modern young man. 

Dale filled the room with his clear young laugh, and turned on everylight in the place. Lola and I exchanged glances--she had adopted herusual lazy pantherine attitude in the armchair--and her glance was notthat of a happy woman to whom a longed-for lover had unexpectedly come. Its real significance I could not divine, but it was more wistful thanmerely that of a fellow-conspirator. 

"By George!" cried Dale, pulling up a chair by Lola's side, andstretching out his long, well-trousered legs in front of the fire. "It's good to come back to civilisation and a Christian language and afireside--and other things, " he added, squeezing Lola's hand. "If onlyit had not been for this horrible news about you, dear old man----"

"Oh, do forget it and give me a little peace!" I cried. "Why have youcome back all of a sudden?"

"The Wymington people wired for me. It seems the committee are dividedbetween me and Sir Gerald Macnaughton. "

"He has strong claims, " said I. "He has been Mayor of the place and gotknighted by mistake. He also gives large dinners and wears a beautifuldiamond pin. "

"I believe he goes to bed in it. Oh, he's an awful ass! It was he whosaid at a public function 'The Mayor of Wymington must be like Caesar'swife--all things to all men!' Oh, he's a colossal ass! And his conceit!My word!"

"You needn't expatiate on it, " said I. "I who speak have suffered muchat the hands of Sir Gerald Macnaughton. "

"If he did get into Parliament he'd expect an armchair to be put for himnext to the Speaker. Really, Lola, you never saw such a chap. If therewas any one else up against me I wouldn't mind. Anyway, I'm running downto Wymington to-morrow to interview the committee. And if they chooseme, then it'll be a case of 'Lord don't help me and don't help the b'ar, and you'll see the derndest best b'ar fight that ever was. ' I'll makethings hum in Wymington!"

He went on eagerly to explain how he would make things hum. For themoment he had forgotten his enchantress who, understanding nothing ofplatforms and planks and electioneering machinery, smiled with pensivepoliteness at the fire. Here was the Dale that I knew and loved, boyish, impetuous, slangy, enthusiastic. His dark eyes flashed, and he threwback his head and laughed, as he enunciated his brilliant ideas forcapturing the constituency. 

"When I was working for you, I made love to half the women in the place. You never knew that, you dear old stick. Now I'm going in on my ownaccount I'll make love to the whole crowd. You won't mind, Lola, willyou? There's safety in numbers. And when I have made love to them oneby one I'll get 'em all together and make love to the conglomerate mass!And then I'll rake up all the prettiest women in London and get 'em downthere to humbug the men--"

"Lady Kynnersley will doubtless be there, " said I; "and I don't quitesee her--"

He broke in with a laugh: "Oh! the mater! I'll fix up her job all right. She'll just love it, won't she? And then I know a lot of silly asseswith motor-cars who'll come down. They can't talk for cob-nuts, andthink the Local Option has something to do with vivisection, and have avague idea that champagne will be cheaper if we get Tariff Reform--butthey'll make a devil of a noise at meetings and tote people round thecountry in their cars holding banners with 'Vote for Kynnersley' onthem. That's a sound idea, isn't it?"

I gravely commended the statesmanlike sagacity of his plan of campaign, and promised to write as soon as I got home to one or two members of thecommittee whom I suspected of pro-Macnaughton leanings. 

"I do hope they'll adopt you!" I cried fervently. 

"So do I, " murmured Lola in her low notes. 

"If they don't, " said Dale, "I'll ask Raggles to give me an unpaidbillet somewhere. But, " he added, with a sigh, "that will be an awfulrotten game in comparison. "

"I'm afraid you won't make Raggles hum, " said I. 

He laughed, rose and straddled across the hearthrug, his back to thefire. 

"He'd throw me out if I tried, wouldn't he? But if they do adopt me--Iswear I'll make you proud of me, Simon. I'll stick my soul into it. It'sthe least I can do in this horrid cuckoo sort of proceeding, and I feelI shall be fighting for you as well as for myself. My dear old chap, youknow what I mean, don't you?"

I knew, and was touched. I wished him God-speed with all my heart. He was a clean, honest, generous gentleman, and I admired, loved andrespected him as he stood there full of his youth and hope. I suddenlyfelt quite old and withered at the root of my being, like some decrepitking who hands his crown to the young prince. I rose to take myleave (for what advantage was there in staying?) and felt that I wasabandoning to Dale other things beside my crown. 

Lola's strong, boneless hand closed round mine in a more enveloping gripthan ever. She looked at me appealingly. 

"Shall I see you again before you go?"

"Before you go?" cried Dale. "Where are you off to?"

"Somewhere south, out of the fogs. "

"When?"

"At once, " said I. 

He turned to our hostess. "We can't let him go like that. I wonder ifyou could fix up a little dinner here, Lola, for the three of us. Itwould be ripping, so cosy, you know. "

He glowed with the preposterous inspiration. Lola began politely:

"Of course, if Mr. De Gex----"

"It would be delightful, " said I, "but I'm starting at once--to-morrowor the day after. We will have the dinner when I come back and you are afull-blown Member of Parliament. "

I made my escape and fled to my own cheerful library. It is oak-panelledand furnished with old oak, and the mezzo-tints on the walls are mellow. Of the latter, I have a good collection, among them a Prince Rupert ofwhich I am proud. I threw myself, a tired man, into an armchair by thefire, and rang the bell for a brandy and soda. Oh, the comfort of therooms, the comfort of Rogers, the comfort of the familiar backs of thebooks in the shelves! I felt loth to leave it all and go vagabondingabout the cold world on my lunatic adventure. For the first time in mylife I cursed Marcus Aurelius. I shook my fist at him as he stood on theshelf within easy reach of my hand. It was he who had put into my headthis confounded notion of achieving eumoiriety. Am I dealing to myself, I asked, a happy lot and portion? Certainly not, I replied, and whenRogers brought me my brandy and soda I drank it off desperately. Afterthat I grew better, and drew up a merry little Commination Service. 

A plague on the little pain inside. 

A plague on Lady Kynnersley for weeping me into my rash undertaking. 

A plague on Professor Anastasius Papadopoulos for aiding and abettingLady Kynnersley. 

A plague on Captain Vauvenarde for running away from his wife; forgiving up the army; for not letting me know whether he is alive or dead;for being, I'll warrant him, in the most uncomfortable and ungetatablespot on the globe. 

A plague on Dale for becoming infatuated with Lola Brandt. A plague onhim for beguiling me to her acquaintance; for bursting into the room atthat unfortunate moment; for his generous, unsuspecting love for me;for his youth and hope and charm; for asking me to dine with Lola andhimself in ripping cosiness. 

A plague on myself--just to show that I am broad-minded. 

And lastly, a plague, a special plague, a veritable murrain on LolaBrandt for complicating the splendid singleness of my purpose. I don'tknow what to think of myself. I have become a common conundrum--whichprovides the lowest form of intellectual amusement. It is all her fault. 

Listen. I set out to free a young man of brilliant promise, at hismother's earnest entreaty, from an entanglement with an impossible lady, and to bring him to the feet of the most charming girl in the world whois dying of love for him. Could intentions be simpler or more honourableor more praiseworthy?

I find myself, after two or three weeks, the lady's warm personalfriend, to a certain extent her champion bound by a quixotic oath torestore her husband to her arms, and regarding my poor Dale with afeeling which is neither more nor less than green-eyed jealousy. I ampraying heaven to grant his adoption by the Wymington committee, notbecause it will be the first step of the ladder of his career, butbecause the work and excitement of a Parliamentary election willprohibit overmuch lounging in _my_ chair in Lola Brandt's drawing-room. 

Is there any drug I wonder which can restore a eumoirous tone to thesystem?

Of course, Dale came round to my chambers in the evening and talkedabout Lola and himself and me until I sent him home to bed. He kept onrepeating at intervals that I was glorious. I grew tired at last of theeulogy, and, adopting his vernacular, declared that I should be jollyglad to get out of this rubbishy world. He protested. There was neversuch a world. It was gorgeous. What was wrong with it, anyway? As Icould not show him the Commination Service, I picked imaginary flaws inthe universe. I complained of its amateurishness of design. But Dale, who loves fact, was not drawn into a theological disputation. 

"Do you know, I had a deuce of a shock when I came into Lola's thisafternoon?" he cried irrelevantly, with a loud laugh. "I thought--it wasa damnable and idiotic thing to come into my head--but I couldn't helpthinking you had cut me out! I wanted to tell you. You must forgive mefor being such an ass. And I want to thank you for being so good to herwhile I was away. She has been telling me. You like her, don't you? Iknew you would. No one can help it. Besides being other things, she's issuch a good sort, isn't she?"

I admitted her many excellencies, while he walked about the room. 

"By Jove!" he cried, coming to a halt. "I've got a grand idea. My littleplan has succeeded so well with you that I've a good mind to try it onmy mother. "

"What on earth do you mean?" I asked. 

"Why shouldn't I take the bull by the horns and bring my mother and Lolatogether?"

I gasped. "My dear boy, " said I. "Do you want to kill me outright? Ican't stand such shocks to the imagination. "

"But it would be grand!" he exclaimed, delighted. "Why shouldn'tmother take a fancy to Lola? You can imagine her roping her in for thecommittee!"

I refused to imagine it for one instant, and I had the greatestdifficulty in the world to persuade him to renounce his maniacalproject. I am going to permit no further complications. 

I have been busy for the past day or two setting my house in order. I start to-morrow for Paris. All my little affairs are comfortablysettled, and I can set out on my little trip to Avernus via Parisand the habitat of Captain Vauvenarde with a quiet conscience. I haveallayed the anxiety of my sisters, whispered mysterious encouragementto Maisie Ellerton, held out hopes of her son's emancipation to LadyKynnersley, played fairy godmother to various poor and deservingpersons, and brought myself into an enviable condition of glowingphilanthropy. 

To my great relief the Wymington committee have adopted Dale as theircandidate at the by-election. He can scarcely contain himself for joy. He is like a child who has been told that he shall be taken to theseaside. I believe he lies awake all night thinking how he will makethings hum. 

The other side have chosen Wilberforce, who unsuccessfully contested theFerney division of Wiltshire at the last general election. He is old andugly. Dale is young and beautiful. I think Dale will get in. 

I have said good-bye to Lola. The astonishing woman burst into tearsand kissed my hands and said something about my being the arbiter ofher destiny--a Gallic phrase which she must have picked up from CaptainVauvenarde. Then she buried her face in the bristling neck of Adolphus, the Chow dog, and declared him to be her last remaining consolation. Even Anastasius Papadopoulos had ceased to visit her. I uttered words ofcomfort. 

"I have left you Dale at any rate. "

She smiled enigmatically through her tears. 

"I'm not ungrateful. I don't despise the crumbs. "

Which remark, now that I come to think of it, was not flattering to myyoung friend. 

But what is the use of thinking of it? My fire is burning low. It istime I ended this portion of my "Rule and Example of Eumoiriety, " which, I fear, has not followed the philosophic line I originally intended. 

The die is cast. My things are packed. Rogers, who likes his Britishbeef and comforts, is resigned to the prospect of Continental travel, and has gone to bed hours ago. There is no more soda water in thesiphon. I must go to bed. 

Paris to-morrow. 

CHAPTER X

"Ay!" says Touchstone; "now am I in Arden; the more fool I; when I wasat home I was in a better place. "

Now am I in Algiers; the more fool I; et cetera, et cetera. 

It is true that from my bedroom window in the Albany I cannot seethe moon silvering the Mediterranean, or hear the soft swish ofpepper-trees; it is true that oranges and eucalyptus do not flourishin the Albany Court-yard as they do in this hotel garden at MustaphaSuperieur; it is true that the blue African sky and sunshine are moreagreeable than Piccadilly fogs; but, after all, his own kennel isbest for a dying dog, and his own familiar surroundings best for hisdeclining hours. Again, Touchstone had not the faintest idea what he wasgoing to do in the Forest of Arden, and I was equally ignorant of whatwould befall when I landed at Algiers. He was bound on a fool adventure, and so was I. He preferred the easy way of home, and so do I. I havealways loved Touchstone, but I have never thoroughly understood him tillnow. 

It rained persistently in Paris. It rained as I drove from the Gare duNord to my hotel. It rained all night. It rained all the day I spentthere and it rained as I drove from my hotel to the Gare de Lyon. A cheery newspaper informed me that there were torrential rains atMarseilles. I mentioned this to Rogers, who tried to console me byreminding me that we were only staying at Marseilles for a few hours. 

"That has nothing to do with it, " said I. "At Marseilles I always eatbouillabaisse on the quay. Fancy eating bouillabaisse in the pouringrain!"

As usual, Rogers could not execute the imaginative exercise Iprescribed; so he strapped my hold-all with an extra jerk. 

Now, when homespun London is wet and muddy, no one minds very much. But when silken Paris lies bedraggled with rain and mud, she is theforlornest thing under the sky. She is a hollow-eyed pale city, therouge is washed from her cheeks, her hair hangs dank and dishevelled, in her aspect is desolation, and moaning is in her voice. I have aSultanesque feeling with regard to Paris. So long as she is amusing andgay I love her. I adore her mirth, her chatter, her charming ways. Butwhen she has the toothache and snivels, she bores me to death. I loseall interest in her. I want to clap my hands for my slaves, in order tobid them bring me in something less dismal in the way of fair cities. 

I drove to the Rue Saint-Dominique and handed in my card and letterof introduction at the _Ministere de la Guerre_. I was received bythe official in charge of the _Bureau des Renseignements_ with blandpoliteness tempered with suspicion that I might be taking a mentalphotograph of the office furniture in order to betray its secret toa foreign government. After many comings and goings of orderliesand underlings, he told me very little in complicated and reluctantlanguage. Captain Vauvenarde had resigned his commission in theChasseurs d'Afrique two years ago. At the present moment the Bureau hadno information to give as to his domicile. 

"Have you no suggestion, Monsieur, to offer?" I asked, "whereby I mayobtain this essential information concerning Captain Vauvenarde?"

"His old comrades in the regiment might know, Monsieur. "

"And the regiment?"

He opened the _Annuaire Officiel de l'Armee Francaise_, just as I mighthave done myself, and said:

"There are six regiments. One is at Blidah, another at Tlemcen, anotherat Constantine, another at Tunis, another at Algiers, and another atMascara. "

"To which regiment, then, did Captain Vauvenarde belong?" I inquired. 

He referred to one of the dossiers that the orderlies had brought him. 

"The 3rd, Monsieur. "

"I should get information, then, from Tlemcen?"

"Evidently, Monsieur. "

I thanked him and withdrew, to his obvious relief. Seekers afterknowledge are unpopular even in organisations so far removed from theCircumlocution Office as the French _Ministere de la Guerre_. However, he had put me on the trail of my man. 

During my homeward drive through the rain I reflected. I might, ofcourse, write to the Lieutenant-Colonel of the 3rd Regiment at Tlemcen, and wait for his reply. But even if he answered by return of post, Ishould have to remain in Paris for nearly a week. 

"That, " said I, wiping from my face half a teacupful of liquid mudwhich had squirted in through the cab window--"that I'll never do. I'llproceed at once to Algiers. If I can get no news of him there, I'll goto Tlemcen myself. In all probability I shall learn that he is residinghere in Paris, a stone's throw from the Madeleine. "

So I started for Algiers. The next morning, before the sailing of the_Marechal Bugeaud_, one of the quaint churns styled a steamship by thevanity of the French Company which undertakes to convey respectable folkacross the Mediterranean, I ate my bouillabaisse below an awning on thesunny quay at Marseilles. The torrential rains had ceased. I advisedRogers to take equivalent sustenance, as no lunch is provided on day ofsailing by the Compagnie Generale Transatlantique. I caught sight of himin a dark corner of the restaurant--he is too British to eat in theopen air on the terrace, or perhaps too modest to have his meal inmy presence--struggling grimly with a beefsteak, and, as he is ateetotaller, with an unimaginable, horrific liquid which he poured outfrom a vessel vaguely resembling a teapot. 

My meal over, and having nearly an hour to spare, I paid my bill, roseand turned the corner of the quay into the Cannebiere, thinking to havemy coffee at one of the cafes in that thoroughfare of which the nativessay that, if Paris had a Cannebiere, it would be a little Marseilles. Isuppose for the Marseillais there is a magic in the sonorous name; for, after all, it is but a commonplace street of shops running from thequays into the heart of the town. It is also deformed by tramcars. Istrolled leisurely up, thinking of the many swans that were geese, andParadises that were building-plots, and heroes that were dummies, andsolidities that were shadows, in short, enjoying a gentle post-prandialmood, when my eyes suddenly fell on a scene which brought me down fromsuch realities to the realm of the fantastic. There, a few yards infront of me, at the outer edge of the terrace of a cafe, clad inhis eternal silk hat, frock coat, and yellow gloves, sat ProfessorAnastasius Papadopoulos in earnest conversation with a seedy stranger ofrepellent mien. The latter was clean-shaven and had a broken nose, and wore a little round, soft felt hat. The dwarf was facing me. Ashe caught sight of me a smile of welcome overspread his Napoleonicfeatures. He rose, awaited my approach, and, bareheaded, made his usualsweeping bow, which he concluded by resting his silk hat on the pit ofhis stomach. I lifted my hat politely and would have passed on, but hestood in my path. I extended my hand. He took it after the manner of aprovincial mayor receiving royalty. 

"_Couvrez-vous, Monsieur, je vous en prie_, " said I. 

He covered his head. "Monsieur, " said he, "I beseech you to be seated, and do me the honour of joining me in the coffee and excellent cognac ofthis establishment. "

"Willingly, " said I, mindful of Lola's tale of the long knife which hecarried concealed about his person. 

"Permit me to present my friend Monsieur Achille Saupiquet--Monsieur deGex, a great English statesman and a friend of that _gnadigsten Engel_, Madame Lola Brandt. "

Monsieur Saupiquet and I saluted each other formally. I took a seat. Professor Anastasius Papadopoulos moved a bundle of papers tied up withpink ribbon from in front of me, and ordered coffee and cognac. 

"Monsieur Saupiquet also knows Madame Brandt, " he explained. 

"_Bien sur_, " said Monsieur Saupiquet. "She owes me fifteen sous. "

Papadopoulos turned on his sharply. "Will you be silent!"

The other grumbled beneath his breath. 

"I hope Madame is well, " said Papadopoulos. 

I said that she appeared so, when last I had the pleasure of seeing her. The dwarf turned to his friend. 

"Monsieur has also done my cats the honour of attending a rehearsal. He has seen Hephaestus, and his tears have dropped in sympathy over theirreparable loss of my beautiful Santa Bianca. "

"I hope the talented survivors, " said I, "are enjoying their usualhealth. "

"My daily bulletin from my pupil and assistant, Quast, containsexcellent reports. _Prosit_, Signore. "

It was only when I found myself at the table with the dwarf and hisbroken-nosed friend that I collected my wits sufficiently to realisethe probable reason of his presence in Marseilles. The grotesque littlecreature had actually kept his ridiculous word. He, too, had come southin search of the lost Captain Vauvenarde. We were companions in the FoolAdventure. There was something mediaeval in the combination; somethinglegendary. Put back the clock a few centuries and there we were, theKnight and the Dwarf, riding together on our quest, while the Lady forwhose sake we were making idiots of ourselves was twiddling her fairthumbs in her tower far beyond the seas. 

Professor Anastasius Papadopoulos broke upon this pleasing fancy byremarking again that Monsieur Saupiquet was a friend of Madame Brandt. 

"He was with her at the time of her great bereavement. "

"Bereavement?" I asked forgetfully. 

"Her horse Sultan. "

He whispered the words with solemn reverence. I must confess to beingtired of the horse Sultan and disinclined to treat his loss seriously. 

"Monsieur Saupiquet, " said I, "doubtless offered her every consolation. "

"He used to travel with her and look after Sultan's well-being. He washer----"

"Her Master of the Horse, " I suggested. 

"Precisely. You have the power of using the right word, Monsieur de Gex. It is a great gift. My good friend Saupiquet is attached to a circus atpresent stationed in Toulon. He came over, at my request, to see me--onaffairs of the deepest importance"--he waved the bundle of papers--"thevery deepest importance. _Nicht wahr_, Saupiquet?"

"_Bien sur_, " murmured Saupiquet, who evidently did not count loquacityamong his vices. 

I wondered whether these important affairs concerned the whereabouts ofCaptain Vauvenarde; but the dwarf's air of mystery forbade my asking forhis confidence. Besides, what should a groom in a circus know of retiredCaptains of Chasseurs? I said:

"You're a very busy man, Monsieur le Professeur. "

He tapped his domelike forehead. "I am never idle. I carry on heregigantic combinations. I should have been a lawyer. I can spread netsthat no one sees, and then--pst! I draw the rope and the victim isin the toils of Anastasius Papadopoulos. _Hast du nicht das bemerkt_, Saupiquet?"

"_Bien sur_, " said Saupiquet again. He seemed perfectly conversant withthe dwarf's polyglot jargon. 

"To the temperament of the artist, " continued the modest Papadopoulos, "I join the intellect of the man of affairs and the heart of a youngpoet. I am always young; yet as you see me here I am thirty-seven yearsof age. "

He jumped from his chair and struck an attitude of the Apollo Belvedere. 

"I should never have thought that you were of the same age as a betteredperson like myself, " said I. 

"The secret of youth, " he rejoined, sitting down again, "is enthusiasm, the worship of a woman, and intimate association with cats. "

Monsieur Saupiquet received this proposition without a gleam of interestmanifesting itself in his dull blue eyes. His broken nose gave his facea singularly unintelligent expression. He poured out another glass ofcognac from the graduated carafe in front of him and sipped it slowly. Then he gazed at me dully, almost for the first time, and said:

"Madame Brandt owes me fifteen sous. "

"And I say that she doesn't!" cried the dwarf fiercely. "I send for himto discuss matters of the deepest gravity, and he comes talking abouthis fifteen sous. I can't get anything out of him, but his fifteen sous. And the _carissima signora_ doesn't owe it to him. She can't owe itto him. _Voyons_, Saupiquet, if you don't renounce your miserablepretensions you will drive me mad, you will make me burst into tears, you will make me throw you out into the street, and hold you down untilyou are run over by a tramcar. You will--you will"--he shook his fistpassionately as he sought for a climactic menace--"you will make me spitin your eye. "

He dashed his fist down on the marble table so that the glasses jingled. Saupiquet finished his cognac undisturbed. 

"I say that Madame Brandt owes me fifteen sous, and until that is paid, I do no business. "

The little man grew white with exasperation, and his upper liplifted like an angry cat's, showing his teeth. I shrank from meetingSaupiquet's eye. Hurriedly, I drew a providential handful of coppersfrom my pocket. 

"Stop, Herr Professor, " said I, eager to prevent the shedding of tears, blood, or saliva, "I have just remembered. Madame did mention to me anunaquitted debt in the South, and begged me to settle it for her. I amdelighted to have the opportunity. Will you permit me to act as Madam'sbanker?"

The dwarf at once grew suave and courteous. 

"The word of _carissima signora_ is the word of God, " said he. 

I solemnly counted out the fifteen halfpence on the table and pushedthem over to Saupiquet, who swept them up and put them in his pocket. 

"Now we can talk, " said he. 

"Make him give you a receipt!" cried Papadopoulos excitedly. "I knowhim! He is capable of any treachery where money is concerned. He iscapable of re-demanding the sum from Madame Brandt. He is an ingrate. And she, Monsieur le Membre du Parlement Anglais, has overwhelmed himwith benefits. Do you know what she did? She gave him the carcass of herbeloved Sultan to dispose of. And he sold it, Monsieur, and he got drunkon the money. "

The mingled emotions of sorrow at the demise of Sultan, the royalgenerosity of Madame Brandt, and the turpitude of his friend Saupiquet, brought tears to the little man's eyes. Monsieur Saupiquet shrugged hisshoulders unconcernedly. 

"A poor man has to get drunk when he can. It is only the rich who canget drunk when they like. "

I looked at my watch and rose in a hurry. 

"I'm afraid I must take an unceremonious leave of you, Monsieur leProfesseur. "

"You must wait for the receipt, " cried the dwarf. 

"Will you do me the honour of holding it for me until we meet again?Hi!" The interpellation was addressed to a cabman a few yards away. "Your conversation has made me neglect the flight of time. I shall onlyjust catch my boat. "

"Your boat?"

"I am going to Algiers. "

"Where will you be staying, Monsieur? I ask in no spirit of vulgarcuriosity. "

I raised a protesting hand, and with a smile named my hotel. 

"I arrived here from Algiers yesterday afternoon, " he said, "and Iproceed there again to-morrow. "

"I regret, " said I, "that you are not coming to-day, so that I couldhave the pleasure of your company on the voyage. "

My polite formula seemed to delight Professor Anastasius Papadopoulosenormously. He made a series of the most complicated bows, to the joyof the waiters and the passers-by. I shook hands with him and withthe stolid Monsieur Saupiquet, and waving my hat more like an excitedMontenegrin than the most respectable of British valetudinarians, Idrove off to the Quai de la Joliette, where I found an anxious butdogged Rogers, in the midst of a vociferating crowd, literally holdingthe bridge that gave access to the _Marechal Bugeaud_. 

"Thank Heaven, you've come, sir! You almost missed it. I couldn't haveheld out another minute. "

I, too, was thankful. If I had missed the boat I should have had to waittill the next day and crossed in the embarrassing and unrestful companyof Professor Anastasius Papadopoulos. It is not that I dislike thelittle man, or have the Briton's nervous shrinking from being seenin eccentric society; but I wish to eliminate mediaevalism as far aspossible from my quest. In conjunction with this crazy-headed littletrainer of cats it would become too preposterous even for my lightsardonic humour. I resolved to dismiss him from my mind altogether. 

Yet, in spite of my determination, and in spite of one of MonsieurLenotre's fascinating monographs on the French Revolution, on whichI had counted to beguile the tedium of the journey, I could not getAnastasius Papadopoulos out of my head. He stayed with me the whole ofa storm-tossed night, and all the next morning. He has haunted mybrain ever since. I see him tossing his arms about in fury, while thebroken-nosed Saupiquet makes his monotonous claim for the paymentof sevenpence halfpenny; I hear him speak in broken whispers of thedisastrous quadruped on whose skin and hoofs Saupiquet got drunk. Isee him strutting about and boasting of his intellect. I see him takingleave of Lola Brandt, and trotting magnificently out of the room bent onfinding Captain Vauvenarde. He haunts my slumbers. I hope to goodness hewill not take to haunting this delectable hotel. 

I wonder, after all, whether there is any method in his madness--for madhe is, as mad as can be. Why does he come backwards and forwards betweenAlgiers and Marseilles? What has Saupiquet to do with his quest? Whatrevelation was he about to make on the payment of his fifteen sous?It is all so grotesque, so out of relation with ordinary life. I feelinclined to go up to the retired Colonels and elderly maiden ladies, whoseem to form the majority of my fellow-guests, and pinch them and askthem whether they are real, or, like Papadopoulos and Saupiquet, thegentler creatures of a nightmare. 

Well, I have written to the Lieutenant-Colonel of the 3rd Regiment ofChasseurs at Tlemcen, which is away down by the Morocco frontier. I havealso written to Lola Brandt. I seem to miss her as much as any of thefriends I have left behind me in England. I cannot help the absurd fancythat her rich vitality helps me along. I have not been feeling quiteso robust as I did when I saw her daily. And twinges are coming morefrequently. I don't think that rolling about in the Mediterranean onboard the _Marechal Bugeaud_ is good for little pains inside. 

CHAPTER XI

When I began this autobiographical sketch of the last few weeks of myexistence, I had conceived, as I have already said, the notion of makingit chiefly a guide to conduct for my young disciple, Dale Kynnersley. Not only was it to explain to him clearly the motives which led to mytaking any particular line of action with regard to his affairs, and soenable me to escape whatever blame he might, through misunderstanding, be disposed to cast on me, but also to elevate his mind, stimulate hisambitions, and improve his morals. It was to be a Manual of Eumoiriety. It was to be sweetened with philosophic reflections and adorned withallusions to the lives of the great masters of their destiny who havepassed away. It was to have been a pretty little work after the mannerof Montaigne, with the exception that it ran of its own accord intonarrative form. But I am afraid Lola Brandt has interposed herselfbetween me and my design. She had brought me down from the serenephilosophic plane where I could think and observe human happenings andanalyse them and present them in their true aspect to my young friend. She has set me down in the thick of events--and not events such asthe smiling philosopher is in the habit of dealing with, but lunatic, fantastic occurrences with which no system of philosophy invented by manis capable of grappling. I can just keep my head, that is all, and notedown what happens more or less day by day, so that when the doings ofdwarfs and captains, and horse-tamers and youthful Members of Parliamentconcern me no more, Dale Kynnersley can have a bald but veraciousstatement of fact. And as I have before mentioned, he loves facts, justas a bear loves honey. 

I passed a quiet day or two in my hotel garden, among the sweet-peas, and the roses, and the geraniums. There were little shady summer-houseswhere one could sit and dream, and watch the blue sky and the palms andthe feathery pepper trees drooping with their coral berries, and thegolden orange-trees and the wisteria and the great gorgeous splash ofpurple bougainvillea above the Moorish arches of the hotel. There weremild little walks in the eucalyptus woods behind, where one went throughacanthus and wild absinthe, and here and there as the path wound, thegreat blue bay came into view, and far away the snow-capped peaks of theAtlas. There were warmth and sunshine, and the unexciting prattle ofthe retired Colonels and maiden ladies. There was a hotel library filledwith archaic fiction. I took out Ainsworth's "Tower of London, " andpassed a happy morning in the sun renewing the thrills of my childhood. I began to forget the outer world in my enchanted garden, like a knightin the Forest of Broceliande. 

Then came the letter from Tlemcen. The Lieutenant-Colonel commandingthe 3rd Regiment of Chasseurs d'Afrique had received my honouredcommunication but regretted to say that he, together with all theofficers of the regiment, had severed their connection with CaptainVauvenarde, and that they were ignorant of his present address. 

This was absurd. A man does not resign from his regiment and withina year or two disappear like a ghost from the ken of every one ofhis brother officers. I read the letter again. Did the severance ofconnection mean the casting out of a black sheep from their midst?I came to the conclusion that it did. They had washed their hands ofCaptain Vauvenarde, and desired to hear nothing of him in the future. 

So I awoke from my lethargy, and springing up sent not for my shield andspear, but for an "Indicateur des Chemins de Fer. " I would go to Tlemcenand get to the bottom of it. I searched the time-table and found twotrains, one starting from Algiers at nine-forty at night and gettinginto Tlemcen at noon next day, and one leaving at six-fifty in themorning and arriving at half-past ten at night. I groaned aloud. Thedealing unto oneself a happy life and portion did not include abominabletrain journeys like these. I was trying to decide whether I shouldtravel all night or all day when the Arab chasseur of the hotel broughtme a telegram. I opened it. It ran:

"Starting for Algiers. Meet me. --LOLA. "

It was despatched that morning from Victoria Station. I gazed at itstupidly. Why in the world was Lola Brandt coming to join me in Algiers?If she had wanted to do her husband hunting on her own account, why hadshe put me to the inconvenience of my journey? Her action could not havebeen determined by my letter about Anastasius Papadopoulos, as a shortcalculation proved that it could not have reached her. I wandered roundand round the garden paths vainly seeking for the motive. Was it escapefrom Dale? Had she, womanlike, taken the step which she was so anxiousto avoid--and in order to avoid taking which all this bother hadarisen--and given the boy his dismissal? If so, why had she not gone toParis or St. Petersburg or Terra del Fuego? Why Algiers? Dale abandonedoutright, the necessity for finding her husband had disappeared. Perhapsshe was coming to request me, on that account, to give up the search. But why travel across seas and continents when a telegram or a letterwould have sufficed? She was coming at any rate; and as she gave no dateI presumed that she would travel straight through and arrive in aboutforty-eight hours. This reflection caused a gleam of sunshine totraverse my gloom. I was not physically capable of performing thejourney to Tlemcen and back before her arrival. I could, therefore, dream among the roses of the garden for another couple of days. And whenshe came, perhaps she would like to go to Tlemcen herself and trythe effect of her woman's fascinations on the Lieutenant-Colonel andofficers of the 3rd Regiment of Chasseurs d'Afrique. 

In any case, her sudden departure argued well for Dale's liberation. If the rupture had occurred I was quite contented. That is what I hadwished to accomplish. It only remained now to return to London, whilebreath yet stayed in my body, and lead him diplomatically to the feet ofMaisie Ellerton. Then I would have ended my eumoirous task, and my lasthappy words would be a paternal benediction. But all the same, I had setforth to find this confounded captain and did not want to be hindered. The sportsman's instinct which, in my robust youth, had led me to crawlmiles on my belly over wet heather in order to get a shot at a stag, Ifound, somewhat to my alarm, was urging me on this chase after CaptainVauvenarde. He was my quarry. I resented interference. Deer-stalkingthen, and man-stalking now, I wanted no petticoats in the party. Iworked myself up into an absurd state of irritability. Why was shecoming to spoil the sport? I had arranged to track her husband down, reason with him, work on his feelings, telegraph for his wife, and inan affecting interview throw them into each other's arms. Now, goodnessknows what would happen. Certainly not my beautifully conceived _coup detheatre_. 

"And she has the impertinence, " I cried in my wrath, "to sign herself'Lola'! As if I ever called her, or could ever be in a position to callher 'Lola'! I should like to know, " I exclaimed, hurling the "Indicateurdes Chemins de Fer" on to the seat of a summer-house, built after themanner of a little Greek temple, "I should like to know what the deuceshe means by it!"

"Hallo! Hallo! What the devil's the matter?" cried a voice; and Ifound I had disturbed from his slumbers an unnoticed Colonel of BritishCavalry. 

"A thousand pardons!" said I. "I thought I was alone, and gave vent tothe feelings of the moment. "

Colonel Bunnion stretched himself and joined me. 

"That's the worst of this place, " he said. "It's so liverish. One lollsabout and sleeps all day long, and one's liver gets like a Strasburggoose's and plays Old Harry with one's temper. Why one should come herewhen there are pheasants to be shot in England, I don't know. "

"Neither your liver nor your temper seem to be much affected, Colonel, "said I, "for you've been violently awakened from a sweet sleep and arein a most amiable frame of mind. "

He laughed, suggested exercise, the Briton's panacea for all ills, andtook me for a walk. When we returned at dusk, and after I had had teabefore the fire (for December evenings in Algiers are chilly) in one ofthe pretty Moorish alcoves of the lounge, my good humour was restored. Iviewed our pursuit of Captain Vauvenarde in its right aspect--that ofa veritable Snark-Hunt of which I was the Bellman--and the name "Lola"curled itself round my heart with the same grateful sensation of comfortas the warm China tea. After all, it was only as Lola that I thoughtof her. The name fitted her personality, which Brandt did not. Outof "Brandt" I defy you to get any curvilinear suggestion. I reflecteddreamily that it would be pleasant to walk with her among the roses inthe sunshine and to drink tea with her in dusky Moorish alcoves. I alsothought, with an enjoyable spice of malice, of what the retired Colonelsand elderly maiden ladies would have to say about Lola when she arrived. They should have a gorgeous time. 

So light-hearted did I become that, the next evening, while I wasdressing for dinner, I did not frown when the chasseur brought me up thehuge trilingual visiting-card of Professor Anastasius Papadopoulos. 

"Show the gentleman up, " said I. 

Rogers handed me my black tie and began to gather together discardedgarments so as to make the room tidy for the visitor. It was acomfortable bed-sitting-room, with the bed in an alcove and a tinydressing-room attached. A wood fire burned on the hearth on each side ofwhich was an armchair. Presently there came a knock at the door. Rogersopened it and admitted Papadopoulos, who forthwith began to execute hisusual manoeuvres of salutation. Rogers stood staring and open-mouthedat the apparition. It took all his professional training inimperturbability to enable him to make a decent exit. This increased mygood humour. I grasped the dwarf's hand. 

"My dear Professor, I am delighted to see you. Pray excuse my receivingyou in this unceremonious fashion, and sit down by the fire. "

I hastily completed my toilette by stuffing my watch, letter-case, loosechange and handkerchief into my pockets, and took a seat opposite him. 

"It is I, " said he politely, "who must apologise for this untimely call. I have wanted to pay my respects to you since I arrived in Algiers, buttill now I have had no opportunity. "

"Allow me, " said I, "to disembarrass you of your hat. "

I took the high-crowned, flat-brimmed thing which he was nursingsomewhat nervously on his knees, and put it on the table. He murmuredthat I was "_Sehr aimable_. "

"And the charming Monsieur Saupiquet, how is he?" I asked. 

He drew out his gilt-embossed pocket-book, and from it extracted anenvelope. 

"This, " said he, handing it to me, "is the receipt. I have to thank youagain for regulating the debt, as it has enabled me to transact withMonsieur Saupiquet the business on which I summoned him from Toulon. Heis the most obstinate, pig-headed camel that ever lived, and I believehe has returned to Toulon in the best of health. No, thank you, " headded, refusing my offer of cigarettes, "I don't smoke. It disturbsthe perfect adjustment of my nerves, and so imperils my giganticcombinations. It is also distasteful to my cats. "

"You must miss them greatly, " said I. 

He sighed--then his face lit up with inspiration. 

"Ah, signor! What would one not sacrifice for an idea, for duty, forhonour, for the happiness of those we love?"

"Those are sentiments, Monsieur Papadopoulos, " I remarked, "which do youinfinite credit. "

"And, therefore, I express them, sir, " he replied, "to show you whatmanner of man I am. " He paused for a moment; then bending forward, hishands on his little knees--he was sitting far back in the chair and hislegs were dangling like a child's--he regarded me intently. 

"Would you be equally chivalrous for the sake of an idea?"

I replied that I hoped I should conduct myself _en galant homme_ in anycircumstances. 

"I knew it, " he cried. "My intuition is never wrong. An Englishstatesman is as fearless as Agamemnon, and as wise as Nestor. Have youyour evening free?"

"Yes, " I replied wonderingly. 

"Would you care to devote it to a perilous adventure? Not so perilous, for I"--he thumped his chest--"will be there. But still _moltogefahrlich_. "

His black eyes held mine in burning intensity. So as to hide a smile Ilit a cigarette. I know not what little imp in motley possessed me thatevening. He seemed to hit me over the head with his bladder, and counselme to play the fool like himself, for once in my life before I died. Icould almost hear him speaking. 

"Surely a crazy dwarf out of a nightmare is more entertaining companythan decayed Colonels of British Cavalry. "

I blew two or three puffs of my cigarette, and met my guest's eagergaze. 

"I shall be happy to put myself at your disposal, " said I. "May I ask, without indiscretion--?"

"No, no, " he interrupted, "don't ask. Secrecy is part of the giganticcombination. _En galant homme_, I require of you--confidence. "

With an irresistible touch of mockery I said: "Professor Papadopoulos, I will be happy to follow you blindfold to the lair of whateverfire-breathing dragon you may want me to help you destroy. "

He rose and grasped his hat and made me a profound bow. 

"You will not find me wanting in courage, Monsieur. There isanother small favour I would ask of you. Will you bring some of yourvisiting-cards?"

"With pleasure, " said I. 

At that moment the gong clanged loudly through the hotel. 

"It is your dinner-hour, " said the dwarf. "I depart. Our rendezvous--"

"Let us have no rendezvous, my dear Professor, " I interposed. "What moresimple than that you should do me the pleasure of dining with me here?We can thus fortify ourselves with food and drink for our adventure, andwe can start on it comfortably together whenever it seems good to you. "

The little man put his head on one side and looked at me in an odd way. 

"Do you mean, " he asked in a softened voice, "that you ask me to dinewith you in the midst of your aristocratic compatriots?"

"Why, evidently, " said I, baffled. "It's only an ordinary table d'hotedinner. "

To my astonishment, tears actually spurted out of the eyes of theamazing little creature. He took my hand and before I knew what he wasgoing to do with it he had touched it with his lips. 

"My dear Professor!" I cried in dismay. 

He put up a pudgy hand, and said with great dignity:

"I cannot dine with you, Monsieur de Gex. But I thank you from my heartfor your generous kindness. I shall never forget it to my dying day. "

"But----"

He would listen to no protests. "If you will do me the honour of comingat nine o'clock to the Cafe de Bordeaux, at the corner of the Placedu Gouvernement, I shall be there. _Auf wiedersehen_, Monsieur, and athousand thanks. I beg you as a favour not to accompany me. I couldn'tbear it. "

And, drawing a great white handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped hiseyes, blew his nose, and disappeared like a flash through the door whichI held open for him. 

I went down to dinner in a chastened mood. The little man had not shownme before the pathetic side of the freak's life. By asking him to dinneras if he were normal I had earned his eternal gratitude. And yet, witha smile, which I trust the Recording Angel when he makes up my finalbalance-sheet of good and evil will not ascribe to an unfeeling heart, I could not help formulating the hope that his gratitude would not beshown by presents of China fowls sitting on eggs, Tyrolese chalets andbottles with ladders and little men inside them. I did not feel withinme the wide charity of Lola Brandt; and I could not repress a smile, asI ate my solitary meal, at the perils of the adventure to which I wasinvited. I had no doubt that it bore the same relation to danger asMonsieur Saupiquet's sevenpence-halfpenny bore to a serious debt. 

Colonel Bunnion, a genial little red-faced man, with bulgy eyes anda moustache too big for his body, who sat, also solitary, at the nexttable to mine, suddenly began to utter words which I discovered wereaddressed to me. 

"Most amazing thing happened to me as I was coming down to dinner. Justgot out of the corridor to the foot of the stairs, when down rushedsomething about three foot nothing in a devil of a top-hat and butted mefull in the pit of the stomach, and bounded off like a football. When Ipicked it up I found it was a man--give you my word--it was a man. Aboutso high. Gave me quite a turn. "

"That, " said I, with a smile, "was my friend Professor AnastasiusPapadopoulos. "

"A friend of yours?"

"He had just been calling on me. "

"Then I wish you'd entreat him not to go downstairs like a six-inchshell. I'll have a bruise to-morrow where the crown of his hat caught meas big as a soup-plate. "

I offered the cheerily indignant warrior apologies for my friend'sparabolic method of descent, and suggested Elliman's Embrocation. 

"The most extraordinary part of it, " he interrupted, "was that when Ipicked him up he was weeping like anything. What was he crying about?"

"He is a sensitive creature, " said I, "and he doesn't come upon the pitof the stomach of a Colonel of British Cavalry every day in the week. "

He sniffed uncertainly at the remark for a second or two and thenbroke into a laugh and asked me to play bridge after dinner. On the twopreceding evenings he and I had attempted to cheer, in this manner, the desolation of a couple of the elderly maiden ladies. But I maysay, parenthetically, that as he played bridge as if he were leading acavalry charge according to a text-book on tactics, and as I play cardgames in a soft, mental twilight, and as the two ladies were very keenbridge players indeed, I had great doubts as to the success of ourattempts. 

"I'm sorry, " said I, "but I'm going down into the town to-night. "

"Theatre? If so, I'll go with you. "

The gallant gentleman was always at a loose end. Unless he couldpersuade another human being to do something with him--no matterwhat--he would joyfully have played cat's cradle with me by the hour--hesat in awful boredom meditating on his liver. 

"I'm not going to the theatre, " I said, "and I wish I could ask you toaccompany me on my adventure. "

The Colonel raised his eyebrows. I laughed. 

"I'm not going to twang guitars under balconies. "

The Colonel reddened and swore he had never thought of such a thing. Hewas a perjured villain; but I did not tell him so. 

"In what my adventure will consist I can't say, " I remarked. 

"If you're going to fool about Algiers at night you'd better carry arevolver. "

I told him I did not possess such deadly weapons. He offered to lendme one. The two Misses Bostock from South Shields, who sat at the tablewithin earshot and had been following our conversation, manifested signsof excited interest. 

"I shall be quite protected, " said I, "by the dynamic qualities ofyour acquaintance, Professor Anastasius Papadopoulos, with whom I havepromised to spend the evening. "

"You had better have the revolver, " said the Colonel. And so bent was heon the point, that after dinner he came to me in the lounge and laid aloaded six-shooter beside my coffee-cup. The younger Miss Bostock grewpale. It looked an ugly, cumbrous, devastating weapon. 

"But, my dear Colonel, " I protested, "it's against the law to carryfire-arms. "

"Law--what law?"

"Why the law of France, " said I. 

This staggered him. The fact of there being decent laws in foreign partshas staggered many an honest Briton. He counselled a damnation of thelaw, and finally, in order to humour him, I allowed him to thrust theuncomfortable thing into my hip-pocket. 

"Colonel, " said I, when I took leave of him an hour later, "I have armedmyself out of pure altruism. I shan't be able to sit down in peace andcomfort for the rest of the evening. Should I accidentally do so, myblood will be on your head. "

CHAPTER XII

The tram that passes the hotel gates took me into the town and droppedme at the Place du Gouvernement. With its strange fusion of Eastand West, its great white-domed mosque flanked by the tall minaretcontrasting with its formal French colonnaded facades, its groupings ofmajestic white-robed forms and commonplace figures in caps and hardfelt hats; the mystery of its palm trees, and the crudity of itsflaring electric lights, it gave an impression of unreality, of a moderncontractor's idea of Fairyland, where anything grotesque might assume anair of normality. The moon shone full in the heavens, and as I crossedthe Place I saw the equestrian statue of the Duke of Orleans silhouettedagainst the mosque. The port, to the east, was quiet at this hour, andthe shipping lay dreamily in the moonlight. Far away one could see thedim outlines of the Kabyle Mountains, and the vague melting of sea andsky into a near horizon. The undefinable smell of the East was in theair. 

The Cafe de Bordeaux, which forms an angle of the Place, blazed in frontof me. A few hardy souls, a Zouave or two, an Arab, a bored Englishmanand his wife, and some French inhabitants were sitting outside in thechilliness. I entered. The cafe was filled with a nondescript crowd, andthe rattle of dominoes rose above the hum of talk. In a corner near thedoor I discovered the top of a silk hat projecting above a widely openednewspaper grasped by two pudgy hands, and I recognised the Professor. 

"Monsieur, " said he, when I had taken a seat at his table, "if theunknown terrors which you are going to confront dismay you, I beg thatyou will not consider yourself bound to me. "

"My dear Professor, " I replied, "a brave man tastes of death but once. "

He was much delighted at the sentiment, which he took to be original. 

"I shall quote it, " said he, "whenever my honour or my courage is calledinto question. It is not often that a man has the temerity to do so. CanI have the honour of offering you a whisky and soda?"

"Have we time?" I asked. 

"We have time, " he said, solemnly consulting his watch. "Things willripen. "

"Then, " said I, "I shall have much pleasure in drinking to theirmaturity. "

While we were drinking our whisky and soda he talked volubly of manythings--his travels, his cats, his own incredible importance inthe cosmos. And as he sat there vapouring about the patheticallyinsignificant he looked more like Napoleon III than ever. His eyes hadthe same mournful depths, his features the same stamp of fatality. Eachman has his gigantic combinations--perhaps equally important in the eyesof the High Gods. I was filled with an immense pity for Napoleon III. 

Of the object of the adventure he said nothing. As secrecy seemed tobe a vital element in his fifteen-cent scheme, I showed no embarrassingcuriosity. Indeed, I felt but little, though I was certain that theadventure was connected with the world-cracking revelations of MonsieurSaupiquet, and was undertaken in the interest of his beloved lady, LolaBrandt. But it was like playing at pirates with a child, and my pityfor Napoleon gave place to my pity for my valiant but childish littlefriend. 

At last he looked again at his watch. 

"The hour his struck. Let us proceed. "

Instinctively I summoned the waiter, and drew a coin from my pocket; andwhen the grown-up person and the small boy hobnob together the formerpays. But Anastasius, with a swift look of protest, anticipated myintention. I was his guest for the evening. I yielded apologetically, the score was paid, and we went forth into the moonlight. 

He led me across the Place du Gouvernement and struck straight up thehill past the Cathedral, and, turning, plunged into a network of narrowstreets, where the poor of all races lived together in amity and evilodours. Shops chiefly occupied the ground floors; some were the ordinaryhumble shops of Europeans; others were caves lit by a smoky lamp, whereArabs lounged and smoked around the tailors or cobblers squatting attheir work; others were Jewish, with Hebrew inscriptions. There weredark Arab cafes, noisy Italian wine-shops, butchers' stalls; children ofall ages played and screamed about the precipitous cobble-paved streets;and the shrill cries of Jewish women, sitting at their doors, rose inrebuke of husband or offspring. Not many lights appeared through theshuttered windows of the dark, high houses. Overhead, between twofacades, one saw a strip of paleness which one knew was the moonlit sky. Conversation with my companion being difficult--the top of his silk hatjust reached my elbow--I strode along in silence, Anastasius trotting bymy side. Many jeers and jests were flung at us as we passed, whereat hescowled terribly; but no one molested us. I am inclined to think thatAnastasius attributed this to fear of his fierce demeanour. If so, hewas happy, as were the simple souls who flouted; and this reflectionkept my mind serene. 

Presently we turned into a wide and less poverty-stricken street, whichI felt sure we could have reached by a less tortuous and malodorouspath. A few yards down we came to a dark _porte cochere_. The dwarfhalted, crossed, so as to read the number by the gas lamp, and joiningme, said:

"It is here. Have you your visiting-cards ready?"

I nodded. We proceeded down the dark entry till we came to a slovenly, ill-kept glass box lit by a small gas jet, whence emerged a slovenly, ill-kept man. This was the concierge. Anastasius addressed a remark tohim which I did not catch. 

"_Au fond de la cour, troisieme a gauche_, " said the concierge. 

As yet there seemed to be nothing peculiarly perilous about theadventure. We crossed the cobble-paved courtyard and mounted anevil-smelling stone staircase, blackened here and there by theoccasional gas jets. On the third landing we halted. Anastasius put uphis hand and gripped mine. 

"Two strong men together, " said he, "need fear nothing. "

I confess my only fear was lest the confounded revolver which swunginsecurely in my hip-pocket might go off of its own accord. I did notmention this to my companion. He raised his hat, wiped his brow, andrang the bell. 

The door opened about six inches, and a man's dark-moustachioed faceappeared. 

"_Vous desirez, Messieurs_?"

As I had not the remotest idea what we desired, I let Anastasius bespokesman. 

"Here is an English milord, " said Anastasius boldly, "who would like tobe admitted for the evening to the privileges of the Club. "

"Enter, gentlemen, " said the man, who appeared to be the porter. 

We found ourselves in a small vestibule. In front of us was a largedoor, on the right a small one, both closed. At a table by the largedoor sat a dirty, out-of-elbows raven of a man reading a newspaper. Thelatter looked up and addressed me. 

"You wish to enter the Club, Monsieur?"

I had no particular longing to do so, but I politely answered that suchwas my desire. 

"If you will give your visiting-card, I will submit it to theSecretariat. "

I produced my card; Anastasius thrust a pencil into my hand. 

"Write my name on it, too. "

I obeyed. The raven sent the porter with the card into the room on theright, and resumed the perusal of his soiled newspaper. I looked atAnastasius. The little man was quivering with excitement. The porterreturned after a few minutes with a couple of pink oval cards which hehanded to each of us. I glanced at mine. On it was inscribed: _CercleAfricain d'Alger. Carte de Member Honoraire. Une soiree_. And then therewas a line for the honorary member's signature. The raven man dipped apen in the ink-pot in front of him and handed it to me. 

"Will you sign, Messieurs?"

We executed this formality; he retained the cards, and opening the greatdoor, said:

"_Entrez, Messieurs_!"

The door closed behind us. It was simply a _tripot_, or gambling-den. And all this solemn farce of Secretariats and _cartes d'entree_ toobtain admission! It is curious how the bureaucratic instinct isingrained in the French character. 

It was a large, ill-ventilated room, blue with cigarette and cigarsmoke. Some thirty men were sitting or standing around a baccarat tablein the centre, and two or three groups hung around _ecarte_ tables inthe corners. A personage who looked like a slightly more prosperousbrother of the raven outside and wore a dinner-jacket, promenaded theroom with the air of one in authority. He scrutinised us carefully froma distance; then advanced and greeted us politely. 

"You have chosen an excellent evening, " said he. "There are a great manypeople, and the banks are large. "

He bowed and passed on. A dingy waiter took our hats and coats and hungthem up. Anastasius plucked me by the sleeve. 

"If you don't mind staking a little for the sake of appearances, I shallbe grateful. "

I whispered: "Can you tell me now, my dear Professor, for what reasonyou have brought me to this gaming-hell?"

He looked up at me out of his mournful eyes and murmured, "_Patienza, lieber Herr_. " Then spying a vacant place behind the chairs at thebaccarat table, he darted thither, and I followed in his wake. Theremust have been about a couple of hundred louis in the bank, which washeld by a dissipated, middle-aged man who, having once been handsome ina fleshy way, had run to fat. His black hair, cropped short, stood uplike a shoebrush, and when he leaned back in his chair a roll of fleshrose above his collar. I disliked the fellow for his unhealthiness, and for the hard mockery in his puffy eyes. The company seemed fairlyhomogeneous in its raffishness, though here and there appeared a thin, aristocratic face, with grey moustache and pointed beard, and the homelyanxious visage of a small tradesman. But in bulk it looked an ugly, seedy crowd, with unwashed bodies and unclean souls. I noticed anItalian or two, and a villainous Englishman with a face like that of adilapidated horse. A glance at the table plastered with silver and goldshowed me that they were playing with a five-franc minimum. 

Anastasius drew a handful of louis from his pocket and staked one. Istaked a five-franc piece. The cards were dealt, the banker exposed anine, the highest number, and the croupier's flat spoon swept the table. A murmur arose. The banker was having the luck of Satan. 

"He always protects me, the good fellow, " laughed the banker, who hadoverheard the remark. 

Again we staked, again the hands were dealt. Our tableau or end of thetable won, the other lost. The croupier threw the coins in payment. Ilet my double stake lie, and so did Anastasius. At the next coup we lostagain. The banker stuffed his winnings into his pocket and declared a_suite_. The bank was put up at auction, and was eventually knocked downto the same personage for fifty louis. The horse-headed Englishmancried "_banco_, " which means that he would play the banker for the wholeamount. The hands were dealt, the Englishman lost, and the game startedafresh with a hundred louis in the bank. The proceedings began to boreme. Even if my experience of life had not suggested that scrupulousfairness and honour were not the guiding principles of such anassemblage, I should have taken little interest in the game. I am agreat believer in the wholesomeness of compounding for sins you areinclined to by damning those you have no mind to. It aids the nicebalance of life. And gambling is one of the sins I delight to damn. Therapid getting of money has never appealed to me, who have always hadsufficient for my moderately epicurean needs, and least of all did itappeal to me now when I was on the brink of my journey to the land whereFrench gold and bank notes were not in currency. I repeat, therefore, that I was bored. 

"If the perils of the adventure don't begin soon, my dear Professor, " Iwhispered, "I shall go to sleep standing. "

Again he asked for patience and staked a hundred-franc note. At thatmoment the man sitting at the table in front of him rose, and the dwarfslipped swiftly into his seat. He won his hundred francs and madethe same stake again. It was obvious that the little man did not damngambling. It was a sin to which he appeared peculiarly inclined. Thetrue inwardness of the perilous adventure began to dawn on me. He hadcome here to make the money wherewith he could further his giganticcombinations. All this mystery was part of his childish cunning. Ihardly knew whether to box the little creature's ears, to box my own, or to laugh. I compromised with a smile on the last alternative, andbaccarat being a dreary game to watch, I strolled off to the nearest_ecarte_ table, and, to justify my presence in the room, backed one ofthe players. 

Presently my attention was called to the baccarat table by a noise asof some dispute, and turning, I saw the gentleman in the dinner-jackethurrying to what appeared to be the storm centre, the place whereAnastasius was sitting. Suspecting some minor peril, I left the _ecarte_players, and joined the gentleman in the dinner-jacket. It seemed thatthe hand, which is played in rotation by those seated at each tableauor half-table, had come round for the first time to Anastasius, andobjection had been taken to his playing it, on the score of his physicalappearance. The dwarf was protesting vehemently. He had played baccaratin all the clubs of Europe, and had never received such treatment. Itwas infamous, it was insulting. The malcontents of the punt paidlittle heed to his remonstrances. They resented the entrusting of theirfortunes to one whose chin barely rose above the level of the table. The banker lit a cigarette and sat back in his chair with a smile ofmockery. His attitude brought up the superfluous flesh about his chinand the roll of fat at the back of his neck. With his moustache_en croc_, and his shoebrush hair, I have rarely beheld a moresensual-looking desperado. 

"But gentlemen, " said he, "I see no objection whatever to Monsieurplaying the hand. "

"Naturally, " retorted a voice, "since it would be to your advantage. "

The raven in the dinner-jacket commanded silence. 

"Gentlemen, I decide that, according to the rules of the game, Monsieuris entitled to play the hand. "

"Bravo!" exclaimed one or two of my friend's supporters. 

"_C'est idiot_!" growled the malcontents. 

"_Messieurs, faites vos jeux_!" cried the croupier. 

The stakes were laid, the banker looked around, estimating thecomparative values of the two tableaux. Anastasius had backed his handwith a pile of louis. To encourage him, and to conciliate the hostilepunt, I threw down a hundred-franc note. 

"_Les jeux sont faits? Rien ne va plus_. "

The banker dealt, two cards to each tableau, two to himself. Anastasius, trembling with nervous excitement, stretched out a palsied little fisttowards the cards. He drew them towards him, face downwards, peeped atthem in the most approved manner, and in a husky voice called for anextra card. 

The card dealt face upwards was a five. The banker turned up his owncards, a two and a four, making a point of six. Naturally he stood, Anastasius did nothing. 

"Show your cards--show your cards!" cried several voices. 

He turned over the two cards originally dealt to him. They were a kingand a nine, making the natural nine, the highest point, and he hadactually asked for another card. It was the unforgivable sin. The fivethat had been dealt to him brought his point to four. There was a roarof indignation. Men with violent faces rose and cursed him, and shooktheir fists at him. Others clamoured that the coup was ineffective. Theywere not going to be at the mercy of an idiot who knew nothing of thegame. The hand must be dealt over again. 

"_Jamais de la vie_!" shouted the banker. 

"_Le coup est bon_!" cried the raven in authority, and the croupier'sspoon hovered over the tableau. But the horse-headed Englishman clutchedthe two louis he had staked. He was damned, and a great many otherthings, if he would lose his money that way. The raven in thedinner-jacket darted round, and bending over him, caught him by thewrist. Two or three others grabbed their stakes, and swore they wouldnot pay. The banker rose and went to the rescue of his gains. Therewas screaming and shouting and struggling and riot indescribable. Thoseround about us went on cursing Anastasius, who sat quite still, withquivering lips, as helpless as a rabbit. The raven tore his waythrough the throng around the Englishman and came up to me excited anddishevelled. 

"It is all your fault, Monsieur, " he shrieked, "for introducing into theclub a half-witted creature like that. "

"Yes, it's your fault, " cried a low-browed, ugly fellow looking likea butcher in uneasy circumstances who stood next to me. Suddenly theavalanche of indignation fell upon my head. Angry, ugly men crowdedround me and began to curse me instead of the dwarf. Cries arose. Theadventure began, indeed, to grow idiotically perilous. I had never beenthrown out of doors in my life. I objected strongly to the idea. Itmight possibly hurt my body, and would certainly offend my dignity. Ifelt that I could not make my exit through the portals of life with theurbanity on which I had counted, if, as a preparatory step, I had beenthrown out of a gambling-hell. There were only two things to be done. Either I must whip out my ridiculous revolver and do some free shooting, or I must make an appeal to the lower feelings of the assembly. I chosethe latter alternative. With a sudden movement I slipped through theangry and gesticulating crowd, and leaped on a chair by one of thedeserted _ecarte_ tables. Then I raised a commanding arm, and, in mybest election-meeting voice, I cried:

"_Messieurs_!"

The unexpectedness of the manoeuvre caused instant silence. 

"As my friend and myself, " I said, "are the cause of this unpleasantconfusion, I shall be most happy to pay the banker the losses of thetableau. "

And I drew out and brandished my pocket-book, in which, by a specialgrace of Providence, there happened to be a considerable sum of money. 

Murmurs of approbation arose. Then the Englishman sang out:

"But what about the money we would have won, if that little fool hadplayed the game properly?"

The remark was received with cheers. 

"That amount, too, " said I, "I shall be happy to disburse. "

There was nothing more to be said, as everybody, banker and punt, weresatisfied. The raven in the dinner-jacket came up and informed me thatmy proposal solved the difficulty. I besought him to make out the billfor my little entertainment as quickly as possible. Then I dismountedfrom my chair and beckoned to the dwarf, still sitting white andpiteous, to join me. He obeyed like a frightened child who had beennaughty. All his swagger and braggadocio were gone. His bosom heavedwith suppressed sobs. He sat down on the chair I had vacated and buriedhis face on the _ecarte_ table. We remained thus aloof from the crowdwho were intent on the calculation at the baccarat table. At last theraven in the dinner-jacket arrived with a note of the amount. It wastwo thousand three hundred francs. I gave him the notes, and, takingAnastasius by the arm, led him to the door, where the waiter stood withour hats and coats. Before we could reach it, however, the banker, whohad risen from his seat, crossed the room and addressed me. 

"Monsieur, " said he, with an air of high-bred courtesy, "I infinitelyregret this unpleasant affair and I thank you for your perfectmagnanimity. "

I did not suggest that with equal magnanimity he might refund theforty-six pounds that had found its way from my pocket to his, but Ibowed with stiff politeness, and made my exit with as much dignity asthe attachment to my heels of the crestfallen Anastasius would permit. 

Outside I constituted myself the guide, and took the first turningdownhill, knowing that it would lead to the civilised centre of thetown. The dwarf's roundabout route was characteristic of his tortuousmind. We walked along for some time without saying anything. I couldnot find it in my heart to reproach the little man for the expensiveness(nearly a hundred pounds) of his perilous adventure, and he seemed toodazed with shame and humiliation to speak. At last, when we reached, as I anticipated, the Square de la Republique, I patted him on theshoulder. 

"Cheer up, my dear Professor, " said I. "We both are acquainted withnobler things than the ins and outs of gaming-hells. "

He reeled to a bench under the palm trees, and bursting into tears, gavevent to his misery in the most incoherent language ever uttered by man. I sat beside him and vainly attempted consolation. 

"Ah, how mad I am! Ah, how contemptible! I dare not face my beautifulcats again. I dare not see the light of the sun. I have betrayed mytrust. Accursed be the cards. I, who had my gigantic combination. It isall gone. Beautiful lady, forgive me. Generous-hearted friend, forgiveme. I am the most miserable of God's creatures. "

"It is an accident that might happen to any one, " I said gently. "Youwere nervous. You looked at the cards, you mistook the nine for a ten, in which case you were right to call for another card. "

"It is not that, " he wailed. "It is the spoiling of my combination, onwhich I have wasted sleepless nights. A curse on my mad folly. Do youknow who the banker was?"

"No, " said I. 

"He was Captain Vauvenarde, the husband of Madame Brandt. "

CHAPTER XIII

You could have knocked me down with a feather. It is a trite metaphor, I know; but it is none the less excellent. I repeat, therefore, unblushingly--you could have knocked me down with a feather. I gasped. The little man wiped his eyes. He was the tearfullest adult I have evermet, and I once knew an Italian _prima donna_ with a temperament. 

"Captain Vauvenarde? The man with the shoebrush hair and the rolls offat at the back of his neck? Are you sure?"

The dwarf nodded. "I set out from England to find him. I swore to the_carissima signora_ that I would do so. I have done it, " he added, witha faint return of his self-confidence. 

"Well, I'm damned!" said I, in my native tongue. 

I don't often use strong language; but the occasion warranted it. Iwas flabbergasted, bewildered, out-raged, humiliated, delighted, incredulous, and generally turned topsy-turvy. In conversation one hasno time for so minute an analysis of one's feelings. I therefore summedthem up in the only word. Captain Vauvenarde! The wild goose of myabsurd chase! Found by this Flibbertigibbet of a fellow, while I, Simonde Gex, erstwhile M. P. , was fooling about War Offices and regiments! Itwas grotesque. It was monstrous. It ought not to have been allowed. Andyet it saved me a vast amount of trouble. 

"I'm damned!" said I. 

Anastasius had just enough English to understand. I suppose, such ismortal unregeneracy, that it is the most widely understood word in theuniverse. 

"And I, " said he, "am eternally beaten. I am trampled under foot andshall never be able to hold up my head again. "

Whereupon he renewed his lamentations. For some time I listenedpatiently, and from his disconnected remarks I gathered that he had goneto the Cercle Africain in view of his gigantic combinations, but thatthe demon of gambling taking possession of him had almost driven themfrom his mind. Eventually he had lost control of his nerves, a cloudhad spread over his brain, and he had committed the unspeakable blunderwhich led to disaster. 

"To think that I should have tracked him down--for this!" he exclaimedtragically. 

"What beats me, " I cried, "is how the deuce you managed to track himdown. Your magnificent intellect, I suppose"--I spoke gently and not inopen sarcasm--"enabled you to get on the trail. "

He brightened at the compliment. "Yes, that was it. Listen. I came toAlgiers, the last place he was heard of. I go to the cafes. I listenlike a detective to conversation. I creep behind soldiers talking. I find out nothing. I ask at the shops. They think I am crazy, butAnastasius Papadopoulos has a brain larger than theirs. I go to myold friend the secretary of the theatre, where I have exhibited themarvellous performance of my cats. I say to him, 'When have you a datefor me?' He says, 'Next year. ' I make a note of it. We talk. He knowsall Algiers. I say to him, 'What has become of Captain Vauvenarde of theChasseurs d'Afrique?' I say it carelessly as if the Captain were an oldfriend of mine. The secretary laughs. 'Haven't you heard? The Captainwas chased from the regiment----'"

"The deuce he was!" I interjected. 

"On account of something, " said Anastasius. "The secretary could nottell what. Perhaps he cheated at cards. The officers said so. 

"'Where is he now?' I ask. 'Why, in Algiers. He is the most famousgambler in the town. He is every night at the Cercle Africain, and somepeople believe that it belongs to him. ' My friend the secretary asks mewhy I am so anxious to discover Captain Vauvenarde. I do not betray mysecret. When I do not wish to talk I close my lips, and they are sealedlike the tomb. I am the model of discretion. You, Monsieur, with thehigh-bred delicacy of the English statesman, have not questioned meabout my combination. I appreciate it. But, if you had, though it brokemy heart, I should not have answered. "

"I am not going to pry into your schemes, " I said, "but there are oneor two things I must understand. How do you know the banker was CaptainVauvenarde?"

"I saw him several times in Marseilles with the _carissima signora_. "

"Then how was it he did not recognise you to-night?"

"I was then but an acquaintance of Madame; not her intimate friend, counsellor, champion, as I am now. I did not have the honour of beingpresented to Captain Vauvenarde. I went to-night to make sure of my man, to play the first card in my gigantic combination--but, alas! But no!"He rose and thumped his little chest. "I feel my courage coming back. My will is stiffening into iron. When the _carissima signora_ arrives inAlgiers she will find she has a champion!"

"How do you know she is coming to Algiers?" I asked startled. 

"As soon as I learned that Captain Vauvenarde was here, " he repliedproudly, "I sent her a telegram. 'Husband found; come at once. ' I knowshe is coming, for she has not answered. "

An idea occurred to me. "Did you sign your name and address on thetelegram?"

He approached me confidentially as I sat, and wagged a cunning finger. 

"In matters of life and death, never give your name and address. "

As Professor Anastasius Papadopoulos was himself again, and as I beganto sneeze--for the night was chilly--I rose and suggested that we mightadjourn this conference till the morrow. He acquiesced, saying that allwas not lost and that he still had time to mature his combinations. Wecrossed the road, and I hailed a cab standing by the Cafe d'Alger. Ioffered Anastasius to drive him to his hotel, but he declined politely. We shook hands. 

"Monsieur, " said he, "I have to make my heartfelt apologies for havingcaused you so painful, so useless, and so expensive an evening. As forthe last aspect I will repay you. "

"You will do no such thing, Professor, " said I. "My evening has, onthe contrary, been particularly useful and instructive. I wouldn't havemissed it for the world. "

And I drove off homewards, glad to be in my own company. 

Here was an imbroglio! The missing husband found and, like mostmissing husbands, found to be entirely undesirable. And Lola, obviouslyimagining her summons to be from me, was at that moment speeding hitheras fast as the _Marechal Bugeaud_ could carry her. If I had discoveredCaptain Vauvenarde instead of Anastasius I would have anathematisedhim as the most meddlesome, crazy little marplot that ever looked likeNapoleon the Third. But as the credit of the discovery belonged to himand not to me, I could only anathematise myself for my dilettanteism inthe capacity of a private inquiry agent. 

I went to bed and slept badly. The ludicrous scenes of the eveningdanced before my eyes; the smoke-filled, sordid room, the ignoble facesround the table, the foolish hullaballoo, the collapse of Anastasius, my melodramatic intervention, and the ironical courtesy of the fleshyCaptain Vauvenarde. Also, in the small hours of the night, Anastasius'sgigantic combinations assumed a less trivial aspect. What lunatic schemewas being hatched behind that dome-like brow? His object in taking me tothe club was obvious. He could not have got in save under my protection. But what he had reckoned upon doing when he got there Heaven andAnastasius Papadopoulos only knew. I was also worried by the confoundedlittle pain inside. 

On the following afternoon I went down to meet the steamer fromMarseilles. I more than expected to find the dwarf on the quay, but tomy relief he was not there. I had purposely kept my knowledge of Lola'smovements a secret from him, as I desired as far as possible to conductaffairs without his crazy intervention. I was not sorry, too, that hehad not availed himself of my proposal to visit me that morning andcontinue our conversation of the night before. The grotesque as adecoration of life is valuable; as the main feature it gets on yournerves. 

I stood on the sloping stone jetty among the crowd of Arab porters andEuropeans and watched the vessel waddle in. Lola and I, catching sightof each other at the same time, waved handkerchiefs in an imbecilemanner, and when the vessel came alongside, and during the tediousprocess of mooring, we regarded each other with photographic smiles. Shewas wearing a squirrel coat and a toque of the same fur, and she lookedmore like a splendid wild animal than ever. Something inside me--not thelittle pain--but what must have been my heart, throbbed suddenly at herbeauty, and the throb was followed by a sudden sense of shock at therealisation of my keen pleasure at the sight of her. A wistful radianceshone in her face as she came down the gangway. 

"Oh, how kind, how good, how splendid of you to meet me!" she cried asour hands clasped. "I was dreading, dreading, dreading that it might besome one else. "

"And yet you came straight through, " said I, still holding her hand--or, rather, allowing hers to encircle mine in the familiar grip. 

"Didn't you command me to do so?"

I could not explain matters to her then and there among the hustle ofpassengers and the bustle of porters. Besides, Rogers, who had come downwith the hotel omnibus, was at my side touching his hat. 

"I have ordered you a room and a private sitting-room with a balconyfacing the sea. Put yourself in charge of me and your luggage in chargeof Rogers and dismiss all thoughts of worry from your mind. "

"You are so restful, " she laughed as we moved off. 

Then she scanned my face and said falteringly. "How thin and worn youlook! Are you worse?"

"If you ask me such questions, " said I, "I'll leave you with the luggagein charge of Rogers. I am in resplendent health. "

She murmured that she wished she could believe me, and took my arm as wewalked down the jetty to the waiting cab. 

"It's good to hear your voice again, " I said. "It's a lazy voice andfits in with the lazy South. " I pointed to the burnous-enveloped Arabssleeping on the parapet. "It's out of place in Cadogan Gardens. "

She laughed her low, rippling laugh. It was music very pleasant to hearafter the somewhat shrill cachinnation of the Misses Bostock of SouthShields. I was so pleased that I gave half a franc to a pestilentialArab shoeblack. 

"That was nice of you, " she said. 

"It was the act of an imbecile, " I retorted. "I have now rendered itimpossible for me to enter the town again. How is Dale?"

She started. "He's well. Busy with his election. I saw him the daybefore I left. I didn't tell him I was coming to Algiers. I wrote fromParis. "

"Telling him the reason?"

She faced me and met my eyes and said shortly: "No. "

"Oh!" said I. 

This brought us to the cab. We entered and drove away. Then leaning backand looking straight in front of her, she grasped my wrist and said:

"Now, my dear friend, tell me all and get it over. "

"My dear Madame Brandt--" I began. 

She interrupted me. "For goodness' sake don't call me that. It makes acold shiver run down my back. I'm either Lola to you or nothing. "

"Then, my dear Lola, " said I, "the first thing I must tell you is that Idid not send for you. "

"What do you mean? The telegram?"

"It was sent by Anastasius Papadopoulos. "

"Anastasius?" She bent forward and looked at me. "What is he doinghere?"

"Heaven knows!" said I. "But what he has done has been to find CaptainVauvenarde. I am glad he has done that, but I am deeply sorry he sentyou the telegram. "

"Sorry? Why?"

"Because there was no reason for your coming, " I said with unwontedgravity. "It would have been better if you had stayed in London, and itwill be best if you take the boat back again to-morrow. "

She remained silent for a while. Then she said in a low voice:

"He won't have me?"

"He hasn't been asked, " I said. "He will, as far as I can command thesituation, never be asked. "

On that I had fully determined; and, when she inquired the reason, Itold her. 

"I proposed that you should reunite yourself with an honourable thoughsomewhat misguided gentleman. I've had the reverse of pleasure inmeeting Captain Vauvenarde, and I regret to say, though he is stillmisguided, he can scarcely be termed honourable. The term 'gentleman'has still to be accurately defined. "

She made a writhing movement of impatience. 

"Tell me straight out what he's doing in Algiers. You're trying to makethings easy for me. It's the way of your class. It isn't the way ofmine. I'm used to brutality. I like it better. Why did he leave the armyand why is he in Algiers?"

"If you prefer the direct method, my dear Lola, " said I--and the namecame quite trippingly on my tongue--"I'll employ it. Your husbandhas apparently been kicked out of the army and is now running agambling-hell. "

She took the blow bravely; but it turned her face haggard like aparoxysm of physical pain. After a few moments' silence, she said:

"It must have been awful for him. He was a proud man. "

"He is changed, " I replied gently. "Pride is too hampering a quality fora knight of industry to keep in his equipment. "

"Tell me how you met him, " she said. 

I rapidly sketched the whole absurd history, from my encounter withAnastasius Papadopoulos in Marseilles to my parting with him on theprevious night. I softened down, as much as I could, the fleshiness ofCaptain Vauvenarde and the rolls of fat at the back of his neck, but Iportrayed the villainous physiognomies of his associates very neatly. Iconcluded by repeating my assertion that our project had proved itselfto be abortive. 

"He must be pretty miserable, " said Lola. 

"Devil a bit, " said I. 

She did not answer, but settled herself more comfortably in the carriageand relapsed into mournful silence. I, having said my say, lit acigarette. Save for the clanging past of an upward or downward tram, the creeping drive up the hill through the long winding street was veryquiet; and as we mounted higher and left the shops behind, the onlysounds that broke the afternoon stillness were the driver's raucousadmonition to his horses and the wind in the trees by the wayside. Atdifferent points the turns of the road brought to view the panorama ofthe town below and the calm sweep of the bay. 

"Exquisite, isn't it?" I said at last, with an indicative wave of thehand. 

"What's the good of anything being exquisite when you feel mouldy?"

"It may help to charm away the mouldiness. Beauty is eternal andmouldiness only temporal. The sun will go on shining and the sea will goon changing colour long after our pains and joys have vanished from theworld. Nature is pitilessly indifferent to human emotion. "

"If so, " she said, her intuition finding the weakness of my slipshodargument, "how can it touch human mouldiness?"

"I don't know, " said I. "The poets will tell you. All you have to do isto lie on the breast of the Great Mother and your heartache will gofrom you. I've never tried it myself, as I've never been afflicted withheartache. "

"Is that true?" she asked, womanlike catching at the personal. 

I smiled and nodded. 

"I'm glad on your account, " she said sincerely. "It's the very devil ofan ache. I've always had it. "

"Poor Lola, " said I, prompted by my acquired instinct of eumoiriety. "Iwish I could cure you. "

"You?" She gave a short little laugh and then turned her head away. 

"I had a very comfortable crossing, " she remarked a moment later. 

I gave her into the keeping of the manager of the hotel and did not seeher again until she came down somewhat late for dinner. I met her inthe vestibule. She wore a closely fitting brown dress, which in colourmatched the bronze of her hair and in shape showed off her lithe andgenerous figure. 

I thought it my duty to cheer her by a well-deserved compliment. 

"Are you aware, " I said, with a low bow, "that you're a remarkablyhandsome woman?"

A perfectly unnecessary light came into her eyes and a superfluous flushto her cheeks. "If I'm at least that to you, I'm happy, " she said. 

"You're that to the dullest vision. Follow the _maitre d'hotel_, "said I, as we entered the _salle a manger_, "and I'll walk behind inreflected glory. "

We made an effective entrance. I declare there was a perceptible rattleof soup-spoons laid down by the retired Colonels and maiden ladies aswe passed by. Colonel Bunnion returned my nod of greeting in the mostdistracted fashion and gazed at Lola with the frank admiration ofBritish Cavalry. I felt foolishly proud and exhilarated, and gave her atmy table the seat commanding a view of the room. I then ordered a bottleof champagne, which I am forbidden to touch. 

"It isn't often that I have the pleasure of dining with you, " I said byway of apology. 

"This is the very first time, " she said. 

"And it's not going to be the last, " I declared. 

"I thought you were going to ship me back to Marseilles to-morrow. "

She laughed lazily, meeting my eyes. I smiled. 

"It would be inhuman. I allow you a few day's rest. "

Indeed, now she was here I had a curious desire to keep her. I regardedthe failure of my eumoirous little plans with more than satisfaction. I had done my best. I had found (through the dwarf's agency) CaptainVauvenarde. I had satisfied myself that he was an outrageous person, thoroughly disqualified from becoming Lola's husband, and there wasan end of the matter. Meanwhile Fate (again through the agency ofAnastasius) had brought her many hundreds of miles away from Dale andhad moreover brought her to me. I was delighted. I patted Destiny on theback, and drank his health in excellent Pommery. Lola did not know inthe least what I meant, but she smiled amiably and drank the toast. Itwas quite a merry dinner. Lola threw herself into my mood and jested asif she had never heard of an undesirable husband who had been kickedout of the French Army. We talked of many things. I described in fullerdetail my adventure with Anastasius and Saupiquet, and we laughed overthe debt of fifteen sous and the elaborate receipt. 

"Anastasius, " she said, "is childish in many ways--the doctors have aname for it. "

"Arrested development. "

"That's it; but he is absolutely cracked on one point--the poisoning ofmy horse Sultan. He has reams of paper which he calls the dossier of thecrime. You never saw such a collection of rubbish in your life. I criedover it. And he is so proud of it, poor wee mite. " She laughed suddenly. "I should love to have seen you hobnobbing with him and Saupiquet. "

"Why?"

"You're so aristocratic-looking, " she did me the embarrassing honour toexplain in her direct fashion. "You're my idea of an English duke. "

"My dear Lola, " I replied, "you're quite wrong. The ordinary Englishduke is a stout, middle-aged gentleman with a beard, and he generallywears thick knickerbockers and shocking bad hats. "

"Do you know any?"

"Two or three, " I admitted. 

"And duchesses, too?"

I again pleaded guilty. In these democratic days, if one is engaged inpublic and social affairs one can't help running up against them. It istheir fault, not mine. 

"Do tell me about them, " said Lola, with her elbows on the table. 

I told her. 

"And are earls and countesses just the same?" she asked with adisappointed air. 

"Just the same, only worse. They're so ordinary you can't pick them outfrom common misters and missuses. "

Saying this I rose, for we had finished our dessert, and proposed coffeein the lounge. There we found Colonel Bunnion at so wilful a loose endthat I could not find it in my heart to refuse him an introductionto Lola. He manifested his delight by lifting the skirt of hisdinner-jacket with his hands and rising on his spurs like a bantam cock. I left her to him for a moment and went over to say a civil word to theMisses Bostock of South Shields. I regret to say I noticed a certainfrigidity in their demeanour. The well-conducted man in South Shieldsdoes not go out one night with a revolver tucked away in the pocket ofhis dress-suit, and turn up the next evening with a striking-lookinglady with bronze hair. Such goings-on are seen on the stage in SouthShields in melodrama, and they are the goings-on of the villain. Inthe eyes of the gentle ladies my reputation was gone. I was trying torehabilitate myself when the chasseur brought me a telegram. I askedpermission to open it, and stepped aside. 

The words of the telegram were like a ringing box on the ears. 

"Tell me immediately why Lola has joined you in Algiers. --KYNNERSLEY. "

Not "Dale, " mark you, as he has signed himself ever since I knew him inEton collars, but "Kynnersley. " Why has Lola joined you? Why have yourun off with Lola? What's the reason of this treacherous abduction?Account for yourself immediately. Stand and deliver. I stood theregaping at the words like an idiot, my blood tingling at the impliedaccusation. The peremptoriness of it! The impudence of the boy! The wildextravagance of the idea! And yet, while my head was reeling withone buffet a memory arose and gave me another on the other side. Iremembered the preposterous attitude in which Dale had found us when herushed from Berlin into Lola's drawing-room. 

I took the confounded telegram into a remote corner of the lounge, likea dog with a bone, and growled over it for a time until the humour ofthe situation turned the growl into a chuckle. Even had I been in soundhealth and strength, the idea of running off with Lola would have beenabsurd. But for me, in my present eumoirous disposition of mind; forme, a half-disembodied spirit who had cast all vain and disturbing humanemotions into the mud of Murglebed-on-Sea; for me who had a spirit'scalm disregard for the petty passions and interests of mankind andwalked through the world with no other object than healing a few humanwoes; for me who already saw death on the other side of the river andfound serious occupation in exchanging airy badinage with him; for mewith an abominable little pain inside inexorably eating my life out andwasting me away literally and perceptibly like a shadow and twistingme up half a dozen times a day in excruciating agony; for me, in thisdelectable condition of soul and this deplorable condition of body, tothink of running hundreds of miles from home with--to say the least ofit--so inconvenient a creature as a big, bronze-haired woman, the ideawas inexpressibly and weirdly comic. 

I stepped into the drawing-room close by and drew up a telegram to Dale. 

"Lady summoned by Papadopoulos on private affairs. Avoid lunacy save forelectioneering purposes. --SIMON. "

Then I joined Lola and Colonel Bunnion. She was lying back in herlaziest and most pantherine attitude, and she looked up at me as Iapproached with eyes full of velvet softness. For the life of me Icould not help feeling glad that they were turned on me and not on DaleKynnersley. 

Almost immediately the elder Miss Bostock came up to claim the Colonelfor bridge. He rose reluctantly. 

"I suppose it's no use asking you to make a fourth, Mr. De Gex?" sheasked, after the subacid manner of her kind. 

"I'm afraid not, " I replied sweetly. Whereupon she rescued the Colonelfrom the syren and left me alone with her. I lit a cigarette and sat byher side. As she did not stir or speak I asked whether she was tired. 

"Not very. I'm thinking. Do you know you've taught me an awful lot?"

"I? What can I have taught you?"

"The way people like yourself look at things. I'm treating Daleabominably. I didn't realise it before. "

Now why on earth did she bring Dale in just at that moment. 

"Indeed?" said I. 

She nodded her head and said in her languorous voice:

"He's over head and ears in love with me and thinks I care for him. Idon't. I don't care a brass button for him. I'm a bad influence in hislife, and the sooner I take myself out of it the better. Don't you thinkso?"

"You know my opinions, " I said. 

"If I had followed your advice at first, " she continued, "we needn'thave had all this commotion. And yet I'm not sorry. "

"What do you propose to do?" I asked. 

"Before deciding, I shall see my husband. "

"You shall do no such thing. "

She smiled. "I shall. "

I protested. Captain Vauvenarde had put himself outside the pale. He wasnot fit to associate with decent women. What object could she have inmeeting him?

"I want to judge for myself, " she replied. 

"Judge what? Surely not whether he is eligible as a husband!"

"Yes, " she said. 

"But, my dear Lola, " I cried, "the notion is as crazy as any ofAnastasius Papadopoulos's. Of course, as soon as he learns that you'rea rich woman, he'll want to live with you, and use your money for hisgaming-hell. "

"I am going to meet him, " she said quietly. 

"I forbid it. "

"You're too late, dear friend. I wrote him a letter before dinner andsent it to the Cercle Africain by special messenger. I also wrote toAnastasius. I asked them both to see me to-morrow morning. That's whyI've been so gay this evening. "

At the sight of my blank face she laughed, and with one of her movementsrose from her chair. I rose too. 

"Are you angry with me?"

"I thought I had walked out of a nightmare, " I said. "I find I'm stillin it. "

"But don't be angry with me. It was the only way. "

"The only way to, or out of, what?" I asked, bewildered. 

"Never mind. "

She looked at me with a singular expression in her slumbrous eyes. Itwas sad, wistful, soothing, and gave me the idea of a noble woman makinga senseless sacrifice. 

"There is no earthly reason to do this on account of Dale, " I protested. 

"Dale has nothing to do with it. "

"Then who has?"

"Anastasius Papadopoulos, " she said with undisguised irony. 

"I beg your pardon, " I said rather stiffly, "for appearing to force yourconfidence. But as I first put the idea of joining your husband intoyour head and have enjoyed your confidence in the matter hitherto, Ithought I might claim certain privileges. "

As she had done before, she laid her hands on my shoulders--we werealone in the alcove--and looked me in the eyes. 

"Don't make me cry. I'm very near it. And I'm tired to-night, andI'm going to have a hellish time to-morrow. And I want you to do me afavour. "

"What is that?"

"When I'm seeing my husband, I'd like to know that you were withincall--in case I wanted you. One never knows what may happen. You willcome won't you, if I send for you?"

"I'm always at your service, " I said. 

She released my shoulders and grasped my hand. 

"Good-night, " she said, abruptly, and rushed swiftly out of the room, leaving me wondering more than I had ever wondered in my life at theinscrutable ways of women. 

CHAPTER XIV

I am glad I devoted last night and the past hour this morning tobringing up to date this trivial record, for I have a premonition thatthe time is rapidly approaching when I shall no longer have the strengthof will or body to continue it. The little pain has increased inintensity and frequency the last few days, and though I try to deludemyself into the belief that otherwise I am as strong as ever, I know inmy heart that I am daily growing weaker, daily losing vitality. I shallsoon have to call in a doctor to give me some temporary relief, anddoubtless he will put me to bed, feed me on slops, cut off alcohol, forbid noise and excitement, and keep me in a drugged, stupefiedcondition until I fall asleep, to wake up in the Garden of Prosperpine. Death is nothing; it is the dying that is such a nuisance. It is goingthrough so much for so little. It is as bad as the campaign beforea parliamentary election. It offends one's sense of proportion. In awell-regulated universe there would be no tedious process of decay, either before or after death. You would go about your daily avocationunconcerned and unwarned, and then at the moment appointed by aninscrutable Providence for your dissolution--phew!--and your clotheswould remain standing for a surprised second, and then fall down ina heap without a particle of you inside them. If we have to die, whydoesn't Providence employ this simple and sensible method? It wouldsave such a lot of trouble. It would be so clean, so painless, sopicturesque. It would add to the interest of our walks abroad. Fancya stout, important policeman vanishing from his uniform--the helmetfalling over the collar, the tunic doubling in at the belt, the kneesgiving way, and the unheard, merry laughter of the disenuniformed spiritwinging its way truncheonless into the Empyrean. 

But if you think you are going to get any fun out of dying in thepresent inconvenient manner, you are mistaken. Believe one who istrying. 

I will remain on my feet, however, as long as my will holds out. In thisway I may continue to be of service to my fellow creatures, and procurefor myself a happy lot or portion. Even this morning I have been able tofeel the throb of eumoiriety. A piteous letter came from Latimer, anda substantial cheque lies on my table ready to be posted. I wonder howmuch I have left? So long as it is enough to pay my doctor's bills andfuneral expenses, what does it matter?

The last line of the above was written on December 21st. It is nowJanuary 30th, and I am still alive and able to write. I wish I weren't. But I will set down as plainly as I can what has happened in theinterval. 

I had just written the last word, seated at my hotel window in thesunshine, and enjoying, in spite of my uncheerful thoughts, the scentsthat rose from the garden, when I heard a knock at my door. At myinvitation to enter, Anastasius Papadopoulos trotted into the room in agreat state of excitement carrying the familiar bunch of papers. He puthis hat on the floor, pitched the papers into the hat, and ran up to me. 

"My dear sir, don't get up, I implore you. And I won't sit down. I havejust seen the ever beautiful and beloved lady. "

I turned my chair away from the table, and faced him as he stood blowingkisses with one little hand, while the other lay on his heart. In aflash he struck a new gesture; he folded his arms and scowled. 

"I was with her. She was opening her inmost heart to me. She knows Iam her champion. A servant came up announcing Monsieur Vauvenarde. She dismissed me. I have come to my patron and friend, the Englishstatesman. Her husband is with her now. "

I smiled. "Madame Brandt told me that she had asked for an interview. "

"And you allow it? You allow her to contaminate her beautiful presencewith the sight of that traitor, that cheat at cards, that murderer, thatdevil? Ah, but I will not have it! I am her champion. I will save her. Iwill save you. I will take you both away to Egypt, and surround you withmy beautiful cats, and fan you with peacock's feathers. "

This was sheer crackedness of brain. For the first time I feared for thelittle man. When people begin to talk that way they are not allowed togo about loose. He went on talking and the three languages he used inhis jargon got clotted to the point of unintelligibility. He spoke veryfast and, as far as I could understand, poured abuse on the head ofCaptain Vauvenarde, and continued to declare himself Lola's championand my devoted friend. He stamped up and down the room in his tightlybuttoned frock-coat from the breastpocket of which peeped the fingers ofhis yellow dogskin gloves. At last he stopped, and drawing a chair nearthe window perched on it with a little hop like a child. He held out hishand. 

"Do you believe I am your friend?"

"I am sure of it, my dear Professor. "

"Then I'll betray a sacred confidence. The _carissima signora_ lovesyou. You didn't know it. But she loves you. "

I stared for a moment at the dwarf as if he had been a reasonable being. Something seemed to click inside my head, like a clogged cog-wheelthat had suddenly freed itself, and my mind went whirling away straightthrough the past few weeks. I tried to smile, and I said:

"You are quite mistaken. "

"Oh, no, " he replied, wagging his Napoleonic head. "AnastasiusPapadopoulos is never mistaken. She told me so herself. She wept. Sheput her beautiful arms round my neck and sobbed on my shoulder. "

I found myself reproving him gently. "You should not have told me this, my dear Professor. Such confidences are locked up in the heart of _ungalant homme_, and are not revealed even to his dearest friend. "

But my voice sounded hollow in my own ears, and what he said for thenext few minutes I do not remember. The little man had told the truth tome, and Lola had told the truth to him. The realisation of it paralysedme. Why had I been such a fool as not to see it for myself? Memories ofa hundred indications came tumbling one after another into my head--theforgotten glove, the glances, the changes of mood, the tears when shelearned of my illness, the mysterious words, the abrupt little "You?" ofyesterday. The woman was in love, deeply in love, in love with all thefervour of her big nature. And I had stood by and wondered what shemeant by this and by that--things that would have been obvious to acoalheaver. I thought of Dale and I felt miserably guilty, horriblyashamed. How could I expect him to believe me when I told him that I hadnot wittingly stolen her affections from him. And her affections? _BonDieu_! What on earth could I do with them? What is the use of a woman'slove to a dead man? And did I want it even for the tiny remainder oflife?

Anastasius, perceiving that I paid but scant attention to hisconversation, wriggled off his chair and stood before me with foldedarms. 

"You adore each other with a great passion, " he said. "She is myMadonna, and you are my friend and benefactor. I will be your protectionand defence. I will never let her go away with that infamous, gamblingand murdering scoundrel. My gigantic combinations have matured. I blessyour union. "

He lifted his little arms in benediction. The situation was cruellycomical. For a moment I hated the mournful-visaged, posturing monkey, and had a wild desire to throw him out of the window and have done withhim. I rose and, towering over him, was about to lecture him severely onhis impertinent interference, when the sight of his scared face mademe turn away with a laugh. What would be the use of reproaching him? Hewould only sit down on the floor and weep. So I paced the room, while hefollowed me with his eyes like an uncertain spaniel. 

"Look here, Professor, " said I at last. "Now that you've found CaptainVauvenarde, brought Madame Brandt and him together, and told me that sheis in love with me, don't you think you've done enough? Don't you thinkyour cats need your attention? Something terrible may be happening tothem. I dreamed last night, " I added with desperate mendacity, "thatthey were turned into woolly lambs. "

"Monsieur, " said the dwarf loftily, "my duty is here. And I care notwhether my cats are turned into the angels of Paradise. "

I groaned. "You are wasting a great deal of money over this affair, " Iurged. 

"What is money to my gigantic combinations?"

"Tell me, " I cried with considerable impatience. "What are yourconfounded combinations?"

He began to tremble violently. "I would rather die, " said he, "thanbetray my secret. "

"It's all some silly nonsense about that wretched horse!" I exclaimed. 

He covered his ears with his hands. "Blasphemy! Blasphemy! Don't utterit!"

In another moment he was cowering on his knees before me. 

"You, of all men, mustn't blaspheme. You whom I love like my master. You whom the divine lady loves. I can't bear it!" He continued to gibberunintelligibly. 

He was stark mad. There was no question of it. For a moment Istood irresolute. Then I lifted him to his feet and patted his headsoothingly. 

"Never mind, " said I. "I was wrong. It was a beautiful horse. Therenever was such a horse in the world. If I had a picture of him I wouldhang it up on the wall over my bed. "

"Would you?" he cried joyfully. "Then I will give you one. "

He trotted over to the bundle of papers that reposed in his hat onthe floor, searched through them, and to my dismay handed me a faded, unmounted, and rather torn and crumpled photograph of the wonderfulhorse. 

"There!" said he. 

"I could not rob you of it, " I protested. 

"It will be my joy to know that you have it--that it is hanging overyour bed. See--have you a pin? I myself will fix it for you. "

While he was searching my table for pins the chasseur of the hotel camewith a message from Madame Brandt. Would Monsieur come at once to Madamein her private room?

"I'll come now, " I said. "Professor, you must excuse me. "

"Don't mention it. I shall occupy myself in hanging the picture in themost artistic way possible. "

So I left him, his mind apparently concentrated on the childish task ofpinning the photograph of the ridiculous horse on my bedroom wall, and went with the most complicated feelings downstairs and through thecorridors to Lola's apartments. 

She rose to meet me as I entered. 

"It's very kind of you to come, " she said in her fluent but BritannicFrench. "May I present my husband, Monsieur Vauvenarde. "

Monsieur Vauvenarde and I exchanged bows. I noticed at once that he worethe Frenchman's costume when he pays a _visite de ceremonie_, frock-coatand gloves, and that a silk hat lay on the table. I was glad that hepaid her this mark of respect. 

"I have had the pleasure of meeting you before, Monsieur, " said he, "incircumstances somewhat different. "

"I remember perfectly, " said I. 

"And your charming but inexperienced little friend--is he well?"

"He is at present decorating my room with photographs of Madame's latehorse, Sultan, " said I. 

He was startled, and gave me a quick, sharp look. I did not notice itat the time, but I remembered it later. Then he broke into an indulgentlaugh. 

"The poor animal!" He turned to Lola. "How jealous I used to be of him!And how quickly the time flies. But give yourself the trouble of seatingyourself, Monsieur. "

He motioned me to a chair and sat down. He was a man of polished mannerand had a pleasant voice. I guessed that in the days when he paid courtto Lola, he had been handsome in his dark Norman way, and possessedconsiderable fascination. Evil living and sordid passions had coarsenedhis features, produced bagginess under the eyes and a shiftiness ofglance. Idleness and an inverted habit of life were responsible forthe nascent paunch and the rolls of fat at the back of his neck. Hesuggested the revivified corpse of a fine gentleman that had beenunnaturally swollen. I had disliked him at the Cercle Africain; now Idetested him heartily. The idea of Lola entering the vitiated atmosphereof his life was inexpressibly repugnant to me. 

Contrary to her habit, Lola sat bolt upright on the stamped-velvetsuite, the palms of her hands pressing the seat on either side of her. She caught the shade of disgust that swept over my face, and gave me aquick glance that pleaded for toleration. Her eyes, though bright, weresunken, like those of a woman who has not slept. 

"Monsieur, " said Vauvenarde, "my wife informs me that to yourdisinterested friendship is due this most charming reconciliation. "

"Reconciliation?" I echoed. "It was quickly effected. "

"_Mon Dieu_, " he said. "I have always longed for the comforts of a home. My wife has grown tired of a migratory existence. She comes to findme. I hasten to meet her. There is nothing to keep us apart. Thereconciliation was a matter of a few seconds. I wish to express mygratitude to you, and, therefore, I ask you to accept my most cordialthanks. "

"It has always been a pleasure to me, " said I very frigidly, "to placemy services at the disposal of Madame Brandt. "

"Vauvenarde, Monsieur, " he corrected with a smile. 

"And is Madame Vauvenarde equally satisfied with the--reconciliation?" Iasked. 

"I think Monsieur Vauvenarde is somewhat premature, " said Lola, with atrembling lip. "There were conditions--"

"A mere question of protocol. " He waved an airy hand. 

"I don't know what that is, " said Lola. "There are conditions I mustfix, and I thought the advice of my friend, Monsieur de Gex--"

"Precisely, my dear Lola, " he interrupted. "The principle is affirmed. We are reconciled. I proceed logically. The first thing I do is to thankMonsieur de Gex--you have a French name, Monsieur, and you pronounce itEnglish fashion, which is somewhat embarrassing--But no matter. Thenext thing is the protocol. We have no possibility of calling a familycouncil, and therefore, I acceded with pleasure to the interventionof Monsieur. It is kind of him to burden himself with our unimportantaffairs. "

The irony of his tone belied the suave correctitude of his words. Idetested him more and more. More and more did I realise that the dyingeumoirist is capable of petty human passions. My vanity was beingsacrified. Here was a woman passionately in love with me proposingto throw herself into another man's arms--it made not a scrap ofdifference, in the circumstances, that the man was her husband--and intothe arms of such a man! Having known me to decline--etcetera, etcetera!How could she face it? And why was she doing it? To save herself fromme, or me from herself? She knew perfectly well that the little paininside would precious soon settle that question. Why was she doing it?I should have thought that the first glance at the puffy reprobate wouldhave been enough to show her the folly of her idea. However, it wascomforting to learn that she had not surrendered at once. 

"If I am to have the privilege, Monsieur, " said I, "of acting as afamily council, perhaps you may forgive my hinting at some of theconditions that doubtless are in Madame's mind. "

"Proceed, Monsieur, " said he. 

"I want to know where I am, " said Lola in English. "He took everythingfor granted from the first. "

"Are you willing to go back to him?" I asked also in English. 

She met my gaze steadily, and I saw a woman's needless pain at the backof her eyes. She moistened her lips with her tongue, and said:

"Under conditions. "

"Monsieur, " said I in French, turning to Vauvenarde, "forgive us forspeaking our language. "

"Perfectly, " said he, and he smiled meaningly and banteringly at usboth. 

"In the first place, Monsieur, you are aware that Madame has a littlefortune, which does not detract from the charm you have always found inher. It was left her by her father, who, as you know, tamed lions anddirected a menagerie. I would propose that Madame appointed trustees toadminister this little fortune. "

"There is no necessity, Monsieur, " he said. "By the law of France it ishers to do what she likes with. "

"Precisely, " I rejoined. "Trustees would prevent her from doing what sheliked with it. Madame has indeed a head for affairs, but she also hasa woman's heart, which sometimes interferes with a woman's head in themost disastrous manner. "

"Article No. 1 of the protocol. _Allez toujours_, Monsieur. "

I went on, feeling happier. "The next article treats of a little matterwhich I understand has been the cause of differences in the past betweenMadame and yourself. Madame, although she has not entered the arenafor some time, has not finally abandoned it. " I smiled at the look ofsurprise on Lola's face. "An artist is always an artist, Monsieur. Sheis willing, however, to renounce it for ever, if you, on your side, willmake quite a small sacrifice. "

"Name it, Monsieur. "

"You have a little passion for baccarat----"

"Surely, Monsieur, " said he blandly, "my wife would not expect me togive up what is the mere recreation of every clubman. "

"As a recreation pure and simple--she would not insist too much, but----" I shrugged my shoulders. I flatter myself on being able to doit with perfect French expressiveness. I caught, to my satisfaction, anangry gleam in his eye. 

"Do you mean to say, Monsieur, that I play for more than recreation?"

"How dare I say anything, Monsieur. But Madame is prejudiced againstthe Cercle Africain. For a bachelor there is little to be said againstit--but for a married man--you seize the point?" said I. 

"_Bien_, Monsieur, " he said, swallowing his wrath. "And Article 3?"

"Since you have left the army--would it not be better to engage insome profession--unless your private fortune dispenses you from thenecessity. "

He said nothing but: "Article 4?"

"It would give Madame comfort to live out of Algiers. "

"_Moi aussi_, " he replied rather unexpectedly. "We have the whole ofFrance to choose from. "

"Would not Madame be happier if she lived out of France, also? She hasalways longed for a social position. "

"_Eh, bien_? I can give her one in France. "

"Are you quite sure?" I asked, looking him in the eyes. 

"Monsieur, " said he, rising and giving his moustache a swashbucklertwist upward, "what are you daring to insinuate?"

I leaned back in my chair and fingered the waxed ends of mine. 

"Nothing, Monsieur; I ask a simple question, which you surely can haveno difficulty in answering. "

"Your questions are the height of indiscretion, " he cried angrily. 

"In that case, before we carry this interview further, the FamilyCouncil and Madame would do well to have a private consultation. "

"Monsieur, " he cried, completely losing his temper. "I forbid you to usethat tone to me. You are making a mock of me. You are insulting me. Ibore with you long enough to see how much further your insolence woulddare to go. I'm not to have a hand in the administration of my wife'smoney? I'm to forsake a plentiful means of livelihood? I'm to become acommercial traveller? I'm to expatriate myself? I'm to explain, too, the reasons why I left the army? I would not condescend. Least of all toyou. "

"May I ask why, Monsieur?"

"_Tonnerre de Dieu_!" He stamped his foot. "Do you take me for a fool?Here I am--I came at my wife's request, ready to take her back asmy wife, ready to condone everything--yes, Monsieur, as a man of theworld--you think I have no eyes, no understanding--ready to take her offyour hands--"

I leaped to my feet. 

"Monsieur!" I thundered. 

Lola gave a cry and rushed forward. I pushed her aside, and glared athim. I was in a furious rage. We glared at each other eye to eye. Ipointed to the door. 

"_Monsieur, sortez_!"

I went to it and flung it wide. Anastasius Papadopoulos trotted into theroom. 

His entrance was so queer, so unexpected, so anti-climatic, that for themoment the three of us were thrown off our emotional balance. 

"I have heard all, I have heard all, " shrieked the little man. "I knowyou for what you are. I am the champion of the _carissima signora_and the protector of the English statesman. You are a traitor andmurderer--"

Vauvenarde lifted his hand in a threatening gesture. 

"Hold your tongue, you little abortion!" he shouted. 

But Anastasius went on screaming and flourishing his bundle of papers. 

"Ask him if he remembers the horse Sultan; ask him if he remembers thehorse Sultan!"

Lola took him by the shoulders. 

"Anastasius, you must go away from here--to please me. It's my orders. "

But he shook himself free, and the silk hat which he had not removedfell off in the quick struggle. 

"Ask him if he remembers Saupiquet, " he screamed, and then banged thedoor. 

A malevolent devil put a sudden idea into my head and prompted speech. 

"_Do_ you remember Saupiquet?" I asked ironically. 

"Monsieur, meddle with your own affairs and let me pass. You shall hearfrom me. "

The dwarf planted himself before the door. 

"You shall not pass till you have answered me. Do you rememberSaupiquet? Do you remember the five francs you gave to Saupiquet to letyou into Sultan's stable? Ah! Ha! Ha! You wince. You grow pale. Do youremember the ball of poison you put down Sultan's throat?"

Lola started forward with flaming eyes and anguished face. 

"You--you?" she gasped. "You were so ignoble as to do that?"

"The accursed brute!" shouted Vauvenarde. "Yes, I did it. I wish I hadburned out his entrails. "

Anastasius sprang at him like a tiger cat. I had a quick vision of thedwarf clinging in the air against the other's bulky form, one hand athis throat, and then of an incredibly swift flash of steel. The dwarfdropped off and rolled backwards, revealing something black sticking outof Vauvenarde's frock-coat--for the second I could not realise what itwas. Then Vauvenarde, with a ghastly face, reeled sideways and collapsedin a heap on the ground. 

CHAPTER XV

Of what happened immediately afterwards I have but a confused memory. Iremember that Lola and I both fell on our knees beside the stabbed man, and I remember his horrible staring eyes and open mouth. I rememberthat, though she was white and shaky, she neither shrieked, went intohysterics, nor fainted. I remember rushing down to the manager; Iremember running with him breathlessly through obscure passages ofthe hotel in search of a doctor who was attending a sick member of thestaff. I remember the rush back, the doctor bending over the body, whichLola had partially unclothed, and saying:

"He is dead. The blade has gone straight through his heart. "

And I have in my mind the unforgettable and awful picture of AnastasiusPapadopoulos disregarded in a corner of the room, with his absurd silkhat on--some reflex impulse had caused him to pick it up and put it onhis head--sitting on the floor amid a welter of documents relating tothe death of the horse Sultan, one of which he was eagerly perusing. 

After this my memory is clear. It was only the first awful shock andhorror of the thing that dazed me. 

The man was dead, said the doctor. He must lie until the police arrivedand drew up the _proces-verbal_. The manager went to telephone to thepolice, and while he was gone I told the doctor what had occurred. Anastasius took no notice of us. Lola, holding her nerves under ironcontrol, stood bolt upright looking alternately at the doctor andmyself as we spoke. But she did not utter a word. Presently the managerreturned. The alarm had not been given in the hotel. No one knewanything about the occurrence. Lola went into her bedroom and came backwith a sheet. The manager took it from her and threw it over the deadman. The doctor stood by Anastasius. The end of a strip of sunlight bythe window just caught the dwarf in his corner. 

"Get up, " said the doctor. 

Anastasius, without raising his eyes from his papers, waved him away. 

"I am busy. I am engaged on important papers of identification. He had awhite star on his forehead, and his tail was over a metre long. "

Lola approached him. 

"Anastasius, " she said gently. He looked up with a radiant smile. "Putaway those papers. " Like a child he obeyed and scrambled to his feet. Then, seeing the unfamiliar face of the doctor for the first time, heexecuted one of his politest and most elaborate bows. The doctor afterlooking at him intently for a while, turned to me. 

"Mad. Utterly mad. Apparently he has no consciousness of what he hasdone. "

He lured him to the sofa and sat beside him and began to talk in a lowtone of the contents of the papers. Anastasius replied cheerfully, proudat being noticed by the stranger. The papers referred to a precioussecret, a gigantic combination, which he had spent years in maturing. Ishivered at the sound of his voice, and turned to Lola. 

"This is no place for you. Go into your bedroom till you are wanted. "

I held the door open for her. She put her hands up to her face andreeled, and I thought she would have fallen; but she roused herself. 

"I don't want to break down--not yet. I shall if I'm left alone--comeand sit with me, for God's sake. "

"Very well, " said I. 

She passed me and I followed; but at the door I turned and glanced roundthe cheerful, sunny room. There, against the background of blue sky andtree tops framed by the window, sat Anastasius Papadopoulos, swinginghis little legs and talking bombastically to the tanned and grizzleddoctor, and opposite stood the correctly attired hotel manager inthe attitude in which he habitually surveyed the lay-out of the tabled'hote, keeping watch beside the white-covered shape on the floor. I wasglad to shut the sight from my eyes. We waited silently in the bedroom, Lola sitting on the bed and hiding her face in the pillows, and Istanding by the window and looking out at the smiling mockery of thefair earth. An agonising spasm of pain--a _momento mori_--shot throughme and passed away. I thanked God that a few weeks would see the end ofme. I had always enjoyed the comedy of life. It had been to me a thingof infinite jest. But this stupid, meaningless tragedy was carrying thejoke too far. My fastidiousness revolted at its vulgarity. I no longerwished to inhabit a world where such jests were possible. . . . I hadnever seen a man die before. I was surprised at the swiftness andthe ugliness of it. . . . I suddenly realised that I was smoking acigarette, which I was quite unconscious of having lit. I threw it away. A minute afterwards I felt that if I did not smoke I should go crazy. SoI lit another. . . . The ghastly silliness of the murder! . . . ColonelBunnion's loud laugh rose from the terrace below, jarring horribly onmy ears. A long green praying mantis that had apparently mounted on thebougainvillea against the hotel wall appeared in meditative statelinesson the window-sill. I picked the insect up absent-mindedly, and beganto play with it. Lola's voice from the bed startled me and caused me todrop the mantis. She spoke hoarsely. 

"Tell me--what are they going to do with him?"

I turned round. She had raised a crushed face from the pillows, andlooked at me haggardly. I noticed a carafe of brandy and a siphon by thebedside. I mixed her a strong dose, and, before replying, made her drinkit. 

"They'll place him under restraint, that's all. He's not responsible forhis actions. "

"He did that once before--I told you--but without the knife--I wish Icould cry--I can't--You don't think it heartless of me--but my brain ison fire--I shall always see it--I wish to God I had never asked him tocome--Why did I? My God, why did I?--It was my fault--I wanted to seehim--to judge for myself how much of the old Andre was left--there wasgood in him once--I thought I might possibly help him--There was nothingfor me to do in the world--Without you any kind of old hell was goodenough--That's why I sent for him--When he came, after a bit, I wasafraid, and sent for you----"

"Afraid of what?" I asked. 

"He asked me at once what money I had--Then there seemed to be no doubtin his mind that I would join him--We spoke of you--the friend who couldadvise me--He never said--what he said afterwards--I thought it kindof him to consent to see you--I rang the bell and sent the chasseur foryou. I supposed Anastasius had gone home--I never thought of him. Thepoor little man was sweet to me, just like a dog--a silent, sympathetic dog--I spoke to him as I would to something that wouldn'tunderstand--all sorts of foolish things--Now and then a woman has toempty her heart"--she shivered--her hands before her face. 

"It's my fault, it's my fault. "

"These things are no one's fault, " I said gently. But just as I wasbeginning to console her with what thumb-marked scraps of platitude Icould collect--the only philosophy after all, such is the futility ofsystems, adequate to the deep issues of life--the door opened and themanager announced that the police had arrived. 

We went through the ordeal of the _proces-verbal_. Anastasius, confronted with his victim, had no memory of what had occurred. Heshrieked and shrank and hid his face in Lola's dress. When he was forcedto speak he declared that the dead man was not Captain Vauvenarde. Captain Vauvenarde was at the Cercle Africain. He, himself, was seekinghim. He would take the gendarmes there, and they could arrest theCaptain for the murder of Sultan of which his papers containedindubitable proofs. Eventually the poor little wretch was led away incustody, proud and smiling, entirely convinced that he was leading hiscaptors to the arrest of Captain Vauvenarde. On the threshold he turnedand bowed to us so low that the brim of his silk hat touched thefloor. Then Lola's nerve gave way and she broke into a passion of awfulweeping. 

The _commissaire de police_ secured the long thin knife (how the dwarfhad managed to conceal it on his small person was a mystery) and thebundle of documents, and accompanied me to my room to see whether he hadleft anything there to serve as a _piece de conviction_. We foundonly the crumpled picture of the horse Sultan neatly pinned against mybedroom wall, and on the floor a ribbon tied like a garter with a littlebell opposite the bow. On it was written "Santa Bianca, " and I knew itwas the collar of the beloved cat which he must have been carrying abouthim for a talisman. The _commissaire_ took this also. 

If you desire to know the details of the judicial proceedings connectedwith the murder of Andre Marie-Joseph Vauvenarde, ex-Captain in theChasseurs d'Afrique, and the trial of Anastasius Papadopoulos, I mustrefer you to the Algerian, Parisian, and London Press. There you willfind an eagerly picturesque account of the whole miserable affair. Now, not only am I unable to compete with descriptive verbatim reporterson their own ground, but also a consecutive statement, either bald orgraphic, of the tedious horrors Lola Brandt and I had to undergo, would be foreign to the purpose of these notes, however far from theiroriginal purpose an ironical destiny has caused them to wander. You knownearly all that is necessary for you to know, so that when I am deadyou may not judge me too harshly. The remainder I can summarise in a fewwords. At any rate, I have told the truth, often more naively than onewould have thought possible for a man who prided himself as much as Idid on his epicurean sophistication. 

These have been days, as I say, of tedious horror. There have beenendless examinations, reconstructions of the crime, exposures in daringpublicity of the private lives of the protagonists of the lunatic drama. The French judges and advocates have accepted the account given by Lolaand myself of our mutual relations with a certain mocking credulity. ThePress hasn't accepted it at all. It took as a matter of course theview held by the none too noble victim. At first, seeing Lola shrug hershoulders with supreme indifference as to her own reputation, I caredbut little for these insinuations. I wrote such letters to my sistersand to Dale as I felt sure would be believed, and let the long-eared, gaping world go hang. Besides, I had other things to think of. Physicalpain is insistent, and I have suffered damnable torture. The pettinessof the legal inquiry has been also a maddening irritation. Nothing hasbeen too minute for the attention of the French judiciary. It seemed asthough the whole of the evil gang of the Cercle Africain were called aswitnesses. They testified as to Captain Vauvenarde's part proprietorshipof the hell--as to wrong practices that occurred there--as to the crazyconduct of both Anastasius and myself on the occasion of my insanevisit. Officers of the Chasseurs d'Afrique were compelled further toblacken the character of the dead man--he had been a notorious pluckerof pigeons during most of his military career, and when at last he wascaught red-handed palming the king at _ecarte_, he was forced to resignhis commission. Arabs came from the slums with appalling stories. Eventhe stolid Saupiquet, dragged from Toulon, gave evidence as to thefive-franc bribe and the debt of fifteen sous, and identified the horseSultan by the crumpled photograph. Lola and I have been racked dayafter day with questions--some, indeed, prompted by the suspicion thatVauvenarde might have met his death directly by our hand instead of thatof Anastasius. It was the Procureur-general who said: "It can be arguedthat you would benefit by the decease of the defunct. " I replied thatwe could not benefit in any way. My sole object was to effect areconciliation between husband and wife. "Will you explain why you gaveyourself that trouble?" I never have smiled so grimly as I did then. How could I explain my precious pursuit of the eumoirous to a FrenchProcureur-general? How could I put before him the point of view of asemi-disembodied spirit? I replied with lame lack of originality thatmy actions proceeded from disinterested friendship. "You are a purealtruist then?" said he. "Very pure, " said I. . . . It was only thefacts of the scabbard of the knife having been found attached to thedwarf's person beneath his clothes, and of certain rambling menacesoccurring in his Sultan papers that saved us from the indignity of beingarrested and put into the dock. . . . 

During all this time I remained at the hotel at Mustapha Superieur. Lolamoved to a suite of rooms in another hotel a little way down the hill. Isaw her daily. At first she shrank from publicity and refused to go out, save in a closed carriage to the town when her presence was necessaryat the inquiries. But after a time I persuaded her to brave the stare ofthe curious and stroll with me among the eucalyptus woods above. Wecut ourselves off from other human companionship and felt like two lostsouls wandering alone through mist. She conducted herself with grave andsimple dignity. . . . Once or twice she visited Anastasius in prison. She found him humanely treated and not despondent. He thought theyhad arrested him for the poisoning of the horse, and laughed at theirfoolishness. As they refused to return him his dossier, he occupiedhimself in reconstructing it, and wrote pages and pages of incoherenceto prove the guilt of Captain Vauvenarde. He was hopelessly mad. . . . The bond of pain bound me very close to Lola. 

"What are you going to do with your life?" I asked her one day. 

"So long as I have you as a friend, it doesn't greatly matter. "

"You forget, " I said, "that you can't have me much longer. "

"Are you going to leave me? It's not because I have dragged you throughall this dirt and horror. Another woman might say that of anotherman--but not I of you. Why are you going to leave me? I want solittle--only to see you now and then--to keep the heart in me. "

"Can't you realise, that what I said in London is true?"

"No. I can't. It's unbelievable. You can't believe it yourself. Ifyou did, how could you go on behaving like anybody else--like me forinstance?"

"What would you do if you were condemned to die?"

She shuddered. "I should go mad with fear--I----" She broke off andremained for some moments reflective, with knitted brow. Then she liftedher head proudly. "No, I shouldn't. I should face it like you. Onlycowards are afraid. It's best to show things that you don't care a hangfor them. "

"Keep that sublime _je m'en fich'isme_ up when I'm dead and buried, "said I, "and you'll pull through your life all right. The only thing youmust avoid is the pursuit of eumoiriety. "

"What on earth is that?" she asked. 

"The last devastating vanity, " said I. 

And so it is. 

"When you are gone, " she said bravely, "I shall remember how strong andtrue you were. It will make me strong too. "

I acquiesced silently in her proposition. In this age of flippancyand scepticism, if a human soul proclaims sincerely its faith in thedivinity of a rabbit, in God's name don't disturb it. It is _something_whereto to refer his aspirations, his resolves; it is a court ofarbitration, at the lowest, for his spiritual disputes; and the rabbitwill be as effective an oracle as any other. For are not all religionsbut the strivings of the spirit towards crystallisation at some pointoutside the environment of passions and appetites which is the flesh, sothat it can work untrammelled: and are not all gods but the accidentalforms, conditioned by circumstance, which this crystallisation takes?All gods in their anthropo-, helio-, thero-, or what-not-morphic formsare false; but, on the other hand, all gods in their spiritual essenceare true. So I do not deprecate my prospective unique position in LolaBrandt's hagiology. It was better for her soul that I should occupy it. Even if I were about to live my normal life out, like any other heartyhuman, marry and beget children, I doubt whether I should attempt toshake my wife's faith in my heroical qualities. 

This was but a fragment of one among countless talks. Some were lighterin tone, others darker, the mood of man being much like a child'sballoon which rises or falls as the strata of air are more rarefied ormore dense. Perhaps during the time of strain, the atmosphere was moreoften rarefied, and our conversation had the day's depressing incidentsfor its topics. We rarely spoke of the dead man. He was scarcely asubject for panegyric, and it was useless to dwell on the memory ofhis degradation. I think we only once talked of him deeply and atany length, and that was on the day of the funeral. His brother, amanufacturer at Clermont-Ferrand, and a widowed aunt, apparently hisonly two surviving relatives, arrived in Algiers just in time to attendthe ceremony. They had seen the report of the murder in the newspapersand had started forthwith. The brother, during an interview with Lola, said bitter things to her, reproaching her with the man's downfall, andcast on her the responsibility of his death. 

"He spoke, " she said, "as if I had suggested the murder and practicallyput the knife into the poor crazy little fellow's hand. "

The Vauvenardes must have been an amiable family. 

"Before I came, " she said a little while later, "I still hadsome tenderness for him--a woman has for the only man that hasbeen--really--in her life. I wish I could feel it now. I wish I couldfeel some respect even. But I can't. If I could, it would lessen thehorror that has got hold of me to my bones. "

It was a torture to her generous soul that she could not grieve for him. She could only shudder at the tragedy. In her heart she grieved more forAnastasius Papadopoulos, and in so doing she was, in her feminine way, self-accusative of callous lack of human feeling. It was my attempt tobring her to a more rational state of mind that caused us to review thedead man's career, and recapitulate the unpleasing incidents of the lastinterview. 

Of Captain Vauvenarde, no more. He has gone whither I am going. That hissoul may rest in peace is my earnest prayer. But I do not wish to meethim. 

Lola went tearless and strong through the horrible ordeal ofthe judicial proceedings. She said I gave her courage. Perhaps, unconsciously, I did. It was only when the end came that she broke down, although she knew exactly what the end would be. And I, too, felt a lumpin my throat when they sentenced Anastasius Papadopoulos to the asylum, and I saw him for the last time, the living parody of Napoleon III, frock-coated and yellow-gloved, the precious, newly written dossier inhis hand, as he disappeared with a mournful smile from the court, after bowing low to the judge and to us, without having understood thesignificance of anything that had happened. 

In the carriage that took us home she wept and sobbed bitterly. 

"I loved him so. He was the only creature on earth that loved me. Heloved me as only a dog can love--or an angel. "

I let her cry. What could I say or do?

These have been weeks of tedious horror and pain. With the exception ofColonel Bunnion, I have kept myself aloof from my fellow creaturesin the hotel, even taking my meals in my own rooms, not wishing to bestared at as the hero of the scandal that convulsed the place. And withregard to Colonel Bunnion shall I be accused of cynicism if I say thatI admitted him--not to my confidence--but to my company, because I knowthat it delighted the honest but boring fellow to prove to himself thathe could rise above British prejudice and exhibit tact in dealing witha man in a delicate position? For, mark you, all the world--even thosenearest and dearest to me as I soon discovered--believed that the wifeof the man who was murdered before my eyes was my mistress. ColonelBunnion was kind, and he meant to be kind. He was a gentleman for allhis wearisomeness, and his kindness was such as I could accept. But Iknow what I say about him is true. Ye gods! Haven't I felt myself thesame swelling pride in my broadmindedness? When a man is going on myjourney he does not palter with truth. 

Though I held myself aloof, as I say, from practically all my fellowcreatures here, I have not been cut off from the outside world. Mysisters, like this French court in Algiers, have accepted my statementwith polite incredulity. Their letters have been full of love, half-veiled reproach, anxiety as to their social position, and an insanedesire to come and take care of me. This I have forbidden them to do. The pain they would have inflicted on themselves, dear souls, would havefar outweighed the comfort I might have gained from their ministrations. Then I have had piteous letters from Dale. 

". . . Your telegram reassured me, though I was puzzled. Now I get aletter from Lola, telling me it's all off--that she never loved me--thatshe valued my youth and my friendship, but that it is best for us not tomeet again. What is the meaning of it, Simon? For Heaven's sake tell me. I can't think of anything else. I can't sleep. I am going off myhead. . . . "

Again. ". . . This awful newspaper report and your letter ofexplanation--I have them side by side. Forgive me, Simon. I don't knowwhat to believe, where to turn. . . . I have looked up to you as thebest and straightest man I know. You must be. Yet why have you donethis? Why didn't you tell me she was married? Why didn't she tell me? Ican't write properly, my head is all on a buzz. The beastly papers sayyou were living with her in Algiers--but you weren't, were you? It wouldbe too horrible. In fact, you say you weren't. But, all the same, you have stolen her from me. It wasn't like you. . . . And this awfulmurder. My God! you don't know what it all means to me. It's breaking myheart. . . . "

And Lady Kynnersley wrote--with what object I scarcely know. Thesituation was far beyond the poor lady's by-laws and regulations for theupbringing of families and the conduct of life. The elemental motherin her battled on the side of her only son--foolishly, irrationally, unkindly. Her exordium was as correct as could be. The tragedy shockedher, the scandal grieved her, the innuendoes of the Press she refused tobelieve; she sympathised with me deeply. But then she turned from meto Dale, and feminine unreason took possession of her pen. She bitterlyreproached herself for having spoken to me of Madame Brandt. Had sheknown how passionate and real was this attachment, she would never haveinterfered. The boy was broken-hearted. He accused me of havingstolen her from him--his own words. He took little interest in hiselectioneering campaign, spoke badly, unconvincingly; spent hours inalternate fits of listlessness and anger. She feared for her darling'shealth and reason. She made an appeal to me who professed to lovehim--if it were honourably possible, would I bring Madame Brandt back tohim? She was willing now to accept Dale's estimate of her worth. CouldI, at the least, prevail on Madame Brandt to give him some hope--of whatshe did not know--but some hope that would save him from ruining hiscareer and "doing something desperate"?

And another letter from Dale:

". . . I can't work at this election. For God's sake, give her back tome. Then I won't care. What is Parliament to me without her? And theelection is as good as lost already. The other side has made as much aspossible of the scandal. . . . "

The only letters that have not been misery to read have come fromEleanor Faversham. There was one passage which made me thank God that Hehad created such women as Eleanor--

"Don't fret over the newspaper lies, dear. Those who love you--and whyshouldn't I love you still?--know the honourable gentleman that you are. Write to me if it would ease your heart and tell me just what you feelyou can. Now and always you have my utter sympathy and understanding. "

And this is the woman of whose thousand virtues I dared to speak inflippant jest. 

Heaven forgive me. 

After receiving Lady Kynnersley's appeal, I went to Lola. It was justbefore the case came on at the Cour d'Assises. She had finished luncheonin her private room and was sitting over her coffee. I joined her. Shewore the black blouse and skirt with which I have not yet been ableto grow familiar, as it robbed her of the peculiar fascinating qualitywhich I have tried to suggest by the word pantherine. Coffee over, wemoved to the window which opened on a little back garden--the room wason the ground floor--in which grew prickly pear and mimosa, and newlyflowering heliotrope. I don't know why I should mention this, exceptthat some scenes impress themselves, for no particular reason, on thememory, while others associated with more important incidents fade intovagueness. I picked a bunch of heliotrope which she pinned at her bosom. 

"Lola, " I said, "I want to speak to you seriously. "

She smiled wanly: "Do we ever speak otherwise these dreadful days?"

"It's about Dale. Read this, " said I, and I handed her Lady Kynnersley'sletter. She read it through and returned it to me. 

"Well?"

"I asked you a week or two ago what you were going to do with yourlife, " I said. "Does that letter offer you any suggestion?"

"I'm to give him some hope--what hope can I give him?"

"You're a free woman--free to marry. For the boy's sake the mother willconsent. When she knows you as well as we know you she will--"

"She will--what? Love me?"

"She's a woman not given to loving--except, in unexpected bursts, heroffspring. But she will respect you. "

She stood for a few moments silent, her arm resting against the windowjamb and her head on her arm. She remained there so long that at last Irose and, looking at her face, saw that her eyes were full of tears. Shedashed them away with the back of her hand, gave me a swift look, andwent and sat in the shadow of the room. An action of this kind on thepart of a woman signifies a desire for solitude. I lit a cigarette andwent into the garden. 

It was a sorry business. I saw as clearly as Lola that Lady Kynnersleydesired to purchase Dale's immediate happiness at any price, and thatthe future might bring bitter repentance. But I offered no advice. I have finished playing at Deputy Providence. A madman letting offfireworks in a gunpowder factory plays a less dangerous game. 

Presently she joined me and ran her arm through mine. 

"I'll write to Dale this afternoon, " she said. "Don't let us talk of itany more now. You are tired out. It's time for you to go and lie down. I'll walk with you up the hill. "

It has come to this, that I must lie down for some hours during the daylest I should fall to pieces. 

"I suppose I'll have to, " I laughed. "What a thing it is to have thewits of a man and the strength of a baby. "

She pressed my arm and said in her low caressing voice which I had notheard for many weeks: "I shouldn't be so proud of those man's wits, if Iwere you. "

I knew she said it playfully with reference to masculine non-perceptionof the feminine; but I chose to take it broadly. 

"My dear Lola, " said I, "it has been borne in upon me that I am the mostwitless fool that the unwisdom of generations of English country squireshas ever succeeded in producing. "

"Don't talk rot, " she said, with foolishness in her eyes. 

She accompanied me bareheaded in the sunshine to the gate of my hotel. 

"Come and dine with me, if you're well enough, " she said as we parted. 

I assented, and when the evening came I went. Did I not say that we werelike two lost souls wandering alone in the mist?

It was only when I rose to bid her good-night that she referred to Dale. 

"I wrote to him this afternoon, " she announced curtly. 

"You said you would do so. "

"Would you like to know what I told him?"

She put her hands behind her back and stood facing me, somewhatdefiantly, in all her magnificence. I smiled. Women, much as they scoffat the blindness of our sex, are often transparent. 

"It's your firm determination to tell me, " said I. "Well?"

She advanced a step nearer to me, and looked me straight in the eyesdefiantly. 

"I told him that I loved you with all my heart and all my soul. I toldhim that you didn't know it; that you didn't care a brass curse for me;that you had acted as you thought best for the happiness of himself andme. I told him that while you lived I could not think of another man. I told him that if you could face Death with a smile on your face, hemight very well show the same courage and not chuck things right andleft just because a common woman wouldn't marry him or live with him andspoil his career. There! That's what I told him. What do you think?"

"Heaven knows what effect it will have, " said I, wearily, for I wasvery, very tired. "But why, my poor Lola, have you wasted your love on ashadow like me?"

She answered after the foolish way of women. 

I have not heard from either Dale or Lady Kynnersley. A day or two ago, in reply to a telegram to Raggles, I learned that Dale had lost theelection. 

This, then, is the end of my _apologia pro vita mea_, which I began withso resonant a flourish of vainglory. I have said all that there is to besaid. Nothing more has happened or is likely to happen until they put meunder the earth. Oh, yes, I was forgetting. In spite of my Monte Cristomunificence, poor Latimer has been hammered on the Stock Exchange. PoorLucy and the kids!

I shall have, I think, just enough strength left to reach Mentone--thisplace is intolerable now--and there I shall put myself under the care ofa capable physician who, with his abominable drugs, will doubtless beginthe cheerful work of inducing the mental decay which I suppose mustprecede physical dissolution. 

I must confess that I am disappointed with the manner of my exit. I hadimagined it quite different. I had beheld myself turning with a smileand a jest for one last view of the faces over which I, in my eumoirouscareer, had cast the largesse of happiness, and the vanishing with agallant carelessness through the dusky portals. Instead of that, heream I sneaking out of life by the back door, covering my eyes for veryshame. And glad? Oh, God, how glad I am to slink out of it!

I have indeed accomplished the thing which I set out to do. I havesevered a boy from the object of his passion. What an achievementfor the crowning glory of a lifetime! And at what a cost: onefellow-creature's life and another's reason. On me lies theresponsibility. Vauvenarde, it is true, did not adorn this grey world, but he drew the breath of life, and, through my jesting agency, itwas cut off. Anastasius Papadopoulos, had he not come under my maligninfluence would have lived out his industrious, happy and dream-filleddays. Lesser, but still great price, too, has been paid. Jealous hatred, misery and failure for the being I care most for in the world, the shameof a sordid scandal to those that hold me dear, the hopeless love andspeedy mourning of a woman not without greatness. 

I have tried to make a Tom Fool of Destiny--and Destiny has proveditself to be the superior jester of the two, and has made a grim andbedraggled Tom Fool of me. 

. . . I must end this. I have just fallen in a faint on the floor, andRogers has revived me with some drops Hunnington had given me in view ofsuch a contingency. 

These are the last words I shall write. Life is too transcendentallyhumorous for a man not to take it seriously. Compared with it, Death isbut a shallow jest. 

CHAPTER XVI

It is many weeks since I wrote those words which I thought were to bemy last. I read them over now, and laugh aloud. Life is more devilishlyhumorous than I in my most nightmare dreams ever imagined. Instead ofdying at Mentone as I proposed, I am here, at Mustapha Superieur, stillliving. And let me tell you the master joke of the Arch-Jester. 

I am going to live. 

I am not going to die. I am going to live. I am quite well. 

Think of it. Is it farcical, comical, tragical, or what?

This is how it has befallen. The last thing I remember of theold conditions was Rogers packing my things, and a sudden, awful, excruciating agony. I lost consciousness, remained for days in abemused, stupefied state, which I felt convinced was death, and foundparticularly pleasant. At last I woke to a sense of bodily constrictionand discomfort, and to the queer realisation that what I had taken forthe Garden of Prosperpine was my own bedroom, and that the pale ladywhom I had so confidently assumed was she who, crowned with calm leaves, "gathers all things mortal with cold, immortal hands" was no other thana blue-and-white-vested hospital nurse. 

"What the----" I began. 

"Chut!" she said, flitting noiselessly to my side. "You mustn't talk. "And then she poured something down my throat. I lay back, wonderingwhat it all meant. Presently a grizzled and tanned man, wearing a narrowblack tie, came into the room. His face seemed oddly familiar. The nursewhispered to him. He came up to the bed, and asked me in French how Ifelt. 

"I don't know at all, " said I. 

He laughed. "That's a good sign. Let me see how you are getting on. "He stuck a thermometer in my mouth and held my pulse. These formalitiescompleted, he turned up the bedclothes and did something with my body. Only then did I realise that I was tightly bandaged. My impressions grewclearer, and when he raised his face I recognised the doctor who had saton the sofa with Anastasius Papadopoulos. 

"Nothing could be better, " said he. "Keep quiet, and all will be well. "

"Will you kindly explain?" I asked. 

"You've had an operation. Also a narrow escape. "

I smiled at him pityingly. "What is the good of taking all this trouble?Why are you wasting your time?"

He looked at me uncomprehendingly for a moment, and then he laughed asthe light came to him. 

"Oh, I understand! Yes. Your English doctors had told you you were goingto die. That an operation would be fatal--so your good friendMadame Brandt informed us--but we--_nous autres Francais_--are moreenterprising. Kill or cure. We performed the operation--we didn't killyou--and here you are--cured. "

My heart sickened with a horrible foreboding. A clamminess, such asothers feel at the approach of death, spread over my brow and neck. 

"Good God!" I cried, "you are not trying to tell me that I'm going tolive?"

"Why, of course I am!" he exclaimed, brutally delighted. "If nothingelse kills you, you'll live to be a hundred. "

"Oh, damn!" said I. "Oh, damn! Oh, damn!" and the tears of physicalweakness poured down my cheeks. 

"_Ce sont des droles de gens, les Anglais_!" I heard him whisper to thenurse before he left the room. 

Belonging to a queer folk or not, I found the prospect more and moredismally appalling according as my mind regained its clarity. It was themost overwhelming, piteous disappointment I have ever experienced in mylife. I cursed in my whimpering, invalid fashion. 

"But don't you want to get well?" asked the wide-eyed nurse. 

"Certainly not! I thought I was dead, and I was very happy. I've beentricked and cheated and fooled, " and I dashed my fist against thecounterpane. 

"If you go on in this way, " said the nurse, "you will commit suicide. "

"I don't care!" I cried--and then, they tell me, fainted. My temperaturealso ran up, and I became lightheaded again. It was not until the nextday that I recovered my sanity. This time Lola was in the room with thenurse, and after a while the latter left us together. Even Lola couldnot understand my paralysing dismay. 

"But think of it, my dear friend, " she argued, "just think of it. Youare saved--saved by a miracle. The doctor says you will be stronger thanyou have ever been before. "

"All the more dreadful will it be, " said I. "I had finished with life. I had got through with it. I don't want a second lifetime. One is quiteenough for any sane human being. Why on earth couldn't they have let medie?"

Lola passed her cool hand over my forehead. 

"You mustn't talk like that--Simon, " she said, in her deepest and mostcaressing voice, using my name somewhat hesitatingly, for the firsttime. "You mustn't. A miracle really has been performed. You've beenraised from the dead--like the man in the Gospel----"

"Yes, " said I petulantly, "Lazarus. And does the Gospel tell us whatLazarus really thought of the unwarrantable interference with his plans?Of course he had to be polite--"

"Oh, don't!" cried, Lola, shocked. In a queer unenlightened way, she wasa religious woman. 

"I'm sorry, " said I, feeling ashamed of myself. 

"If you knew how I have prayed God to make you well, " she said. "If Icould have died for you, I would--gladly--gladly----"

"But I wanted to die, my dear Lola, " I insisted, with the egotism ofthe sick. "I object to this resuscitation. I say it is monstrous thatI should have to start a second lifetime at my age. It's all verywell when you begin at the age of half a minute--but when you begin ateight-and-thirty years----"

"You have all the wisdom of eight-and-thirty years to start with. "

"There is only one thing more disastrous to a man than the wisdom ofthirty-eight years, " I declared with mulish inconvincibility, "and thatis the wisdom he may accumulate after that age. "

She sighed and abandoned the argument. "We are going to make you well inspite of yourself, " she said. 

They, namely, the doctor, the nurse, and Lola, have done their best, andthey have succeeded. But their task has been a hard one. The patient'swill to live is always a great factor in his recovery. My disgust athaving to live has impeded my convalescence, and I fully believe thatit is only Lola's tears and the doctor's frenzied appeals to me notto destroy the one chance of his life of establishing a brilliantprofessional reputation that have made me consent to face existenceagain. 

As for the doctor, he was pathetically insistent. 

"But you must get well!" he gesticulated. "I am going to publish it, your operation. It will make my fortune. I shall at last be able toleave this hole of an Algiers and go to Paris! You don't know what I'vedone for you! I've performed an operation on you that has never beenperformed successfully before. I thought it had been done, but I foundout afterwards my English _confreres_ were right. It hasn't. I've workeda miracle in surgery, and by my publication will make you as thesubject of it famous for ever. And here you are trying to die and ruineverything. I ask you--have you no human feelings left?"

At the conclusion of these lectures I would sigh and laugh, and stretchout a thin hand. He shook it always with a humorous grumpiness which didme more good than the prospect of acquiring fame in the annals of the_Ecole de Medicine_. 

Here am I, however, cured. I have thrown away the stick with which Ifirst began to limp about the garden, and I discourage Lola and Rogersin their efforts to treat me as an invalid. Like the doctor, I havebeen longing to escape from "this hole of an Algiers" and its painfulassociations, and, when I was able to leave my room, it occurred to methat the sooner I regained my strength the sooner should I be able to doso. Since then my recovery has been rapid. The doctor is delighted, andslaps me on the back, and points me out to Lola and the manager and theconcierge and the hoary old sinner of an Arab who displays his daggers, and trays, and embroideries on the terrace, as a living wonder. Ibelieve he would like to put me in a cage and carry me about with him inParis on exhibition. But he is reluctantly prepared to part with me, andhas consented to my return in a few days' time, to England, by the NorthGerman Lloyd steamer. He has ordered the sea voyage as a finishingtouch to my cure. Good, deluded man, he thinks that it is his fortuitousscience that has dragged me out of the Valley of the Shadow and set mein the Garden of Life. Good, deluded man! He does not realise that hehas been merely the tool of the Arch-Jester. He has no notion of thesardonic joke his knife was chosen to perpetrate. That naked we shouldcome into the world, and naked we should go out is a time-honouredpleasantry which, as far as the latter part of it is concerned, I didmy conscientious best to further; but that we should come into it againnaked at the age of eight-and-thirty is a piece of irony too grim forcontemplation. Yet am I bound to contemplate it. It grins me in theface. Figuratively, I am naked. 

Partly by my own act, and partly with the help of Destiny (the greaterjester than I) I have stripped myself of all these garments of lifewhich not only enabled me to strut peacock-fashion in the pleasantplaces of the world, but also sheltered me from its inclemencies. 

I had wealth--not a Rothschild or Vanderbilt fortune but enough toassure me ease and luxury. I have stripped myself of it. I have but abeggarly sum remaining at my bankers. Practically I am a pauper. 

I had political position. I surrendered it as airily as I had achievedit; so airily, indeed, that I doubt whether I could regain it even hadI the ambition. For it was a game that I played, sometimes fascinating, sometimes repugnant to my fastidious sense of honourable dealing, forwhich I shall never recapture the mood. Mood depends on conditions, andconditions, as I am trying to show, are changed. 

I had social position. I did not deceive myself as to its value in thecosmic scheme, but it was one of the pleasant things to which I wasborn, just as I was born to good food and wines and unpatched boots andthe morning hot water brought into my bedroom. I liked it. I suspectthat it has fled into eternity with the spirit of Captain Vauvenarde. The penniless hero of an amazing scandal is not usually made an idol ofby the exclusive aristocracy of Great Britain. 

I had a sweet and loyal woman about to marry me. I put Eleanor Favershamfor ever out of my life. 

I had the devotion and hero-worship of a lad whom I thought to train inthe paths of honour, love and happiness. In his eyes I suppose I am anunconscionable villain. 

I have stripped myself of everything; and all because the medicalfaculty of my country sentenced me to death. I really think the RoyalColleges of Surgeons and Physicians ought to pay me an indemnity. 

And not only have I stripped myself of everything, but I have incurredan incalculable debt. I owe a woman the infinite debt of her love whichI cannot repay. She sheds it on me hourly with a lavishness which scaresme. But for her tireless devotion, the doctor tells me, I should nothave lived. But for her selfish forbearance, sympathy, and compassion Ishould have gone as crazy as Anastasius Papadopoulos. Yet the burden ofmy debt lies iceberg cold on my heart. Now that we are as intimateas man and woman who are still only friends can be, she has lost themagnetic attraction, that subtle mystery of the woman--half goddess, half panther--which fascinated me in spite of myself, and mademe jealous of poor young Dale. Now that I can see things in someperspective, I confess that, had I not been under sentence of death, and, therefore, profoundly convinced that I was immune from all suchweaknesses of the flesh, I should have realised the temptation oflanguorous voice and sinuous limbs, of the frank radiation of theanimal enchanted as it was by elusive gleams of the spiritual, of theLaisdom--in a word, of all the sexual damnability of a woman which, asFrancois Villon points out, set Sardanapalus to spin among the women, David to forget the fear of God, Herod to slay the Baptist, and madeSamson lose his sight. Whether I should have yielded to or resisted thetemptation is another matter. Honestly speaking, I think I should haveresisted. 

You see, I should still have been engaged to Eleanor Faversham. . . . But now this somewhat unholy influence is gone from her. She has liftedme in her strong arms as a mother would lift a brat of ten. She haspatiently suffered my whimsies as if I had been a sick girl. She hasbecome to me the mere great mothering creature on whom I have dependedfor custard and the removal of crumbs and creases from under my body, and for support to my tottering footsteps. The glamour has gone frombefore my eyes. I no longer see her invested in her queersplendour. . . . 

My invalid peevishness, too, has accentuated my sensitiveness to shadesof refinement. There is about Lola a bluffness, a hardihood of speech, a contempt for the polite word and the pretty conventional turning ofa phrase, a lack of reticence in the expression of ideas and feelings, which jar, in spite of my gratitude, on my unstrung nerves. Herignorance, too, of a thousand things, a knowledge of which is thebirthright of such women as Eleanor Faversham, causes conversationalexcursions to end in innumerable blind alleys. I know that she wouldgive her soul to learn. This she has told me in so many words, and when, in a delicate way, I try to teach her, she listens humbly, pathetically, fixing me with her great, gold-flecked eyes, behind which a deep sadnessburns wistfully. Sometimes when I glance up from my book, I see that hereyes, instead of being bent on hers have been resting long on my face, and they say as clearly as articulate speech: "Teach me, love me, useme, do what you will with me. I am yours, your chattel, your thing, tillthe end of time. "

I lie awake at night and wonder what I shall do with my naked lifesheltered only by the garment of this woman's love, which I haveaccepted and cannot repay. I groan aloud when I reflect on theirremediable mess, hash, bungle I have made of things. Did ever sick manwake up to such a hopeless welter? Can you be surprised that I regardedit with dismay? Of course, there is a simple way out of it, and intothe shadowy world which I contemplated so long, at first with mockingindifference and then with eager longing. A gentleman called Cato oncetook it, with considerable aplomb. The means are to my hand. In mydrawer lies the revolver with which the excellent Colonel Bunnion (longsince departed from Mustapha Superieur) armed me against the banditti ofAlgiers, and which I forgot to return to him. I could empty one or moreof the six chambers into my person and that would be the end. But Idon't think history records the suicide of any humorist, however dismal. He knows too well the tricks of the Arch-Jester's game. Very likely Ishould merely blow away half my head, and Destiny would give my gooddoctor another chance of achieving immortal fame by glueing it on again. No, I cannot think seriously of suicide by violent means. Of course, Imight follow the example of one Antonios Polemon, a later Greek sophist, who suffered so dreadfully from gout that he buried himself alive in thetomb of his ancestors and starved to death. We have a family vault inHighgate Cemetery, of which I possess the key. . . . No, I should bebored and cold, and the coffins would get on my nerves; and besides, there is something suggestive of smug villadom in the idea of going todie at Highgate. 

Lola came up as I was scribbling this on my knees in the garden. 

"What are you writing there?"

"I am recasting Hamlet's soliloquy, " I replied, "and I feel all thebetter for it. "

"Here is your egg and brandy. "

I swallowed it and handed her back the glass. 

"I feel all the better for that, too. "

As I sat in the shade of the little stone summer-house within the Greekportico, she lingered in the blazing sunshine, a figure all glorioushealth and supple curves, and the stray brown hairs above the brown massgleamed with the gold of a Giotto aureole. She stood, a duskily glowing, radiant emblem of life against the background of spring greenery andrioting convolvulus. I drew a full breath and looked at her asif magnetised. I had the very oddest sensation. She seemed, inShakespearean phrase, to rain influence upon me. As if she read thestirrings of my blood, she smiled and said:

"After all, confess, isn't it good to be alive?"

A thrill of physical well-being swept through me. I leaped to my feet. 

"You witch!" I cried. "What are you doing to me?"

"I?" She retreated a step, with a laugh. 

"Yes, you. You are casting a spell on me, so that I may eat my words. "

"I don't know what you are talking about, but you haven't answered myquestion. It _is_ good to be alive. "

"Well, it is, " I assented, losing all sense of consistency. 

She flourished the egg-and-brandy glass. "I'm so glad. Now I know youare really well, and will face life as you faced death, like the braveman that you are. "

I cried to her to hold. I had not intended to go as far as that. Iconfronted death with a smile; I meet life with the wriest of wry faces. She would have none of my arguments. 

"No matter how damnable it is--it's splendid to be alive, just to feelthat you can fight, just to feel that you don't care a damn for any oldthing that can happen, because you're strong and brave. I do want youto get back all that you've lost, all that you've lost through me, andyou'll do it. I know that you'll do it. You'll just go out and smash upthe silly old world and bring it to your feet. You will, Simon, won'tyou? I know you will. "

She quivered like an optimistic Cassandra. 

"My dear Lola, " said I. 

I was touched. I took her hand and raised it to my lips, whereat sheflushed like a girl. 

"Did you come here to tell me all this?"

"No, " she replied simply. "It came all of a sudden, as I was standinghere. I've often wanted to say it. I'm glad I have. "

She threw back her head and regarded me a moment with a strange, proudsmile; then turned and walked slowly away, her head brushing the longscarlet clusters of the pepper trees. 

CHAPTER XVII

The other day, while looking through a limbo of a drawer wherein havebeen cast from time to time a medley of maimed, half-soiled, abortivethings, too unfitted for the paradise of publication, and too good (somy vanity will have it) for the damnation of the waste-paper basket, I came across, at the very bottom, the manuscript of the precedingautobiographical narrative, the last words of which I wrote at MustaphaSuperieur three years ago. At first I carried it about with me, notcaring to destroy it and not knowing what in the world to do with ituntil, with the malice of inanimate things, the dirty dog's-eared bundletook to haunting me, turning up continually in inconvenient places andever insistently demanding a new depository. At last I began to lookon it with loathing; and one day in a fit of inspiration, creating thelimbo aforesaid, I hurled the manuscript, as I thought, into everlastingoblivion. I had no desire to carry on the record of my life any further, and there, in limbo, it has remained for three years. But the other dayI took it out for reference; and now as I am holiday-making in a certainlittle backwater of the world, where it is raining in a most unholidayfashion, it occurs to me that, as everything has happened to me which islikely to happen (Heaven knows I want no more excursions and alarumsin my life's drama), I may as well bring the narrative up to date. Itherefore take up the thread, so far as I can, from where I left off. 

Lola, having nothing to do in Algiers, which had grown hateful to usboth, accompanied me to London. As, however, the weather was rough, andshe was a very bad sailor, I saw little of her on the voyage. For my ownpart, I enjoyed the stormy days, the howling winds and the infuriatedwaves dashing impotently over the steamer. They filled me with a senseof conflict and of amusement. It is always good to see man triumphingover the murderous forces of nature. It puts one in conceit with one'skind. 

At Waterloo I handed Lola over to her maid, who had come to meet her, and, leaving Rogers in charge of my luggage, I drove homeward in a cab. 

It was only as I was crossing Waterloo Bridge and saw the dark mass ofthe Houses of Parliament looming on the other side of the river, and thelight in the tower which showed that the House was sitting, that Ibegan to realise my situation. As exiles in desert lands yearn for greenfields, so yearned I for those green benches. In vain I represented tomyself how often I had yawned on them, how often I had cursed my follyin sitting on them and listening to empty babble when I might have beendining cosily, or talking to a pretty woman or listening to a comicopera, or performing some other useful and soul-satisfying action ofthe kind; in vain I told myself what a monument of futility was thatbuilding; I longed to be in it and of it once again. And when I realisedthat I yearned for the impossible, my heart was like a stone. For, indeed, I, Simon de Gex, with London once a toy to my hand, was cominginto it now a penniless adventurer to seek my fortune. 

The cab turned into the Strand, which greeted me as affably as apandemonium. Motor omnibuses whizzed at me, cabs rattled and jeeredat me, private motors and carriages passed me by in sleek contempt;policemen regarded me scornfully as, with uplifted hand regulatingthe traffic, they held me up; pavements full of people surged alongostentatiously showing that they did not care a brass farthing forme; the thousands of lights with their million reflections, from shopfronts, restaurants, theatres, and illuminated signs glared pitilesslyat me. A harsh roar of derision filled the air, like the bass to thetreble of the newsboys who yelled in my face. I was wearing a fur-linedcoat--just the thing a penniless adventurer would wear. I had a valetattending to my luggage--just the sort of thing a penniless adventurerwould have. I was driving to the Albany--just the sort of place where apenniless adventurer would live. And London knew all this--and scoffedat me in stony heartlessness. The only object that gave me the slightestsympathy was Nelson on top of his column. He seemed to say, "After all, you _can't_ feel such a fool and so much out in the cold as I do uphere. "

At Piccadilly Circus I found the same atmosphere of hostility. My cabwas blocked in the theatre-going tide, and in neighbouring vehiclesI had glimpses of fair faces above soft wraps and the profiles ofmoustached young men in white ties. They assumed an aggravating air ofownership of the blazing thoroughfare, the only gay and joyous spotin London. I, too, had owned it once, but now I felt an alien; and thewhole spirit of Piccadilly Circus rammed the sentiment home--I was analien and an undesirable alien. I felt even more lost and friendless asI entered the long, cold arcade (known as the Ropewalk) of the Albany. 

I found my sister Agatha waiting for me in the library. I hadtelegraphed to her from Southampton. She was expensively dressed in greysilk, and wore the family diamonds. We exchanged the family kiss and theusual incoherent greetings of our race. She expressed her delight at myrestoration to health and gave me satisfactory tidings of Tom Durrell, her husband, of the children, and of our sister Jane. Then she shook herhead at me, and made me feel like a naughty little boy. This I resented. Being the head of the family, I had always encouraged the deferentialattitude which my sisters, dear right-minded things, had naturallyassumed from babyhood. 

"Oh, Simon, what a time you've given us!"

She had never spoken to me like this in her life. 

"That's nothing, my dear Agatha, " said I just a bit tartly, "to thetime I've given myself. I'm sorry for you, but I think you ought to be alittle sorry for me. "

"I am. More sorry than I can say. Oh, Simon, how could you?"

"How could I what?" I cried, unwontedly regardless of the refinements oflanguage. 

"Mix yourself up in this dreadful affair?"

"My dear girl, " said I, "if you had got mixed up in a railway collision, I shouldn't ask you how you managed to do it. I should be sorry for youand feel your arms and legs and inquire whether you had sustained anyinternal injuries. "

She is a pretty, spare woman with a bird-like face and soft brown hairjust turning grey; and as good-hearted a little creature as ever adoredfive healthy children and an elderly baronet with disastrous views onscientific farming. 

"Dear old boy, " she said in milder accents, "I didn't mean to beunkind. I want to be good to you and help you, so much so that I askedBingley"--Bingley is my housekeeper--"whether I could stay to dinner. "

"That's good of you--but this magnificence----?"

"I'm going on later to the Foreign Office reception. "

"Then you do still mingle with the great and gorgeous?" I said. 

"What do you mean? Why shouldn't I?"

I laughed, suspecting rightly that my sisters' social position had notbeen greatly imperilled by the profligacy of their scandal-bespatteredbrother. 

"What are people saying about me?" I asked suddenly. 

She made a helpless gesture. "Can't you guess? You have told us thefacts, and, of course, we believe you; we have done our best to spreadabroad the correct version--but you know what people are. If they'retold they oughtn't to believe the worst, they're disappointed and stillgo on believing it so as to comfort themselves. "

"You cynical little wretch!" said I. 

"But it's true, " she urged. "And, after all, even if they were welldisposed, the correct version makes considerable demands on their faith. Even Letty Farfax--"

"I know! I know!" said I. "Letty Farfax is typical. She would love tobe on the side of the angels, but as she wouldn't meet the best peoplethere, she ranges herself with the other party. "

Presently we dined, and during the meal, when the servants happenedto be out of the room, we continued, snippet-wise, the inconclusiveconversation. Like a good sister Agatha had come to cheer a lonely andmuch abused man; like a daughter of Eve she had also come to find out asmuch as she possibly could. 

"I think I must tell you something which you ought to know, " she said. "It's all over the town that you stole the lady from Dale Kynnersley. "

"If I did, " said I, "it was at his mother's earnest entreaty. You cantell folks that. You can also tell them Madame Brandt is not the kindof woman to be stolen by one man from another. She is a thoroughlyvirtuous, good, and noble woman, and there's not a creature living whowouldn't be honoured by her friendship. "

As I made this announcement with an impetuosity which reminded me (witha twinge of remorse) of poor Dale's dithyrambics, Agatha shot at me aquick glance of apprehension. 

"But, my dear Simon, she used to act in a circus with a horse!"

"I fail to see, " said I, growing angry, "how the horse could have imbuedher with depravity, and I'm given to understand that the tone of thecircus is not quite what it used to be in the days of the EmpressTheodora. "

A ripple passed over Agatha's bare shoulders, which I knew to be asuppressed shrug. 

"I suppose men and women look at these things differently, " sheremarked, and from the stiffness of her tone I divined that the ideaof moral qualities lurking in the nature of Lola Brandt occasioned herconsiderable displeasure. 

"I hope----" She paused. There was another ripple. "No. I had better notsay it. It's none of my business, after all. "

"I don't think it is, my dear, " said I. 

Rogers bringing in the cutlets ended the snippet of talk. 

It was not the cheeriest of dinners. I took advantage of the nextinterval of quiet to inquire after Dale. I learned that the poor boy hadalmost collapsed after the election and was now yachting with young LordEssendale somewhere about the Hebrides. Agatha had not seen him, butLady Kynnersley had called on her one day in a distracted frame of mind, bitterly reproaching me for the unhappiness of her son. I should neverhave suspected that such fierce maternal love could burn beneath LadyKynnersley's granite exterior. She accused me of treachery towards Daleand, most illogically, of dishonourable conduct towards herself. 

"She said things about you, " said Agatha, "for which, even if theywere true, I couldn't forgive her. So that's an end of that friendship. Indeed, it has been very difficult, Simon, " she continued, "to keepup with our common friends. It has placed us in the most painful anddelicate position. And now you're back, I'm afraid it will be worse. "

Thus under all Agatha's affection there ran the general hostility ofLondon. Guilty or not, I had offended her in her most deeply rootedsusceptibilities, and as yet she only knew half the imbroglio in which Iwas enmeshed. Over coffee, however, she began to take a more optimisticview of affairs. 

"After all, you'll be able to live it down, " she said with a cheerfulair of patronage. "People soon forget. Before the year is out you'llbe going about just as usual, and at the General Election you'll find aseat somewhere. "

I informed her that I had given up politics. What then, she asked, wouldI do for an occupation?

"Work for my living, " I replied. 

"Work?" She arched her eyebrows, as if it were the most extraordinarything a man could do. "What kind of work?"

"Road-sweeping or tax-collecting or envelope-addressing. "

She selected a cigarette from the silver box in front of her, and didnot reply until she had lit it and inhaled a puff or two. 

"I wish you wouldn't be so flippant, Simon. "

From this remark I inferred that I still was in the criminal dock beforethis lady Chief Justice. I smiled at the airs the little woman gaveherself now that I was no longer the impeccable and irreproachabledictator of the family. Mine was the experience of every fallen tyrantsince the world began. 

"My dear Agatha, I've had enough shocks during the last few weeks toknock the flippancy out of a Congregational minister. In November I wascondemned to die within six months. The sentence was final and absolute. I thought I would do the kind of good one can't do with a lifetime infront of one, and I wasted all my substance in riotous giving. In theelegant phraseology of high society I am stone-broke. As my training hasnot fitted me to earn my living in high-falutin ways, I must earn it insome humble capacity. Therefore, if you see me call at your house forthe water rate, you'll understand that I am driven to that expedient bynecessity and not by degradation. "

Naturally I had to elaborate this succinct statement before my sistercould understand its full significance. Then dismay overwhelmed her. Surely something could be done. The fortunes of Jane and herself wereat my disposal to set me on my feet again. We were brother and sisters;what was theirs was mine; they couldn't see me starve. I thanked her forher affection--the dear creatures would unhesitatingly have let me playducks and drakes with their money, but I explained that though poor, Iwas still proud and prized the independence of the tax-collector abovethe position of the pensioner of Love's bounty. 

"Tom must get you something to do, " she declared. 

"Tom must do nothing of the kind. Let me say that once and for all, "I returned peremptorily. "I've made my position clear to you, because you're my sister and you ought to be spared any furthermisinterpretation of my actions. But to have you dear people intriguingafter billets for me would be intolerable. "

"But what are you going to _do_?" she cried, wringing her hands. 

"I'm going for my first omnibus ride to-morrow, " said I heroically. 

Upon which assertion Rogers entered announcing that her ladyship'scarriage had arrived. A while later I accompanied her downstairs andalong the arcade. 

"I shall be so miserable, thinking of you, poor old boy, " she saidaffectionately, as she bade me good-bye. 

"Don't, I am going to enjoy myself for the first time in my life. "

These were "prave 'orts, " but I felt doleful enough when I re-enteredthe chambers where I had lived in uncomplaining luxury for fourteenyears. 

"There's no help for it, " I murmured. "I must get rid of the remainderof my lease, sell my books and pictures and other more or less expensivehousehold goods, dismiss Rogers and Bingley, and go and live on thirtyshillings a week in a Bloomsbury boarding-house. I think, " I continued, regarding myself in the Queen Anne mirror over the mantelpiece, "I thinkthat it will better harmonise with my fallen fortunes if I refrain fromwaxing the ends of my moustache. There ought to be a modest droop aboutthe moustache of a tax-collector. "

The next morning I gave my servants a months' notice. Rogers, whohad been with me for many years, behaved in the correctest manner. Heneither offered to lend me his modest savings nor to work for me forno wages. He expressed his deep regret at leaving my service and hisconfidence that I would give him a good character. Bingley wept afterthe way of women. There was also a shadowy housemaidy young person ina cap who used to make meteoric appearances and whom I left to thediplomacy of Bingley. These dismal rites performed, I put my chambersinto the hands of a house agent and interviewed a firm of auctioneerswith reference to the sale. It was all exceedingly unpleasant. The agentwas so anxious to let my chambers, the auctioneer so delighted at thechance of selling my effects, that I felt myself forthwith turned neckand crop out of doors. It was a bright morning in early spring, with asatirical touch of hope in the air. London, no longer to be my London, maintained its hostile attitude to me. If any one had prophesied that Ishould be a stranger in Piccadilly, I should have laughed aloud. Yet Iwas. 

Walking moodily up Saint James's street I met the omniscient andexpansive Renniker. He gave me a curt nod and a "How d'ye do?" andpassed on. I felt savagely disposed to slash his jaunty silk hatoff with my walking-stick. A few months before he would have rushedeffusively into my arms and bedaubed me with miscellaneous inaccuraciesof information. At first I was furiously indignant. Then I laughed, andswinging my stick, nearly wreaked my vengeance on a harmless elderlygentleman. 

It was my first experience of social ostracism. Although I curled acontumelious lip, I smarted under the indignity. It was all very wellto say proudly "_io son' io_"; but _io_ used to be a person of someimportance who was not cavalierly "how d'ye do'd" by creatures likeRenniker. This and the chance encounters of the next few weeks gaveme furiously to think. I knew that in one respect my sister Agatha wasright. These good folks who shied now at the stains of murder with whichmy reputation was soiled would in time get used to them and eventuallyforget them altogether. But I reflected that I should not forget, andI determined that I should not be admitted on sufferance, as at firstI should have to be admitted, into any man's club or any woman'sdrawing-room. 

One day Colonel Ellerton, Maisie Ellerton's father, called on me. Heused to be my very good friend; we sat on the same side of the House andvoted together on innumerable occasions in perfect sympathy and commonlack of conviction. He was cordial enough, congratulated me on mymarvellous restoration to health, deplored my absence from Parliamentarylife, and then began to talk confusedly of Russia. It took a littleperspicacity to see that something was weighing on the good man's mind;something he had come to say and for his honest life could not get out. His plight became more pitiable as the interview proceeded, and when herose to go, he grew as red as a turkey-cock and began to sputter. I wentto his rescue. 

"It's very kind of you to have come to see me, Ellerton, " I said, "butif I don't call yet awhile to pay my respects to your wife, I hopeyou'll understand, and not attribute it to discourtesy. "

I have never seen relief so clearly depicted on a human countenance. Hedrew a long breath and instinctively passed his handkerchief over hisforehead. Then he grasped my hand. 

"My dear fellow, " he cried, "of course we'll understand. It was ashocking affair--terrible for you. My wife and I were quite bowled overby it. "

I did not attempt to clear myself. What was the use? Every man deniesthese things as a matter of course, and as a matter of course nobodybelieves him. 

Once I ran across Elphin Montgomery, a mysterious personage behind manymusical comedy enterprises. He is jewelled all over like a first-classHindoo idol, and is treated as a god in fashionable restaurants, where he entertains riff-raff at sumptuous banquets. I had some slightacquaintance with the fellow, but he greeted me as though I were a longlost intimate--his heavy sensual face swagged in smiles--and invited meto a supper party. I declined with courtesy and walked away in fury. Hewould not have presumed to ask me to meet his riff-raff before I becamedisgustingly and I suppose to some minds, fascinatingly, notorious. Butnow I was hail-fellow-well-met with him, a bird of his own feather, a rogue of his own kidney, to whom he threw open the gates of hisbediamonded and befrilled Alsatia. A pestilential fellow! As if I wouldmortgage my birthright for such a mess of pottage. 

So I stiffened and bade Society high and low go packing. I wouldneither seek mine own people, nor allow myself to be sought by ElphinMontgomery's. I enwrapped myself in a fine garment of defiance. Mysister Jane, who was harder and more worldly-minded than Agatha, wouldhave had me don a helmet of brass and a breastplate of rhinoceros hideand force my way through reluctant portals; but Agatha agreed withme, clinging, however, to the hope that time would not only reconcileSociety to me, but would also reconcile me to Society. 

"If the hope comforts you, my dear Agatha, " said I, "by all meanscherish it. In the meantime, allow me to observe that the character ofIshmael is eminently suited to the profession of tax-collecting. "

During these early days of my return the one person with whom I had noargument was Lola. She soothed where others scratched, and stimulatedwhere others goaded. The intimacy of my convalescence continued. Atfirst I acquainted her, as far as was reasonably necessary, with mychange of fortune, and accepted her offer to find me less expensivequarters. The devoted woman personally inspected every flat in London, with that insistence of which masculine patience is incapable, andeventually decided on a tiny bachelor suite somewhere in the clouds overa block of flats in Victoria Street where the service is included in therent. Into this I moved with such of my furniture as I withdrew from theauctioneer's hammer, and there I prepared to stay until necessity shoulddrive me to the Bloomsbury boarding-house. I thought I would graduate mydescent. Before I moved, however, she came to the Albany for the firstand only time to see the splendour I was about to quit. In a modest wayit was splendour. My chambers were really a large double flat to thetasteful furnishing of which I had devoted the thought and interest ofmany years. She went with me through the rooms. The dining-room was allChippendale, each piece a long-coveted and hunted treasure; the libraryold oak; the drawing-room a comfortable and cunning medley. There werebits of old china, pieces of tapestry, some rare prints, my choicecollection of mezzotints, a picture or two of value--one a Lancret, avery dear possession. And there were my books--once I had a passionfor rare bindings. Every thing had to me a personal significance, and Ihated the idea of surrender more than I dared to confess even to myself. But I said to Lola:

"Vanity of vanities! All things expensive are vanity!"

Her eyes glistened and she slipped her arm through mine and patted theback of my hand. 

"If you talk like that I shall cry and make a fool of myself, " she saidin a broken manner. 

It is not so much the thing that is done or the thing that is said thatmatters, but the way of doing or saying it. In the commonplace pat onthe hand, in the break in the commonplace words there was something thatwent straight to my heart. I squeezed her arm and whispered:

"Thank you, dear. "

This sympathy so sure and yet so delicately conveyed was mine for thetrouble of mounting the stairs that led to her drawing-room in CadoganGardens. She seemed to be watching my heart the whole time, so thatwithout my asking, without my knowledge even, she could touch each sorespot as it appeared, with the healing finger. For herself she madeno claims, and because she did not in any way declare herself to beunhappy, I, after the manner of men, took her happiness for granted. Forlives there a man who does not believe that an uncomplaining woman hasnothing to complain of? It is his masculine prerogative of density. Besides, does not he himself when hurt bellow like a bull? Why, he argues, should not wounded woman do the same? So, when I wantedcompanionship, I used to sit in the familiar room and make Adolphus, theChow dog, shoulder arms with the poker, and gossip restfully with Lola, who sprawled in her old languorous, loose-limbed way among the cushionsof her easy chair. Gradually my habitual reserve melted from me, andat last I gave her my whole confidence, telling her of my disastrouspursuit of eumoiriety, of Eleanor Faversham, of the attitude of Society, in fact, of most of what I have set down in the preceding pages. She wasgreatly interested in everything, especially in Eleanor Faversham. Shewanted to know the colour of her eyes and hair and how she dressed. Women are odd creatures. 

The weeks passed. 

Besides ministering to my dilapidated spirit, Lola found occupation inlooking after the cattery of Anastasius Papadopoulos, which the littleman had left in the charge of his pupil and assistant, Quast. ThisQuast apparently was a faithful, stolid, but unintelligent and incapableGerman who had remained loyally at his post until Lola found him therein a state of semi-starvation. The sum of money with which Anastasiushad provided him had been eked out to the last farthing. The cats werein a pitiable condition. Quast, in despair, was trying to make up hisdull mind whether to sell them or eat them. Lola with superb femininedisregard of legal rights, annexed the whole cattery, maintained Quastin his position of pupil and assistant and informed the landlord thatshe would be responsible for the rent. Then she set to work to bring thecats into their proper condition of sleekness, and, that done, to putthem through a systematic course of training. They had been thoroughlydemoralised, she declared, under Quast's maladministration, and hadalmost degenerated into the unhistrionic pussies of domestic life. Asfor Hephaestus, the great ferocious tom, he was more like an insanetiger than a cat. He flew at the gate over which he used to jump, and clawed and bit it to matchwood, and after spitting in fury atthe blazing hoop, sprang at the unhappy Quast as if he had been thecontriver of the indignities to which he was being subjected. Thesetales of feline backsliding I used to hear from Lola, and when I askedher why she devoted her energies to the unproductive education of theuninspiring animals, she would shrug her shoulders and regard me with aGiaconda smile. 

"In the first place it amuses me. You seem to forget I'm a _dompteuse_, a tamer of beasts; it's my profession, I was trained to it. It's theonly thing I can do, and it's good to feel that I haven't lost my power. It's odd, but I feel a different woman when I'm impressing my willon these wretched cats. You must come one of these days and see aperformance, when I've got them ship-shape. They'll astonish you. Andthen, " she would add, "I can write to Anastasius and tell him how hisbeloved cats are getting on. "

Well, it was an interest in her life which, Heaven knows, was notcrowded with exciting incidents. Now that I can look back on thesethings with a philosophic eye, I can imagine no drearier existence thanthat of a friendless, unoccupied woman in a flat in Cadogan Gardens. Atthat time, I did not realise this as completely as I might have done. Because her old surgeon friend, Sir Joshua Oldfield, now and then tookher out to dinner, I considered she was leading a cheerful if not amerry life. I smiled indulgently at Lola's devotion to the cats andcongratulated her on having found another means whereby to beguile the_tedium vitae_ which is the arch-enemy of content. 

"I wish I could find such a means myself, " said I. 

I not only had the wish, but the imperative need to so do. To stand likeAjax defying the lightning is magnificent, but as a continuous avocationit is wearisome and unprofitable, especially if carried on in a tinybachelor suite, an eyrie of a place, at the top of a block of flats inVictoria Street. Indeed, if I did not add soon to the meagre remains ofmy fortune, I should not be able to afford the luxury of the bachelorsuite. Conscious of this, I left the lightning alone, after a lastdenunciatory shake of the fist, and descended into the busy ways of mento look for work. 

Thus I entered on the second stage of my career--that of a soldierof Fortune. At first I was doubtful as to what path to glory andbread-and-butter I could carve out for myself. Hitherto I had beenFortune's darling instead of her mercenary, and she had most politelycarved out my paths for me, until she had played her jade's trickand left me in the ditch. Now things were different. I stood alone, ironical, ambitionless, still questioning the utility of human effort, yet determined to play the game of life to its bitter end. What could Ido?

It is true that I had been called to the Bar in my tentative youth, while I drafted documents for my betters to pull to pieces and rewriteat the Foreign Office; but I had never seen a brief, and my memoriesof Gaius, Justinian, Williams's "Real Property, " and Austin's"Jurisprudence, " were as nebulous as those of the Differential Calculusover whose facetiae I had pondered during my schooldays. The law was asclosed to me as medicine. I had no profession. I therefore driftedinto the one pursuit for which my training had qualified me, namely, political journalism. I had written much, in my amateur way, during myten years' membership of Parliament; why, I hardly know--not because Ineeded money, not because I had thoughts which I burned to express, andcertainly not through vain desire of notoriety. Perhaps the motive wastwofold, an ingrained Puckish delight in the incongruous--it seemedincongruous for an airy epicurean like myself to spend stodgyhours writing stodgier articles on Pauper Lunacy and Poor LawAdministration--and the same inherited sense of gentlemanly obligationto do something for one's king and country as made my ancestors, whetherthey liked it or not, clothe themselves in uncomfortable iron garmentsand go about fighting other gentlemen similarly clad, to their own greatpersonal danger. At any rate, it complemented my work at St. Stephen's, and doubtless contributed to a reputation in the House which I didnot gain through my oratory. I could therefore bring to editors thestock-in-trade of a fairly accurate knowledge of current politicalissues, an appreciation of personalities, and a philosophical subridentestimate of the bubbles that are for ever rising on the politicalsurface. I found Finch of _The Universal Review_, James of _The Weekly_, and one or two others more than willing to give me employment. I put mypen also at the disposal of Raggles. It was as uplifting and about asmechanical as tax-collecting; but it involved less physical exertion andless unpleasant contact with my fellow creatures. I could also keep theends of my moustache waxed, which was a great consolation. 

My sister Agatha commended my courage and energy, and Lola read myarticles with a glowing enthusiasm, which compensated for lack of exactunderstanding; but I was not proud of my position. It is one thingto stand at the top of a marble staircase and in a debonair, jestingfashion to fling insincere convictions to a recipient world. It isanother to sell the same worthless commodity for money. I began, to mycurious discomfort, to suspect that life had a meaning after all. 

CHAPTER XVIII

One day I had walked from Cadogan Gardens with a gadfly phrase of Lola'stormenting my ears:

"You're not quite alive even yet. "

I had spent most of the day over a weekly article for James's high-tonedperiodical, using the same old shibboleths, proclaiming Gilead to be theone place for balm, juggling with the same old sophistries, and provingthat Pope must have been out of his mind when he declared that an honestman was the noblest work of God, seeing that nobler than the most honestman was the disingenuous government held up to eulogy; and I had gonetired, dispirited, out of conceit with myself to Lola for tea andconsolation. I had not been the merriest company. I had spoken gloomilyof the cosmos, and when Adolphus the Chow dog had walked down the roomin his hind legs, I had railed at the futility of canine effort. ToLola, who had put forth all her artillery of artless and harmlesscoquetry in voice and gesture, in order to lure my thoughts intopleasanter ways, I exhibited the querulous grumpiness of a spoiledvillage octogenarian. We discussed the weather, which was worthdiscussing, for the spring, after long tarrying, had come. It was earlyMay. Lola laughed. 

"The spring has got into my blood. "

"It hasn't got into mine, " I declared. "It never will. I wonder what thedeuce is the matter with me. "

Then Lola had said, "My dear Simon, I know. You're not quite alive evenyet. "

I walked homewards pestered by the phrase. What did she mean by it?I stopped at the island round the clock-tower by Victoria Station andbought a couple of newspapers. There, in the centre of the whirlpoolwhere swam dizzily omnibuses, luggage-laden cabs, whirling motors, feverish, train-seeking humans, dirty newsboys, I stood absently sayingto myself, "You're not quite alive even yet. "

A hand gripped my arm and a cheery voice said "Hallo!" I started andrecognised Rex Campion. I also said "Hallo!" and shook hands with him. We had not met since the days when, having heard of my Monte Cristolavishness, he had called at the Albany and had beguiled me into givinga thousand pounds to his beloved "Barbara's Building, " the prodigiousphilanthropic institution which he had founded in the slums of SouthLambeth. In spite of my dead and dazed state of being I was pleased tosee his saturnine black-bearded face, and to hear his big voice. He wasone of those men who always talked like a megaphone. The porticoes ofVictoria Station re-echoed with his salutations. I greeted him lessvociferously, but with equal cordiality. 

"You're looking very fit. I head that you had gone through a miraculousoperation. How are you?"

"Perfectly well, " said I, "but I've been told that I'm not quite aliveeven yet. "

He looked anxious. "Remains of trouble?"

"Not a vestige, " I laughed. 

"That's all right, " he said breezily. "Now come along and hear Milliganspeak. "

It did not occur to him that I might have work, worries, or engagements, or that the evening's entertainment which he offered me might be thelast thing I should appreciate. His head, for the moment, was fullof Milligan, and it seemed to him only natural that the head of allhumanity should be full of Milligan too. I made a wry face. 

"That son of thunder?"

Milligan was a demagogue who had twice unsuccessfully attempted to getinto Parliament in the Labour interest. 

"Have you ever heard him?"

"Heaven forbid!" said I in my pride. 

"Then come. He's speaking in the Hall of the Lambeth Biblical Society. "

I was tempted, as I wanted company. In spite of my high resolve toout-Ishmael Ishmael, I could not kill a highly developed gregariousinstinct. I also wanted a text for an article. But I wanted my dinnerstill more. Campion condemned the idea of dinner. 

"You can have a cold supper, " he roared, "like the rest of us. "

I yielded. Campion dragged me helpless to a tram at the top of VauxhallBridge Road. 

"It will do Your Mightiness good to mingle with the proletariat, " hegrinned. 

I did not tell him that I had been mingling with it in this mannerfor some time past or that I repudiated the suggestion of its benigninfluence. I entered the tram meekly. As soon as we were seated, hebegan:

"I bet you won't guess what I've done with your thousand pounds. I'llgive you a million guesses. "

As I am a poor conjecturer, I put on a blank expression and shook myhead. He waited for an instant, and then shouted with an air of triumph:

"I've founded a prize, my boy--a stroke of genius. I've called it byyour name. 'The de Gex Prize for Housewives. ' I didn't bother you aboutit as I knew you were in a world of worry. But just think of it. An annual prize of thirty pounds--practically the interest--forhousewives!"

His eyes flashed in his enthusiasm; he brought his heavy hand down on myknee. 

"Well?" I asked, not electrified by this announcement. 

"Don't you see?" he exclaimed. "I throw the competition open to thewomen in the district, with certain qualifications, you know--I lookafter all that. They enter their names by a given date and then theystart fair. The woman who keeps her home tidiest and her childrencleanest collars the prize. Isn't it splendid?"

I agreed. "How many competitors?"

"Forty-three. And there they are working away, sweeping their floors andputting up clean curtains and scrubbing their children's noses till theyshine like rubies and making their homes like little Dutch pictures. Yousee, thirty pounds is a devil of a lot of money for poor people. As onemother of a large family said to me, 'With that one could bury them allquite beautiful. '"

"You're a wonderful fellow, " said I, somewhat enviously. 

He gave an awkward laugh and tugged at his beard. 

"I've only happened to find my job, and am doing it as well as I can, "he said. "'Tisn't very much, after all. Sometimes one gets discouraged;people are such ungrateful pigs, but now and again one does help a lamedog over a stile which bucks one up, you know. Why don't you come downand have a look at us one of these days? You've been promising to do sofor years. "

"I will, " said I with sudden interest. 

"You can have a peep at one or two of the competing homes. We pop intothem unexpectedly at all hours. That's a part of the game. We've acomplicated system of marks which I'll show you. Of course, no womanknows how she's getting on, otherwise many would lose heart. "

"How do the men like this disconcerting ubiquity of soap and water?"

"They love it!" he cried. "They're keen on the prize too. Some thinkthey'll grab the lot and have the devil's own drunk when the year's up. But I'll look after that. Besides, when a chap has been living in thepride of cleanliness for a year he'll get into the way of it and be lesslikely to make a beast of himself. Anyway, I hope for the best. My God, de Gex, if I didn't hope and hope and hope, " he cried earnestly, "Idon't know how I should get through anything without hope and a faith inthe ultimate good of things. "

"The same inconvincible optimist?" said I. 

"Yes. Thank heaven. And you?"

I paused. There came a self-revelatory flash. "At the present moment, " Isaid, "I'm a perfectly convincible vacuist. "

We left the tram and the main thoroughfare, and turned into frowsystreets, peopled with frowsy men and women and raucous with thebickering play of frowsy children. It was still daylight. Over Londonthe spring had fluttered its golden pinions, and I knew that in moreblessed quarters--in the great parks, in Piccadilly, in Old PalaceYard, half a mile away--its fragrance lingered, quickening blood alreadyquickened by hope, and making happier hearts already happy. But here theray of spring had never penetrated either that day or the days of formersprings; so there was no lingering fragrance. Here no one heeded theaspects of the changing year save when suffocated by sweltering heat, orfrozen in the bitter cold, or drenched by the pouring rain. Otherwise inthese gray, frowsy streets spring, summer, autumn, winter were all thesame to the grey, frowsy people. It is true that youth laughed--pale, animal boys, and pale, flat-chested girls. But it laughed chiefly atinane obscenity. 

One of these days, when phonography is as practicable as photography, some one will make accurate records in these frowsy streets, and then, after the manner of the elegant writers of Bucolics and Pastorals, publish such a series of Urbanics and Pavimentals, phonographicdialogues between the Colins and Dulcibellas of the pavement and thegutter as will freeze up Hell with horror. 

An anemic, flirtatious group passed us, the girls in front, the boysbehind. 

"Good God, Campion, what _can_ you do?" I asked. 

"Pay them, old chap, " he returned quickly. 

"What's the good of that?"

"Good? Oh, I see!" He laughed, with a touch of scorn. "It's a questionof definition. When you see a fellow creature suffering and it shocksyour refined susceptibilities and you say 'poor devil' and pass on, youthink you have pitied him. But you haven't. You think pity's a passivevirtue. It isn't. If you really pity anybody, you go mad to helphim--you don't stand by with tears of sensibility running down yourcheeks. You stretch out your hand, because you've damn well got to. Ifhe won't take it, or wipes you over the head, that's his look-out. Youcan't work miracles. But once in a way he does take it, and then--well, you work like hell to pull him through. And if you do, what bigger thingis there in the world than the salvation of a human soul?"

"It's worth living for, " said I. 

"It's worth doing any confounded old thing for, " he declared. 

I envied Campion as I had envied no man before. He was alive in heartand soul and brain; I was not quite alive even yet. But I felt betterfor meeting him. I told him so. He tugged his beard again and laughed. 

"I am a happy old crank. Perhaps that's the reason. "

At the door of the hall of the Lambeth Ethical Society he stopped shortand turned on me; his jaw dropped and he regarded me in dismay. 

"I'm the flightiest and feather-headedest ass that ever brayed, " heinformed me. "I just remember I sent Miss Faversham a ticket forthis meeting about a fortnight ago. I had clean forgotten it, thoughsomething uncomfortable has been tickling the back of my head all thetime. I'm miserably sorry. "

I hastened to reassure him. "Miss Faversham and I are still goodfriends. I don't think she'll mind my nodding to her from the other sideof the room. " Indeed, she had written me one or two letters since myrecovery perfect in tact and sympathy, and had put her loyal friendshipat my service. 

"Even if we meet, " I smiled, "nothing tragic will happen. "

He expressed his relief. 

"But what, " I asked, "is Miss Faversham doing in this galley?"

"I suppose she is displaying an intelligent interest in modern thought, "he said, with boyish delight at the chance I had offered him. 

"_Touche_, " said I, with a bow, and we entered the hall. 

It was crowded. The audience consisted of the better class of artisans, tradesmen, and foremen in factories: there was a sprinkling ofblack-coated clerks and unskilled labouring men. A few women's hatssprouted here and there among the men's heads like weeds in a desert. There were women, too, in proportionately greater numbers, on theplatform at the end of the hall, and among them I was quick to noticeEleanor Faversham. As Campion disliked platforms and high places insynagogues, we sat on one of the benches near the door. He explained itwas also out of consideration for me. 

"If Milligan is too strong for your proud, aristocratic stomach, " hewhispered, "you can cut and run without attracting attention. "

Milligan had evidently just began his discourse. I had not listened tohim for five minutes when I found myself caught in the grip which he wasfamous for fastening on his audience. With his subject--Nationalisationof the Land--and his arguments I had been perfectly familiar for years. As a boy I had read Henry George's "Progress and Poverty" with thesuperciliousness of the young believer in the divine right of Britain'slanded gentry, and before the Eton Debating Society I had demolished thewhole theory to my own and every one else's satisfaction. Later, asa practical politician, I had kept myself abreast of the Socialistmovement. I did not need Mr. John Milligan, whom my lingering flippancyhad called a son of thunder, to teach me the elements of the matter. Butat this peculiar crisis of my life I felt that, in a queer, unknown way, Milligan had a message for me. It was uncanny. I sat and listened tothe exposition of Utopia with the rapt intensity of any cheesemonger'sassistant there before whose captured spirit floated the vision of daysto come when the land should so flow with milk and money that goldencheeses would be like buttercups for the plucking. It was not the man'sgospel that fascinated me nor his illuminated prophecy of the millenniumthat produced the vibrations in my soul, but the surging passion of hisfaith, the tempest of his enthusiasm. I had enough experience of publicspeaking to distinguish between the theatrical and the genuine inoratory. Here was no tub-thumping soothsayer, but an inspired zealot. Helived his impassioned creed in every fibre of his frame and faculties. He was Titanic, this rough miner, in his unconquerable hope, divine inhis yearning love of humanity. 

When he ended there was a dead silence for a second, and then a roar ofapplause from the pale, earnest, city-stamped faces. A lump rose in mythroat. Campion clutched my knee. A light burned in his eyes. 

"Well? What about Boanerges?"

"Only one thing, " said I, "I wish I were as alive as that man. "

A negligible person proposed a vote of thanks to Milligan, after whichthe hall began to empty. Campion, caught by a group of his proletariatfriends, signalled to me to wait for him. And as I waited I saw EleanorFaversham come slowly from the platform down the central gangway. Hereyes fixed themselves on me at once--for standing there alone I musthave been a conspicuous figure, an intruder from the gorgeous West--andwith a little start of pleasure she hurried her pace. I made my way pastthe chattering loiterers in my row, and met her. We shook hands. 

"Well? Saul among the prophets? Who would have thought of seeing youhere!"

I waved my hand towards Campion. "We have the same sponsor. " She glancedat him for a swift instant and then at me. 

"Did you like it?"

"Have you seen Niagara?"

"Yes. "

"Did you like it?"

"I'm so glad, " she cried. "I thought perhaps----" she broke off. "Whyhaven't you tried to see me?"

"There are certain conventions. "

"I know, " she said. "They're idiotic. "

"There's also Mrs. Faversham, " said I. 

"Mother is the dearest thing in life, " she replied, "but Mrs. Favershamis a convention. " She came nearer to me, in order to allow a freerpassage down the gangway and also in order to be out of earshot of anelderly woman who was obviously accompanying her. "Simon, I've been agood friend to you. I believe in you. Nothing will shake my convictions. You couldn't look into my eyes like that if--well--you know. "

"I couldn't, " said I. 

"Then why can't two honourable, loyal people meet? We only need meetonce. But I want to tell you things I can't write--things I can'tsay here. I also want to hear of things. I think I've got a kind ofclaim--haven't I?"

"I've told you, Eleanor. My letters--"

"Letters are rubbish!" she declared with a laugh. "Where can we meet?"

"Agatha is a good soul, " said I. 

"Well, fix it up by telephone to-morrow. "

"Alas!" said I; "I don't run to telephones in my eagle's nest onHimalaya Mansions. "

She knitted her brows. "That's not the last address you wrote from. "

"No, " I replied, smiling at this glimpse of the matter-of-fact Eleanor. "It was a joke. "

"You're incorrigible!" she said rebukingly. 

"I don't joke so well in rags as in silken motley, " I returned with asmile, "but I do my best. "

She disdained a retort. "We'll arrange, anyhow, with Agatha. "

Campion, escaping from his friends, came up and chatted for a minute. Then he saw Eleanor and her companion to their carriage. 

"Now, " said he a moment later, "come to Barbara and have some supper. You won't mind if Jenkins joins us?"

"Who's Jenkins?" I asked. 

"Jenkins is an intelligent gas-fitter of Sociological tastes. He classesHerbert Spencer, Benjamin Kidd, and Lombroso as light literature. Healso helps us with our young criminals. I should like you to meet him. "

"I should be delighted, " I said. 

So Jenkins was summoned from a little knot a few yards off and dulypresented. Whereupon we proceeded to Campion's plain but comfortablyfurnished quarters in Barbara's Building, where he entertained us tillnearly midnight with cold beef and cheese and strenuous conversation. 

As I walked across Westminster Bridge on my homeward way it seemed asif London had grown less hostile. Big Ben chimed twelve and there was adistinct Dick Whittington touch about the music. The light on thetower no longer mocked me. As I passed by the gates of Palace Yard, a policeman on duty recognised me and saluted. I strode on with aspringier tread and noticed that the next policeman who did not know me, still regarded me with an air of benevolence. A pale moon shone in theheavens and gave me shyly to understand that she was as much my moon asany one else's. As I turned into Victoria Street, omnibuses passedme with a lurch of friendliness. The ban was lifted. I danced(figuratively) along the pavement. 

What it portended I did not realise. I was conscious of nothing but aspiritual exhilaration comparable only with the physical exhilarationI experienced in the garden at Algiers when my bodily health had beenfinally established. As the body then felt the need of expressing itselfin violent action--in leaping and running (an impulse which I firmlysubdued), so now did my spirit crave some sort of expression in violentemotion. I was in a mood for enraptured converse with an archangel. 

Looking back, I see that Campion's friendly "Hallo" had awakened me froma world of shadows and set me among realities; the impact of Milligan'svehement personality had changed the conditions of my life from staticto dynamic; and that a Providence which is not always as ironical asit pleases us to assert had sent Eleanor Faversham's graciousness tomitigate the severity of the shock. I see how just was Lola's diagnosis. "You're not quite alive even yet. " I had been going about in a state ofsuspended spiritual animation. 

My recovery dated from that evening. 

CHAPTER XIX

Agatha proved herself the good soul I had represented her to be. 

"Certainly, dear, " she said when I came the following morning with myrequest. "You can have my boudoir all to yourselves. "

"I am grateful, " said I, "and for the first time I forgive you forcalling it by that abominable name. "

It was an old quarrel between us. Every lover of language picks outcertain words in common use that he hates with an unreasoning ferocity. 

"I'll change it's title if you like, " she said meekly. 

"If you do, my dear Agatha, my gratitude will be eternal. "

"I remember a certain superior person, when Tom and I were engaged, calling mother's boudoir--the only quiet place in the house--theosculatorium. "

She laughed with the air of a small bird who after long waiting had atlast got even with a hawk. But I did not even smile. For the only timein our lives I considered that Agatha had committed a breach of goodtaste. I said rather stiffly:

"It is not going to be a lovers' meeting, my dear. "

She flushed. "It was silly of me. But why shouldn't it be a lovers'meeting?" she added audaciously. "If nothing had happened, you two wouldhave been married by this time--"

"Not till June. "

"Oh, yes, you would. I should have seen about that--a ridiculously longengagement. Anyhow, it was only your illness that broke it off. You weretold you were going to die. You did the only honourable and sensiblething--both of you. Now you're in splendid health again--"

"Stop, stop!" I interrupted. "You seem to be entirely oblivious of thecircumstances--"

"I'm oblivious of no circumstances. Neither is Eleanor. And if she stillcares for you she won't care twopence for the circumstances. I know Iwouldn't. "

And to cut off my reply she clapped the receiver of the telephone to herear and called up Eleanor, with whom she proceeded to arrange a date forthe interview. Presently she screwed her head round. 

"She says she can come at four this afternoon. Will that suit you?"

"Perfectly, " said I. 

When she replaced the receiver I stepped behind her and put my hands onher shoulders. 

"'The mother of mischief, '" I quoted, "'is no bigger than a midge'swing, ' and the grandmother is the match-making microbe that lurks inevery woman's system. "

She caught one of my hands and looked up into my face. 

"You're not cross with me, Simon?"

Her tone was that of the old Agatha. I laughed, remembering thepoliceman's salute of the previous night, and noted this recovery ofmy ascendancy as another indication of the general improvement in theattitude of London. 

"Of course not, Tom Tit, " said I, calling her by her nursery name. "ButI absolutely forbid your thinking of playing Fairy Godmother. "

"You can forbid my playing, " she laughed, "and I can obey you. But youcan't prevent my thinking. Thought is free. "

"Sometimes, my dear, " I retorted, "it is better chained up. "

With this rebuke I left her. No doubt, she considered a renewal of myengagement with Eleanor Faversham a romantic solution of difficulties. I could only regard it as preposterous, and as I walked back to VictoriaStreet I convinced myself that Eleanor's frank offer of friendshipproved that such an idea never entered her head. I took vehement painsto convince myself Spring had come; like the year, I had awakened frommy lethargy. I viewed life through new eyes; I felt it with a new heart. Such vehement pains I was not capable of taking yesterday. 

"It has never entered her head!" I declared conclusively. 

And yet, as we sat together a few hours later in Agatha's little room adoubt began to creep into the corners of my mind. In her strong wayshe had brushed away the scandal that hung around my name. She did notbelieve a word of it. I told her of my loss of fortune. My lunacyrather raised than lowered me in her esteem. How then was I personallydifferent from the man she had engaged herself to marry six monthsbefore? I remembered our parting. I remembered her letters. Her presencehere was proof of her unchanging regard. But was it something more? Wasthere a hope throbbing beneath that calm sweet surface to which I didnot respond? For it often happens that the more direct a woman is, themore in her feminine heart is she elusive. 

Clean-built, clean-hearted, clean-eyed, of that clean complexion whichsuggests the open air, Eleanor impressed you with a sense of bodily andmental wholesomeness. Her taste in dress ran in the direction of plaintailor-made gowns (I am told, by the way, that these can be fairlyexpensive), and shrank instinctively from the frills and fripperies towhich daughters of Eve are notoriously addicted. She spoke in a clearvoice which some called hard, though I never found it so; she carriedherself proudly. Chaste in thought, frank in deed, she was a perfectspecimen of the highly bred, purely English type of woman who, lookingat facts squarely in the face, accepts them as facts and does not allowher imagination to dally in any atmosphere wherein they may be invested. To this type a vow is irrefragable. Loyalty is inherent in her likeher blood. She never changes. What feminine inconsistencies she hadat fifteen she retains at five-and-twenty, and preserves to add to thecharms of her old age. She is the exemplary wife, the great-heartedmother of children. She has sent her sons in thousands to fight hercountry's battles overseas. Those things which lie in the outer temperof her soul she gives lavishly. That which is hidden in her inner shrinehas to be wrested from her by the one hand she loves. Was mine thathand?

It will be perceived that I was beginning to take life seriously. 

Eleanor must have also perceived something of the sort; for during ourtalk she said irrelevantly:

"You've changed!"

"In what way?" I asked. 

"I don't know. You're not the same as you were. I seem to know youbetter in some ways, and yet I seem to know you less. Why is it?"

I said, "No one can go through the Valley of the Grotesque as I havedone without suffering some change. "

"I don't see why you should call it 'the Valley of the Grotesque. '"

I smiled at her instinctive rejection of the fanciful. 

"Don't you? Call it the Valley of the Shadow, if you like. But don'tyou think the attendant circumstances were rather mediaeval, gargoyley, Orcagnesque? Don't you think the whole passage lacked the dignity whichone associates with the Valley of the Shadow of Death?"

"You mean the murder?" she said with a faint shiver. 

"That, " said I, "might be termed the central feature. Just look atthings as they happened. I am condemned to death. I try to face it likea man and a gentleman. I make my arrangements. I give up what I can callmine no longer. I think I will devote the rest of my days to performingsuch acts of helpfulness and charity as would be impossible for a soundman with a long life before him to undertake. I do it in a half-jestingspirit, refusing to take death seriously. I pledge myself to an act ofhelpfulness which I regard at first as merely an incident in my careerof beneficence. I am gradually caught in the tangle of a drama which attimes develops into sheer burlesque, and before I can realise what isgoing to happen, it turns into ghastly tragedy. I am overwhelmed ingrotesque disaster--it is the only word. Instead of creating happinessall around me, I have played havoc with human lives. I stand on thebrink and look back and see that it is all one gigantic devil-jest atmy expense. I thank God I am going to die. I do die--for practicalpurposes. I come back to life and--here I am. Can I be quite the sameperson I was a year ago?"

She reflected for a few moments. Then she said:

"No. You can't be--quite the same. A man of your nature would eitherhave his satirical view of life hardened into bitter cynicism or hewould be softened by suffering and face things with new and noblerideals. He would either still regard life as a jest--but instead of itsbeing an odd, merry jest it would be a grim, meaningless, hideous one;or he would see that it wasn't a jest at all, but a full, wonderful, bigreality. I've expressed myself badly, but you see what I mean. "

"And what do you think has happened?" I asked. 

"I think you have changed for the better. "

I smiled inwardly. It sounded rather dull. I said with a smile:

"You never liked my cap and bells, Eleanor. "

"No!" she replied emphatically. "What's the use of mockery? See where itled you. "

I rose, half-laughing at her earnestness, half-ashamed of myself, andtook a couple of turns across the room. 

"You're right, " I cried. "It led me to perdition. You might make anallegory out of my career and entitle it 'The Mocker's Progress. '" Ipaused for a second or two, and then said suddenly, "Why did you fromthe first refuse to believe what everybody else does--before I had thechance of looking you in the eyes?"

She averted her face. "You forget that I had had the chance of searchingdeep beneath the mocker. "

I cannot, in reverence to her, set down what she said she found there. Istood humbled and rebuked, as a man must do when the best in him is laidout before his sight by a good woman. 

A maidservant brought in tea, set the table, and departed, Eleanor drewoff her gloves and my glance fell on her right hand. 

"It's good of you to wear my ring to-day, " I said. 

"To-day?" she echoed, with the tiniest touch of injury in her voice. "Doyou think I put it on to just please you to-day?"

"It would have been gracious of you to do so, " said I. 

"It wouldn't, " she declared. "It would have been mawkish andsentimental. When we parted I told you to do what you liked with thering. Do you remember? You put it on this finger"--she waved her righthand--"and there it has stayed ever since. "

I caught the hand and touched it lightly with my lips. She colouredfaintly. 

"Two lumps of sugar and no milk, I think that's right?" She handed methe tea-cup. 

"It's like you not to have forgotten. "

"I'm a practical person, " she replied with a laugh. 

Presently she said, "Tell me more about your illness--or rather yourrecovery. I know nothing except that you had a successful operationwhich all the London surgeons said was impossible. Who nursed you?"

"I had a trained nurse, " said I. 

"Wasn't Madame Brandt with you?"

"Yes, " said I. "She was very good to me. In fact, I think I owe her mylife. "

Hitherto the delicacy of the situation had caused me to refer to Lolano more than was necessary, and in my narrative I had purposely left hervague. 

"That's a great debt, " said Eleanor. 

"It is, indeed. "

"You're not the man to leave such a debt unpaid?"

"I try to repay it by giving Madame Brandt my devoted friendship. "

Her eyes never wavered as they held mine. 

"That's one of the things I wanted to know. Tell me something abouther. "

I felt some surprise, as Eleanor was of a nature too proud forcuriosity. 

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because she interests me intensely. Is she young?"

"About thirty-two. "

"Good-looking?"

"She is a woman of remarkable personality. "

"Describe her. "

I tried, stumbled, and halted. The effort evoked in my mind a pictureof Lola lithe, seductive, exotic, with gold flecks in her dusky, meltingeyes, with strong shapely arms that had as yet only held me motherwise, with her pantherine suggestion of tremendous strength in languorousrepose, with her lazy gestures and parted lips showing the wonderfulwhite even teeth, with all her fascination and charm--a picture of Lolasuch as I had not seen since my emergence from the Valley--a picture ofLola, generous, tender, wistful, strong, yielding, fragrant, lovable, desirable, amorous--a picture of Lola which I could not put before thisother woman equally brave and straight, who looked at me composedly outof her calm, blue eyes. 

My description resolved itself into a loutish catalogue. 

"It is not painful to you to talk of her, Simon?"

"Not at all. There are not many great-hearted women going about. It ismy privilege to know two. "

"Am I the other?"

"Who else?"

"I'm glad you have the courage to class Madame Brandt and myselftogether. "

"Why?" I asked. 

"It proves beyond a doubt that you are honest with me. Now tell meabout a few externals--things that don't matter--but help one to form animpression. Is she educated?"

"From books, no; from observation, yes. "

"Her manners?"

"Observation had educated them. "

"Accent?"

"She is sufficiently polyglot to have none. "

"She dresses and talks and behaves generally like a lady?"

"She does, " said I. 

"In what way then does she differ from the women of our class?"

"She is less schooled, less reticent, franker, more natural. What is onher tongue to say, she says. "

"Temper?"

"I have never heard her say an angry word to or of a human creature. Shehas queer delicacies of feeling. For instance----"

I told her of Anastasius Papadopoulos's tawdry, gimcrack presents whichLola has suffered to remain in her drawing-room so as not to hurt thepoor little wretch. 

"That's very touching. Where does she live?"

"She has a flat in Cadogan Gardens. "

"Is she in London now?"

"Yes. "

"I should like very much to know her, " she said calmly. 

I vow and declare again that the more straightforward and open-eyed, theless subtle, temperamental, and neurotic are women, the more are theybaffling. I had wondered for some time whither the catechism tended, and now, with a sudden jerk, it stopped short at this most unexpectedterminus. It was startling. I rose and mechanically placed my emptytea-cup on the tray by her side. 

"The wish, my dear Eleanor, " said I, quite formally, "does great creditto your heart. "

There was a short pause, marking an automatic close of the subject. Deeply as I admired both women, I shrank from the idea of their meeting. It seemed curiously indelicate, in view both of my former engagementto Eleanor and of Lola's frank avowal of her feelings towards me beforewhat I shall always regard as my death. It is true that we had neveralluded to it since my resurrection; but what of that? Lola's feelings, I was sure, remained unaltered. It also flashed on me that, with all thegoodwill in the world, Eleanor would not understand Lola. An interviewwould develop into a duel. I pictured it for a second, and my suddenfierce partisanship for Lola staggered me. Decidedly an acquaintancebetween these two was preposterous. 

The silence was definite enough to mark a period, but not long enough tocause embarrassment. Eleanor commented on my present employment. I mustfind it good to get back to politics. 

"I find it to the contrary, " said I, with a laugh. "My convictions, always lukewarm, are now stone-cold. I don't say that the principles ofthe party are wrong. But they're wrong for me, which is all-important. If they are not right for me, what care I how right they be? And as Idon't believe in those of the other side, I'm going to give up politicsaltogether. "

"What will you do?"

"I don't know. I honestly don't. But I have an insistent premonitionthat I shall soon find myself doing something utterly idiotic, which tome will be the most real thing in life. "

I had indeed awakened that morning with an exhilarating thrill ofanticipation, comparable to that of the mountain climber who knows notwhat panorama of glory may be disclosed to his eyes when he reaches thesummit. I had whistled in my bath--a most unusual thing. 

"Are you going to turn Socialist?"

"_Qui lo sa_? I'm willing to turn anything alive and honest. It doesn'tmatter what a man professes so long as he professes it with all thefaith of all his soul. "

I broke into a laugh, for the echo of my words rang comic in my ears. 

"Why do you laugh?" she asked. 

"Don't you think it funny to hear me talk like a two-penny Carlyle?"

"Not a bit, " she said seriously. 

"I can't undertake to talk like that always, " I said warningly. 

"I thought you said you were going to be serious. "

"So I am--but platitudinous--Heaven forbid!"

The little clock on the mantelpiece struck six. Eleanor rose in alarm. 

"How the time has flown! I must be getting back. Well?"

Our eyes met. "Well?" said I. 

"Are we ever to meet again?"

"It's for you to say. "

"No, " she said. And then very distinctly, very deliberately, "It's foryou. "

I understood. She made the offer simply, nobly, unreservedly. My heartwas filled with great gratitude. She was so true, so loyal, so thorough. Why could I not take her at her word? I murmured:

"I'll remember what you say. "

She put out her hand. "Good-bye!"

"Good-bye and God bless you!" I said. 

I accompanied her to the front door, hailed a passing cab, and waitedtill she had driven off. Was there ever a sweeter, grander, more loyalwoman? The three little words had changed the current of my being. 

I returned to take leave of Agatha. I found her in the drawing-roomreading a novel. She twisted her head sideways and regarded me with abird-like air of curiosity. 

"Eleanor gone?"

Her tone jarred on me. I nodded and dropped into a chair. 

"Interview passed off satisfactorily?"

"We were quite comfortable, thank you. The only drawback was the tea. Why a woman in your position can't give people China tea instead of thatCeylon syrup will be a mystery to me to my dying day. "

She rose in her wrath and shook me. 

"You're the most aggravating wretch on earth!"

"My dear Tom-Tit, " said I gravely. "Remember the moral tale ofBluebeard. "

"Look here, Simon"--she planted herself in front of me--"I'm not a bitinquisitive. I don't in the least want to know what passed between youand Eleanor. But what I would give my ears to understand is how youcan go through a two hours' conversation with the girl you were engagedto--a conversation which must have affected the lives of both ofyou--and then come up to me and talk drivel about China tea andBluebeard. "

"Once on a time, my dear, " said I, "I flattered myself on being anartist in life. I am humbler now and acknowledge myself a wretchedbungling amateur. But I still recognise the value of chiaroscuro. "

"You're hopeless, " said Agatha, somewhat crossly. "You get more flippantand cynical every day. "

CHAPTER XX

I went home to my solitary dinner, and afterwards took down a volume ofEmerson and tried to read. I thought the cool and spacious philosophermight allay a certain fever in my blood. But he did nothing of the kind. He wrote for cool and spacious people like himself; not for corpseslike me revivified suddenly with an overcharge of vital force. I pitchedhim--how much more truly companionable is a book than its author!--Ipitched him across the room, and thrusting my hands in my pockets andstretching out my legs, stared in a certain wonder at myself. 

I, Simon de Gex, was in love; and, _horribile dictu!_ in love with twowomen at once. It was Oriental, Mormonic, New Century, what you will;but there it was. I am ashamed to avow that if, at that moment, bothwomen had appeared before me and said "Marry us, " I should have--well, reflected seriously on the proposal. I had passed through curious enoughexperiences, Heaven knows, already; but none so baffling as this. Thetwo women came alternately and knocked at my heart, and whispered in myear their irrefutable claims to my love. I listened throbbingly to each, and to each I said, "I love you. "

I was in an extraordinary psychological predicament. Lola had remarked, "You are not quite alive even yet. " I had come to complete life toosuddenly. This was the result. I got up and paced the bird-cage, whichthe house-agents termed a reception-room, and wondered whether I weregoing mad. It was not as if one woman represented the flesh and theother the spirit. Then I might have seen the way to a decision. But bothhad the large nature that comprises all. I could not exalt one inany way to the abasement of the other. All my inherited traditions, prejudices, predilections, all my training ranged me on the side ofEleanor. I was clamouring for the real. Was she not the incarnationof the real? Her very directness piqued me to a perverse and deliciousobliquity. And I knew, as I knew when I parted from her months before, that it was only for me to awaken things that lay virginally dormant. On the other hand stood Lola, with her magnetic seduction, her richatmosphere, her great wide simplicity of heart, holding out arms intowhich I longed to throw myself. 

It was monstrous, abnormal. I hated the abominable indelicacy ofweighing one against the other, as I had hated the idea of theirmeeting. 

I paced my bird-cage until it shrank to the size of a rat-trap. ThenI clapped on my hat and fled down into the streets. I jumped into thefirst cab I saw and bade the driver take me to Barbara's Building. Campion suddenly occurred to me as the best antidote to the poison thathad entered my blood. 

I found him alone, clearing from the table the remains of supper. Inspite of his soul's hospitable instincts, he stared at me. 

"Why, what the----?"

"Yes, I know. You're surprised to see me bursting in on you like a wildanimal. I'm not going to do it every night, but this evening I claim abit of our old friendship. "

"Claim it all, my dear de Gex!" he said cordially. "What can I do foryou?"

It was characteristic of Campion to put his question in that form. Ninety-nine men out of a hundred would have asked what was the matterwith me. But Campion, who all his life had given, wanted to know what hecould co. 

"Tell me fairy tales of Lambeth and idylls of the Waterloo Bridge Road. Or light your pipe and talk to me of Barbara. "

He folded up the tablecloth and put it in the sideboard drawer. 

"If it's elegant distraction you want, " said he, "I can do betterthan that. " He planted himself in front of me. "Would you like to do anight's real work?"

"Certainly, " said I. 

"A gentleman of my acquaintance named Judd is in the ramping stage of_delirium tremens_. He requires a couple of men to hold him down so asto prevent him from getting out of bed and smashing his furniture andhis wife and things. I was going to relieve one of the fellows therenow, so that he can get a few hours' sleep, and if you like to comeand relieve the other, you'll be doing a good action. But I warn you itwon't be funny. "

"I'm in the mood for anything, " I said. 

"You'll come?"

"Of course. "

"That's splendid!" he shouted. "I hardly thought you were in earnest. Wait till I telephone for some medicine to be sent up from thedispensary. I promised to take it round with me. "

He telephoned instructions, and presently a porter brought in themedicine. Campion explained that it had been prescribed by the doctorattached to the institution who was attending the case. 

"You must come and see the working of our surgery and dispensary!" hecried enthusiastically. "We charge those who can afford a sixpence forvisit and medicine. Those who can't are provided, after inquiry, withcoupons. We don't want to encourage the well-to-do to get their medicaladvice gratis, or we wouldn't be able to cope with the really poor. Wepay the doctor a fixed salary, and the fees go to the general fund ofthe Building, so it doesn't matter a hang to him whether a patient paysor not. "

"You must be proud of all this, Campion?" I said. 

"In a way, " he replied, lighting his pipe; "but it's mainly a questionof money--my poor old father's money which he worked for, not I. "

I reminded him that other sons had been known to put their poor oldfather's money to baser uses. 

"I suppose Barbara is more useful to the community that steam yachts orracing stables; but there, you see, I hate yachting because I'm alwayssea-sick, and I scarcely know which end of a horse you put the bridleon. Every man to his job. This is mine. I like it. "

"I wonder whether holding down people suffering from _delirium tremens_is my job, " said I. "If so, I'm afraid I shan't like it. "

"If it's really your job, " replied Campion, "you will. You must. Youcan't help it. God made man so. "

It was only an hour or two later when, for the first time in my life, Icame into practical touch with human misery, that I recognised the truthof Campion's perfervid optimism. No one could like our task that nightin its outer essence. For a time it revolted me. The atmosphere ofthe close, dirty room, bedroom, kitchen, dining-room, sitting-room, bathroom, laundry--all in one, the home of man, wife and two children, caught me by the throat. It was sour. The physical contact with theflesh of the unclean, gibbering, shivering, maniacal brute on the foulbed was unutterably repugnant to me. Now and again, during intervalsof comparative calm, I was forced to put my head out of the window tobreathe the air of the street. Even that was tainted, for a fried-fishshop across the way and a public-house next door billowed forth theirnauseating odours. After a while access to the window was denied me. A mattress and some rude coverings were stretched beneath it--thechildren's bed--on which we persuaded the helpless, dreary wife to liedown and try to rest. A neighbour had taken in the children for thenight. The wife was a skinny, grey-faced, lined woman of six-and-twenty. In her attitude of hopeless incompetence she shed around her anatmosphere of unspeakable depression. Although I could not get to thewindow, I was glad when she lay down and spared me the sight ofher moving fecklessly about the room or weeping huddled up on abroken-backed wooden chair and looking more like a half-animateddish-clout than a woman. 

The poor wretch on the bed was a journeyman tailor who, when sober, could earn fair wages. The cry of the wife, before Campion awed herinto comparative silence, was a monotonous upbraiding of her husband forbringing them down to this poverty. It seemed impossible to touch herintelligence and make her understand that no words from her or any onecould reach his consciousness. His violence, his screams, his threats, the horrors of his fear left her unmoved. We were there to guard herfrom physical danger, and that to her was all that mattered. 

In the course of an hour or so the nausea left me. I felt braced by thegrimness of the thing, and during the paroxysms I had no time to thinkof anything but the mechanical work in hand. It was all that Campion andI, both fairly able-bodied men, could do to keep the puny little tailorin his bed. Horrible shapes menaced him from which he fought madly toescape. He writhed and shrieked with terror. Once he caught my hand inhis teeth and bit it, and Campion had some difficulty in relaxingthe wretch's jaw. Between the paroxysms Campion and I sat on the bedwatching him, scarcely exchanging a word. The wife, poor creature, whimpered on her mattress. It was not a pleasant vigil. It lasted tillthe grey dawn crept in, pitilessly intensifying the squalor of the room, and until the dawn was broadening into daylight. Then two of Campion'smen from Barbara's Building arrived to relieve us. Before we went, however, the neighbour who had taken charge of the children came in tohelp the slatternly wife light a fire and make some tea. I have enjoyedfew things more than the warm, bitter stuff which I drank out of thebroken mug in that strange and depressing company. 

I went out into the street with racked head and nerves and muscles. Campion kept his cloth cap in his hand, allowing the morning wind toruffle his shaggy black hair, and drew a long breath. 

"I think the worst is over now. As soon as he can be moved, I'll get himdown to the annexe at Broadstairs. The sea air will pull him round. "

"Isn't it rather hopeless?" I asked. 

He turned on me. "Nothing's hopeless. If you once start the hopelessgame down here you'd better distribute cyanide of potassium instead ofcoals and groceries. I've made up my mind to get that man decent again, and, by George, I'm going to do it! Fancy those two weaklings producinghealthy offspring. But they have. Two of the most intelligent kidsin the district. If you hold up your hands and say it's awful tocontemplate their upbringing you're speaking the blatant truth. It'sthe contemplation that's awful. But why contemplate when you can dosomething?"

I admitted the justice of the remark. He went on. 

"Look at yourself now. If you had gone in with me last night and juststared at the poor devil howling with D. T. In that filthy place, you'dhave come out sick and said it was awful. Instead of that, you buckledto and worked and threw off everything save our common humanity, andhave got interested in the Judds in spite of yourself. You'll go and seethem again and do what you can for them, won't you?"

I was not in a merry mood, but I laughed. Campion had read the intentionthat had vaguely formulated itself in the back of my mind. 

"Of course I will, " I said. 

We walked on a few steps down the still silent, disheartening streetwithout speaking. Then he tugged his beard, half-halted, and glanced atme quickly. 

"See here, " said he, "the more sensible people I can get in to helpus the better. Would you like me to hand you over the Judd family _enbloc_?"

This was startling to the amateur philanthropist. But it is the way ofall professionals to regard their own business as of absorbing interestto the outside world. The stockbroking mind cannot conceive a saneman indifferent to the fluctuations of the money market, and to theprofessional cricketer the wide earth revolves around a wicket. How inthe world could I be fairy godfather to the Judd family? Campion took mycompetence for granted. 

"You may not understand exactly what I mean, my dear Campion, " saidI; "but I attribute the most unholy disasters of my life to a ghastlyattempt of mine to play Deputy Providence. "

"But who's asking you to play Deputy Providence?" he shouted. "It's thevery last idiot thing I want done. I want you to do certain definitepractical work for that family under the experienced direction of theauthorities at Barbara's Building. There, do you understand now?"

"Very well, I'll do anything you like. "

Thus it befell that I undertook to look after the moral, material, andspiritual welfare of the family of an alcoholic tailor by the name ofJudd who dwelt in a vile slum in South Lambeth. My head was full of theprospect when I awoke at noon, for I had gone exhausted to sleep as soonas I reached home. If goodwill, backed by the experience of Barbara'sBuilding, could do aught towards the alleviation of human misery, Idetermined that it should be done. And there was much misery to bealleviated in the Judd family. I had no clear notion of the meanswhereby I was to accomplish this; but I knew that it would be aphilanthropic pursuit far different from my previous eumoirouswanderings abut London when, with a mind conscious of well-doing, Idistributed embarrassing five-pound notes to the poor and needy. 

I had known--what comfortable, well-fed gentleman does not?--that withineasy walking distance of his London home thousands of human beings livelike the beasts that perish; but never before had I spent an intimatenight in one of the foul dens where the living and perishing take place. The awful pity of it entered my soul. 

So deeply was I impressed with the responsibility of what I hadundertaken, so grimly was I haunted by the sight of the pallid, howlingtravesty of a man and the squeezed-out, whimpering woman, that thememory of the conflicting emotions that had driven me to Campion thenight before returned to me with a shock. 

"It strikes me, " I murmured, as I shaved, "that I am living veryintensely indeed. Here am I in love with two women at once, and almosthysterically enthusiastic over a delirious tailor. " Then I cut my cheekand murmured no more, until the operation was concluded. 

I had arranged to accompany Lola that afternoon to the ZoologicalGardens. This was a favourite resort of hers. She was on intimate termswith keepers and animals, and her curious magnetism allowed her to playsuch tricks with lions and tigers and other ferocious beasts as mademy blood run cold. As for the bears, they greeted her approach withshrieking demonstrations of affection. On such occasions I felt the samecurious physical antipathy as I did when she had dominated Anastasius'sill-conditioned cat. She seemed to enter another sphere of being inwhich neither I nor anything human had a place. 

With some such dim thoughts in my head, I reached her door in CadoganGardens. The sight of her electric brougham that stood waiting switchedmy thoughts into another groove, but one running oddly parallel. Electric broughams also carried her out of my sphere. I had humblyperformed the journey thither in an omnibus. 

She received me in her big, expansive way. 

"Lord! How good it is to see you. I was getting the--I was going to say'the blind hump'--but you don't like it. I was going to turn crazy andbite the furniture. "

"Why?" I asked with masculine directness. 

"I've been trying to educate myself--to read poetry. Look here"--shecaught a small brown-covered octavo volume from the table. "I can't makehead or tail of it. It proved to me that it was no use. If I couldn'tunderstand poetry, I couldn't understand anything. It was no good tryingto educate myself. I gave it up. And then I got what you don't like meto call the hump. "

"You dear Lola!" I cried, laughing. "I don't believe any one has evermade head or tail out of 'Sordello. ' There once was a man who saidthere were only two intelligible lines in the poem--the first and thelast--and that both were lies. 'Who will, may hear Sordello's storytold, ' and 'Who would, has heard Sordello's story told. ' Don't worryabout not understanding it. "

"Don't you?"

"Not a bit, " said I. 

"That's a comfort, " she said, with a generous sigh of relief. "How wellyou're looking!" she cried suddenly. "You're a different man. What haveyou been doing to yourself?"

"I've grown quite alive. "

"Good! Delightful! So am I. Quite alive now, thank you. "

She looked it, in spite of the black outdoor costume. But there was adash of white at her throat and some white lilies of the valley inher bosom, and a white feather in her great black hat poised with aGainsborough swagger on the mass of her bronze hair. 

"It's the spring, " she added. 

"Yes, " said I, "it's the spring. "

She approached me and brushed a few specks of dust from my shoulder. 

"You want a new suit of clothes, Simon. "

"Dear me!" said I, glancing hastily over the blue serge suit in which Ihad lounged at Mustapha Superieur. "I suppose I do. "

It occurred to me that my wardrobe generally needed replenishing. I hadbeen unaccustomed to think of these things, the excellent Rogers and hispredecessors having done most of the thinking for me. 

"I'll go to Poole's at once, " said I. 

And then it struck me, to my whimsical dismay, that in the presentprecarious state of my finances, especially in view of my decision toabandon political journalism in favour of I knew not what occupation, Icould not afford to order clothes largely from a fashionable tailor. 

"I shouldn't have mentioned it, " said Lola apologetically, "but you'realways so spick and span. "

"And now I'm getting shabby!"

I threw back my head and laughed at the new and comical conception ofSimon de Gex down at heel. 

"Oh, not shabby!" echoed Lola. 

"Yes, my dear. The days of purple and fine linen are _vorbei_. You'llhave to put up with me in a threadbare coat and frayed cuffs and raggedhems to my trousers. "

Lola declared that I was talking rubbish. 

"Not quite such rubbish as you may think, my dear. Shall you mind?"

"It would break my heart. But why do you talk so? You can't be--aspoor--as that?"

Her face manifested such tragic concern that I laughed. Besides, theidea of personal poverty amused me. When I gave up my political workI should only have what I had saved from my wreck--some two hundred ayear--to support me until I should find some other means of livelihood. It was enough to keep me from starvation, and the little economies I hadbegun to practise afforded me enjoyment. On the other hand, how folksregulated their balance-sheets so as to live on two hundred a year I hadbut a dim notion. In the course of our walk from Barbara's Building tothe Judds the night before I had asked Campion. He had laughed somewhatgrimly. 

"I don't know. I don't run an asylum for spendthrift plutocrats; but ifyou want to see how people live and bring up large families on fifteenshillings a week, I can show you heaps of examples. "

This I felt would, in itself, be knowledge of the deepest interest; butit would in no way aid me to solve my own economic difficulty. I wasalways being brought up suddenly against the problem in some form oranother, and, as I say, it caused me considerable amusement. 

"I shall go on happily enough, " said I, reassuringly. "In the meantimelet us go and see the lions and tigers. "

We started. The electric brougham glided along comfortably through thesunlit streets. A feeling of physical and spiritual content stole overme. Our hands met and lingered a long time in a sympathetic clasp. Whatever fortune held in store for me here at least I had an inalienablepossession. For some time we said nothing, and when our eyes met shesmiled. I think she had never felt my heart so near to hers. At last webroke the silence and talked of ordinary things. I told her of my vigilovernight and my undertaking to look after the Judds. She listenedwith great interest. When I had finished my tale, she said almostpassionately:

"Oh, I wish I could do something like that!"

"You?"

"Why not? I came from those people. My grandfather swept the cages inJamrach's down by the docks. He died of drink. He used to live in onehorrible, squalid room near by. I remember my father taking me to seehim when I was a little girl--we ourselves weren't very much better offat that time. I've been through it, " she shivered. "I know what thatawful poverty is. Sometimes it seems immoral of me to live luxuriouslyas I do now without doing a hand's turn to help. "

"_Chacun a son metier_, my dear, " said I. "There's no need to reproachyourself. "

"But I think it might be my _metier_, " she replied earnestly, "if only Icould learn it. "

"Why haven't you tried, then?"

"I've been lazy and the opportunity hasn't come my way. "

"I'll introduce you to Campion, " I said, "and doubtless he'll be able tofind something for you to do. He has made a science of the matter. I'lltake you down to see him. "

"Will you?"

"Certainly, " said I. There was a pause. Then an idea struck me. "Iwonder, my dear Lola, whether you could apply that curious power youhave over savage animals to the taming of the more brutal of humans. "

"I wonder, " she said thoughtfully. 

"I should like to see you seize a drunken costermonger in the act ofjumping on his wife by the scruff of the neck, and reduce him to suchpulp that he sat up on his tail and begged. "

"Oh, Simon!" she exclaimed reproachfully. "I quite thought you wereserious. "

"So I am, my dear, " I returned quickly, "as serious as I can be. "

She laughed. "Do you remember the first day you came to see me? You saidthat I could train any human bear to dance to whatever tune I pleased. Iwonder if the same thought was at the back of your head. "

"It wasn't. It was a bad and villainous thought. I came under theimpression that you were a dangerous seductress. "

"And I'm not?"

Oh, that spring day, that delicious tingle in the air, that laughingimpertinence of the budding trees in the park through which we were thendriving, that enveloping sense of fragrance and the nearness and thedearness of her! Oh, that overcharge of vitality! I leaned my head tohers so that my lips nearly touched her ear. My voice shook. 

"You're a seductress and a witch and a sorcerer and an enchantress. "

The blood rose to her dark face. She half closed her eyes. 

"What else am I?" she murmured. 

But, alas! I had not time to answer, for the brougham stopped at thegates of the Zoological Gardens. We both awakened from our foolishness. My hand was on the door-handle when she checked me. 

"What's the good of a mind if you can't change it? I don't feel in amood for wild beasts to-day, and I know you don't care to see me foolingabout with them. I would much rather sit quiet and talk to you. "

With a woman who wants to sacrifice herself there is no disputing. Besides, I had no desire to dispute. I acquiesced. We agreed to continueour drive. 

"We'll go round by Hampstead Heath, " she said to the chauffeur. As soonas we were in motion again, she drew ever so little nearer and said, inher lowest, richest notes, and with a coquetry that was bewildering onaccount of its frankness:

"What were we talking of before we pulled up?"

"I don't know what we were talking of, " I said, "but we seem to havetrodden on the fringe of a fairy-tale. "

"Can't we tread on it again?" She laughed happily. 

"You have only to cast the spell of your witchery over me again. "

She drew yet a little nearer and whispered: "I'm trying to do it as hardas I can. "

An adorable softness came into her eyes, and her hand instinctivelyclosed round mine in its boneless clasp. The long pent-up longing ofthe woman vibrated from her in waves that shook me to my soul. My sensesswam. Her face quivered glorious before me in a black world. Her lipswere parted. Careless of all the eyes in all the houses in the AvenueRoad, St. John's Wood, and in the head of a telegraph boy whom I onlynoticed afterwards, I kissed her on the lips. 

All the fulness and strength of life danced through my veins. 

"I told you I was quite alive!" I said with idiotic exultation. 

She closed her eyes and leaned back. "Why did you do that?" shemurmured. 

"Because I love you, " said I. "It has come at last. "

Where we drove I have no recollection. Presumably an impression of greenrolling plain with soft uplands in the distance signified that we passedalong Hampstead Heath; the side thoroughfare with villa residences oneither side may have been Kilburn High Road; the flourishing, busy, noisy suburb may have been Kilburn: the street leading thence tothe Marble Arch may have been Maida Vale. To me they were paths inDreamland. We spoke but little and what we did say was in the simple, commonplace language which all men use in the big crises of life. 

There was no doubt now of my choice. I loved her. Love had come to me atlast. That was all I knew at that hour and all I cared to know. 

Lola was the first to awake from Dreamland. She shivered. I askedwhether she felt cold. 

"No. I can't believe that you love me. I can't. I can't. "

I smiled in a masterful way. "I can soon show you that I do. "

She shook her head. "I'm afraid, Simon, I'm afraid. "

"What of?"

"Myself. "

"Why?"

"I can't tell you. I can't explain. I don't know how to. I've beenwrong--horribly wrong. I'm ashamed. "

She gripped her hands together and looked down at them. I bent forwardso as to see her face, which was full of pain. 

"But, dearest of all women, " I cried, "what in the world have you to beashamed of?"

She paused, moistened her lips with her tongue, and then broke out:

"I'll tell you. A decent lady like your Eleanor Faversham wouldn't tell. But I can't keep these things in. Didn't you begin by saying I was aseductress? No, no, let me talk. Didn't you say I could make a man dowhat I wanted? Well, I wanted you to kiss me. And now you've done it, you think you love me; but you don't, you can't. "

"You're talking the wickedest nonsense that ever proceeded out of thelips of a loving woman, " I said aghast. "I repeat in the most solemn waythat I love you with all my heart. "

"In common decency you couldn't say otherwise. "

Again I saw the futility of disputation. I put my hand on hers. 

"Time will show, dear. At any rate, we have had our hour of fairyland. "

"I wish we hadn't, " she said. "Don't you see it was only my sorcery, asyou call it, that took us there? I meant us to go. "

At last we reached Cadogan Gardens. I descended and handed her out, andwe entered the hall of the mansions. The porter stood with the lift-dooropen. 

"I'm coming up to knock all this foolishness out of your head. "

"No, don't, please, for Heaven's sake!" she whispered imploringly. "Imust be alone--to think it all out. It's only because I love you so. Anddon't come to see me for a day or two--say two days. This is Wednesday. Come on Friday. You think it over as well. And if it's really true--I'llknow then--when you come. Good-bye, dear. Make Gray drive you whereveryou want to go. "

She wrung my hand, turned and entered the lift. The gates swung to andshe mounted out of sight. I went slowly back to the brougham, and gavethe chauffeur the address of my eyrie. He touched his hat. I got inand we drove off. And then, for the first time, it struck me that anabout-to-be-shabby gentleman with a beggarly two hundred a year, oughtnot, in spite of his quarterings, to be contemplating marriage with awealthy woman who kept an electric brougham. The thought hit me like astone in the midriff. 

What on earth was to be done? My pride rose up like the _deux exmachina_ in the melodrama and forbade the banns. To live on Lola'smoney--the idea was intolerable. Equally intolerable was the ideaof earning an income by means against the honesty of which my soulclamoured aloud. 

"Good God!" I cried. "Is life, now I've got to it, nothing but aninfinite series of dilemmas? No sooner am I off one than I'm on another. No sooner do I find that Lola and not Eleanor Faversham is thewoman sent down by Heaven to be my mate than I realise the same olddilemma--Lola on one horn and Eleanor replaced on the other by Prideand Honour and all sorts of capital-lettered considerations. Life isthe very Deuce, " said I, with a wry appreciation of the subtlety oflanguage. 

Why did Lola say: "Your Eleanor Faversham?"

I had enough to think over for the rest of the evening. But I sleptpeacefully. Light loves had come and gone in the days past; but now forthe first time love that was not light had come into my life. 

CHAPTER XXI

"The Lord will find a way out of the dilemma, " said I confidently tomyself as I neared Cadogan Gardens two days after the revelatory drive. "Lola is in love with me and I am in love with Lola, and there isnothing to keep us apart but my pride over a matter of a fewha'-pence. " I felt peculiarly jaunty. I had just posted to Finch thelast of the articles I had agreed to write for his reactionary review, and only a couple of articles for another journal remained to be writtenin order to complete my literary engagements. Soon I should be out ofthe House of Bondage in which I had been a slave, at first willingly andnow rebelliously, from my cradle. The great wide world with its infiniteopportunities for development received my liberated spirit. I had brokenthe shackles of caste. I had thrown off the perfumed garments ofepicureanism, the vesture of my servitude. My emotions, once stifled inthe enervating atmosphere, now awake fresh and strong in the free air. Iwas elemental--the man wanting the woman; and I was happy because I knewI was going to get her. Such must be the state of being of a dragonflyon a sunny day. And--shall I confess it?--I had obeyed the dragon-fly'sinstinct and attired myself in the most resplendent raiment in mywardrobe. My morning coat was still irreproachable, my patent leatherboots still gleamed, and having had some business in Piccadilly I hadstepped into my hatter's and emerged with my silk hat newly ironed. Ipositively strutted along the pavement. 

For two days I had not seen her or heard from her or written to her. Ihad scrupulously respected her wishes, foolish though they were. Now Iwas on my way to convince her that my love was not a moment's surge ofthe blood on a spring afternoon. I would take her into my arms at once, after the way of men, and she, after the way of women, would yieldadorably. I had no doubt of it. I tasted in anticipation the bliss ofthat first embrace as if I had never kissed a woman in my life. And, indeed, what woman had I kissed with the passion that now ran throughmy veins? In that embrace all the ghosts of the past women would be laidfor ever and a big and lusty future would make glorious beginning. "ByHeaven, " I cried, almost articulately, "with the splendour of the worldat my command why should I not write plays, novels, poems, rhapsodies, so as to tell the blind, groping, loveless people what it is like?

"Take me up to Madame Brandt!" said I to the lift-porter. "Madame Brandtis not in town, sir, " said the man. 

I looked at him open-mouthed. "Not in town?"

"I think she has gone abroad, sir. She left with a lot of luggageyesterday, and her maid, and now the flat is shut up. "

"Impossible!" I cried aghast. 

The porter smiled. "I can only tell you what has happened, sir. "

"Where has she gone to?"

"I couldn't say, sir. "

"Her letters? Has she left no address to which they are to beforwarded?"

"Not with me, sir. "

"Did she say when she was coming back?"

"No, sir. But she dismissed her cook with a month's wages, so it seemsas though she was gone for a good spell. "

"What time yesterday did she leave?"

"After lunch. The cabman was to drive her to Victoria--London, Chathamand Dover Railway. "

"That looks like the 2. 20 to Paris, " said I. 

But the lift-porter knew nothing of this. He had given me all theinformation in his power. I thanked him and went out into the sunshine ablinking, dazed, bewildered and piteously crushed man. 

She had gone, without drum or trumpet, maid and baggage and all, havingdismissed her cook and shut up the flat. It was incredible. I wanderedaimlessly about Chelsea trying to make up my mind what to do. Should Igo to Paris and bring her back by main force? But how did I know thatshe had gone to Paris? And if she was there how could I discover heraddress? Suddenly an idea struck me. She would not have left Quast andthe cattery in the same unceremonious fashion to get on as best theymight. She would have given Quast money and directions. At any rate, hewould know more than the lift-porter of the mansions. I decided to go tohim forthwith. 

By means of trains and omnibuses I arrived at the house in the littlestreet off Rosebery Avenue, Clerkenwell, where the maker of gymnasticappliances had his being. I knocked at the door. A grubby man appeared. I inquired for Quast. 

Quast had left that morning in a van, taking his cages of cats with him. He had gone abroad and was never coming back again, not if he knewit, said the grubby man. The cats were poison and Quast was a low-downforeigner, and it would cost him a year's rent to put the place in orderagain. Whereupon he slammed the door in my face and left me disconsolateon the doorstep. 

The only other person with whom I knew Lola to be on friendly terms wasSir Joshua Oldfield. I entered the first public telephone office Icame to and rang him up. He had not seen Lola for a week, and had heardnothing from her relating to her sudden departure. I went sadly hometo my bird-cage in Victoria Street, feeling that now at last theabomination of desolation had overspread my life. 

Why had she gone? What was the meaning of it? Why not a line ofexplanation? And the simultaneous disappearance of Quast and thecats--what did that betoken? Had she been summoned, for any reason, tothe Maison de Sante, where Anastasius Papadopoulos was incarcerated? Ifso, why this secrecy? Why should Lola of all people side with Destinyand make a greater Tom Fool of me than ever? This could be no other thanthe final jest. 

I do not care to remember what I did and said in the privacy of mylittle room. There are things a man locks away even from himself. 

I was in the midst of my misery when the bell of my tiny flat rang. Iopened the door and found my sister Agatha smiling on the threshold. 

"Hallo!" said I, gazing at her stupidly. 

"You're not effusive in your welcome, my dear Simon, " she remarked. "Won't you ask me to come in?"

"By all means, " said I. "Come in!"

She entered and looked round my little sitting-room. "What a pill-box inthe sky! I had no idea it was as tiny as this. I think I shall call youSaint Simon Stylites. "

I was in no mood for Agatha. I bowed ironically and inquired to what Iowed the honour of the visit. 

"I want you to do me a favour--a great favour. I'm dying to see the newdances at the Palace Theatre. They say they dance on everything excepttheir feet. I've got a box. Tom promised to take me. Now he finds hecan't. I've telephoned all over the place for something uncompromisingin or out of trousers to accompany me and I can't get hold of anybody. So I've come to you. "

"I'm vastly flattered!" said I. 

She dismissed my sarcasm with bird-like impatience. 

"Don't be silly. If I had thought you would like it, I should have cometo you first. I didn't want to bore you. But I did think you would pullme out of a hole. "

"What's a hole?" I asked. 

"I've paid for a box and I can't go by myself. How can I? Do take me, there's a dear. "

"I'm afraid I'm too dull for haunts of merriment, " said I. 

She regarded me reproachfully. 

"It isn't often I ask you to put yourself out for me. The last timewas when I asked you to be the baby's godfather. And a pretty godfatheryou've been. I bet you anything you don't remember the name. "

"I do, " said I. 

"What's it then?"

"It's--it's----" I snapped my fingers. The brat's name had for themoment gone out of my distracted head. She broke into a laugh and ranher arm through mine. 

"Dorcas. "

"Yes, of course--Dorcas. I was going to say so. "

"Then you were going to say wrong, for it's Dorothy. Now you _must_come--for the sake of penance. "

"I'll do anything you please!" I cried in desperation, "so long asyou'll not talk to me of my own affairs and will let me sit as glum asever I choose. "

Then for the first time she manifested some interest in my mood. She puther head to one side and scanned my face narrowly. 

"What's the matter, Simon?"

"I've absorbed too much life the last few days, " said I, "and now I'vegot indigestion. "

"I'm sorry, dear old boy, whatever it is, " she said affectionately. "Come round and dine at 7. 30, and I promise not to worry you. "

What could I do? I accepted. The alternative to procuring Agatha anevening's amusement was pacing up and down my bird-cage and beating mywings (figuratively) and perhaps my head (literally) against the bars. 

"It's awfully sweet of you, " said Agatha. "Now I'll rush home anddress. "

I accompanied her down the lift to the front door, and attended her toher carriage. 

"I'll do you a good turn some day, dear, " she said as she drove off. 

I rather flatter myself that Agatha had no reason to complain of mydulness at dinner. In my converse with her I was faced by variousalternatives. I might lay bare my heart, tell her of my love for Lolaand my bewildered despair at her desertion; this I knew she would nomore understand than if I had proclaimed a mad passion for a young ladywho had waited on me at a tea-shop, or for a cassowary at the Zoo;even the best and most affectionate of sisters have their sympatheticlimitations. I might have maintained a mysterious and Byronic gloom;this would have been sheer bad manners. I might have attributed my lackof spontaneous gaiety to toothache or stomach-ache; this would havearoused sisterly and matronly sympathies, and I should have had thedevil's own job to escape from the house unpoisoned by the nostrums thatlurk in the medicine chest of every well-conducted family. Agatha, Iknew, had a peculiarly Borgiaesque equipment. Lastly, there was theworldly device, which I adopted, of dissimulating the furnace of myaffliction beneath a smiling exterior. Agatha, therefore, found mean entertaining guest and drove me to the Palace Theatre in high goodhumour. 

There, however, I could resign my role of entertainer in favour of theprofessionals on the stage. I sat back in my corner of the box and gavemyself up to my harassing concerns. Young ladies warbled, comic acrobatssquirted siphons at each other and kicked each other in the stomach, jugglers threw plates and brass balls with dizzying skill, the famousdancers gyrated pyrotechnically, the house applauded with delight, Agatha laughed and chuckled and clapped her hands and I remained silent, unnoticed and unnoticing in my reflective corner, longing for thefoolery to end. Where was Lola? Why had she forsaken me? What remedy, inthe fiend's name, was there for this heart torture within me? The mostexcruciating agonies of the little pain inside were child's play tothis. I bit my lips so as not to groan aloud and contorted my featuresinto the semblance of a smile. 

During a momentary interval there came a knock at the box door. I said, "Come in!" The door opened, and there, to my utter amazement, stoodDale Kynnersley--Dale, sleek, alert, smiling, attired in the very latestnicety of evening dress affected by contemporary youth--Dale such as Iknew and loved but six months ago. 

He came forward to Agatha, who was little less astounded than myself. 

"How d'ye do, Lady Durrell? I'm in the stalls with Harry Essendale. Itried to catch your eye, but couldn't. So I thought I'd come up. " Heturned to me with frank outstretched hand, "How do, Simon?"

I grasped his hand and murmured something unintelligible. The thingwas so extraordinary, so unexpected that my wits went wandering. Dalecarried off the situation lightly. It was he who was the man of theworld, and I the unresourceful stumbler. 

"He's looking ripping, isn't he, Lady Durrell? I met old Oldfield theother day, and he was raving about your case. The thing has never beendone before. Says they're going mad over your chap in Paris--they'vegiven him medals and wreaths and decorations till he goes about like aprize bull at a fair. By Jove, it's good to see you again. "

"You might have taken an earlier opportunity, " Agatha remarked with someacidity. 

"So I might, " retorted Dale blandly; "but when a man's a born ass ittakes him some time to cultivate sense! I've been wanting to see you fora long time, Simon--and to-night I just couldn't resist it. You don'twant to kick me out?"

"Heaven forbid, " said I, somewhat brokenly, for the welcome sight of hisface and the sound of his voice aroused emotions which even now I do notcare to analyse. "It was generous of you to come up. "

He coloured. "Rot!" said he, in his breezy way. "Hallo! The curtain'sgoing up. What's the next item? Oh, those fool dogs!"

"I adore performing dogs!" said Agatha, looking toward the stage. 

He turned to me. "Do you?"

The last thing on earth I desired to behold at that moment was aperforming animal. My sensitiveness led me to suspect a quizzical lookin Dale's eye. Fortunately, he did not wait for my answer, but went onin a boyish attempt to appease Agatha. 

"I don't despise them, you know, Lady Durrell, but I've seen them twicebefore. They're really rather good. There's a football match at the endwhich is quite exciting. "

"Oh, the beauties!" cried Agatha over her shoulder as the dogs trottedon the stage. I nodded an acknowledgment of the remark, and she plungedinto rapt contemplation of the act. Dale and I stood at the back of thebox. Suddenly he whispered:

"Come out into the corridor. I've something to say to you. "

"Certainly, " said I, and followed him out of the box. 

He thrust his hands into his pockets and looked at me with the defiantand you-be-damned air of the young Briton who was about to commit agracious action. I knew what he was going to say. I could tell by hismanner. I dreaded it, and yet I loved him for it. 

"Why say anything, my dear boy?" I asked. "You want to be friends withme again, and God knows I want to be friends again with you. Why talk?"

"I've got to get if off my chest, " said he, in his so familiarvernacular. "I want to tell you that I've been every end of a silly assand I want you to forgive me. "

I vow I have never felt so miserably guilty towards any human being asI did at that moment. I have never felt such a smug-faced hypocrite. It was a humiliating position. I had inflicted on him a most grievouswrong, and here he was pleading for forgiveness. I could not pronouncethe words of pardon. He misinterpreted my silence. 

"I know I've behaved rottenly to you since you've been back, but thefirst step's always so difficult. You mustn't bear a grudge against me. "

"My dear boy!" I cried, my hand on his shoulder, touched to the heartby his simple generosity, "don't let us talk of grudges and forgiveness. All I want to know is whether you're contented?"

"Contented?" he cried. "I should just think I am. I'm the happiest assthat doesn't eat thistles!"

"Explain yourself, my dear Dale, " said I, relapsing into my old manner. 

"I'm going to marry Maisie Ellerton. "

I took him by the arm and dragged him inside the box. 

"Agatha, " said I, "leave those confounded dogs for a moment and attendto serious matters. This young man has not come up to see either of us, but to obtain our congratulations. He's going to marry Maisie Ellerton. "

"Tell me all about it, " said Agatha intensely interested. 

A load of responsibility rolled off my shoulders like Christian's pack. I looked at the dog football match with the interest of a Sheffieldpuddler at a Cup-tie, and clapped my hands. 

An hour or so later after we had seen Agatha home, and Dale hadincidentally chucked Lord Essendale (the phrase is his own), we weresitting over whisky and soda and cigars in my Victoria Street flat. Theingenuousness of youth had insisted on this prolongation of our meeting. He had a thousand things to tell me. They chiefly consisted in areiteration of the statement that he had been a rampant and unimaginedsilly ass, and that Maisie, who knew the whole lunatic story, was abrick, and a million times too good for him. When he entered my humblelodging he looked round in a bewildered manner. 

"Why on earth are you living in this mouse-trap?"

"Agatha calls it a pill-box. I call it a bird-cage. I live here, my dearboy, because it is the utmost I can afford. "

"Rot! I've been your private secretary and know what your income is. "

I sighed heavily. I shall have to get a leaflet printed setting out thecauses that led to my change of fortune. Then I can hand it to such ofmy friends as manifest surprise. 

Indeed, I had grown so used to the story of my lamentable pursuit ofthe eumoirous that I rattled it off mechanically after the manner of thesturdy beggar telling his mendacious tale of undeserved misfortune. ToDale, however, it was fresh. He listened to it open-eyed. When I hadconcluded, he brought his hand down on the arm of the chair. 

"By Jove, you're splendid! I always said you were. Just splendid!"

He gulped down half a tumbler of whisky and soda to hide his feelings. 

"And you've been doing all this while I've been making a howling foolof myself! Look here, Simon, you were right all along the line--from thevery first when you tackled me about Lola. Do you remember?"

"Why refer to it?" I asked. 

"I must!" he burst in quickly. "I've been longing to put myself squarewith you. By the way, where is Lola?"

"I don't know, " said I with grim truthfulness. 

"Don't know? Has she vanished?"

"Yes, " said I. 

"That's the end of it, I suppose. Poor Lola! She was an awfully goodsort you know!" said Dale, "and I won't deny I was hit. That's when Icame such a cropper. But I realise now how right you were. I was justcaught by the senses, nothing else; and when she wrote to say it was alloff between us my vanity suffered--suffered damnably, old chap. I lostthe election through it. Didn't attend to business. That brought me tomy senses. Then Essendale took me away yachting, and I had a quiet timeto think; and after that I somehow took to seeing more of Maisie. Youknow how things happen. And I'm jolly grateful to you, old chap. You'vesaved me from God knows what complications! After all, good sort as Lolais, it's rot for a man to go outside his own class, isn't it?"

"It depends upon the man--and also the woman, " said I, beginning toderive peculiar torture from the conversation. 

Dale shook his wise head. "It never comes off, " said he. After a pausehe laughed aloud. "Don't you remember the lecture you gave me? My word, you did talk! You produced a string of ghastly instances where theexperiment had failed. Let me see, who was there, Paget, Merridew, Bullen. Ha! Ha! No, I'm well out of it, old chap--thanks to you. "

"If any good has come of this sorry business, " said I gravely, "I'm onlytoo grateful to Providence. "

He caught the seriousness of my tone. 

"I didn't want to touch on that side of it, " he said awkwardly. "I knowwhat an infernal time you had! It must have been Gehenna. I realisenow that it was on my account, and so I can never do enough to show mygratitude. "

He finished his glass of whisky and walked about the tiny room. 

"What has always licked me, " he said at length, "is why she never toldme she was married. It's so curious, for she was as straight as theymake them. It's devilish odd!"

"Yes, " I assented wearily, for every word of this talk was a new pain. "Devilish odd!"

"I suppose it's a question of class again. "

"Or sex, " said I. 

"What has sex to do with being straight?"

"Everything, " said I. 

"Rot!" said Dale. 

I sighed. "I wish your dialectical vocabulary were not so limited. "

He laughed and clapped me on the shoulder. 

"Still the same old Simon. It does my heart good to hear you. May I haveanother whisky?"

I took advantage of this break to change the conversation. He hadtold me nothing of his own affairs save that he was engaged to MaisieEllerton. 

"Heavens!" cried he. "Isn't that enough?"

"An engagement isn't an occupation. "

"Isn't it, by Jove?" He laughed boyishly. "I manage, however, to squeezein a bit of work now and then. The mater has always got plenty on handfor me, and I do things for Raggles. He has been awfully decent. Thefirst time I met him or any of the chiefs after the election I was in ablue funk. But no one seemed to blame me; they all said they were sorry;and now Raggles is looking out for a constituency for me to nurse forthe next General Election. Then things _will_ hum, I promise you!"

He waved his cigar with the air of a young paladin about to conquerthe world. In spite of my own depression, I could not help smiling withgladness at the sight of him. With his extravagantly cut waistcoat, hiselaborately exquisite white tie, his perfectly fitting evening clothes, with his supple ease of body, his charming manner, the preposterousfellow made as gallant a show as any ruffling blade in powder andred-heeled shoes. He had acquired, too, an extra touch of manhood sinceI had seen him last. I felt proud of him, conscious that to the makingof him I had to some small degree contributed. 

"You must come out and lunch with Maisie and me one day this week, " saidhe. "She would love to see you. "

"Wait till you're married, " said I, "and then we'll consider it. Atpresent Maisie is under the social dominion of her parents. "

"Well--what of it?"

"Just that, " said I. 

Then the truth dawned on him. He grew excited and said it was damnable. He wasn't going to stand by and see people believe a lot of scandalouslies about me. He had no idea people had given me the cold shoulder. Hewould jolly well (such were his words) take a something (I forget theadjective) megaphone and trumpet about society what a splendid fellow Iwas. 

"I'll tell everybody the whole silly-ass story about myself frombeginning to end, " he declared. 

I checked him. "You're very generous, my dear boy, " said I, "but you'lldo me a favour by letting folks believe what they like. " And then Iexplained, as delicately as I could, how his sudden championship couldbe of little advantage to me, and might do him considerable harm. 

In his impetuous manner he cut short my carefully-expressed argument. 

"Rubbish! Heaps of people I know are already convinced that I waskeeping Lola Brandt and that you took her from me in the ordinary vulgarway--"

"Yes, yes, " I interrupted, shrinking. "That's why I order you, in God'sname, to leave the whole thing alone. "

"But confound it, man! I've come out of it all right, why shouldn't you?Even supposing Lola was a loose woman--"

I threw up my hand. "Stop!"

He looked disconcerted for a moment. 

"We know she isn't, but for the sake of argument--"

"Don't argue, " said I. "Let us drop it. "

"But hang it all!" he shouted in desperation. "Can't I do something!Can't I go and kick somebody?"

I lost my self-control. I rose and put both my hands on his shouldersand looked him in the eyes. 

"You can kick anybody you please whom you hear breathe a word againstthe honour and purity of Madame Lola Brandt. "

Then I walked away, knowing I had betrayed myself, and tried to lighta cigar with fingers that shook. There was a pause. Dale stood withhis back to the fireplace, one foot on the fender. The cigar took somelighting. The pause grew irksome. 

"My regard for Madame Brandt, " said I at last, "is such that I don'twish to discuss her with any one. " I looked at Dale and met his keeneyes fixed on me. The faintest shadow of a smile played about his mouth. 

"Very well, " said he dryly, "we won't discuss her. But all the same, my dear Simon, I can't help being interested in her; and as you'reobviously the same, it seems rather curious that you don't know whereshe is. "

"Do you doubt me?" I asked, somewhat staggered by his tone. 

"Good Heaven's, no! But if she has disappeared, I'm convinced thatsomething has happened which I know nothing of. Of course, it's none ofmy business. "

There was a new and startling note of assurance in his voice. Certainlyhe had developed during the past few months. What I had done, Heavenonly knows. Misfortune, which is supposed to be formative of character, seemed to have turned mine into pie. How can I otherwise account for mynot checking the lunatic impulse that prompted my next words. 

"Well, something has happened, " said I, "and if we're to be friends, you had better know it. Two days ago, for the first time, I told MadameBrandt that I loved her. This very afternoon I went to get her answer tomy question--would she marry me?--and I found that she had disappearedwithout leaving any address behind her. So whenever you hear her namementioned you can just tell everybody that she's the one woman in thewhole wide world I want to marry. "

"Poor old Simon, " said Dale. "Poor old chap. "

"That's exactly how things stand. "

"Lord, who would have thought it?"

"How I've borne with you talking about her all this evening the devilonly knows, " I cried. "You've driven me half crazy. "

"You should have told me to shut up. "

"I did. "

"Poor old Simon. I'm so sorry--but I had no idea you had fallen in lovewith her. "

"Fallen in love!" said I, losing my head. "She's the only woman on God'searth I've ever cared for. I want her as I've wanted nothing in theuniverse before. "

"And you've come to care for her as much as that?" he saidsympathetically. "Poor old Simon. "

"Why the devil shouldn't I?" I shouted, nettled by his "poor oldSimons. "

"Lola Brandt is hardly of your class, " said Dale. 

I broke out furiously. "Damn class! I've had enough of it. I'm going totake my life into my own hands and do what I like with it. I'm going tochoose my mate without any reference to society. I've cut myself adriftfrom society. It can go hang. Lola Brandt is a woman worth any man'sloving. She is a woman in a million. You know nothing whatever abouther. "

The last words were scarcely out of my mouth when an echo from thedistance came and, as it were, banged at my ears. Dale himself hadshrieked them at me in exactly the same tone with reference to the samewoman. I stopped short and looked at him for a moment rather stupidly. Then the imp of humour, who for some time had deserted me, flew to myside and tickled my brain. I broke into a chuckle, somewhat hystericalI must admit, and then, throwing myself into an arm-chair, gave way touncontrollable laughter. 

The scare of the unexpected rose in Dale's eyes. 

"Why, what on earth is the matter?"

"Can't you see?" I cried, as far as the paroxysms of my mirth would letme. "Can't you see how exquisitely ludicrous the whole thing has beenfrom beginning to end? Don't you realise that you and I are playingthe same scene as we played months ago in my library, with the onlydifference that we have changed roles? I'm the raving, infatuated youth, and you're the grave and reverend mentor. Don't you see? Don't you see?"

"I can't see anything to laugh at, " said Dale sturdily. 

And he couldn't. There are thousands of bright, flame-like human beingsconstituted like that. Life spreads out before them one of its mostside-splitting, topsy-turvy farces and they see in it nothing to laughat. 

To Dale the affair had been as serious and lacking in the fantastic asthe measles. He had got over the disease and now was exceedingly sorryto perceive that I had caught it in my turn. 

"It isn't funny a bit, " he continued. "It's quite natural. I see it allnow. You cut me out from the very first. You didn't mean to--you neverthought of it. But what chance had I against you? I was a young ass andyou were a brilliant man of the world. I bear you no grudge. You playedthe game in that way. Then things happened--and at last you've fallen inlove with her--and now just at the critical moment she has gone off intospace. It must be devilish painful for you, if you ask me. "

"Oh, Dale, " said I, shaking my head, "the only fitting end to the farcewould be if you wandered over Europe to find and bring her back to me. "

"I don't know about that, " said he, "because I'm engaged, and that, as Isaid, gives me occupation; but if I can do anything practicable, my dearold Simon, you've only got to send for me. "

He pulled out his watch. 

"My hat!" he exclaimed. "It's past two o'clock. "

CHAPTER XXII

I am a personage apart from humanity. I vary from the kindly ways ofman. A curse is on me. 

Surely no man has fought harder than I have done to convince himself ofthe deadly seriousness of existence; and surely before the feet ofno man has Destiny cast such stumbling-blocks to faith. I might be anancient dweller in the Thebaid struggling towards dreams of celestialhabitations, and confronted only by grotesque visions of hell. Nomatter what I do, I'm baffled. I look upon sorrow and say, "Lo, this istragedy!" and hey, presto! a trick of lightning turns it into farce. Icry aloud, in perfervid zeal, "Life is real, life is earnest, and theapotheosis of the fantastic is not its goal, " and immediately a grinningirony comes to give the lie to my credo. 

Or is it that, by inscrutable decree of the Almighty Powers, I amundergoing punishment for an old unregenerate point of view, beingdoomed to wear my detested motley for all eternity, to stretch out myhand for ever to grasp realities and find I can do nought but beat theair with my bladder; to listen with strained ear perpetually expectantof the music of the spheres, and catch nothing but the mocking jingle ofthe bells on my fool's cap?

I don't know. I give it up. 

Such were my thoughts on the morning after my interview with Dale, whenI had read a long, long letter from Lola, which she had despatched fromParis. 

The letter lies before me now, many pages in a curious, half-formedforeign hand. Many would think it an ill-written letter--for there arefaults of spelling and faults of grammar--but even now, as I lookon those faults, the tears come into my eyes. Oh, how exquisitely, pathetically, monumentally, sublimely foolish! She had little or nothingto do with it, poor dear; it was only the Arch-Jester again, leading herblindly away, so as once more to leave me high and dry on the Hill ofDerision. 

". . . My dear, you must forgive me! My heart is breaking, but I knowI'm doing right. There is nothing for it but to go out of your life forever. It terrifies me to think of it, but it's the only way. I know youthink you love me, dear; but you can't, you can't _really_ love a womanso far beneath you, and I would sooner never see you again than marryyou and wake up one day and find that you hated and scorned me. . . . "

Can you wonder that I shook my fist at Heaven and danced with rage?

". . . Miss Eleanor Faversham called on me just a few minutes after youleft me that afternoon. We had a long, long talk. Simon, dear, you mustmarry her. You loved her once, for you were engaged, and only broke itoff because you thought you were going to die; and she loves you, Simon, and she is a lady with all the refinement and education that I couldnever have. She is of your class, dear, and understands you, and canhelp you on, whereas I could only drag you down. I am not fit to blackher boots. . . . "

And so forth, and so forth, in the most heartrending strain of insensateself-sacrifice and heroic self-abasement. The vainest and most heartlessdog of a man stands abashed and helpless before such things in a woman. 

She had not seen or written to me because she would not have herresolution weakened. After the great wrench, succeeding things wereeasier. She had taken Anastasius's cats and proposed to work them inthe music-halls abroad and send the proceeds to be administered for thelittle man's comfort at the Maison de Sante. As both her name and thePapadopoulos troupe of cats were well known in the "variety" world, itwould be a simple matter to obtain engagements. She had already openednegotiations for a short season somewhere abroad. I was not to beanxious about her. She would have plenty of occupation. 

". . . I am not sending you any address, for I don't want you to knowwhere I am, dear. I shan't write to you again unless I scribble thingsand tear them up without posting. This is final. When a woman makes sucha break she must do it once and for all. Oh, Simon, when you kissed metwo days ago you thought you loved me; but I know what the senses areand how they deceive people, and I had only just caught your senseson that spring afternoon, and I made you do it, for I had been aching, aching for months for a word of love from you, and when it came I wasashamed. But I should have been weak and shut my eyes to everything ifMiss Faversham had not come to me like God's good angel. . . . "

At the fourth reading of the letter I stopped short at these words. God's good angel, indeed! Could anything have been more calculated toput a man into a frenzy? I seized my hat and stick and went in searchof the nearest public telephone office. In less than ten minutes I hadarranged an immediate interview with Eleanor Faversham at my sisterAgatha's, and in less than half an hour I was pacing up and downAgatha's sitting-room waiting for her. God's good angel! The soundof the words made me choke with wrath. There are times when angelicinterference in human destinies is entirely unwarrantable. I stamped andI fumed, and I composed a speech in which I told Eleanor exactly what Ithought of angels. 

As I had to wait a considerable time, however, before Eleanor appeared, the raging violence of my wrath abated, and when she did enter the roomsmiling and fresh, with the spring in her clear eyes and a flush on hercheek, I just said: "How d'ye do, Eleanor?" in the most commonplace way, and offered her a chair. 

"I've come, you see. You were rather peremptory, so I thought it must bea matter of great importance. "

"It is, " said I. "You went to see Madame Brandt. "

"I did, " she replied, looking at me steadily, "and I have tried to writeto you, but it is more difficult than I thought. "

"Well, " said I, "it's no use writing now, for you've managed to driveher out of the country. "

She half rose in her chair and regarded me with wide-blue eyes. 

"I've driven her out of the country?"

"Yes; with her maid and her belongings and Anastasius Papadopoulos'stroupe of performing cats, and Anastasius Papadopoulos's late pupil andassistant Quast. She has given up her comfortable home in London and nowproposes to be a wanderer among the music-halls of Europe. "

"But that's not my fault! Indeed, it isn't. "

"She says in a letter I received this morning bearing no address, thatif you hadn't come to her like God's good angel, she would have remainedin London. "

Eleanor looked bewildered. "I thought I had made it perfectly clear toher. "

"Made what clear?"

She blushed a furious red. "Can't you guess? You must be as stupid asshe is. And, of course, you're wildly angry with me. Aren't you?"

"I certainly wish you hadn't gone to see her. "

"Was it merely to tell me this that you ordered me to come here?" sheasked, with a touch of anger in her voice, for however much like God'sgood angels young women may be, they generally have a spirit of theirown. 

I felt I had been wanting in tact; also that I had put myself--throughan impetuosity foreign to what I had thought to be my character--in afoolish position. If I replied affirmatively to her question, shewould have served me perfectly right by tossing her head in the air andmarching indignantly out of the room. I temporised. 

"In order to understand the extraordinary consequences of yourinterview, I should like to have some idea of what took place. I know, my dear Eleanor, " I continued as gently as I could, "I know that youwent to see her out of the very great kindness of your heart--"

"No, I didn't. "

I made a little gesture in lieu of reply. There was a span of silence. Eleanor played with the silky ears of Agatha's little Yorkshire terrierwhich had somehow strayed into the room and taken possession of her lap. 

"Don't you see, Simon?" she said at last, half tearfully, without takingher eyes off the dog, "don't you see that by accusing me in this wayyou make it almost impossible for me to speak? And I was going to be soloyal to you. "

A tear fell down her cheek on to the dog's back, and convicted me ofunmitigated brutality. 

"What else could you be but loyal?" I murmured. "Your attitude allthrough has shone it. "

She flashed her hand angrily over her eyes, and looked at me. "And Iwanted to be loyal to the end. If you had waited and she had waited, youwould have seen. As soon as I could have conveyed it to you decently, Ishould have shown you----Ah!" She broke off, put the Yorkshire terrieron the sofa beside her, and rose with an impatient gesture. "You want toknow why I called on Lola Brandt? I felt I had to know for myself whatkind of woman she was. She was the woman between us--you and me. Youdon't suppose I ceased to care for you just because what we thought wasa fatal illness broke off our engagement! I did care for you. I caredfor you--in a way; I say 'in a way'--I'll tell you why later on. When wemet here the last time do you think I was not moved? I knew your alteredposition would not allow you to suggest a renewal of the engagement soI offered you the opportunity. Do you remember? But I could not tellwhether you still cared for me or whether you cared for the other woman. So I had to go and see her. I couldn't bear to think that you might feelin honour bound to take me at my word and be caring all the time forsome one else. I went to see her, and then I realised that I didn'tcount. Don't ask why. Women know these things. And I found that sheloved you with a warmth and richness I'm incapable of. I felt I hadstepped into something big and splendid, as if I had been a caterpillarwalking into the heart of a red rose. I felt prim and small and petty. Until then I had never known what love meant, and I didn't feel it;I couldn't feel it. I couldn't give you a millionth part of whatthat woman does. And I knew that having lived in that atmosphere, youcouldn't possibly be content with me. If you had waited, I should havefound some means of telling you so. That's what I meant by saying Iwas loyal to you. And I thought I had made it clear to her. It seems Ididn't. It isn't my fault. "

"My dear, " said I, when she had come to the end of this astonishingavowal, and stood looking at me somewhat defiantly and twisting herfingers nervously in front of her, "I don't know what in the world tosay to you. "

"You can tell me, at least, that my instinct was right. "

"Which one? A woman has so many. "

"That you love Lola Brandt. "

I lifted my arms in a helpless gesture and let them drop to my sides. 

"One is not one's own master in these things. "

"Then you do?"

"Yes, " said I in a low voice. 

Eleanor drew a long breath, turned and sat down again on the sofa. 

"And she knows it?"

"I have told her so. "

"Then why in the world has she run away?"

"Because you two wonderful and divinely foolish people have been too bigfor each other. While you were impressed by one quality in her she wasequally impressed by another in you. She departed, burning her ships, soas to go entirely out of my life for the simple reason, as she herselfexpresses it, that she was not fit to black your boots. So, " said I, taking her left hand in mine and patting it gently, "between you twodear, divine angel fools, I fall to the ground. "

A while later, just before we parted, she said in her frank way:

"I know many people would say I've behaved with shockingimpropriety--immodestly and all that. You don't, do you? I believe halfthe unhappiness in life comes from people being afraid to go straightat things. Perhaps I've gone too straight this time--but you'll forgiveme?"

I smiled and squeezed her hand. "My dear, " said I, "Lola Brandt wasright. You are God's good angel. "

I went away in a chastened mood, no longer wrathful, for what couldwoman do more for mortal man than what Eleanor Faversham had attempted?She had gone to see whether she should stand against her rival, and witha superb generosity, unprecedented in her sex, she had withdrawn. Themagnanimity of it overwhelmed me. I walked along the street exalting herto viewless pinnacles of high-heartedness. And then, suddenly, the Devilwhispered in my ear that execrated word "eumoiriety. " It poisoned therest of the day. It confirmed my conviction of the ironical designs ofDestiny. Destiny, not content with making me a victim of the accursedprinciple in my own person, had used these two dear women as itsinstruments in dealing me fresh humiliation. Where would it end? Wherecould I turn to escape such an enemy? If I had been alone in greenfields instead of Sloane Square, I should have clapped my hands to myhead and prayed God not to drive me crazy. I should have cried wild vowsto the winds and shaken my fist at the sky and rolled upon the grassand made a genteel idiot of myself. Nature would have understood. Mendo these things in time of stress, and I was in great stress. I loveda woman for the first time in my life--and I was a man nearly forty. Iwanted her with every quivering nerve in me. And she was gone. Lost inthe vast expanse of Europe with a parcel of performing cats. Gone out ofmy life loving me as I loved her, all on account of this Hell-inventedprinciple. Ye gods! If the fierce, pure, deep, abiding love of a man fora woman is not a reality, what in this world of shadows is anything butvapour? I grasped it tight, hugged it to my bosom--and now she was gone, and in my ears rang the derisive laughter of the enemy. 

Where would it end? What would happen next? Nothing was toooutrageously, maniacally impossible. I walked up Sloane Street, astreet for which impeccable respectability, security of life and person, comfortable, modern, twentieth-century, prosperous smugness has nosuperior in all the smug cities of the earth, and I was prepared toencounter with a smile of recognition anything that the whirling brainsof Bedlam had ever conceived. Why should not this little lady trippingalong with gold chain-bag and anxious, shopping knit of the brow, throwher arms round my neck and salute me as her long-lost brother? Whyshould not the patient horses in that omnibus suddenly turn intogriffins and begin to snort fire from their nostrils? Why should notthat policeman, who, on his beat, was approaching me with the heavy, measured tread, suddenly arrest me for complicity in the PazziConspiracy or the Rye House Plot? Why should not the whole of thedecorous street suddenly change into the inconsequence of an Empireballet? Why should not the heavens fall down and universal chaos envelopall?

The only possible reason I can think of now is that the Almighty Powersdid not consider it worth while to go to quite so much trouble on myaccount. 

This, however, gives you some idea of my state of mind. But though itlasted for a considerable time, I would not have you believe that Ifostered it unduly. Indeed, I repudiated it with some disgust. I took itout, examined it, and finding it preposterous, set to work to modify itinto harmony with the circumstances of my every-day life. Even the mostsorely tried of men cannot walk abroad shedding his exasperation aroundlike pestilence. If he does, he is put into a lunatic asylum. 

If a man cannot immediately assuage the hunger of his heart, he mustmeet starvation with a smiling face. In the meantime, he has to eat soas to satisfy the hunger of his body, to clothe himself with a certaindiscrimination, to attend to polite commerce with his fellow man and toput to some fair use the hours of his day. I did not doubt but thatby means of intelligent inquiry which I determined to pursue in everypossible direction I should sooner or later obtain news of Lola. A ladywith a troupe of performing cats could not for long remain in obscurity. True, I might have gone in gallant quest of her; but I had had enough ofsuch fool adventures. I bided my time, consulted with Dale, who tookup the work of a private detective agency with his usual zeal, writingletters to every crony who languished in the exile of foreign embassies, and corresponding (unknown to Lady Kynnersley) with the agencies ofthe International Aid Society, did what I could on my own account, andturned my attention seriously to the regeneration of the Judds. 

As the affairs of one drunken tailor's family could not afford mecomplete occupation for my leisure hours, I began to find myselfinsensibly drawn by Campion's unreflecting enthusiasm into all kinds ofsmall duties connected with Barbara's Building. Before I could realisethat I had consented, I discovered myself in charge of an evening classof villainous-looking and uncleanly youths who assembled in one of thelecture-rooms to listen to my recollections of the history of England. I was to continue the course begun by a young Oxford man, who, for somereason or other, had migrated from Barbara's Building to Toynbee Hall. 

"I've never done any schoolmastering in my life. Suppose, " said I, withvivid recollections of my school days, "suppose they rag me?"

"They won't, " said Campion, who had come to introduce me to the class. 

And they did not. I found these five and twenty youthful members of theproletariat the most attentive, respectable, and intelligent audiencethat ever listened to a lecture. Gradually I came to perceive that theywere not as villainous-looking and uncleanly as at first sight I hadimagined. A great many of them took notes. When I came to the end ofmy dissertation on Henry VIII, I went among them, as I discovered thecustom to be, and chatted, answering questions, explaining difficulties, and advising as to a course of reading. The atmosphere of trust andfriendliness compensated for the lack of material sweetness. Here wereyoung men pathetically eager to learn, grateful for every crumb ofinformation that came from my lips. They reminded me of nothing morethan the ragged class of scholars around a teacher in a mediaevaluniversity. Some had vague dreams of eventually presenting themselvesfor examinations, the Science and Art Department, the College ofPreceptors, the Matriculation of the University of London. Otherslonged for education for its own sake, or rather as a means of raisingthemselves in the social scale. Others, bitten by the crude Socialism oftheir class, had been persuaded to learn something of past movementsof mankind so as to obtain some basis for their opinions. All werein deadly earnest. The magnetic attraction between teacher and taughtestablished itself. After one or two lectures, I looked forward to thenext with excited interest. 

Other things Campion off-handedly put into my charge. I went on tours ofinspection round the houses of his competing housewives. I acted as hisdeputy at the police court when ladies and gentlemen with a good recordat Barbara's got into trouble with the constabulary. I investigatedcases for the charity of the institution. In quite a short timeI realised with a gasp that I had become part of the machinery ofBarbara's Building, and was remorselessly and helplessly whirled hitherand thither with the rest of the force of the driving wheel which wasRex Campion. 

The amazing, the astounding, the utterly incredible thing about thewhole matter was that I not only liked it, but plunged into it heart andsoul as I had never plunged into work before. I discovered sympathiesthat had hitherto lain undreamed of within me. In my electioneering daysI had, it is true, foregathered with the sons of toil. I had shaken thehorny hands of men and the soap-suddy hands of women. I had flatteredthem and cajoled them and shown myself mighty affable, as a sensible andaspiring Parliamentary candidate should do; but the way to their heartsI had never found, I had never dreamed of seeking. And now it seemed asif the great gift had been bestowed on me--and I examined it with a newand almost tremulous delight. 

Also, for the first time in all my life, I had taken pain to be thecompanion of my soul. All my efforts to find Lola were fruitless. Ibecame acquainted with the heartache, the longing for the unattainable, the agony of spirit. The only anodyne was a forgetfulness of self, theonly compensation a glimmer of a hope and the shadow of a smile in thegrey and leaden lives around me. 

On Whit Monday evening I was walking along the Thames Embankment on myway home from Waterloo Station, wet through, tired out, disappointed, and looking forward to the dry, soft raiment, the warm, cosy room, theexcellent dinner that awaited me in my flat. I--with several others--hadbeen helping Campion with his annual outing of factory girls and younghooligans. The weather, which had been perfect on Saturday, Sunday, andwhen we had started, a gay and astonishing army, at seven o'clock, hadbroken before ten. It had rained, dully miserable, insistently all daylong. The happy day in the New Forest had been a damp and dismal fiasco. I was returning home, thinking I might walk off an incipient chill, as depressed as no one but the baffled philanthropist can be, whenI perceived a tattered and dejected man sitting on a bench, aclothes-basket between his feet, his elbows on his knees, his head inhis hands, and sobbing as if his heart would break. As the spectacleof a grown-up man crying bitterly in a public thoroughfare was somewhatremarkable, I paused, and then in order to see whether his distress wasgenuine, and also not to arouse his suspicions, I threw myself in anexhausted manner on the bench beside him. He continued to sob. At last Isaid, raising my voice:

"You seem to be pretty miserable. What's wrong?"

He turned bleared, yet honest-looking eyes upon me. 

"The whole blasted show!" said he. "There's nothing right in it, s'welpme Gawd. "

I gave a modified assent to the proposition and drew my coat-collar overmy eyes. "Being wet through doesn't make it any better, " said I. 

"Who would ha' thought it would come down as it has to-day? Tell methat. It's enough to make a man cut his throat!"

I was somewhat surprised. "You're not in such a great distress justbecause it has been a rainy day!"

"Ain't I just!" he exclaimed. "It's been and gone and ruined me, thisday has. Look 'ere, guv'nor, I'll tell you all about it. I've been outof work, see? I was in 'orspital for three months and I couldn't getnothing regular to do when I come out. I'm a packer by trade. I did oddjobs, see, and the wife she earned a little, too, and we managed to keepthings going and to scrape together five shillings, that's three months'savings, against Whitsun Bank Holiday. And as the weather was so fine, I laid it all out in paper windmills to sell to the kids on 'Amstead'Eath. And I started out this morning with the basket full of them allso fine and pretty, and no sooner do I get on the 'Eath than the raincomes down and wipes out the whole blooming lot, before I could sellone. Look 'ere!"

He drew a bedraggled sheet of newspaper from the clothes-basket anddisplayed a piteous sodden welter of sticks and gaudy pulp. At the sightof it he broke down again and sobbed like a child. 

"And there's not a bite in the 'ouse, nor not likely to be for days;and I daren't go home and face the missus and the kids--and I wish I wasdead. "

I had already seen many pitiful tragedies during my brief experiencewith Campion; but the peculiar pitifulness of this one wrung my heart. It taught me as nothing had done before how desperately humble are theaspirations of the poor. I thought of the cosy comfort that awaited mein my own home; the despair that awaited him in his. 

I put my hand in my pocket. 

"You seem to be a good chap, " said I. 

He shrugged his shoulders. The consciousness of applauded virtue offeredno consolation. I drew out a couple of half-crowns and threw them intothe basket. 

"For the missus and the kids, " said I. 

He picked them out of the welter, and holding them in his hand, lookedat me stupidly. 

"Can you afford it, guv'nor?"

At first I thought this remark was some kind of ill-conditioned sarcasm;but suddenly I realised that dripping wet and covered with mud from headto foot, with a shapeless, old, green, Homburg hat drooping forlornlyabout my ears, I did not fulfil his conception of the benevolentmillionaire. I laughed, and rose from the bench. 

"Yes. Quite well. Better luck next time. "

I nodded a good-bye, and walked away. After a minute, he came runningafter me. 

"'Ere, " said he, "I ain't thanked yer. Gawd knows how I'm going to doit. I can't! But, 'ere--would you mind if I chucked a lot of the stuffinto the river and told the missus I had sold it, and just got back mymoney? She's proud, she is, and has never accepted a penny in charity inher life. It's only because it would be better for 'er. "

He looked at me with such earnest appeal that I saw that the saving ofhis wife's pride was a serious matter. 

"Of course, " said I, "and here's a few ha'pence to add to it, so as togive colour to the story. "

He saw that I understood. "Thank you kindly, sir, " said he. 

"Tell me, " said I, "do you love your wife?"

He gaped at me for a moment; obviously the question had never been putto him either by himself or anybody else. Then, seeing that my interestwas genuine, he spat and scratched his head. 

"We've been together twenty years, " he said, in a low voice, emotionstruggling with self-consciousness, "and I've 'ad nothing agin her allthat time. She's a bloomin' wonder, I tell you straight. "

I held out my hand. "At any rate, you've got what I haven't, " said I. "Awoman who loves you to welcome you home. "

And I went away, longing, longing for Lola's arms and the deep love inher voice. 

Now that I come to view my actions in some sort of perspective, it seemsto me that it was the underlying poignancy of this trumpery incident--apoignancy which, nevertheless, bit deep into my soul, that finallydetermined the current of my life. 

A short while afterwards, Campion, who for some time past had found theorganisation of Barbara's Building had far outgrown his individualpower of control, came to me with a proposal that I should undertake themanagement of the institution under his general directorship. As he knewof my financial affairs and of my praiseworthy but futile efforts tolive on two hundred a year, he offered me another two hundred by way ofsalary and quarters in the Building. I accepted, moved the salvage of mybelongings from Victoria Street to Lambeth, and settled down to the workfor which a mirth-loving Providence had destined me from my cradle. 

When I told Agatha, she nearly fainted. 

CHAPTER XXIII

No sooner had I moved into Barbara's Building and was preparing to beginmy salaried duties than I received news which sent me off post hasteto Berlin. And just as it was not I but Anastasius Papadopoulos whodiscovered Captain Vauvenarde, so, in this case, it was Dale whodiscovered Lola. 

He burst in upon me one day, flourishing a large visiting-card, which heflung down on the table before my eyes. 

"Do you recognise that?"

It was the familiar professional card of the unhappy Anastasius. 

"Yes. "

"Do you see the last line?"

I read "London Agents: Messrs. Conto and Blag, 172 Maiden Lane, W. C. " Ilooked up. "Well?" I asked. 

"It has done the trick, " said he triumphantly. "What fools we were notto have thought of it before. I was rooting out a drawer of papers andcame across the card. You remember he handed us one all round thefirst day we met him. I put it away--I'm rather a methodical devil withpapers, as you know. When I found it, I danced a hornpipe all round theroom and went straight off to Conto and Blag. I made certain she wouldwork through them, as they were accustomed to shop the cats, and I foundI was right. They knew all about her. Wouldn't give her address, buttold me that she was appearing this week at the Winter Garten at Berlin. Why that pudding-headed quagga, Bevan, at the Embassy, hasn't kept hiseyes open for me, as he promised, " he went on a while later, "I don'tknow! I can understand Eugen Pattenhausen, the owl-eyed coot whoruns the International Aid Society, not doing a hand's turn to aidanybody--but Bevan! For Heaven's sake, while you're there call at theEmbassy and kick him. "

"You forget, my dear boy, " said I, with a laugh, for his news hadmade me light-hearted, "you forget that I have entered upon a lifeof self-denial, and one of the luxuries I must deny myself is that ofkicking attaches. "

"I've a good mind to go with you and do it myself. But it'll keep. Doyou know, it's rather quaint, isn't it?" he said, after a pause, as ifstruck by a luminous idea--"It's rather quaint that it should be I whoam playing the little tin god on wheels for you two, and saying 'Blessyou, my children. '"

"I thought the humour of the situation couldn't fail to strike you atlast. "

"Yes, " said he, knitting his brows into an air of dark reflection "it isfunny. Devilish funny!"

I dismissed him with grateful words, and in a flutter of excitement wentin search of Campion, whom I was lucky to find in the building. 

"I'm sorry to ask for leave of absence, " said I, "before I've actuallytaken up my appointment; but I must do so. I am summoned at once toBerlin on important business. "

Campion gave willing consent. "How long will you be away?"

"That depends, " said I, with a smile which I meant to be enigmatic, butassuredly must have been fatuous, "upon my powers of persuasion. "

I had bright thoughts of going to Berlin and back in a meteoric flash, bringing Lola with me on my return journey, to marry her out of handas soon as we reached London. Cats and Winter Gartens concerned me butlittle, and of trifles like contracts I took no account. 

"If you're there any time, " said Campion, tugging thoughtfully at hisblack beard, "you might look into what the Germans are doing with regardto Female Rescue Work. You might pick up a practical tip or two for usedown here. "

What a thing it is to be a man of one idea! I gave him an evasive answerand rushed away to make the necessary preparations for my journey. I wasabsurdly, boyishly happy. No doubt as to my success crossed my mind. It was to be my final and triumphant adventure. Unless the High Powersstove a hole in the steamer or sent another railway train to collidewith mine, the non-attainment of my object seemed impossible. I had butto go, to be seen, to conquer. 

I arrived safely in Berlin at half-past seven in the evening, and droveto a modest hotel in the Kaiserstrasse, where I had engaged a room. Myfirst inquiry was for a letter from Lola. To my disappointment nothingawaited me. I had telegraphed to her at the Winter Garten the daybefore, and I had written as well. A horrible surmise began to dancebefore me. Suppose Messrs. Conto and Blag had given Dale erroneousinformation! I grew sick and faint at the thought. What laughter therewould be in Olympus over my fool journey! In great agitation I clamouredfor a programme of the Winter Garten entertainment. The hotel clerk putit into my trembling hands. There was no mention of Madame Lola Brandt, but to my unspeakable comfort I saw the announcement:

"Professorin Anastasius Papadopoulos und ihre wunderbaren Katzen. "

Lola was working the cats under the little man's name. That was whyshe had baffled the inquiries instituted by Dale and myself and had notreceived my telegram. I scribbled a hasty note in which I told her ofmy arrival, my love, and my impatience; that I proposed to witness theperformance that evening, and to meet her immediately afterwards at thestage-door. This, addressed to the Professorin Anastasius Papadopoulos, I despatched by special messenger to the Winter Garten. After a hastytoilet and a more hurried meal, I went out, and, too impatient to walk, I hailed a droschky, and drove through the wide, cheery streets ofBerlin. It was a balmy June evening. The pavements were thronged. Through the vast open fronts of the cafes one saw agglutinated massesof people just cleft here and there by white-jacketed waiters dartingto and fro with high-poised trays of beer and coffee. Save these and thefolks in theatres all Berlin was in the streets, taking the air. A senseof gaiety pervaded the place, organised and recognised, as though itwere as much part of a Berliner's duty to himself, the Fatherland, andthe Almighty to be gay when the labours of the day are over as to beserious during business hours. He goes through it with a grave face andenjoys himself prodigiously. Your Latin when he fills the street withjest and laughter obeys the ebullience of his temperament; your Teutonalways seems to be conscientiously obeying a book of regulations. 

I soon arrived at the Winter Garten and secured a stall near the stage. The vast building was packed with a smoking and perspiring multitude. In shape it was like a long tunnel or a long, narrow railway station, animpression intensified by a monotonous barrel roof. This was, however, painted blue and decorated with myriads of golden stars. Along one sideran a gallery where those who liked to watch the performance and eat asix-course dinner at the same time could do so in elaborate comfort. Inthe centre of the opposite side was the stage, and below it, grouped ina semi-circle, the orchestra. Beneath the starry roof hung long wisps ofsmoke clouds. 

The performance had only just begun and Lola's turn was seventh on thelist. I reflected that greater deliberation in my movements would havesuited the maturity of my years, besides enabling me to eat a moredigestible dinner. I had come with the unreasoning impatience of a boy, fully conscious that I was too early, yet desperately anxious not to betoo late. I laughed at myself indulgently and patted the boy in meon the head. Meanwhile, I gave myself up with mild interest to theentertainment provided. It was the same as that at any music-hall, winter garden, or variety theatre the world over. The same brawnygentlemen in tights made human pyramids out of themselves and playedfootball with the little boys and minced with their aggravating stepsdown to the footlights; the same red-nosed clown tried to emulate hisdashing companion on the horizontal bars, pulling himself up, to theeternal delight of the audience, by the seat of his baggy breeches, andhanging his hat on the smooth steel upright; the same massive lady withthe deep chest sang sentimental ballads; the same China-man producedwarrens of rabbits and flocks of pigeons from impossible receptacles;the same half-dozen scantily clad damsels sang the same inane chorus inthe same flat baby voices and danced the same old dance. Mankind in thebulk is very young; it is very easily amused and, like a child, clamoursfor the oft-repeated tale. 

The curtain went down on the last turn before Lola's. I felt a curioussuspense, and half wished that I had not come to see the performance. I shrank from finding her a million miles away from me, a new, remotecreature, impersonal as those who had already appeared on the stage. Mingled with this was a fear lest she might not please this vastaudience. Failure, I felt, would be as humiliating to me as to her. Agatha, I remembered, confessed to the same feeling with regard tomyself when I made my first speech in the House of Commons. But thenI had an incontrovertible array of facts and arguments, drawn up by aninfallible secretary and welded into cunning verbiage by myself, whichI learned off by heart. And the House, as I knew it would, had beenhalf asleep. I couldn't fail. But Lola had to please three thousandwide-awake Berlin citizens, who had paid their money for entertainment, with no other equipment than her own personality and the tricks of a setof wretched irresponsible cats. 

The orchestra struck up the act music. The curtains parted, and revealedthe brightly polished miniature gymnasium I had seen at Anastasius'scattery; the row of pussies at the back, each on a velvet stand, somewhite, some tabby, some long-furred, some short-furred, all sitting withtheir forepaws doubled demurely under their chests, wagging their tailscomically, and blinking with feline indifference at the footlights; acage in a corner in which I descried the ferocious wild tomcat;and, busily putting the last touches to the guy ropes, the pupil andassistant Quast, neatly attired in a close fitting bottle-green uniformwith brass buttons. Almost immediately Lola appeared, in a shimmeringgold evening gown, and with a necklet of barbaric gold round her neck. I had never seen her so magnificently, so commandingly beautiful. Iwas conscious of a ripple of admiration running through the hugeassembly--and it was a queer sensation, half pride, half angry jealousy. My immediate neighbors were emphatic in their praise. Applause greetedher. She smiled acknowledgments and, flicking the little toy whip whichshe carried in her hand, she began the act. First of all, the catsjumped from their stands, right-turned like a military line, and walkedin procession round the stage. At a halt and a signal each pussy put itsfront paws on its front neighbour and the march began again. Then Loladid something with voice and whip, and each cat dropped on its paws, andas if by magic there appeared a space between every animal. 

At a further word the last cat jumped over the one in front and over theone in front of that and so on until, having cleared the first cat, it leaped on to its stand where it began to lick itself placidly. Meanwhile, the penultimate cat had begun the same evolution, and thenthe ante-penultimate cat, until all the cats had cleared the front oneand had taken their positions on their stands. The last cat, left alone, looked round, yawned in the face of the audience, and, turning tail, regained its stand with the air of unutterable boredom. The audience, delighted, applauded vehemently. I raised my hands as I clapped them, trying vainly and foolishly to catch Lola's eye. 

At a tap of her whip a white angora and a sleek tabby jumped fromthe stands and took up their positions one at each end of a miniaturetight-rope. Lola stuck a tiny Japanese umbrella in the collar of eachand sent them forth on their perilous journey. When they met in themiddle, they spat and caterwauled and argued spitefully. The audienceshrieked. Then by a miracle the cats cleared each other and pursuedtheir sedate and cautious ways to their respective ends of the rope. Thenext act was a team of a dozen rats drawing a tiled chariot driven bya stolid coal-black cat with green, expressionless eyes, down an aisleformed by the other cats who sat in solemn contemplation on their tails. There was no doubt of Lola's success. The tricks were as marvellousin themselves as their execution was flawless. During the applause Inoticed her eagerly scanning the sea of faces. Her eyes seemed to beturned in my direction. I waved my handkerchief, and instinct told methat at last she recognised the point of pink and the flutter of whiteas me. 

Then the stage was cleared of the gentle cats and the wire cagecontaining Hephaestus was pushed forward by Quast. He showed off theferocious beast's quality by making it dash itself against the wires, arch its huge back, and shoot out venomous claws. Lola commanded himby sign to open the cage. He approached in simulated terror, Hephaestusuttering blood-curdling howls, and every time he touched the handle ofthe door Hephaestus sprang at him like a tiger with the tomcat'shateful hiss. At last, amid the laughter of the audience (for this wasprearranged business), Quast suddenly refused to obey his mistress anymore, and went and sat on the floor in the corner of the stage. ThenLola, with a glance of contempt at him for his poltroonery and a glanceof confidence at the audience, opened the cage door and dragged thegigantic and malevolent brute out by the scruff of its neck and held itup like a rabbit, as she had done in Anastasius's cattery. 

Suddenly her iron grip seemed to relax; she made one or two ineffectualefforts to retain it and the brute dropped to the ground. She looked atit for a second disconcerted as if she had lost her nerve, and then, in a horrible flash, the beast sprang at her face. She uttered piercingscreams. The blood spurted from the ghastly claws. Quick as lightningQuast leapt forward and dragged it off. Lola clapped both hands to hereyes, and reeled and tottered to the wings, where I saw a man's two armsreceive her. The last thing I saw was Quast kneeling on the beast on thefloor mastering him by some professional clutch. Then there rang out asharp whistle and the curtain went down with a run. 

I rose, sick with horror, barely conscious of the gasping excitementthat prevailed around me, and blindly groped my path through the crowdedrows of folk towards the door. I had only proceeded half-way when asudden silence made me turn, and I saw a man addressing the audiencefrom the stage. Apparently it was the manager. He regretted to haveto inform the audience that Madame Papadopoulos would not be ableto conclude her most interesting performance that evening as shehad unfortunately received injuries of a very grave nature. Then hesignalled to the orchestra, who crashed into a loud and vulgar marchwith clanging brass and thundering drum. It sounded so cynically andhideously inhuman that I trampled recklessly over people in my mad rushto the exit. 

I found the stage-door, where a knot of the performers were assembled, talking of the horrible accident. I pushed my way shiveringly throughthem, and tried to rush into the building, but was checked by a burlyporter. I explained incoherently in my rusty German. I came for news ofMadame Papadopoulos. I was her _Verlobter_ I declared, with a gush ofinspiration. Whether he believed that I was her affianced I know not, but he bade me wait, and disappeared with my card. I became at oncethe object of the curiosity of the loungers. I heard them whisperingtogether as they pointed me out and pitying me. The cat had torn herface away said one woman. I put my hands over my ears so as not to hear. Presently the porter returned with a stout person in authority, who drewme into the stage-doorkeeper's box. 

"You are a friend of Frau Papadopoulos?"

"Friend!" I cried. "She is to be my wife. I am in a state of horror anddespair. Tell me what has happened. "

Seeing my condition, he laid aside his official manner and became human. It was a dreadful accident, said he. The beast had apparently got itsclaws in near her eyes; but what were her exact injuries he could nottell, as her face was all over blood and she had fainted with the pain. The doctor was with her. He had telephoned for an ambulance. I was to bequite certain that she would receive every possible attention. He wouldgive my card to the doctor. Meanwhile I was quite at liberty to remainin the box till the ambulance came. I thanked him. 

"In the meantime, " said I, "if you can let me have a word with FrauleinDawkins, her maid, should she be in the theatre, or Quast her attendant, I should be grateful. "

He promised and withdrew. The doorkeeper gave me a wooden chair, andthere I sat for an unconscionable time, faint and dizzy with suspense. The chance words I had heard in the crowd, the manager's remark aboutthe claws, the memory of the savage spring at the beloved face made mefeel sick. Every now and then, as some doors leading to the stage swungopen, I could hear the orchestra and the laughter and applause ofthe audience. Both Dawkins and Quast visited me. The former was in ahelpless state of tears and hand-wringing. As she knew no word of Germanshe could understand nothing that the doctors or others said. Madame wasunconscious. Her head was tightly bandaged. That was all the definiteinformation she had. 

"Did Madame know I was in front to-night?" I asked. 

"Oh, yes, sir! I think she had a letter from you. She was so pleased, poor dear Madame. She told me that you would see the best performanceshe had ever given. "

Whereupon she broke down and was useless for further examination. ThenQuast came. He could not understand how the accident had occurred. Hephaestus had never before tried to attack her. She had absolutemastery over him, and he usually behaved with her as gently as any ofthe other cats. With himself it was quite different. He was accustomedto Hephaestus springing at him; but then he beat him hard with a greatstick until he was so sore that he could neither stand up nor lie down. 

"I have always implored Madame to carry something heavier than thatsilly little whip, and now it's all over. She will never be able tocontrol him again. Hephaestus will have to be killed, and I will bedesolate. Ach, what a misfortune!"

He began to weep. 

"Good God!" I cried; "you don't mean to say that you're sorry for thebrute?"

"One can't help being fond of him. We have been for five yearsinseparable companions!"

I had no sympathy to fling away on him at that moment. 

"How do you account for his spring at Madame to-night? That's all I wantto know. "

"She must have been thinking of something else when she grabbed him. Forshe missed her grip. Then he fell and was frightened, and she must havelost her nerve. Hephaestus knew it, and sprang. That is always the casewhen wild animals turn. All accidents happen like that. "

His words filled me with a new and sickening dread. 

_"She must have been thinking of something else. "_ Of what else but ofmy presence there? That stupid, selfish wave of the handkerchief! I satgnawing my hands and cursing myself. 

The ambulance arrived. Men hurried past my box. I waited again in agonyof mind. At last the porter came and cleared the passage and doorway ofloungers, and I heard the tread of footsteps and gruff directions. Themanager and a man in a frock-coat and black tie, whom I recognised asthe doctor, came down the passage, followed by two great men carryingbetween them a stretcher covered by a sheet on which lay all that Iloved in life. Dawkins followed, weeping, and then came several theatrefolk. I went outside and saw the stretcher put into the ambulance-van, and then I made myself known to the doctor. 

"She has received very great injuries--chiefly the right cheek and eye. So much so that she needs an oculist's care at once. I have telephonedto Dr. Steinholz, of No. 4, Thiergarten, one of our ablest oculists, toreceive her now into his clinique. If you care to do so, you are welcometo accompany me. "

I drove through the gay, flaring streets of Berlin like a man in aphantasmagoria of horror. 

CHAPTER XXIV

The first time they allowed me to see her was after many days ofnerve-racking anxiety. I had indeed called at the clinique two or threetimes a day for news, and I had written short letters of comfort andreceived weirdly-spelt messages taken down from Lola's dictation by anurse with an imperfect knowledge of English. These kept the heart inme; for the doctor's reports were invariably grave--possible loss ofsight in the injured eye and permanent disfigurement their most hopefulprognostications. I lived, too, in a nervous agony of remorse. Forwhatever happened I held myself responsible. At first they thought herlife was in danger. I passed nightmare days. Then the alarming symptomssubsided, and it was a question of the saving of the eye and the decenthealing of the cheek torn deep by the claws of the accursed brute. WhenQuast informed me of its summary execution I felt the primitive savagearise in me, and I upbraided Quast for not having invited me to gloatover its expiring throes. How the days passed I know not. I wanderedabout the streets, looking into the windows of the great shops, buyingflowers and fruit for Lola in eccentric quantities. Or sitting inbeerhouses reading the financial pages of a German paper held upsidedown. I could not return to London. Still less could I investigatethe German philanthropic methods of rescuing fallen women. I wrote toCampion a brief account of what had happened and besought him to set adeputy to work on the regeneration of the Judds. 

At last they brought me to where Lola lay, in a darkened room, with herhead tightly bandaged. A dark mass spread over the pillow which I knewwas her glorious hair. I could scarcely see the unbandaged half of herface. She still suffered acute pain, and I was warned that my visitcould only be of brief duration, and that nothing but the simplestmatters could be discussed. I sat down on a chair by the left side ofthe bed. Her wonderful nervous hand clung round mine as we talked. 

The first thing she said to me, in a weak voice, like the faint echo ofher deep tones, was:

"I'm going to lose all my good looks, Simon, and you won't care to lookat me any more. "

She said it so simply, so tenderly, without a hint of reproach in it, that I almost shouted out my horrible remorse; but I remembered myinjunctions and refrained. I strove to comfort her, telling her mythicaltales of surgical reassurances. She shook her head sadly. 

"It was like you to stay in Berlin, Simon, " she said, after a while. "Although they wouldn't let me see you, yet I knew you were within call. You can't conceive what a comfort it has been. "

"How could I leave you, dear, " said I, "with the thought of youthrobbing in my head night and day?"

"How did you find me?"

"Through Conto and Blag. I tried all other means, you may be sure. Butnow I've found you I shan't let you go again. "

This was not the time for elaborate explanations. She asked fornone. When one is very ill one takes the most unlikely happenings ascommonplace occurrences. It seemed enough to her that I was by her side. We talked of her nurses, who were kind; of the skill of Dr. Steinholz, who brought into his clinique the rigid discipline of a man-of-war. 

"He wouldn't even let me have your flowers, " she said. "And even if hehad I shouldn't have been able to see them in this dark hole. "

She questioned me as to my doings. I told her of my move to Barbara'sBuilding. 

"And I'm keeping you from all that splendid work, " she said weakly. "Youmust go back at once, Simon. I shall get along nicely now, and I shallbe happy now that I've seen you again. "

I kissed her fingers. "You have to learn a lesson, my dear, which willdo you an enormous amount of good. "

"What is that?"

"The glorious duty of selfishness. "

Then the minute hand of the clock marked the end of the interview, andthe nurse appeared on the click and turned me out. 

After that I saw her daily; gradually our interviews lengthened, and asshe recovered strength our talks wandered from the little incidents andinterests of the sick-room to the general topics of our lives. I toldher of all that had happened to me since her flight. And I told her thatI wanted her and her only of all women. 

"Why--oh, why, did you do such a foolish thing?" I asked. 

"I did it for your good. "

"My dear, have you ever heard the story of the tender-hearted elephant?No? It was told in a wonderful book published years ago and called'The Fables of George Washington AEsop. ' This is it. There was once anelephant who accidentally trod on the mother of a brood of newly-hatchedchickens. Her tender heart filled with remorse for what she had done, and, overflowing with pity for the fluffy orphans, she wept bitterly, and addressed them thus: 'Poor little motherless things, doomed to facethe rough world without a parent's care, I myself will be a mother toyou. ' Whereupon, gathering them under her with maternal fondness, shesat down on the whole brood. "

The unbandaged half of her face lit up with a wan smile. "Did I dothat?"

"I didn't conceive it possible that you could love me except for theoutside things. "

"You might have waited and seen, " said I in mild reproof. 

She sighed. "You'll never understand. Do you remember my saying oncethat you reminded me of an English Duke?"

"Yes. "

"You made fun of me; but you must have known what I meant. You see, Simon, you didn't seem to care a hang for me in that way--until quitelately. You were goodness and kindness itself, and I felt that youwould stick by me as a friend through thick and thin; but I had given uphoping for anything else. And I knew there was some one only waiting foryou, a real refined lady. So when you kissed me, I didn't dare believeit. And I had made you kiss me. I told you so, and I was as ashamed asif I had suddenly turned into a loose woman. And when Miss Favershamcame, I knew it would be best for you to marry her, for all theflattering things she said to me, I knew--"

"My dear, " I interrupted, "you didn't know at all. I loved you eversince I saw you first lying like a wonderful panther in your chair atCadogan Gardens. You wove yourself into all my thoughts and around allmy actions. One of these days I'll show you a kind of diary I used tokeep, and you'll see how I abused you behind your back. "

Her face--or the dear half of it that was visible--fell. "Oh, why?"

"For making me turn aside from the nice little smooth path to thegrave which I had marked out for myself. I regarded myself as a genteelsemi-corpse, and didn't want to be disturbed. "

"And I disturbed you?"

"Until I danced with fury and called down on your dear head maledictionswhich for fulness and snap would have made a mediaeval Pope squirm withenvy. "

She pressed my hand. "You are making fun again. I thought you wereserious. "

"I am. I'm telling you exactly what happened. Then, when I was rapidlyapproaching the other world, it didn't matter. At last I died and cameto life again; but it took me a long time to come really to life. I waslike a tree in spring which has one bud which obstinately refuses toburst into blossom. At last it did burst, and all the love that hadbeen working in my heart came to my lips; and, incidentally, my dear, toyours. "

This was at the early stages of her recovery, when one could only speakof gentle things. She told me of her simple Odyssey--a period of waitingin Paris, an engagement at Vienna and Budapest, and then Berlin. Heragents had booked a week in Dresden, and a fortnight in Homburg, and shewould have to pay the forfeit for breach of contract. 

"I'm sorry for Anastasius's sake, " she said. "The poor little mite wroteme rapturous letters when he heard I was out with the cats. He gave me along special message for each, which I was to whisper in its ear. "

Poor little Anastasius Papadopoulos! She showed me his letters, writtenin a great round, flourishing, sanguine hand. He seemed to be happyenough at the Maison de Sante. He had formed, he said, a school for thecats of the establishment, for which the authorities were very grateful, and he heralded the completion of his gigantic combinations with regardto the discovery of the assassin of the horse Sultan. Lola and I neverspoke of him without pain; for in spite of his crazy and bombasticoddities, he had qualities that were lovable. 

"And now, " said Lola, "I must tell him that Hephaestus has been killedand the rest are again idling under the care of the faithful Quast. Itseemed a pity to kill the poor beast. "

"I wish to Heaven, " said I, "that he had been strangled at birth. "

"You never liked him. " She smiled wanly. "But he is scarcely to beblamed. I grew unaccountably nervous and lost control. All savageanimals are like that. " And, seeing that I was about to protestvehemently, she smiled again. "Remember, I'm a lion-tamer's daughter, and brought up from childhood to regard these things as part of theshow. There must always come a second's failure of concentration. Lotsof tamers meet their deaths sooner or later for the same reason--just asudden loss of magnetism. The beast gets frightened and springs. "

Exactly what Quast had told me. Exactly what I myself had divined atthe sickening moment. I bowed my head and laid the back of her cool handagainst it, and groaned out my remorse. If I had not been there! IfI had not distracted her attention! She would not listen to myself-reproach. It had nothing to do with me. She had simply missed hergrip and lost her head. She forbade me to mention the subject again. Themisery of thinking that I held myself to blame was unbearable. I said nomore, realising the acute distress of her generous soul, but in my heartI made a deep vow of reparation. 

It was, however, with no such chivalrous feelings, but out of the simplelonging to fulfil my life that I asked her definitely, for the firsttime, to marry me as soon as she could get about the world again. I putbefore her with what delicacy I could that if she had foolish ideas ofmy being above her in station, she was above me in worldly fortune, andthus we both had to make some sacrifices to our pride. I said that mywork was found--that our lives could be regulated as she wished. 

She listened, without saying a word, until I had finished. Then she tookmy hand. 

"I'm grateful, " she said, "and I'm proud. And I know that I love youbeyond all things on earth. But I won't give you an answer till I'm upand about on my feet again. "

"Why?" I insisted. 

"Don't ask. And don't mention the matter again. You must be good to me, because I'm ill, and do what I say. "

She smiled and fondled my hand, and cajoled a reluctant promise from me. 

Then came days in which, for no obvious reason, Lola received mewith anxious frightened diffidence, and spoke with constraint. Thecheerfulness which she had hitherto exhibited gave place to dulldepression. She urged me continually to leave Berlin, where, as shesaid, I was wasting my time, and return to my work in London. 

"I shall be all right, Simon, perfectly all right, and as soon as I cantravel, I'll come straight to London. "

"I'm not going to let you slip through my fingers again, " I would saylaughingly. 

"But I promise you, I'll swear to you I'll come back! Only I can't bearto think of you idling around a woman's sick-bed, when you have suchglorious things to do at home. That's a man's work, Simon. This isn't. "

"But it is a man's work, " I would declare, "to devote himself to thewoman he loves and not to leave her helpless, a stranger in a strangeland. "

"I wish you would go, Simon. I do wish you would go!" she would saywearily. "It's the only favour I've ever asked you in my life. "

Man-like, I looked within myself to find the reason for these earnestrequests. In casting off my jester's suit had I also divested myself ofthe power to be a decently interesting companion? Had I become merely adull, tactless, egotistical bore? Was I, in simple, naked, horrid fact, getting on an invalid's delicate nerves? I was scared of the new pictureof myself thus presented. I became self-conscious and made particularefforts to bring a little gaiety into our talk; but though she smiledwith her lips, the cloud, whatever it was, hung heavily on her mind, andat the first opportunity she came back to the ceaseless argument. 

In despair I took her nurse into my confidence. 

"She is right, " said the nurse. "You are doing her more harm than good. You had better go away and write to her daily from London. "

"But why--but why?" I clamoured. "Can't you give me any reason?"

The nurse glanced at me with a touch of feminine scorn. 

"The bandages will soon be removed. "

"Well?" said I. 

"The sight of one eye may be gone. "

"I know, " said I. "She is reconciled to it. She has the courage andresignation of a saint. "

"She has also the very common and natural fears of a woman. "

"For Heaven's sake, " I cried, "tell me plainly what you mean. "

"We don't quite know what disfigurement will result, " said the nursebluntly. "It is certain to be very great, and the dread of your seeingher is making her ill and retarding her recovery. So if you have anyregard for her, pack up your things and go away. "

"But, " I remonstrated, "I'm bound to see her sooner or later. "

The nurse lost patience. "Ach! Can't you get it into your head that itis essential it should be later, when she is strong enough to stand thestrain and has realised the worst and made her little preparations?"

I accepted the rebuke meekly. The situation, when explained, wascomprehensible to the meanest masculine intelligence. 

"I will go, " said I. 

When I announced this determination to Lola she breathed a deep sigh ofrelief. 

"I shall be so much happier, " she said. 

Then she raised both her arms and drew my head down until our lips met. "Dear, " she whispered, still holding me, "if I hadn't run away from youbefore I should run away now; but it would be silly to do it twice. SoI'll come to London as soon as the doctor will let me. But if you findyou don't and can't possibly love me I shan't feel hurt with you. I'vehad some months, I know, of your love, and that will last me all mylife; and I know that whatever happens you'll be my very dear anddevoted friend. "

"I shall be your lover always!" I swore. 

She shook her head and released me. A great pity welled up in my heart, for I know now why she had forbidden me to speak of marriage, and insome dim way I got to the depth of her woman's nature. I realised, as far as a man can, how the sudden blasting of a woman's beauty mustrevolutionise not only her own attitude towards the world, but herconception of the world's attitude towards her. Only a few weeks beforeshe had gone about proudly conscious of her superb magnificence. It wasthe triumphant weapon in her woman's armoury, to use when she so chose. It had illuminated a man's journey (I knew and felt it now) through theValley of the Shadow. It had held his senses captive. It had brought himto her feet. It was a charm that she could always offer to his eyes. It was her glory and her pride to enhance it for his delectation. Herbeauty was herself. That gone, she had nothing but a worthless soul tooffer, and what woman would dream of offering a man her soul if she hadno casket in which to enshrine it? If I had presented this other aspectof the case to Lola, she would have cried out, with perfect sincerity:

"My soul! You get things like mine anywhere for twopence a dozen. "

It was the blasting of her beauty that was the infinite matter. Allthat I loved would be gone. She would have nothing left to give. Thesplendour of the day had ceased, and now was coming the long, long, dreary night, to meet which with dignity she was nerving her braveheart. 

The tears were not far from my eyes when I said again softly:

"Your lover always, dear. "

"Make no promises, " she said, "except one. "

"And that is?"

"That you will write me often until I come home. "

"Every day. "

So we parted, and I returned to London and to my duties at Barbara'sBuilding. I wrote daily, and her dictated answers gave me knowledge ofher progress. To my immense relief, I heard that the oculist's skill hadsaved her eyesight; but it could not obliterate the traces of the cruelclaws. 

The days, although fuller with work and interests, appeared long untilshe came. I saw but little of the outside world. Dale, my sister Agatha, Sir Joshua Oldfield, and Campion were the only friends I met. Dale wasingenuously sympathetic when he head of the calamity. 

"What's going to happen?" he asked, after he had exhausted hisvocabulary of abuse on cats, Providence and Anastasius Papadopoulos. "What's the poor dear going to do?"

"If I am going to have any voice in the matter, " said I, "she is goingto marry me. "

He wrung me by the hand enthusiastically and declared that I was thesplendidest fellow that ever lived. Then he sighed. 

"I am going about like a sheep without a leader. For Heaven's sake, come back into politics. Form a hilarious little party of yourown--anything--so long as you're back and take me with you. "

"Come to Barbara's Building, " said I. 

But he made a wry face, and said that he did not think Maisie would likeit. I laughed and put my hand on his shoulder. 

"My son, you have a leader already, and she has already tied a blueriband round your woolly neck, and she is pulling you wherever she wantsto go. And it's all to the infinite advantage of your eternal soul. "

Whereupon he grinned and departed to the sheepfold. 

At last Lola came. She begged me not to meet her at the station, but togo round after dinner to Cadogan Gardens. 

Dawkins opened the door for me and showed me into the familiardrawing-room. The long summer day was nearing its end, and only a dimtwilight came through the open windows. Lola was standing rigid on thehearthrug, her hand shielding the whole of the right side of her face. With the free hand she checked my impetuous advance. 

"Stop and look!" she said, and then dropped the shielding hand, andstood before me with twitching lips and death in her eyes. I saw in aflash the devastation that had been wrought; but, thank God, I piercedbeneath it to the anguish in her heart. The pity--the awful, poignantpity--of it smote me. Everything that was man in me surged towards her. What she saw in my eyes I know not; but in hers dawned a sudden wonder. There was no recoil of shock, such as she had steeled herself toencounter. I sprang forward and clasped her in my arms. Her stiffenedframe gradually relaxed and our lips met, and in that kiss all fears anddoubts were dissolved for ever. 

Some hours later she said: "If you are blind enough to care for a maimedthing like me, I can't help it. I shall never understand it to my dyingday, " she added with a long sigh. 

"And you will marry me?"

"I suppose I've got to, " she replied. And with the old pantherine twistof her body she slid from her easy-chair to the ground and buried herface on my knees. 

And that is the end of my story. We were quietly married three weeksafterwards. Agatha, wishing to humour a maniac for whom she retained anunreasonable affection, came to the wedding and treated Lola as only asweet lady could. But my doings passed her understanding. As for Jane, my other sister, she cast me from her. People who did these things, shemaintained, must bear the consequences. I bore them bravely. It is onlynow that my name is beginning to be noised abroad as that of one whospeaks with some knowledge on certain social questions that Jane holdsout the olive branch of fraternal peace. After a brief honeymoon Lolainsisted on joining me in Barbara's Building. A set of rooms next tomine was vacant, and Campion, who welcomed a new worker, had the twosets thrown into what house-agents term a commodious flat. She is nowLady Superior of the Institution. The title is Campion's, and for someodd feminine reason Lola is delighted with it. 

Yes, this is the end of the story which I began (it seems in a previousincarnation) at Murglebed-on-Sea. 

The maiming of Lola's beauty has been the last jest which theArch-Jester has practised on me. I fancy he thought that this finalscurvy trick would wipe Simon de Gex for ever out of the ranks of hisrivals. But I flatter myself that, having snapped my fingers in hisface, the last laugh has been on my side. He has withdrawn discomfitedfrom the conflict and left me master of the ground. Love conquers all, even the Arch-Jester. 

There are some who still point to me as one who has deliberately ruineda brilliant career, who pity me as one who has gone under, who speakwith shrugged shoulders and uplifted eyebrows at my unfortunate marriageand my obscure and cranky occupation. The world, they say, was atmy feet. So it was. But what the pitying critics lack the grace tounderstand is that better than to have it under one's feet is to haveit, or that of it which matters, at one's heart. 

I sit in this tiny hotel by the sea and reflect that it is over threeyears since I awoke from death and assumed a new avatar. And since mymarriage, what have been the happenings?

Dale has just been elected for the Fensham Division of Westmoreland, andhe has already begun the line of sturdy young Kynnersleys, of which Ihad eumoirous dreams long ago. Quast and the cats have passed into alienhands. Anastasius Papadopoulos is dead. He died three months ago ofangina pectoris, and Lola was with him at the end. Eleanor Faversham hasmarried a Colonial bishop. Campion, too, has married--and married thelast woman in the world to whom one would have thought of mating him--afrivolous butterfly of a creature who drags him to dinner-parties andAscot and suppers at the Savoy, and holds Barbara's Building and allit connotes in vixenish detestation. He roars out the agony of hisphilanthropic spirit to Lola and myself, who administer consolation andthe cold mutton that he loves. The story of his marriage is a littlelunatic drama all to itself and I will tell it some day. But now Ican only rough-sketch the facts. He works when he can at the belovedcreation of his life and fortune; but the brain that would be inadequateto the self-protecting needs of a ferret controls the action of thismasterful enthusiast, and his one awful despair in life is to touch aheart that might beat in the bosom of a vicious and calculating haddock. I only mention this to explain how it has come to pass that Lola and Iare now all-powerful in Barbara's Building. It has become the child ofour adoption and we love it with a deep and almost fanatic affection. Before Lola my influence and personality fade into nothingness. She isthe power, the terror, the adoration of Lambeth. If she chose shecould control the Parliamentary vote of the borough. Her great, direct, large-hearted personality carries all before it. And with it there issomething of the uncanny. A feat of hers in the early days is by way ofbecoming legendary. 

A woman, on the books of the Building, was about to bring a hopelesshuman fragment into a grey world. Lola went to see what aid the Buildingcould provide. In front of the door lounged the husband, a hulkingporter in a Bermondsey factory. Glowering at his feet lay a viciousmongrel dog--bull-terrier, Irish-terrier, mastiff--so did Lola withher trained eye distinguish the strains. When she asked for his wife intravail the chivalrous gentleman took his pipe from his mouth, spat, andafter the manner of his kind referred to the disfigurement of her facein terms impossible to transcribe. She paid no attention. 

"I'm coming upstairs to see your wife. "

"If you pass that door, s'welp me Gawd, I'll set the dog on yer. "

She paused. He urged the dog, who bristled and growled and showed histeeth. Lola picked the animal up, as she would have picked up a sofacushion, and threw him across the street. She went to where he hadfallen, ordered him to his feet, and the dog licked her hand. She cameback with a laugh. 

"I'll do the same to you if you don't let me in!"

She pushed the hulking brute aside. He resisted and laid hands on her. By some extraordinary tamer's art of which she had in vain tried toexplain to me the secret, and with no apparent effort, she glided awayfrom him and sent him cowering and subdued some feet beyond the lintelof the door. The street, which was watching, went into a roar oflaughter and applause. Lola mounted the stairs and attended to thebusiness in hand. When she came down the man was still standing at thethreshold smoking an obfusticated pipe. He blinked at her as if she hadbeen a human dynamo. 

"Come round to Barbara's Building at six o'clock and tell me how sheis. "

He came on the stroke of six. 

The fame of Lola spread through the borough, and now she can walkfeared, honoured, unmolested by night or by day through the streetsof horror and crime, which neither I nor any other man--no matter howcourageous--dare enter at certain hours without the magical protectionof a policeman. 

Sunshine has come at last, both into this little backwater of the worldby the sea and into my own life, and it is time I should end this futilerecord. 

Yesterday as we lay on the sands, watching the waves idly lap the shore, Lola brought herself nearer to me with a rhythmic movement as no othercreature form of woman is capable of, and looked into my eyes. And shewhispered something to me which led to an infinite murmuring of foolishthings. I put my arms round her and kissed her on the lips and on hercheek--whether the beautiful or the maimed I knew not--and she sank intoa long, long silence. At last she said:

"What are you thinking of?"

I said, "I'm thinking that not a single human being on the face of theearth has a sense of humour. "

"What do you mean?" she asked. 

"Simply this, " said I, "that what has occurred billions of billions ofmillions of times on the earth we are now regarding as the only thingthat ever happened. "

"Well, " said Lola, "so it is--for us--the only thing that everhappened. "

And the astounding woman was right.