CHAPTER XXVI
LateSeptember had come, with its sad, too-mellow beauty. It had ripened all the fruit, burnishing the apples to look like little suns, and the sun to look like a ripe, burnished apple. It had woven its web of blue over all the still countryside, so that the elms standing so nobly in the Sussex meadows seemed draped in it, like tapestry trees; the far hills had wrapped themselves in its hazy folds and gone to sleep until some cold and later wind should strip them of it.
In Madame Claire’s garden a few roses bloomed somewhat blowsily, and asters and Michaelmas daisies, dahlias and a brave company of late-staying perennials made welcome color notes among the greens and rust browns.
She sat in her library, writing. Every now and then she looked out of her French window at Stephen who was sitting on the lawn in one of the garden chairs, reading, his long legs resting on another. Robins visited him, perching on a chair or table, and he thought as his sunken blue eyes regarded them humorously, that the robin wasmore like a confiding little animal than a bird, with its friendly ways, and its power—shared with no other small bird—of meeting the human eye.
He had lived in some of the beauty spots of the world, but he said to himself that no beauty crept into the heart as this beauty of Sussex did. Mingled with it was some of the charm of what was lovable in human nature—the charm of gentleness and quiet and homeliness. Every wind was tempered, the sun shone through a protecting haze, the verdure harbored nothing more treacherous than a fluttering moth. To an eye accustomed to the white and blue glare of the South, every tint, every color seemed happily blended. And even the robins, he thought, returning to his book, seemed to know and like him.
Madame Claire was writing to Noel.
“I have often pointed out to you,”she wrote,“the enormous advantages of old age over youth, but I have never felt them more keenly myself than now. The world is at present in a state of flux, and that state, while it may be beneficial, is rarely comfortable. There are movements afoot that I am sure cause young mothers to wonder fearfully what precarious and troubled lives arein store for their little ones. I am not one of those who believe blindly that all new movements are good ones. The world has seen many that seemed great, happily defeat their own ends, leaving the generations to come a legacy of knowledge that they seem, often enough, to ignore. I believe that the struggle will be fierce, but the world, in order to attend to the enormously important businesses of increasing, eating and sleeping, requires in the long run certain conventions and conformities, and to preserve these has a way of weakening the ground under the feet of the shouting and bloodthirsty reformer—even, alas! of the true spiritual leader. The world has dedicated itself, I think, to the great law of average—such an eternal warring of good and bad would seem to bring that about naturally—and compromise would be the inevitable end of every struggle.“You, and all those I love, will either be participators in or spectators of that struggle. Not so Stephen and myself. We are privileged by old age to ignore it if we can. Age has a right to forget the evils that it can do nothing to lessen.“I still read my paper, but I get no pleasure from it. Who does? One sees that the Empire for which one would cheerfully die, is accused of making mistakes in every quarter of the globe.One hears of millions of helpless people in another country brought to starvation through a fiendish conspiracy of greed unexampled in the world’s cruel history. It is one long tale of dissatisfaction and dissent, and it were better not to have turned a single page.“But let us leave all that and talk of people.“When you came back for Judy’s wedding in June, Eric and Louise were still living apart, though they came together of necessity on that occasion; and things looked hopeless. But Eric, as I suppose you must have heard by now, had a breakdown brought on from overwork. He had made, I think, a hundred and forty speeches in eight months, and traveled I forget how many thousand miles. His fight with theI.L.P.over the Moorgate Division was a great fight and he defeated them all along the line. But the strain was too much for him. Louise was at Mistley when he was taken ill, and Connie was still keeping house for him. She hurried him off to a nursing home, and wrote Louise a scathing letter which brought that lady hot-foot to London. The two met for the first time over the sickbed, and oddly enough, neither dislikes the other as much as they had expected to. Connie had given such a bad account of Eric that I believe Louise came to geta deathbed forgiveness. At any rate, she completely broke down and sobbed out her remorse on his pillow, while Connie and the nurse stood in the hall and tried not to hear. Eric accepted her repentance and forgave her on the sole condition that she maintain that same friendly attitude when he was well again. That, and that alone he insisted upon, that she treat him like a friend instead of an enemy. This she gave him to understand she would do, and they are now convalescing together—for in a sense Louise must be convalescing too—in Chip’s cottage in Cornwall, looked after by an old Cornish woman. I had a letter from her yesterday, and she says she has never been so happy in her life. That is because she has him entirely to herself, and there is no one there who could possibly interest him more than she does. So far so good. What will happen when he is at work again, surrounded by people who make claims upon him, I do not know. But I do feel certain that things can never be as bad again.“Connie of course is merely marking time till your return. She has lately made a number of perfectly desirable acquaintances, however, and is not in the least unhappy. I think her thankfulness at her narrow escape from a bigamous(?) marriage keeps her from cavilling at her fate, or from dwelling on her inexplicable infatuation for Petrovitch, who is in America. For she is not cured of that, nor will she ever be. He is, as you once said, her hero for life, spots and all. That is the rôle she has chosen for herself, and she will play it to the end. I am longing to know whether or not you have been able to find any traces of Freda. I sometimes feel that you and I played a not altogether worthy part in that affair, but it was worth it!“You ask me for minute particulars concerning Judy. Is she happy, you ask? What am I to say to that? If she is not happy, she will always be too loyal to say so. I think she is clever enough to make her own happiness, or at least to attain to an average of contentment—an average that leans at moments toward the peaks of happiness on one side and toward the abyss of unhappiness on the other. And I think it is good for us to look both ways. Her love for Chip—and a very real love it is—has much in it of the maternal, a quality I think every woman’s love is the better for. As for him—dear, simple Chip!—he worships her, and is unutterably happy. He may disappoint her in some ways. He lacks and will always lack—in spite of the miracle of her love—self-confidence.He is never quite comfortable with strangers, and never expects to be liked, though when he finds that he is, he glows like a nice child that is justly praised. If fame ever comes to Chip it will come in spite of him.“Judy has made their small flat a really delightful place, but entertaining, except in the most informal way, is of course impossible. No one thinks less of human pomps than I do, but given different opportunities, Judy might have been something of a Mademoiselle de Lespinasse. Her charm is extraordinary. She has ‘come out’ wonderfully since her marriage, and it is easy to see that she will develop into an uncommon woman. If Chip will only develop with her—but I pray that he will.“That little cottage in Cornwall that played such an important part in their lives was the right setting for their honeymoon, for they had much to learn about each other. You say that however it turns out, you are bound to feel partly responsible. Possibly; but that lovable and gentle face of Chip’s with the lights shining through the fog upon it, was far more responsible. Judy was bound to love him. And whether she be happy or not, she will be all the better for loving him. We make too much of happiness, Noel. It doesn’tmuch matter what our lives are; but it does matter whether or not we live them finely. And that is possible to any of us. A certain style is necessary for this; a certain gallant attitude. One finds this style, this gallantry, in the most unlooked-for places sometimes——“And just now, I think, is the right moment for me to speak of Mr. Colebridge. In spite of his undeniable limitations he loved Judy sincerely, and he has proved it in a most agreeable way. You remember I wrote you some time ago that I had been reading Chip’s plays. There were three, and two of them are charming—really charming. I imagine Chip’s knowledge of women to have been extremely slight, but the ladies who existed in his imagination are really the most delightful creatures! Delightful! These two plays that I like so much are fanciful, but at the same time they are wonderfully sympathetic and human, and I feel absolutely certain that given half a chance they are bound to succeed. I at once gave them to Mr. Colebridge to read—he owns theaters, you know—and although he says he knows nothing about plays, I mistrust him, for he knew enough to appreciate these. He is taking them to New York with him soon, and launched and extensively advertised by him, I feel sure they willflourish. He seems to know the very actors and actresses for the leading parts. Isn’t it lucky? Mr. Colebridge seems almost as pleased about it as I am myself. Judy says he is doing it for me, but of course that’s nonsense. He says he has no doubt that the plays will put Judy and Chip ‘on Easy Street.’“Now that I call gallant. To make your rival’s fortune is not the end and aim of most disappointed lovers. There is style about that. I like Mr. Colebridge. He comes here quite often to see Stephen and me, and while I admit that I like him and—yes—even admire him, I do not, I confess, like him best when he is sitting in my garden, oblivious to its beauties and to the cajoleries of a most divine autumn, talking about sugar stocks. I like him better when he has gone, and I think how good-natured it was of him to have come, and how nice he really is.“Chip’s book on religions is in the hands of the publishers at last. I haven’t read it. Neither has Judy. He is extraordinarily shy and sensitive about it, and Judy says she has twice saved it from destruction at his hands. I feel it must be good. It may even be great! Well, we shall know some day.“There’s very little about Gordon that I canfind to say. I know that he had set his heart on a house in Mayfair, and that Helen had decided on one in Bloomsbury, near certain friends of hers; Bloomsbury, as you know, having become the fashion with a set of people whom Helen considers very desirable. I guessed what that high nose and long, unbeautiful chin indicated. Millie and John tactfully sided with both, for they feel that while Gordon is of course perfect, Helen can do no wrong. The little comedy has amused me considerably, and——”
“I have often pointed out to you,”she wrote,“the enormous advantages of old age over youth, but I have never felt them more keenly myself than now. The world is at present in a state of flux, and that state, while it may be beneficial, is rarely comfortable. There are movements afoot that I am sure cause young mothers to wonder fearfully what precarious and troubled lives arein store for their little ones. I am not one of those who believe blindly that all new movements are good ones. The world has seen many that seemed great, happily defeat their own ends, leaving the generations to come a legacy of knowledge that they seem, often enough, to ignore. I believe that the struggle will be fierce, but the world, in order to attend to the enormously important businesses of increasing, eating and sleeping, requires in the long run certain conventions and conformities, and to preserve these has a way of weakening the ground under the feet of the shouting and bloodthirsty reformer—even, alas! of the true spiritual leader. The world has dedicated itself, I think, to the great law of average—such an eternal warring of good and bad would seem to bring that about naturally—and compromise would be the inevitable end of every struggle.“You, and all those I love, will either be participators in or spectators of that struggle. Not so Stephen and myself. We are privileged by old age to ignore it if we can. Age has a right to forget the evils that it can do nothing to lessen.“I still read my paper, but I get no pleasure from it. Who does? One sees that the Empire for which one would cheerfully die, is accused of making mistakes in every quarter of the globe.One hears of millions of helpless people in another country brought to starvation through a fiendish conspiracy of greed unexampled in the world’s cruel history. It is one long tale of dissatisfaction and dissent, and it were better not to have turned a single page.“But let us leave all that and talk of people.“When you came back for Judy’s wedding in June, Eric and Louise were still living apart, though they came together of necessity on that occasion; and things looked hopeless. But Eric, as I suppose you must have heard by now, had a breakdown brought on from overwork. He had made, I think, a hundred and forty speeches in eight months, and traveled I forget how many thousand miles. His fight with theI.L.P.over the Moorgate Division was a great fight and he defeated them all along the line. But the strain was too much for him. Louise was at Mistley when he was taken ill, and Connie was still keeping house for him. She hurried him off to a nursing home, and wrote Louise a scathing letter which brought that lady hot-foot to London. The two met for the first time over the sickbed, and oddly enough, neither dislikes the other as much as they had expected to. Connie had given such a bad account of Eric that I believe Louise came to geta deathbed forgiveness. At any rate, she completely broke down and sobbed out her remorse on his pillow, while Connie and the nurse stood in the hall and tried not to hear. Eric accepted her repentance and forgave her on the sole condition that she maintain that same friendly attitude when he was well again. That, and that alone he insisted upon, that she treat him like a friend instead of an enemy. This she gave him to understand she would do, and they are now convalescing together—for in a sense Louise must be convalescing too—in Chip’s cottage in Cornwall, looked after by an old Cornish woman. I had a letter from her yesterday, and she says she has never been so happy in her life. That is because she has him entirely to herself, and there is no one there who could possibly interest him more than she does. So far so good. What will happen when he is at work again, surrounded by people who make claims upon him, I do not know. But I do feel certain that things can never be as bad again.“Connie of course is merely marking time till your return. She has lately made a number of perfectly desirable acquaintances, however, and is not in the least unhappy. I think her thankfulness at her narrow escape from a bigamous(?) marriage keeps her from cavilling at her fate, or from dwelling on her inexplicable infatuation for Petrovitch, who is in America. For she is not cured of that, nor will she ever be. He is, as you once said, her hero for life, spots and all. That is the rôle she has chosen for herself, and she will play it to the end. I am longing to know whether or not you have been able to find any traces of Freda. I sometimes feel that you and I played a not altogether worthy part in that affair, but it was worth it!“You ask me for minute particulars concerning Judy. Is she happy, you ask? What am I to say to that? If she is not happy, she will always be too loyal to say so. I think she is clever enough to make her own happiness, or at least to attain to an average of contentment—an average that leans at moments toward the peaks of happiness on one side and toward the abyss of unhappiness on the other. And I think it is good for us to look both ways. Her love for Chip—and a very real love it is—has much in it of the maternal, a quality I think every woman’s love is the better for. As for him—dear, simple Chip!—he worships her, and is unutterably happy. He may disappoint her in some ways. He lacks and will always lack—in spite of the miracle of her love—self-confidence.He is never quite comfortable with strangers, and never expects to be liked, though when he finds that he is, he glows like a nice child that is justly praised. If fame ever comes to Chip it will come in spite of him.“Judy has made their small flat a really delightful place, but entertaining, except in the most informal way, is of course impossible. No one thinks less of human pomps than I do, but given different opportunities, Judy might have been something of a Mademoiselle de Lespinasse. Her charm is extraordinary. She has ‘come out’ wonderfully since her marriage, and it is easy to see that she will develop into an uncommon woman. If Chip will only develop with her—but I pray that he will.“That little cottage in Cornwall that played such an important part in their lives was the right setting for their honeymoon, for they had much to learn about each other. You say that however it turns out, you are bound to feel partly responsible. Possibly; but that lovable and gentle face of Chip’s with the lights shining through the fog upon it, was far more responsible. Judy was bound to love him. And whether she be happy or not, she will be all the better for loving him. We make too much of happiness, Noel. It doesn’tmuch matter what our lives are; but it does matter whether or not we live them finely. And that is possible to any of us. A certain style is necessary for this; a certain gallant attitude. One finds this style, this gallantry, in the most unlooked-for places sometimes——“And just now, I think, is the right moment for me to speak of Mr. Colebridge. In spite of his undeniable limitations he loved Judy sincerely, and he has proved it in a most agreeable way. You remember I wrote you some time ago that I had been reading Chip’s plays. There were three, and two of them are charming—really charming. I imagine Chip’s knowledge of women to have been extremely slight, but the ladies who existed in his imagination are really the most delightful creatures! Delightful! These two plays that I like so much are fanciful, but at the same time they are wonderfully sympathetic and human, and I feel absolutely certain that given half a chance they are bound to succeed. I at once gave them to Mr. Colebridge to read—he owns theaters, you know—and although he says he knows nothing about plays, I mistrust him, for he knew enough to appreciate these. He is taking them to New York with him soon, and launched and extensively advertised by him, I feel sure they willflourish. He seems to know the very actors and actresses for the leading parts. Isn’t it lucky? Mr. Colebridge seems almost as pleased about it as I am myself. Judy says he is doing it for me, but of course that’s nonsense. He says he has no doubt that the plays will put Judy and Chip ‘on Easy Street.’“Now that I call gallant. To make your rival’s fortune is not the end and aim of most disappointed lovers. There is style about that. I like Mr. Colebridge. He comes here quite often to see Stephen and me, and while I admit that I like him and—yes—even admire him, I do not, I confess, like him best when he is sitting in my garden, oblivious to its beauties and to the cajoleries of a most divine autumn, talking about sugar stocks. I like him better when he has gone, and I think how good-natured it was of him to have come, and how nice he really is.“Chip’s book on religions is in the hands of the publishers at last. I haven’t read it. Neither has Judy. He is extraordinarily shy and sensitive about it, and Judy says she has twice saved it from destruction at his hands. I feel it must be good. It may even be great! Well, we shall know some day.“There’s very little about Gordon that I canfind to say. I know that he had set his heart on a house in Mayfair, and that Helen had decided on one in Bloomsbury, near certain friends of hers; Bloomsbury, as you know, having become the fashion with a set of people whom Helen considers very desirable. I guessed what that high nose and long, unbeautiful chin indicated. Millie and John tactfully sided with both, for they feel that while Gordon is of course perfect, Helen can do no wrong. The little comedy has amused me considerably, and——”
“I have often pointed out to you,”she wrote,“the enormous advantages of old age over youth, but I have never felt them more keenly myself than now. The world is at present in a state of flux, and that state, while it may be beneficial, is rarely comfortable. There are movements afoot that I am sure cause young mothers to wonder fearfully what precarious and troubled lives arein store for their little ones. I am not one of those who believe blindly that all new movements are good ones. The world has seen many that seemed great, happily defeat their own ends, leaving the generations to come a legacy of knowledge that they seem, often enough, to ignore. I believe that the struggle will be fierce, but the world, in order to attend to the enormously important businesses of increasing, eating and sleeping, requires in the long run certain conventions and conformities, and to preserve these has a way of weakening the ground under the feet of the shouting and bloodthirsty reformer—even, alas! of the true spiritual leader. The world has dedicated itself, I think, to the great law of average—such an eternal warring of good and bad would seem to bring that about naturally—and compromise would be the inevitable end of every struggle.
“You, and all those I love, will either be participators in or spectators of that struggle. Not so Stephen and myself. We are privileged by old age to ignore it if we can. Age has a right to forget the evils that it can do nothing to lessen.
“I still read my paper, but I get no pleasure from it. Who does? One sees that the Empire for which one would cheerfully die, is accused of making mistakes in every quarter of the globe.One hears of millions of helpless people in another country brought to starvation through a fiendish conspiracy of greed unexampled in the world’s cruel history. It is one long tale of dissatisfaction and dissent, and it were better not to have turned a single page.
“But let us leave all that and talk of people.
“When you came back for Judy’s wedding in June, Eric and Louise were still living apart, though they came together of necessity on that occasion; and things looked hopeless. But Eric, as I suppose you must have heard by now, had a breakdown brought on from overwork. He had made, I think, a hundred and forty speeches in eight months, and traveled I forget how many thousand miles. His fight with theI.L.P.over the Moorgate Division was a great fight and he defeated them all along the line. But the strain was too much for him. Louise was at Mistley when he was taken ill, and Connie was still keeping house for him. She hurried him off to a nursing home, and wrote Louise a scathing letter which brought that lady hot-foot to London. The two met for the first time over the sickbed, and oddly enough, neither dislikes the other as much as they had expected to. Connie had given such a bad account of Eric that I believe Louise came to geta deathbed forgiveness. At any rate, she completely broke down and sobbed out her remorse on his pillow, while Connie and the nurse stood in the hall and tried not to hear. Eric accepted her repentance and forgave her on the sole condition that she maintain that same friendly attitude when he was well again. That, and that alone he insisted upon, that she treat him like a friend instead of an enemy. This she gave him to understand she would do, and they are now convalescing together—for in a sense Louise must be convalescing too—in Chip’s cottage in Cornwall, looked after by an old Cornish woman. I had a letter from her yesterday, and she says she has never been so happy in her life. That is because she has him entirely to herself, and there is no one there who could possibly interest him more than she does. So far so good. What will happen when he is at work again, surrounded by people who make claims upon him, I do not know. But I do feel certain that things can never be as bad again.
“Connie of course is merely marking time till your return. She has lately made a number of perfectly desirable acquaintances, however, and is not in the least unhappy. I think her thankfulness at her narrow escape from a bigamous(?) marriage keeps her from cavilling at her fate, or from dwelling on her inexplicable infatuation for Petrovitch, who is in America. For she is not cured of that, nor will she ever be. He is, as you once said, her hero for life, spots and all. That is the rôle she has chosen for herself, and she will play it to the end. I am longing to know whether or not you have been able to find any traces of Freda. I sometimes feel that you and I played a not altogether worthy part in that affair, but it was worth it!
“You ask me for minute particulars concerning Judy. Is she happy, you ask? What am I to say to that? If she is not happy, she will always be too loyal to say so. I think she is clever enough to make her own happiness, or at least to attain to an average of contentment—an average that leans at moments toward the peaks of happiness on one side and toward the abyss of unhappiness on the other. And I think it is good for us to look both ways. Her love for Chip—and a very real love it is—has much in it of the maternal, a quality I think every woman’s love is the better for. As for him—dear, simple Chip!—he worships her, and is unutterably happy. He may disappoint her in some ways. He lacks and will always lack—in spite of the miracle of her love—self-confidence.He is never quite comfortable with strangers, and never expects to be liked, though when he finds that he is, he glows like a nice child that is justly praised. If fame ever comes to Chip it will come in spite of him.
“Judy has made their small flat a really delightful place, but entertaining, except in the most informal way, is of course impossible. No one thinks less of human pomps than I do, but given different opportunities, Judy might have been something of a Mademoiselle de Lespinasse. Her charm is extraordinary. She has ‘come out’ wonderfully since her marriage, and it is easy to see that she will develop into an uncommon woman. If Chip will only develop with her—but I pray that he will.
“That little cottage in Cornwall that played such an important part in their lives was the right setting for their honeymoon, for they had much to learn about each other. You say that however it turns out, you are bound to feel partly responsible. Possibly; but that lovable and gentle face of Chip’s with the lights shining through the fog upon it, was far more responsible. Judy was bound to love him. And whether she be happy or not, she will be all the better for loving him. We make too much of happiness, Noel. It doesn’tmuch matter what our lives are; but it does matter whether or not we live them finely. And that is possible to any of us. A certain style is necessary for this; a certain gallant attitude. One finds this style, this gallantry, in the most unlooked-for places sometimes——
“And just now, I think, is the right moment for me to speak of Mr. Colebridge. In spite of his undeniable limitations he loved Judy sincerely, and he has proved it in a most agreeable way. You remember I wrote you some time ago that I had been reading Chip’s plays. There were three, and two of them are charming—really charming. I imagine Chip’s knowledge of women to have been extremely slight, but the ladies who existed in his imagination are really the most delightful creatures! Delightful! These two plays that I like so much are fanciful, but at the same time they are wonderfully sympathetic and human, and I feel absolutely certain that given half a chance they are bound to succeed. I at once gave them to Mr. Colebridge to read—he owns theaters, you know—and although he says he knows nothing about plays, I mistrust him, for he knew enough to appreciate these. He is taking them to New York with him soon, and launched and extensively advertised by him, I feel sure they willflourish. He seems to know the very actors and actresses for the leading parts. Isn’t it lucky? Mr. Colebridge seems almost as pleased about it as I am myself. Judy says he is doing it for me, but of course that’s nonsense. He says he has no doubt that the plays will put Judy and Chip ‘on Easy Street.’
“Now that I call gallant. To make your rival’s fortune is not the end and aim of most disappointed lovers. There is style about that. I like Mr. Colebridge. He comes here quite often to see Stephen and me, and while I admit that I like him and—yes—even admire him, I do not, I confess, like him best when he is sitting in my garden, oblivious to its beauties and to the cajoleries of a most divine autumn, talking about sugar stocks. I like him better when he has gone, and I think how good-natured it was of him to have come, and how nice he really is.
“Chip’s book on religions is in the hands of the publishers at last. I haven’t read it. Neither has Judy. He is extraordinarily shy and sensitive about it, and Judy says she has twice saved it from destruction at his hands. I feel it must be good. It may even be great! Well, we shall know some day.
“There’s very little about Gordon that I canfind to say. I know that he had set his heart on a house in Mayfair, and that Helen had decided on one in Bloomsbury, near certain friends of hers; Bloomsbury, as you know, having become the fashion with a set of people whom Helen considers very desirable. I guessed what that high nose and long, unbeautiful chin indicated. Millie and John tactfully sided with both, for they feel that while Gordon is of course perfect, Helen can do no wrong. The little comedy has amused me considerably, and——”
Stephen was calling to her. She put down her pen and stepped out of the French window. She crossed the lawn with a pleasant rustle of long gray skirts, and he got out of his chair as she came toward him.
“What have you been doing all this long time?”
“Writing to Noel,” she answered. “Have I neglected you?”
“I was beginning to think so. Come and take a walk round the garden with me.”
“Where is Miss McPherson?”
“She’s perpetrating one of her atrocious and painstaking water colors in the lane.”
“And you tell her they are beautiful!”
“It’s the only way I can make her blush.”
They walked between herbaceous borders where dying colors burned with the deep, concentrated brilliance of embers.
“I have never loved an autumn as I have loved this one,” Stephen said.
“Nor I. Do you know why that is, Stephen? It’s because we are untroubled by thoughts of other autumns.”
“Perhaps. I don’t mind your saying those things as I once did.”
“All the fever,” she went on, “has gone out of life. Each day is a little book of hours. The opening and closing of each flower is an event of prime and beautiful importance. The shape and movement of clouds, the flight of birds, the shadows of the leaves on the grass—all those things and a thousand other lovely things are beginning to assume a right proportion in our lives. We are beginning to be happy.”
“It’s the wonderful peace of it all,” said Stephen.
“Yes. The peace of old age is something I have looked forward to all my life. That, and the dignity of it.” She looked up at him, smiling. “For old age, Stephen, my dear, is almost as dignified as death.”
THE END
THE END
NOVELS OF SUPREME LITERARY ARTTHE GLIMPSES OF THE MOONBy EDITH WHARTON“I can think of no American novel, written within the last few years, and dealing with contemporary life, to compare with it. And not only does Mrs. Wharton write better than anyone else, but she knows how to unfold a more exciting tale.”—Katherine Fullerton Gerould in theNew York Times.THE MIRACLEBy E. TEMPLE THURSTONA keen, human story of the west coast of Ireland, with peculiar fascination in the rich background of Irish folk lore.THE VAN ROONBy J. C. SNAITHAn unusual and totally absorbing plot, delightfully told, and a remarkable set of characters, unmatched since Dickens.THE MOUNTAIN SCHOOL TEACHERBy MELVILLE DAVISSON POSTHow would Christ act if He appeared in the world today? Through Mr. Post’s story of the Kentucky mountains runs an impressive allegory.ABBÉ PIERREBy JAY WILLIAM HUDSONThis charming novel of life in quaint Gascony has proved that a novel that is a work of true literary art may be a best seller of the widest popularity.D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.New YorkLondon
NOVELS OF SUPREME LITERARY ART
By EDITH WHARTON
“I can think of no American novel, written within the last few years, and dealing with contemporary life, to compare with it. And not only does Mrs. Wharton write better than anyone else, but she knows how to unfold a more exciting tale.”—Katherine Fullerton Gerould in theNew York Times.
By E. TEMPLE THURSTON
A keen, human story of the west coast of Ireland, with peculiar fascination in the rich background of Irish folk lore.
By J. C. SNAITH
An unusual and totally absorbing plot, delightfully told, and a remarkable set of characters, unmatched since Dickens.
By MELVILLE DAVISSON POST
How would Christ act if He appeared in the world today? Through Mr. Post’s story of the Kentucky mountains runs an impressive allegory.
By JAY WILLIAM HUDSON
This charming novel of life in quaint Gascony has proved that a novel that is a work of true literary art may be a best seller of the widest popularity.
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.New YorkLondon
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.
New York
London
Transcriber’s Note.Introduction.Welcome to Project Gutenberg’s edition ofMadame Claire, a novel by Susan Ertz.About the Author.Susan Ertz published over twenty works in a career spanning six decades. She was born February 13, 1887 and died on April 11, 1985.Madame Clairewas her first novel.This Project Gutenberg version.This production of the book is based on the first American edition of the novel, published in 1923, by D. Appleton and Company. The source is the scanned copy of the Library of Congress from the Internet Archives.Detailed Notes.One major issue in the transcription of this book is the rendering of words hyphenated and split between two lines for spacing. For most cases, words were silently rejoined based on other uses of the word in this novel. Cases where there are few or no other uses of the word are detailed in the Hyphenated Words section of these Detailed Notes. I used Google’s Ngram viewer when the book had no template. There were a few cases where I’d love to check the author’s other novels for templates but her other works are not digitized. Any other issues in rejoining these words may also be found in the Hyphenated Words section.Other issues that have come up in transcribing the book are listed in the Emendations and Issues section of these Detailed Notes.Emendations and Issues.OnPage 89andPage 211, there is a space between an em-dash and the beginning of the next sentence on the printed page. These spaces were removed.Page 2The novel usessitting-roomhere but four other times usessitting room.The novel also uses dining-room onPage 28, but later has three uses of dining room. In both cases, the spelling as the novel had it was retained.Page 58andPage 141usewell-knownandwell known,respectively, but the usage in both cases follows current styling guidelines. The Chicago Manual of Style cites the following grammatical rule: use a hyphen to join two or more words serving as a single adjective before a noun, but not when those two words come after a noun. The AP Style Guide has a more complex rule that hyphenates the words after the noun if the adjectives appear after a form ofto be. In the first sentence,by a well-known firm of decorators,well-known is a single adjective before a noun. In the second sentence,His father, Graham Crosby, an explorer well known to geographical societies,well known is a single adjective after the noun explorer, not followed by a verb form of to be.Page iiiOn the original title page, the city of Publication and the year of Publication were on the same line. Because of a technical issue associated with maintaining that structure, the city and year are displayed on separate lines and the text centered, much like the presentation of this publisher information on the title page of many of our other books.Page vAdded Table of Contents. This table of contents page replaces a simple page with the title of the novel printed on it.Page 27,Page 149. As the complimentary closing of all other letters was italicized, the complimentary closings for these two letters were italicized too. These were Stephen’s second letter in Chapter 3 and Claire’s reply to another of Stephen’s letters in Chapter 13.OnPage 172, the closing signatures of Stephen’s letter was printed on the last line of the letter in the book and right justified. OnPage 265, the complimentary closing and closing signature were printed on the last line of the letter and right justified. Both presentations were standardized.Page 53Titanic in Stephen’s letter is in quotes, whileTitaniconPage 153is italicized.Who’s Whois a reference work on contemporary prominent people in Britain published annually since 1849. I removed the question mark afterWho’s Who?in the citation onPage 240. No change was made to the citation onPage 75.Page 165Correct spelling of trying in this sentence:If I say anything she will only tell me I am tryng to rob her of her happiness.Page 187Change Is to It in the sentence:Is isn’t as though the children were growing up;Page 222Add a left quote beforeMr. Robinson of Denver.’Page 229Remove right double quote afterMr. Colebridge nearly always joins us.”Page 241Change pore to poor in the sentence:there aren’t too many things going for a pore cripple.OnPage 256Madame Claire sayssha’n’twhile onPage 294Chip saysshan’t.Page 263Remove the double right quote after me in the following sentence:I feel that life is just beginning for me.The standard in this book for letters with a closing address is to defer the trailing right quote until after the closing signature.Page 274Change single right quote to a double right quote in the following sentence:"Didn’t I understand Judy to say that the theater was one of them?’Page 277Change prefectly to perfectly in the sentence:"are you prefectly well again?Page 283Change the double right closing quote after Andrew Crobsy’s signature to a closing single right quote. Judy’s narration continues after the end of the letter.In theNovels promotional page, the book’s practice of putting both publishing cities on the same line were retained.The cover image was created by the transcriber and it is placed in the public domain.Hyphenated Words.Page 3lifelong, seePage 82.Page 10self-restraint.Page 11eye-witness.Page 28photograph, seePage 77.Page 44overshadowed.Page 53bath-chair, seePage 213andPage 219.Page 62barbed-wire entanglements, seePage 61.Page 67notebook. Another word with the same suffix, picture-book onPage 138, was unsuitable as a template for notebook.Page 71hard-bitten.Page 76forbore.Page 82nakedness, seePage 106.Page 87meddlesome.Page 104warfare.Page 135stiffness.Page 139schoolgirl, seePage 256.Page 148hilltop, seePage 7.Page 160waist-coat.Page 173dressmaker.Page 183household, seePage 097.Page 204between-maid.Page 220over-ripeness.Page 237unChristian.Page 246primroses.Page 252hereafter, seePage 48.Page 257doorway, seePage 199.Page 288nickname.
Transcriber’s Note.
Welcome to Project Gutenberg’s edition ofMadame Claire, a novel by Susan Ertz.
Susan Ertz published over twenty works in a career spanning six decades. She was born February 13, 1887 and died on April 11, 1985.Madame Clairewas her first novel.
This production of the book is based on the first American edition of the novel, published in 1923, by D. Appleton and Company. The source is the scanned copy of the Library of Congress from the Internet Archives.
One major issue in the transcription of this book is the rendering of words hyphenated and split between two lines for spacing. For most cases, words were silently rejoined based on other uses of the word in this novel. Cases where there are few or no other uses of the word are detailed in the Hyphenated Words section of these Detailed Notes. I used Google’s Ngram viewer when the book had no template. There were a few cases where I’d love to check the author’s other novels for templates but her other works are not digitized. Any other issues in rejoining these words may also be found in the Hyphenated Words section.
Other issues that have come up in transcribing the book are listed in the Emendations and Issues section of these Detailed Notes.