I apologised, and we became more friendly. He told me his parents had made great sacrifices in regard to his preparation for the law, and that George had willingly agreed to this. He admitted there had been a period when one did not take much trouble to speak of a brother who had enlisted in the army; he remembered arguing the matter with George very seriously, and for some years they were not on speaking or writing terms; the war had promptly brought them together. I spoke of other conjuring tricks performed by the same medium. Of my nephew Herbert, stopped in his educational career. Of the Hilliers, and in particular of Muriel.
"But that ought not to be a difficult task," said the little man, across the table. "To bring those two together, I mean."
"It ought not to be difficult," I agreed, "but I can give you my word that it is."
"He is very much in love with her?"
"That's right."
"And she cares for no one else?"
"So far as I know."
"Have you," he asked, "considered the usefulness of exciting jealousy?"
It is fair to say that he did, in the result, persuade the railway people to increase the compensation by about fifty per cent., that he declined to take a penny for his work, and that his suggestion concerning Muriel appeared, when I had given full time to consideration, one which deserved a fair trial. The chance came when a stout widow of Maze Hill, a lady customer who collected articles of brass, spoke to me of her intense sympathy for lonely men in the army; she had four on her list with whom she was in frequent postal communication, and wanted more. "My heart goes out to them," she declared, emotionally. She was grateful for the full address of Lieutenant Millwood, of whom I spoke as from hearsay, and she subsequently shewed me a brief but very courteous note received from that young officer. "They're always shy at first," remarked the Maze Hill widow, acutely. "But I know just how to write to them. The great thing is to cheer them up, make them realise that someone cares for them, and send them plenty of cigarettes." In one of his notes to me, Herbert alluded to the kindness he was receiving from a Mrs. Kenningham. I spoke of this incident at Gloucester Place, and Muriel said she considered that some women with nothing else to do were making themselves foolish and intolerably fussy in pressing their attentions upon army men.
Katherine left the bank, and stayed at home for a few weeks. The post from Mesopotamia was still imperfect, and it was all I could do to keep her hopeful and happy. Her baby came one morning at twenty-five past six, and I sent a cable to Lieutenant Langford that seemed to puzzle the attendant in the Post Office. It said,
"Beautiful boy!"
CHAPTER XVII
Thearrival of the baby boy at Gloucester Place made an extraordinary difference in many ways. Katherine might well have protested against being deprived of some of her rights; instead she looked on good-temperedly and with an obvious pride in the interest created by her son; her own talk was mainly of the bank, and the possibility that the authorities might allow her to return so soon as she was sufficiently restored to health. It depended, she told me, on the quality of girls newly engaged there since her departure; a highly placed official named Cummings would have a voice in the matter.
"Cummings is a bachelor," she went on, "and he won't be very amiably disposed in my case. When a bachelor reaches the age of fifty he is inclined to take what he calls the common sense view. And common sense will be all against me."
"What is his first name?" I asked casually.
"Timothy," she replied, "but the scandalous circumstance is not generally known. He hopes that people assume it is Thomas."
Mr. Hillier, advanced in position at Woolwich, and able, at times, to return home at an early hour, came now at a trot from the station, and his first inquiry as he ascended the staircase always concerned the infant; Edward gave up his occasional evenings at the theatre to return home, chat to Katherine, and, by permission of nurse, find himself allowed to hold the baby for a few minutes; old Mrs. Winterton discovered amongst her treasures, mid Victorian toys such as ivory rings, china dolls with black painted hair, and a wooden horse of barrel shape with circular stripes,The greatest change to be noticed was in Muriel. Muriel, in the presence of Master Langford, threw off all the masks that she wore at various times—aloofness, indifference, studied composure, sedateness—and, as Edward said, gave herself away completely when the baby was in sight. She talked to him in the mysterious language that the very young are supposed to understand, she was deferential towards nurse in order that she might be allowed to share nurse's duties; to be permitted to glance at him, the last thing, as he slept, was counted by her a remarkable privilege. Muriel assured me that the slightest whimper from his cot during the night, aroused her instantly.
"At office," she mentioned, with good humour, "I seem to have been making him the one topic of my conversation. At any rate, a round robin was presented to me to-day signed by all the girls in my room, and pointing out that I am not the only aunt in the world. I suppose it is true, but I wrote in reply that few aunts had such a brilliant and exceptional nephew."
"I felt just the same," I commented, "when Herbert arrived. For a time people used to say that it cost half a crown to speak to me."
Muriel was silent for a few moments. "I must write to Herbert," she said.
When nurse left, we formed a syndicate, and my earliest grievance against the shop was caused by the discovery that some one would have to be engaged to look after the baby; I was free only in the early hours and the late hours, and those were periods when the other members happened to be ready to give their services. Katherine herself could have remained at home, and she had a desire to do so, but she admitted to me that loneliness meant grim imaginings of disaster near the Persian Gulf, and I recognised that work, and nothing else but work, was necessary to her. So I had to look around for some responsible woman—not a slip of a girl, and not so advanced in age asMrs. Winterton, who had offered to help—and the task of finding one proved difficult; there were occupations so well paid at the time that few wanted to engage in domestic tasks. (I declined Mrs. Winterton's suggestion with a gentleness not, I fear, usual to me; I had an idea that the old Captain was beginning to shew signs of breaking up, and if this happened, I knew her hands would be full.) I did, at last, find a nurse who produced a guardedly-worded testimonial from her latest employer.
"I'm all right," she said, candidly, "so long as no one gets in my way. Once that happens, I fly straight off into a rare old fit of temper."
The engagement was made subject to the decision of the bank people. Katherine wrote, and the reply directed her to call the following Monday morning; she rehearsed the interview more than once, and declared her belief that Cummings would prove the one barrier. On the Sunday, I took the trouble to write to Mr. Cummings a letter, beginning My dearest Tim, and expressing the fear that he no longer remembered me, but saying that the note was intended to assure him that, in spite of the long lapse of time, he was never absent from my thoughts, and that I remained, now and always, his ever affectionate Daisy. It is not clear whether my action could be defended on moral grounds, but I did ascertain from Katherine that she found the recipient of the letter in a dreamy, slightly absent-minded and quite reasonable state, and that he handsomely granted her appeal.
"But," he said, gazing hard at the inkstand, "any repetition of the error will, of course—er—Good morning!"
It was enough to make a woman feel important to note how swiftly members of her sex filled the vacancies caused by the departure of men. Mr. Hillier spoke of munition factories at Erith and otherplaces, where thousands of girls were employed. At Woolwich, the canteens were run by women. It had long since given no astonishment to see a lady driving a motor-car; they seemed to do it more easily, less fussily than did their predecessors. I heard of waitresses in West End clubs, and of girl letter-sorters in the district Post Offices; I saw, when business took me to London, high booted, short skirted alert young women taking 'bus fares; from the kerbs came soprano voices calling the evening newspapers; lifts in the big shops were managed by smartly uniformed girls, and one observed them doing outside establishments the work hitherto performed by commissionaires. Some of my lady customers were deeply perturbed and shocked.
"It don't do to think what poor old Queen Victoria would have said," declared one, mournfully. "Thank Heaven, she wasn't spared to see this day. If she had been, it would have been the death of her. She'd never have survived it, dear soul. It's a mercy she was taken off when she was. Providence knows best."
The great argument with these good folk was that the occupations were unwomanly; they did not trouble to consider who else there was to do the work, and I always discovered they were the first to complain of any slight inconvenience to them created by the war, and full of indignation against some individuals whom they called the authorities. The authorities ought to have done this, the authorities should have done that; it was especially charged against the authorities that they were lacking in fore-sight, and deficient in the valuable quality of common sense. The most strenuous critics happened, by a coincidence, to be those who never contrived to remember whether my early closing day was Wednesday or Thursday.
I allowed conversation to go on in the shop, partly because one had all the natural curiosity to pick up any bits of news that were flying about, mainly becauseit was worth while that the place should offer an appearance of traffic. I have often seen people stop, attracted by the window, crease their features over some of the contents with a look of perplexity, and then, if the shop were empty, decide upon postponement and move away; if customers were inside, and there seemed a likelihood of an article of furniture being on the point of changing hands, then the shop was entered without delay. I hit upon the notion—it is improbable that I was the first to think of it—of placing some desirable arm-chair or attractive cabinet well in the foreground, and on it a ticket with the word "SOLD." The dodge rarely failed. Grapes that are out of reach invariably look the sweetest.
"Now could you manage, Miss Weston," it would be said, coaxingly, "to just write a nice little note to your customer, and say you're extremely sorry to find a mistake has been made? And send this round to my house on a hand-cart at once, and it will be there in time to be a surprise for my husband when he comes home!"
These were, of course, the exceptions. Plenty of my ladies were shrewd women doing good work with the various societies and associations that had been started in the borough, and I was rarely tired of hearing about their experiences, and always ready, I hope, to put my name down on their subscription lists. London grows kinder year by year, but there never was a period when amiability was so generally shown; perhaps there had never been a time when it was so much required. The need did not consist in money, but in friendliness. There were some who stood in urgent want of this.
A woman with her two children waited near to my door one day, gazing at the tram-cars in a bewildered manner. I went out, and asked if I could be of any assistance.
"I do feel such a looney," she admitted, cheerfully. "To tell you the truth, ma'am, I've never been outof Greenwich before, and now I've got to find my way to a railway station up in London. My man's coming home on leave, and he expects me and the kids to meet him. And we want to meet him, because if we don't he may come across other friends, and—Well, you know what soldier chaps are, don't you?"
I read the pencilled note she held in her hand. Millwood was upstairs, resting his voice. I put on my hat and coat in the back room, and called out a direction to him.
"I'll pilot you up there," I said, "and look after you until your husband arrives!"
The children were excited on the journey, wondering what Dad would look like, and what Dad would bring for them, and how long Dad would be able to remain at home, and how many Germans Dad had accounted for, and whether—the great question—whether he would take them to a picture palace. The woman herself was almost off her head with delight at the prospect of seeing her husband again. I remember she carried a small hand-bag with an unreliable catch; it contained all his letters and post cards, and I should think I rescued it from the floor twenty times.
"Without your help, ma'am," she declared gratefully at the London station, "I sh'd no more had been able to get here than nothing at all."
The boat train was due in ten minutes; we waited in the crowd near the barrier, the youngsters dancing about expectantly, and too much engaged to test the automatic machines. The tallest of us in the crowd presently saw the engine approaching, and we made the announcement; the crowd surged to and fro, chuckling and delighted.
"I shall scarcely know him, I expect," said my agitated companion, "after all these months."
Mud-covered soldiers began to alight from the train ere it stopped; cries of identification went up from people near to us.
"That's my Jim," she exclaimed. And, contradicting herself, "No, it ain't. Same height though. This must be him, coming along now. No," disappointedly. "That ain't him, neither!"
The men and their friends went off, chattering; the crowd diminished and the features of those who remained shewed anxiety.
"Anyone here called Mrs. Barford?" inquired a deep voice.
"That's me," whispered my companion. "You go and see what he wants, miss. I'm too nervous. I'm all of a tremble." I went forward.
"If you are Mrs. Barford," said the Corporal, speaking to me formally and deliberately, "I regret to have to inform you that your husband fell down, and died he did, just as we was about to get in the train at Bailleul. Heart attack probably. I need not say how sorry I am to be the bearer of bad news." He went off with his wife and son.
I had to take the sad group home to Greenwich, and to give all the comfort and sympathy I could provide. And wished, with all my heart and soul, that I had been better fitted for the task.
It was not long ere the new nurse and myself stepped inside the ring. If she had been an angel from Heaven (which she was not) I should probably have found some excuse for challenging her; she admitted, when it was all over, that she found Gloucester Place too quiet for a person of her disposition, and that she was, when the first discussion occurred, spoiling for a fight. I had received a visit from William Richards that afternoon, and a letter from my nephew contained an enclosure, to which I had been looking forward, from Mrs. Kenningham. William called to tell me he was married—
"And this I very well know, Mary Weston, means a rumpus so far as me and you are concerned!"
—Married to a lady hitherto engaged at a railwayrefreshment counter, and, as I remarked when he shewed me her photograph on the back of a postcard, looking it to the life. I assured him there was no objection so far as I knew, and that I trusted he would be happy; William could not get rid of the idea that an apology and a full explanation were due to me, and with some notion of tempering the blow, made an offer for a bookcase that stood in the shop. Guessing at the motive, I gave many reasons for declining this. The bookcase was not for sale. I myself had taken a fancy to it. Two or three customers were making a bid. The owner had gone abroad, and might return any day. Eventually, William became so piteous that I insisted on making him a gift of the article.
"Wish you hadn't taken it to heart like this, Mary," he mentioned in going. "But I suppose gels are more sensitive than what we men are. They brood over affairs of the kind, and make a grievance of 'em. Only, don't forget this. You had your chance, and it's no one's fault but your own that you didn't take advantage of it. I'll send for the bookcase in a day or two, and thank you kindly."
There was really nothing in this to worry about, but as I went, after closing the shop, I did feel William might have made a better selection, and I argued that the chances of his happiness were not great. At the exit from Gloucester Place to Crooms' Hill I caught sight of baby's nurse talking to the milkman. I waited until he began to pull at one of her white cuffs, and then, wondering how grown-up people could be so stupid, hurried on to the house. Baby was alone, and crying; he stopped on seeing me and was as right as ninepence in less than a minute. My lady arrived, and demanded to be told what I was doing with her child. I gave an answer pretty quickly. One word led to another, and when Muriel arrived the two of us were having a rare brisk discussion, hammer and tongs, give and take, such as I had nothad a share in for some time past. Muriel stayed the argument, begged me to go to my rooms, and settled down for her usual talk with the baby. When she came up later, I was feeling penitent.
"You are working too hard," she said, firmly, "and unless you go slowly you'll be ill, Aunt Weston. It's beginning to get on your nerves. We must see what can be done."
"You don't imagine, my dear, that I'm the kind of woman who will put up with any interference from other people?"
"Sure it wouldn't be an easy task," she agreed, smiling. "What happened to-day to put you out?"
She listened to the William Richards incident without great concern. But when I shewed her the letter that Mrs. Kenningham had written to Herbert, and the note from him which requested me to call on the lady, and tell her frankly that he was in no need of affectionate communications, then Muriel exhibited an energy and a vehemence of which I had not reckoned her capable. She was willing to accompany me to Maze Hill, and to go without delay. This style of woman, she said, forcibly, had to understand once for all that kindness must stop short of ridiculous infatuation.
We found in the drawing-room of Mrs. Kenningham's house a cabinet photograph of my nephew; it was set in an expensive silver frame, and I wondered how many applications the lady had made before obtaining it. It was gratifying to me, as a wire puller, to notice that Muriel had not yet managed to suppress her annoyance; she went across to the pianoforte and, despite my warnings, extracted the photograph. Underneath were two portraits of other soldiers whose loneliness had apparently, at an earlier stage, obtained the lady's attention.
"How do you do," said Mrs. Kenningham, entering breathlessly, "and I hope you are not going to detain me, because one has so much to see to, and such aquantity of letters to write, for at a period like this it is everyone's duty—"
"My name is Hillier," said Muriel, calmly. "I am engaged to Lieutenant Millwood. He has received this preposterous communication from you."
"Oh dear, oh dear," cried the lady, alarmedly, "I am so sorry. I've put my foot in it this time, and that's a fact. Do hope you'll believe that my intentions were good."
"Possibly. But your procedure was intensely foolish. Don't let it happen again."
When we were out of the house—our departure watched by the penitent Mrs. Kenningham—I asked the girl whether she had spoken the exact and precise truth.
"Aunt Weston," she answered, "I may have anticipated events slightly; whatever crime there is in that can be charged against me. But I'm not going to stand by and see any other woman snatch at him. Let me reply to his letter."
"Your news, my dear, will make him very happy."
"Been trying all my life to find happiness for myself," she said, "and I haven't succeeded. Maybe I shall be more fortunate in endeavouring to give it to somebody else."
We had a great meeting of friends, shortly after this, at Gloucester Place; so extensive that Mr. Hillier spoke of the drawbacks attendant on living in a flat, and compared the advantages of a house away from London. Singing was, by consent, barred. A gentleman belonging to the music-hall profession had come to live next door, and his habit of giving a birthday party every Sunday night was not without its inconveniences; it is only fair to say that when I called on him at the request of old Mrs. Winterton, he proved as amiable as anyone could be.
"Had no idea," he declared, self reproachfully, "there was anything like illness about, or else itwouldn't have happened. Say so, won't you, ma'am, with my compliments. Assure them that, until they give the word, hospitality is off. The old Captain's honestly ill, is he? Well, I'm sorry, and I can't say more. I expect the war has been too much for him. It affects a lot of people who try not to shew it. Here!" He took me aside. "Between ourselves, I'd give anything for that suit he wears, if ever he wants to get rid of it. I can assure you it would get me a roar the very moment I went on."
So that at our gathering we had no music, but there was plenty to talk about, and my nephew Herbert and Muriel were, to my great delight, on excellent terms—they had agreed, she told me, to wait until the war was over—and John was home from his tour, giving imitations of chairmen he had encountered, and obtaining the aid of Edward in reckoning the profits; the total when announced by the lad was received with applause. John's leg still gave trouble: he spoke of the old and less exacting task of writing songs. Colonel Edgington was there to play billiards with Mr. Hillier; I took coffee down to the room and found the two disputing in a manner that reminded me of Chislehurst days. The Colonel, I gathered, was arguing not for the first time that he either possessed influence or knew someone who owned it, and he desired it should be used on behalf of Mr. Hillier; the contention of Mr. Hillier was that he had every reason to be thankful for the position he now occupied.
And there was Katherine and her jolly baby. I wish I could describe to you how fond we all were of the little chap; how relieved I was to find that his nurse had asked for the day off; what a joy it was to me to watch him and to help his young mother in looking after him. Katherine and nurse appeared to get along well enough with each other, but my antagonism to the girl had in no sense diminished, and as I sat near the window, looking across the gardens at TheCircus, I tried to fix the details of a plan for getting rid of her, and securing for myself a greater control over the dear mite. (You will perhaps think that I was always scheming to get my own way, and you are probably not far wrong.)
"The work at the shop in London Street," I overheard Katherine say to John, "is telling on her. Do wish she'd give it up."
"Something must be done," said her brother.
"Millwood ought to be able to help," she remarked. "He seems to be a man of intelligence."
The great wonder to me was that my brother-in-law remained modest, continued to take the same size in hats. Before the war, he had been nothing more, so far as the public was concerned, than a minor local politician, reckoning himself lucky if theMercurygave his name amongst a number of others; occasionally it appeared on small bills that were posted furtively, by enthusiasts in the cause, who knew how to run a meeting on economical lines. Now and again, when the borough elections came on, he was in the sunlight for a space, and anyone who wanted to deal at that time in second-hand furniture, had no chance of doing business. At a parliamentary election, he was what is called an organiser.
Now, it appeared that he was necessary to the success of recruiting meetings, indispensable at all sorts of public occurrences that had connection with the war. I found a card for a drawing-room reception to meet Her Royal Highness the Princess Somebody of Something at a house near Pall Mall; the card announced three speakers, and one of these was H. Millwood, Esq. The date of the affair happened to be an early closing afternoon, and I made up my mind to go to town and ascertain how my brother-in-law comported himself in the presence of the higher aristocracy. I had seen him amongst the Greenwich people, had heard of his success with larger audienceselsewhere, but it appeared tolerably certain that Millwood would make grievous blunders in Carlton House Terrace.
There was time to spare when I stepped out of the tram-car on the far side of Westminster Bridge, and in St James's Park I found the lake still empty; on Horse Guards Parade a band was playing, and recruiting sergeants conducted sets of newly enlisted to the railway station; near The Mall and just inside the railings, a row of buildings had been set up for Admiralty work, and cars with staff officers, and navy men, hurried to and fro. There was no forgetting here that a war was going on. At the house mentioned on the invitation card, I hesitated. The ladies going in appeared distinguished (I recognised some from their portraits in the illustrated dailies), they were handsomely dressed, and I feared I might be stopped in the hall and called upon to answer searching questions. A dowdily-garbed woman came in at the carriage way, and I followed her. The footman inside the doorway bowed as he took her card.
"Has the meeting started yet?"
"Not yet, Your Grace," answered the footman.
I was sufficiently flustered to put, in a parrot-like way, the same question, and the man was well trained enough to give me the same kind of answer. At the foot of the broad staircase, another polite attendant asked us to ascend, and on the landing everyone was being announced to and received by the lady of the house.
"Miss Weston!" called the man. The lady of the house shook hands, pleasantly, said it was exceedingly good of me to find time to come, urged me to take a seat without delay.
"There will be a crowd," she remarked, contentedly. In a side room, I could see Millwood in his blue reefer suit chatting with a young woman who seemed about twice his height.
The ball room was, on one side, of irregular shape,and I managed to discover a corner, where, from a gilded chair I could watch without being seen. A small raised platform had been fixed; the windows looked out on the Park and Government offices. About me, as the room filled and the rows of chairs became occupied, the talk was of the war and its progress, or the need for its progress. One could not help observing, once more, that the appetite for rumours, fresh and seasonable and tasty, was as keen in the west as in the south-east of London.
The Chairman entered escorting H.R.H. (she was the tall young woman with whom I had seen Millwood chatting). We stood up. H.R.H. placed her bouquet of flowers on the table where there stood a silver tray, and a glass jug (that I should have liked to buy) and tumblers. A well-known actor-manager, a notable Judge, and Millwood followed. The audience sat down, made itself comfortable, and assumed the look of calm resignation that is appropriate when a flood of talk has to be expected. The Chairman opened with compliments to H.R.H. and, declaring that the speakers of the afternoon would save him the trouble of explaining the proposals of the new Association, went on to describe these in full detail. At the end of twenty minutes, he called upon the Judge. The Judge said the Chairman had given all the information that was necessary, and his own talk would therefore be simple and brief; he took twenty-five minutes to repeat, in slightly varied words, the speech of the Chairman. When the actor-manager advanced to the edge of the small platform, we all bent forward eagerly and hopefully; it seemed likely that here would be something to break the steady and persistent dulness. The actor-manager, with fine declamation and admirable gesture, started with an epigram that missed fire; my own view was that, by an oversight, he offered it upside down, and thus robbed it of pungency. Discouraged by this (and by the circumstance that he could not make out his notesexcepting by the aid of spectacles, which he had decided not to wear) the actor-manager contented himself by echoing the statements and arguments already made.
"As you, my lord, have so truly remarked, and as my learned friend, if I may so call him, has so admirably suggested—"
I glanced about to discover a chance of getting away; an elderly lady of great proportions in the next chair, was now well asleep, and to arouse her would have produced a commotion.
"Your Royal Highness," announced the Chairman. "I call upon Mr. Millwood."
My brother-in-law came forward, one hand in the pocket of his jacket. He gave a rather awkward bow to H.R.H., nodded to the Chairman.
"This is a deuce and all of a rummy affair!" he said. The sentence seemed to box the ears of the jaded audience; everybody became alert; the stout old lady next to me woke up. "When you come to think it over, I mean. Before August, nineteen fourteen, you ladies and gentlemen knew nothing about me and cared less, and what I thought of you isn't worth mentioning. And here we are to-day, all friends. All chums. All brothers and sisters. All regarding one another with a real and vurry sincere affection. And why is it? Why, because we've been attacked, without any warning, by a bully that wants to murder our men, women and children, and whose aim it is to wipe us off the face of the earth." Millwood jerked around suddenly, and spoke with deliberation. "He ain't a-going to be allowed to do it!" The cheering came for the first time; loud cheering, and long. "Out there, just now, on the 'Orse Guards Parade, I spoke to a young chap who was going forward to the tent where they're jotting down the names of recruits. He appeared not much more than a boy, and I took the liberty of speaking to him. I says, 'My lad, what induces you to leave your good mother, and go andjoin the army?' And he says, 'It's just because I've got a good mother, that I'm going to fight on her behalf,' he says."
It is impossible for me to describe the way in which Millwood gripped and held those people. Set down in writing, there would appear to be little in his homely anecdotes, his ordinary illustrations, his touches of domestic pathos. What I do assure you is that at one moment the folk were laughing, and at the next they were in tears; the great virtue of the speech seemed to me that it finished within ten minutes, and I joined with the rest in making the ineffectual appeal of "Go on!" Once or twice he had made adventures into the alliterative manner, and these were his only errors. In the room downstairs where the visitors took tea and coffee, and I had the opportunity of inspecting furniture, everyone was asking for Mr. Millwood. The lady of the house regretted he had somehow taken his departure, unobserved by her.
That evening, when Millwood returned to London Street, I asked how he had got on at the afternoon meeting.
"Moderately fairly well," he replied. "Can't say more than that!"
Millwood and I came into collision, and each showed an irritability over the incident not usual with either of us. My own idea is that my brother-in-law's manner was responsible. He bounced into the shop one morning when the rain was pelting down, and spattering up from the pavement; he was in the habit of taking great credit to himself for never carrying an umbrella, and on this occasion he was without an overcoat. His first act, the swinging to and fro of his wet bowler hat, caused me to speak sharply.
"You needn't worry," he said. "I'm coming back here. I'm going to take charge again. They tell me I've nearly wore out my welcome, so far as the public is concerned—getting too refined in my manner,or something—and my name will once more appear above the shop windows."
"Have you been breaking the pledge?" I asked.
"Unfortunately, no," he replied. "Otherwise I sh'd be in a better temper than what I find myself. I've come 'ere, to have a straight talk with you, I have, Mary Weston."
"You'll probably get a straight talk in return. What do you mean by this nonsense about coming back?"
"When you took the shop over," he said, deliberately, "it was understood I was free to return and take possession whenever I felt disposed so to do."
"Have you any proof of that?"
"Got it in my inside pocket now. A letter, or note, or communication in your own handwriting. Contents of the place to be valued by some independent authority unless the figure could be agreed on between us."
"I'd forgotten about that," I admitted. "But, in any case, it isn't worth the paper it's written on."
"How do you make that out?"
"Go and consult a solicitor," I retorted, bluffing. "He'll tell you, in half a jiffy, that you've no legal claim. Now be off, and don't bother me with your nonsense any longer."
"If there's going to be any consulting of solicitors," he declared, "it's you that had best do it."
When one is dealing with an obstinate, pig-headed man, serious argument is of no use. I tried a more appealing way, but Millwood shook his head, and said I was wasting my breath. I remarked that I knew a well qualified and highly reasonable legal gentleman up in London who could give wise advice on the subject, and Millwood, after some discussion, went so far as to agree that he would accept Mr. Cartwright's decision. Millwood wrote out a copy of the letter I had been foolish enough to give to him some eighteen months or more earlier.
"Be a sport," he warned me. "Shew him this, and tell him everything in a truthful manner, and come back here, and tell me what he says. I'll look after the shop until you return."
My Quartermaster-Sergeant's brother was busy, and, in his office could give me no more than five minutes: he placed a watch on the table to make sure that this period was not exceeded. Before I had time to state the case fully or to produce the copy of the note, he stopped me.
"You must give up possession," he said, definitely, "at the end of the current week. Good-bye! Thorough April weather, isn't it?"
I could not help suspecting that my friends—little Mr. Cartwright included—were just now associated in a design to control and guide my career.
Something that looked like an opportunity for dealing with the conspiracy against me came when young Pinnock, of a shop over the way in London Street, went before the Tribunal. There were always establishments to let in the thoroughfare, but I had fixed an eye on Pinnock's because of its special build and expansive windows; I could see there a business under my control that would be in opposition to Millwood, in more senses than one. (I fancy there was some idea, at the back of my head, that I was a piece of machinery which could not risk the danger of stopping lest it should be reckoned of no use, and find itself thrown upon the scrap heap.)
Young Pinnock was of the very few who declared openly a resolve to take no part in the war; he had a thousand and more arguments, and the important one, which he repeated at his doorway, and occasionally shouted across the street, was that the trouble on the continent of Europe was not of his making. This we had guessed, but it did not prevent us from saying that young Pinnock ought to take his share as the rest were doing; that he constituted an undesirableexample to youths who were growing up, that the drill would make a man of him, and perhaps induce some girl to offer her admiration. Pinnock found a new contention, each day, to support his attitude, and when he caught sight of my brother-in-law, rushed out to present it; Millwood was always able to knock the suggestion over with no trouble, and the youth returned to his shop to ponder, and to build up a fresh one. He exhibited an air of great confidence one evening on producing the statement that his mother had begged and prayed of him not to enlist, declaring that his departure was likely to be followed immediately by retirement to a bed which she would never leave.
"Give me her address," said Millwood, curtly, "and I'll give the old gel a look in."
"I don't profess that I'm giving you her exact and actual words, Mr. Millwood."
"My lad," remarked my brother-in-law, "what reelly keeps you back is not your mother, or any other relative. It's yourself. When the war is over, you ought to have the Humane Society Medal."
"What for, Mr. Millwood?"
"For saving your own life. And don't worry me with the subject again. If there had been many like you, we should have had the Germans here by now. I've got no patience with your sort."
"Wish somebody had," complained young Pinnock. "My difficulty is to get people to listen to common sense."
It proved that his mother was, in fact, anxious that he should go; it happened that she was the only parent in her road at Charlton who had not made some contribution to the services, and she declared that her position was not to be envied. Pinnock tried, later, the plea that if he joined up, the shop would close (Millwood said the world was not likely to come to an end on account of this), that there were texts in the Bible supporting his attitude (Millwood, as a new and careful reader, was able to produce somewar-like quotations from the Old Testament), also that his principles would not allow him to take life, (Millwood remarked that the possession of a rifle, and the sight of a Prussian aiming a bomb, would modify these views.) Finally, and before appearing at the Tribunal, young Pinnock announced his intention of arguing that he had no right to set his own existence in danger. That, he said, was the point. Life was entrusted to us as a high and sacred charge, and any man who, wilfully and with his eyes open, exposed it to peril was to all intents and purposes committing suicide and deserving of the blame the law could give. Nothing but an unsound mind, argued young Pinnock, and this he in no way claimed, excused the act. Indeed, he described himself as a thinker; one who refrained from borrowing views from other people, preferring to make his own.
"And I'd like you to come along, Mr. Millwood, and hear me argue the question in front of these gentlemen, because I've got the notion that I shall be more successful with them than what I've been with you."
"No special treat to me," said Millwood, "to see a chap make a fool of hisself."
"But I owe you something," urged the young man, "for inducing me to give up arguments that wouldn't hold water. Thanks to you, I've got one now that's absolutely without a flaw. Shouldn't wonder if my case gets reported in the evening papers. I feel absolutely confident it'll make a sensation."
Millwood and I were not on too friendly terms at the moment, but he told me, on his return from the court, all that had happened, and told it in the dramatic way that a man of his type can adopt in describing an incident which has affected the imagination deeply. Of young Pinnock entering the room with a determined air—"He would have stuck his chin out," said Millwood, "only that he hadn't got one!"—of being directed to take a seat, and finding himself disconcerted by this; the rehearsals apparently had alwaysbeen taken in an upright position. Of Pinnock recovering gradually powers of speech and gesture, and proceeding to declaim his views on the sanctity of human life, and more especially the duty of every man to preserve his own life, in a way that made the members of the court—exhausted as they were by attending to appeals on a variety of grounds, and sometimes on no grounds at all—listen with care. Of the Chairman presently stopping the applicant with the remark that the case had been put forward with conspicuous ability; the Court would give its decision later in the day, and announce then whether any exemption could be granted.
Of young Pinnock leaving the room, and going out of the building in a great state of exaltation, talking to folk he met, and—on the edge of the pavement, still propounding his views—being run into by a small boy on a scooter. Of poor Pinnock staggering under the unexpected collision, and trying to recover himself, and not succeeding, and falling into the roadway as a motor-car dashed along.
The shop was closed on the day of the inquest, and remained closed, but some feeling of superstition prevented me from making any effort to secure it. The incident, small in comparison with the large events which were happening, touched me. And I could understand and sympathise with the remark that the mother made.
"I should have felt a lot happier," she said, wistfully, "if my boy had been killed on the field of battle!"
CHAPTER XVIII
I assumedat the moment that it was annoyance with the contrariness of events which made me feel out of sorts. It happened that no one at Gloucester Place advised me to see a doctor, and if this counsel had been given I should have rejected it at once; on my own account I discovered my earliest customer, who occupied the first half-hour by shewing me the contents of the house added since his original purchase through me. This over, he gave attention to my case.
"You have come nearly to the end of your resources," he said.
"Nonsense!" I ejaculated.
"Another month or two of the work you have been engaged upon, and you would have proved outside and beyond any treatment from me."
"Ridiculous!"
"Your mind, for a considerable period, has had nothing resembling a holiday or rest. You have gone from one task to another, without an interval. You are not sleeping well, are you?"
"I can do with less than most people."
"In future, you will have to take more sleep than most people get. I don't want to give you anything to make you sleep, but—"
"Shouldn't take it, if you did!"
"I understand you to say that you are now clear of the shop in London Street."
"By pure dodgery and sharp practise, I've been turned out of it. It's a scandal that the law—"
"Now, now!" he interrupted. "Don't let us become excited unless there is good need for it. Has your brother-in-law paid you a fair sum?"
"I'm not grumbling about that. As a matter of fact, he gave me what I asked, without any haggling."
He nodded approvingly. "If it had all been arranged by wise friends," he said, "it could scarcely have happened better."
"And do you too think, sir, that my people have been scheming and planning—"
"You mustn't get so flushed and emotional, Miss Weston," he ordered. "I know nothing whatever about your people, or what they are doing. Just you take matters quietly, and be thankful you can afford to do so. I'll send some medicine along this evening. Call again, if you find you are no better."
I challenged Millwood later with being one of the members of a conspiracy, and he smiled and said nothing. The suspicion would not have galled me so much, I suppose, but for the circumstance that I had always reckoned myself a stage manager directing other people, and the positions were now reversed. I decided to say nothing of it at Gloucester Place, where it seemed likely the chief movers in the plot might be found, and this was the easier because Katherine's baby occupied my attention; we went into the park together, and rested near the trees, and I picked flowers that delighted the small person and were treasured to be presented later to mamma. Also, at home, old Mrs. Winterton was glad of my help and my advice.
"The Captain talks of nothing now but the war, my dear," she explained, "and I can't help wishing he had done so earlier, like most folk, instead of bottling it up. But I am hoping we shall get peace almost directly, and then he'll be comforted, and he will begin to mend, you see."
"Do you really imagine the war is nearly at an end?"
"It can't last for ever," she argued.
"But I see no signs of a finish. The Germans occupied Easter bank holiday in trying to bombardLowestoft; the Turks are holding us out where Lieutenant Langford is; there's trouble in Dublin, and the Zeppelins seem to come over when they like."
"Yes, yes," said the old lady, "I know, I know. But I've always been able to get anything I earnestly prayed for."
"Perhaps you haven't made such a large request before."
The Captain had aged greatly during the last month; without the help of his elaborate collar and tie, and his frogged overcoat, he appeared to have become limp, and if a cushion in his easy chair moved, he slipped with it. His courteous manner towards his wife in no way changed; he was grateful for any aid I could give, but it was clear that he favoured her company, her assistance. The content they found in each other's society made me think of my Quartermaster-Sergeant, and I began to write often to Seaford, on the excuse that I now had time to spare. Cartwright replied with a new spirit, declaring my letters were as welcome as flowers in May, and admitting that some chaps were more greatly favoured in the way of correspondence than himself; he always looked out for thePunchI sent weekly, but preferred the briefest note to the most amusing journal. For myself, I can confess that, at this time—when I had to be careful of my health, and to watch my temper, and to keep cool, and not allow small incidents to disturb me—I had reason to be grateful for his notes. If one arrived by the first post, there was competition between Muriel, Katherine, and Edward for the privilege of bringing it to me. Sometimes, Mr. Hillier was the messenger.
"Better than all the doctor's bottles, Aunt Weston," he said.
Mr. Hillier was in exceptionally good spirits. It seemed there was a prospect that he might be leaving the Arsenal, where the work, I am sure, had become monotonous; the rest of us had often expressed thehope that he would, some day, be induced to give it up. But this was not resignation, but a chance of transfer, and I could not help a slight feeling of jealousy on discovering that the credit was due to Colonel Edgington, once a fidget of the highest standard, but now, by reason of circumstances, a person of some authority and influence. The appointment had to do with a munition factory to be opened shortly; a well qualified person was required at the head. I confessed I itched to be taking part in the affair: it appeared to me that the plan could scarcely reach success without my help. This view was hinted to the Colonel.
"Don't you dare!" he cried, threateningly. "Let me catch you interfering in any way whatsoever, and upon my soul, woman, I'll have you shot. Or put away in an asylum. Or gagged. This is my fishing, and I won't allow you, Weston, or any one else to poach. Understand that!"
I happened to find some recompense in a kind of flying interview with an auctioneer from Chislehurst. Him I encountered near to the park gates that lead to Blackheath; he was entering and in jerking to me a scrap of news concerning The Croft, he sprinted along the avenue towards the river. I turned the perambulator, and to the astonishment of Katherine's baby and of nurses, raced along after the hurried auctioneer, putting eager questions, and obtaining fragmentary replies thrown over the shoulder. At the Observatory I was forced to give up the chase. When the baby had been induced to start on his morning's sleep, I sat down and enjoyed a dream that, like most dreams, seemed too good to come true. Finding a pencil and a sheet of note-paper, I made some calculations. My friend, the police-sergeant, went by, in ordinary clothes, and accompanied by his little girl.
"Give him my love as well," he shouted, chaffingly.
My existence, since I had been turned out of theshop, seemed to be wanting in ingenious plans. The one now before me was so magnificent that my pencil shook as it wrote the figures.
At Gloucester Place, of an evening, we all pretended an indifference to the prospects of Colonel Edgington's idea; sometimes we went so far as to deride it, and I, in particular, referred to incidents of the past which he had handled clumsily, pointed out that as a man grew old, so confidence in himself increased, and his mental abilities diminished. I think I suggested that the war would have been successfully terminated, long ere now, if Headquarters had been served by younger and more intelligent people. Secretly, we were hopeful that Mr. Hillier would obtain the berth. I found his silk hats, that had long been enjoying a rest cure, and polished them with a handkerchief.
Because I had given a small donation to the fund—it was difficult in those days for even a thrifty woman to say "No" to the applications that came—a ticket reached me inviting my presence to the dedication, by a Lord Bishop, of war ambulances, one to be given to the British Red Cross Society, one to the French Red Cross. The circumstance that a speech of thanks was to be made by Colonel Edgington would have discouraged me, but the affair was to take place on a Saturday afternoon, a period when Katherine, home from the bank, expected to be allowed to take exclusive charge of her son; I had to stand back and to look forward to resuming control of the little person on the Monday morning. Muriel advised me to go, and to bring back an account of the proceedings: she declared that my imitation of Colonel Edgington was always amongst my triumphs.
Some one directed me wrongly, and I happened to be late in arriving at the school playground where the ceremony was to take place, but my old lad Peter, there in a position of authority with Boy Scouts, caught sight of me and, leaving everything, conductedme to the raised platform as the Russian National Anthem was being sung by the children. Folk, noting the deferential manner adopted by Peter, assumed I was a guest of importance; a steward discovered a vacant chair in the second row and would take no notice of my signals indicating a preference for a more retired place. I found myself immediately behind the Mayor who, anxious I suppose, to shew that he identified everyone in his borough, turned and shook hands warmly, introduced me by an unintelligible name to the Bishop, who declared he had often heard of me, and was charmed now to make my acquaintance. I listened to the youngsters giving the last verse.
"God the all-wise! By the fire of their chastening,Earth shall to freedom and truth be restored.Through the thick darkness Thy kingdom is hastening,Thou wilt give peace in Thy time, O Lord!"
As somebody offered a prayer, I thought of these words, looked back in my mind, and realised—almost for the first time—how gentle the war had been to me, in comparison with the treatment it had served out to other people.
The Mayor followed with a statement, and the Bishop rose. Colonel Edgington, seated near, turned, and in turning glanced at me; the old chap was too much absorbed in the importance of the affair and his own share to recognise me, and from this moment, throughout the dedication and the address, he occupied himself with his notes. I admit I was touched by the fervour and patriotism of the Bishop's words. Maybe I had not been fortunate in some of the clergymen encountered during my life: here was one out of the ordinary. I joined in "Oh God our help in ages past," feeling more earnest and impressed than I had ever done in church.
"You're not going," protested the Mayor.
"I have an engagement," I answered readily. It struck me as I spoke that it did not take one long to escape from religious influence, and to slip back to ordinary habits.
"But there's tea to come," he argued. "And I'm just going to call on the next speaker."
It was impossible to move ere Colonel Edgington rose, and I resigned myself to the ordeal of hearing the voice of my opponent. The Mayor whispered around that the speech was to last but five minutes, and this was accepted as an encouraging piece of news.
"—Pleasure and honour to accept," said the Colonel, with more than his usual pomposity of manner, and barking the words so that some were extraordinarily audible, and others indistinct. "Doing fine and glorious humanitarian work—succour the wounded—taken a great part myself in this work—industry not restricted to this—may mention that near neighbour of yours, and dear friend of mine, name Hillier, been this day appointed to—— working for the last year and more, whole heartedly—now gained his reward—happiness shortly in informing him——"
Colonel Edgington read with care from his notes a quotation, and the Mayor said in an undertone, "Time, Colonel, time!" Everybody stood up, and I surprised and pained some of the guests by moving to the back of the stand as they sang,
"—And ever give us cause,To say with heart and voice,God save the King!"
I arrived at Gloucester Place, breathless and panting; my hat at not quite the correct angle, and my features crowded with excitement. The girls came out to the landing and received me apprehensively.
"You're bringing bad news, Aunt Weston."
"I'm bringing," I declared, "the best news you could possibly imagine!"
The baby was instructed in the art of clapping hands, and Edward, on arriving, threw off his air of maturity until he was reminded that old Captain Winterton, below, might be disturbed. We went to the balcony, and watched for Mr. Hillier. He generally came by the Royal Hill entrance, but now and again he walked through the Park and across Croom's Hill.
"We'll draw lots," I suggested, "and see who is to be the one to tell him."
"But," said Muriel, "didn't you say that Colonel Edgington was coming on to do that?"
"He ought to have the privilege," agreed her sister and brother.
"Have your own way," I said, reluctantly. "It isn't my custom to allow myself to be hampered by tact, but perhaps you're right."
So when Mr. Hillier came, we had to suppress our enthusiasm, and I think we were all a trifle hysterical, excepting the baby. For once in my life, I answered Colonel Edgington's knock with genuine satisfaction.
"Weston," he announced, "I am the bearer of important tidings."
"Concerning me?"
"Concerning your master, foolish woman." I gave an ejaculation of surprise. "Ah!" he said acutely, "I thought the day would come when I should be able to startle you!"
CHAPTER XIX
Itseemed to me that I should have to go to work cautiously in regard to the new scheme in my mind concerning The Croft. A policy of carefulness had grown up at Gloucester Place; for some time past accounts had been kept, accounts that had to balance or the expert young folk applied themselves to the figures, and ascertained the reason why. Mr. Hillier, as I knew, had been saving money since the loss of his wife (she, dear soul, never was able to acquire the useful trick) and once a man begins to hoard it is difficult to induce him to embark upon anything like adventure or risk. Also, I could not be sure to what extent their affection for the rooms in Gloucester Place might weigh; it was certain that the struggles and triumphs associated in their minds with Greenwich would count whenever a suggestion was offered of removal. Once, a casual reference had been made to the house in Tressillian Road, Brockley, where we had lived before going to Chislehurst; this idea appeared to be lacking in boldness. There was Katherine's little chap to be considered. We had the Park at hand, but I was fearful that as he grew up he might be playing with other children and—Well, I suppose, we people who have once lived in large houses remain snobs to the rest of our days.
I managed to find the auctioneer at his office in a comparatively leisurely mood, but he was a hustling sort of man, constantly looking at his watch and with the affectation of being over-crowded with engagements that deceives only the partially demented. He broke off more than once during our interview to ring people up on the telephone, and to impress me with the vastness of his business, and the importance of his dealings.The Croft, he admitted, was still unlet, but how long it would remain in this state of emptiness, he could not attempt to guarantee. Several folk were endeavouring to obtain it, and the matter was one of rent, and of rent only.
"You're wrong," he declared, when I mentioned that large houses were not now in great demand. "Absolutely off the main line. Never made a bigger mistake in the whole course of your existence. Try to put that idea out of your head, my dear madam, as soon as ever you can. By-the-bye, I like to know who I am dealing with. Give me your name, and your full address."
I furnished him with the London Street address. It was no part of my scheme to give him the chance of calling at Gloucester Place, and blurting out information there.
"Good!" he said briskly. "I take it you are a lady of some property."
"You are safe in assuming that."
"My method," he went on, "is to be perfectly frank and straightforward. What I mean is, as frank and straightforward as business will permit. Now I don't mind telling you that I have two strong offers for the house, and at any moment one of these may decide to clinch the bargain."
"Your several, then, comes down to a couple."
"I'm telling you now," declared the auctioneer, solemnly, "the gospel truth. I can't disclose names, but if you are inclined to doubt my word, I can show you a part of communications I have received from these two parties."
I was willing to believe his statement on this point.
"Very well, then! You will understand, Miss Weston, that there is a reserve rental set, and my duty is—we can't afford to be sentimental, you know, in our profession—my duty is to get as near to that as I possibly can. Now, on this slip of paper I am writing the figures of the highest bid that has been made upto the present." He threw the note across the table. I crossed out the sum, and wrote an increased amount. "Right you are!" he said. "Come back here the day after to-morrow, and I may have something further to tell you."
Looking back, I really cannot be sure how far I intended to go in the transaction. It was, I knew, impossible for me to realise some of my investments and put the money down even for one year's rent; certainly I could not make myself responsible for taking up a lease; I fancy the idea was to carry on the preliminaries to a certain stage, and then go to Mr. Hillier and urge him to take the matter over. Meanwhile, in order to save myself from the risk of being caught in a net, I told Millwood to say, supposing anyone called at the shop, that I had gone. Nothing more; just that. Perhaps one had better not discuss the fairness of the proceedings. I wanted to see my people back at their old home, and I did not intend to be too particular about the means.
The haggling went on. I had to go to the auctioneer's office more than half a dozen times. I climbed the hill from Chislehurst station and went under the water tower so often that I became tired of seeing the Bickley arms engraven there. Then old Captain Winterton took a turn for the worse, and his wife began to fail; I gave all spare time to the ground floor. To my question, Mrs. Winterton answered that they had no relatives. At times, both rallied slightly, and I was able to assure them they would not finish their innings until they scored a hundred.
"I would like to live on for a few years," confessed the old lady. "I want to see that dear baby boy grow up."
Few incidents occurred in the neighbourhood that were not in some way or other communicated to me; for some reason, the striking case of Corporal Bateman of Royal Hill remained, declining to be evicted from my thoughts. Bateman represented to me, for aperiod, a type of the British soldier, and behaviour of the British soldier where matters of the heart were concerned. My Quartermaster-Sergeant had not, in all probability, encountered or heard of Bateman, and he little knew how much his home prospects were affected by the deportment of the Corporal. (Now, it seems to me that no excuse can be found for the way in which I allowed it to influence me; at the time, no excuse appeared necessary.)
Corporal Bateman had been what Greenwich called half engaged to his cousin; the two quarrelled over his enlistment (the cousin thought he should have first mentioned it to her) and when he left for France his mother only saw him off. Mrs. Bateman was one of the few elderly people unable to read or write; the joke in Royal Hill was that, to conceal this defect, she pointedly and markedly bought each evening a newspaper, and seated on a wooden chair at her doorway, affected to peruse it carefully, with ejaculations such as,
"Gracious me, what a war this is to be sure!"
And,
"You'd never think they'd have the face to do such things!"
And,
"Lay my boy is in the thick of it, although I don't see his name nowheres." By oversight, she sometimes gave these remarks to the advertisement page.
Corporal Bateman, after months in France, came home on leave, anxious to see again his old mother of whom he was genuinely fond, and all the more desirous because he had received no word from her. At the door, he loosened his equipment, and knocked. The cousin, appearing, straightway threw herself with some impetuosity into his arms.
"Oh Daniel," she cried, emotionally. "Home at last. Thank Heaven for this happy moment!"
Corporal Bateman disengaged himself, and lookedaround in a dazed manner. Glanced at the brass figures on the door.
"The number's all right," he said, perplexedly, "and the 'ouse looks correct, but I don't know you. Who are you, and what are you doing 'ere?"
"I'm your cousin," she replied. "Your cousin Phœbe, that you used to be so fond of."
"Haven't quite got rid of the effects of the gassing," he said, tipping back his cap, and rubbing at the top of his head. "I'd better have a stroll in the Park."
"You'll do nothing of the kind," declared the young woman. "Come inside at once, and wait till your mother comes home from the market."
"Have I got a mother?" asked Corporal Bateman, simply. "What's she like? Where's father?"
"I can't answer that last question, Daniel dear, because he drew his final breath years ago. Don't you remember the new suit you had for the funeral?"
"I don't remember nothing," he said, hopelessly. "Me mind's a blank."
He was anxious to stay outside the house until someone else arrived, but the cousin, an authoritative person, conducted him through the passage. On observing that he did not know where to find the row of hat pegs, she burst into tears; he regarded her with an increased aloofness, and asked the way to the best room. There she announced a desire to sit near to him, and to hold his hand, and to talk about old times; he remarked, in a confused mumbling way, that he made it a principle never to carry on with female strangers.
"Have you had your tea?" she inquired.
"I don't know," replied Corporal Bateman, absently. "If I have, I've forgot all about it. I forget about everything. Don't bother me, else I shall get worse."
She was in the kitchen preparing the meal, when Mrs. Bateman let herself in at the front door with a latch-key. The girl listened. "Good afternoon,ma'am," said the returned soldier. "Have you called to see mother? Because, if so, she's out!"
The two women consulted agitatedly later, endeavouring to find a plan for arousing the dormant intellect of the visitor. They counted it a hopeful sign that he remembered the name of the nearest public-house; Mrs. Bateman expressed the hope that a good supper would brighten him. As a result of their deliberations, the girl went softly into the room, where Corporal Bateman was now dozing, and gave him a modest and cousinly kiss; he awoke at once, and declared he would provide her with a coloured eye if she dared to do this again.
"A liberty," he said, aggrievedly. "That's what I call it. If it happens again, I go straight out of the house. You understand!"
Mrs. Bateman said she had read of such cases in the newspapers, and believed that at times a sudden shock had a remedial effect. The girl remarked that she knew what was in her aunt's mind, but hesitated to take the desperate step of making the announcement in question: she feared the stunning blow might send poor Daniel completely off his head, and then the blame would be hers, and the remorse hers, until the very end of life.
"He'll have to know one day," urged Mrs. Bateman. The girl shuddered.
"Let's put it off as long as we can," she begged. "Him coming home like this seems already like a judgment on me."
They found him looking through the family album in a casual, uninterested way; a year ago portrait of himself and his cousin, taken together, caused him to put the question, "Who are these two supposed to be?" He gave permission to his mother to take the nearest chair; the cousin, he said, was to sit at the opposite end of the room. As the pages were turned, Mrs. Bateman offered comments andexplanations; he shook his head to intimate that he could neither confirm or deny the particulars.
"That's your uncle, my boy. The father of Phœbe, over there. He's took in his merchant service uniform. Quite a seafaring family, the whole lot of 'em. Excepting, of course, Phœbe, and she's made up for it by—" The girl at the other end of the room coughed; Mrs. Bateman accepted the warning. Corporal Bateman turned another page.
"Who's this good-looking sailor chap?" he inquired. "That," said Mrs. Bateman promptly, "is Phœbe's husband." The cough came too late this time. "Oh, my boy," she cried, self-reproachfully, "I 'ave been and told you something, and no mistake. The truth is, his ship was in dock for repairs, three weeks ago, and he came 'ome here, he did, and he married Phœbe, and you mustn't take on about it, my son, because what is to be will be, and everything's ordered for the best, and—Oh, don't do anything cruel to her!"