A quarter past five. The train was passing through the outskirts of London. A bare ten minutes more, and we should arrive. I looked anxiously at the girl, wondering where, when, how I should see her again. For the last half-hour we had spoken but little. She had seemed sleepy, and I had begged her to rest. Dreamily she had thanked me, saying that she had had little sleep the night before. Then the eyes had smiled gently and disappeared. It was almost dark now, so swift had been the passing of the winter's day. Lights shone and blinked out of the darkness. Another train roared by, and we slackened speed. Slowly we crawled over a bridge spanning mean streets. One could not but mark the bustling scene below. The sudden din compelled attention. I looked down upon the writhing traffic, the glistening roadway, the pavements crowded with hurrying, jostling forms. An over-lighted public house made the cheap shops seem ill-lit, poorer still. Its dirty splendour dominated everything: even the tall trams took on a lesser light. The lumbering roar of wheels, the insistent clamour of an obstructed tram, the hoarse shouts of hawkers crying their wares—all this rose up above the rumble of the slow-moving train. I was glad when we had left the spot behind. It would not do after the country-side. It occurred to me that, but a little space back some seventy rolling years—here also had stretched fair green fields. Perchance the very ones poor dying Falstaff had babbled of. We slunk past an asylum—a long mass, dark, sinister. By this even the trams seemed to hasten. I could just hear their thin song, as they slid forward.
Enough. Already I was half-way to depression. Resolutely I turned, giving the window my shoulder. My Lady had not stirred. Wistfully I regarded her closed eyes. In five minutes we should be in, and there were things I wanted to say... A smile crept into the gentle face.
"Go on," she said quietly. "I'm listening."
"I was wondering, goddess, if I should ever see you again."
"Oh, probably! The world's awfully small. Not for some time, though. I leave for Cannes to-morrow, to join my people."
"Cannes!" I exclaimed.
"Yes. You must have heard of it. Where the weather comes from."
"Where it stays, you mean," I growled, as the rising wind flung a handful of raindrops against the windows. For a moment I sat silent, looking out into the night, thinking. Except for a luncheon, to-morrow was free. And I could cut that. A network of shining rails showed that the terminus was at hand. I turned to my lady.
"Then we shall meet again to-morrow," I said gravely. "I have to go down to Dover, too."
"What for?" This suspiciously.
I rose and took up my hat. "Another dog," I said shortly.
She broke into silvery merriment. At length:
"Nonsense," she said, rising.
"Not at all," said I. "The Dover dogs are famous."
"Sea-dogs, perhaps," she murmured, setting one knee on the cushions to look into the glass. "Well, you've been awfully kind, and I'm very grateful. And now—" she swung round—"good-bye." She held out a slim hand.
The train drew up to the platform.
"Good-bye?" said I, taking the cool fingers. She nodded.
"And I hope you'll get a good dog at Dover," she said, smiling. "I shall think of you. You see, I'm going by Folkestone and Boulogne."
In silence I bent over the slight fingers. Slowly they slipped away.
I opened the door. Then I turned to the girl.
"You know," I said, "the Folkestone dogs."
"At last," said Berry, as the car swung into line in Kensington Gore, about a furlong from the doors of the Albert Hall. "A short hour and a quarter, and we shall be there. Can anyone tell me why I consented to come?"
"To please yourself," said Daphne shortly.
"Wrong," said her husband. "The correct answer will appear in our next issue. Five million consolation prizes will be awarded to those who, in the opinion of—"
"Have you got the tickets?" said his wife.
"Tickets!" said Berry contemptuously. "I've had to put my handkerchief in my shoe, and my cigarette-case has lodged slightly to the right and six inches below my heart. You'll have to make a ring round me, if I want to smoke."
"Have you got the tickets?" said Daphne.
"My dear, I distinctly remember giving them to—"
A perfect shriek went up from Daphne and Jill. The footman slipped on to the step and opened the door.
"Did you call, madam?"
"Yes," said Berry. "Give Mrs. Pleydell the tickets."
Our party was an undoubted success. Jonah looked wonderful, Daphne and Jill priceless. With her magnificent hair unbound, her simple boy's dress, her little rough shoes at the foot of legs bare to the knee, my sister was a glorious sight. And an exquisite Jill, in green and white and gold, ruffled it with the daintiest air and a light in her grey eyes that shamed her jewellery. Berry was simply immense. A brilliant make-up, coupled with the riotous extravagance of his dress, carried him half-way. But the pomp of carriage, the circumstance of gait which he assumed, the manner of the man beggar description. Cervantes would have wept with delight, could he have witnessed it. The Squire of the Wood passed.
And did little else. And that somewhat listlessly, till he saw my lady. That was just after supper, and she was sitting on the edge of a box, scanning her programme. All lovely, dressed as Potpourri.
"You were right," said I. "The world is small." We floated into the music. "So is your waist. But, then I learned that this morning. So. When you were upset."
"Do you like my dress?"
"Love it. Where did it come from?"
She mentioned a French firm.
"Ah!" said I, "Give me the judgment of Paris."
"I suppose you think I'm going to swear," said Berry defiantly.
Jill and Daphne clasped one another and shrieked with laughter. Berry stopped addressing the ball and gazed at them.
"Go on!" he said, nodding sardonic approval. "Provoke me to violence. Goad me in the direction of insanity."
His caddie sniggered audibly. Berry turned to him.
"That's right, my boy. Make the most of your time. For you I have already devised a lingering death."
"Look here, old chap," said I, "there's some mistake. I said I'd give you a stroke a hole, not a divot a stroke."
Jonah strolled up. "Hullo!" he said, "making a new bunker, old man? Good idea. Only a cleek's no good. Send the boy for a turf-cutter. Quicker in the long run."
My brother-in-law regarded us scornfully. Then:
"What I want to know," he said, "is how the Punch office can spare you both at the same time."
Daphne, Berry and I were playing a three-ball match, while Jill and Jonah—who had sprained his wrist—were walking round with us. Berry is rather good really, but just now he was wearing a patch over one eye, which made him hopeless.
It was glorious spring weather on the coast of Devon. A little village is Feth. Over and round about it the wind blows always, but the cluster of white cottages and the old brown inn themselves lie close in a hollow of the moorland, flanked by the great cliffs. Only the grey church, set up on the heights, half a mile distant, endures the tempests. The wind passes over Feth and is gone. A busy fellow, the wind. He has no time to stop. Not so the sunshine. That lingers with Feth all day, decking: the place gloriously. It is good to be a pet of the sun. So are the gardens of Feth bright with flowers, the white walls dazzling, the stream, that scrambles over brown pebbles to the little bay, merry water.
Except for the natives, we had the place to ourselves. But then Feth sees few visitors at any season. Sixteen miles from a station is its salvation. True, there is Mote Abbey hard by—a fine old place with an ancient deer-park and deep, rolling woods. Ruins, too, we had heard. A roofless quire, a few grass-grown yards of cloister and the like. Only the Abbot's kitchen was at all preserved. There's irony for you. We were going to see them before we left. We were told that in summer at the house itself parties assembled. But the family was away now.
The round of golf proceeded. "How many is that?" said Berry, as he sliced into the sea.
"Seven," said I. "Not seven into the sea, you know. Seven strokes. You've only hit three into the sea altogether."
"Isn't he clever with his sums? Here, give me another ball. Where's Henry?"
I handed him the last-named—a favourite cleek. The caddie had gone to collect the flotsam.
"Now then. Ladies and gentlemen, with your kind permission I shall now proceed to beat the sphere into the sky."
It was a tremendous shot, and we could see that it must have reached the green; but when we came up and found the ball in the hole nobody was more surprised than Berry. Of course, he didn't show it. Berry doesn't give things away.
"Ah!" he said pleasantly. "That's better. I'm beginning to get used to playing with one eye. You know, all the time I—er—seem to see two balls."
"Nonsense," said Daphne.
"If you said you'd been seeing two holes all day, I could believe it," said Jonah. "Anyone might think so from the way you've been playing."
Berry smiled ecstatically. "My recent—er—chef d'oeuvre—(note the Parisian accent)—has ipso facto—(Latin of the Augustan Age)—placed me beyond the pricks of criticism. The venom, brother, which you would squirt upon me, bespatters but yourself. Boy, place me the globe upon yon pinnacle of sand. So. Now indicate to me the distant pin. Thank you. Do I see it? No. Natheless (obsolete, but pure), I say nameless it beckons me. And now give me—yes, give me Douglas."
The caddie handed him a brassie. He had caddied for Berry before.
"Don't breathe for a moment, anyone," said Daphne.
Her husband frowned and silently sliced into the sea.
"How many balls did you see that time?" said Jonah.
"Three," said I. "That's why he's going to pawn his clubs."
"The aftermath of gluttony." I spoke disgustedly. It was after luncheon, and Daphne was already asleep. Jill and Jonah drooped comfortably in huge chairs. Berry sprawled upon a sofa.
"I suppose we outrage what you call your sense of decency." murmured the latter.
"You do. Incidentally, you also irritate me, because I shall have to go round alone."
"Friend, your foul egoism leaves me unmoved. Go forth and harry your balls. I am about to slumber like a little child. Do you think I shall dream, brother?"
"Probably," said I. "About fried fish shops."
Jill shuddered in her chair, and Berry sat up.
"After that most offensive allusion," he said pompously, "I have no option but to ask you to withdraw. The touts' room is downstairs. Before leaving you may give me what cigarettes you have in your case."
I smiled grimly. Then: "I'm afraid I don't approve of—ah—children smoking," I said, moving towards the door. "Besides, a little exercise'll do you good. There is a box in my room—you know where that is?"
"Where?" snarled my brother-in-law.
I put my head round the door and looked at him. "Immediately above the touts'," said I.
The breeze of the morning had died away, and though the month was the month of April, it might have been a midsummer afternoon. I started on my solitary round, well enough pleased, really, to be alone. The weather was excellent company. My clubs I carried myself.
The fourth hole lies in a little valley, under the lee of a steep, rock-studded hill, whose other side falls sheer into the tumbling waves. On an idle impulse I left my clubs at the fifth tee and scrambled on up the green slope to gaze upon and over the sea below. I have a weakness for high places on the edges of England. I cannot match the dignity of them. Where yellow sands invite, these do not even stoop to challenge. They are superb, demigods, the Royalty of the coast.
As I breasted the summit, I heard a child's voice reading aloud.
"And the people told him of all the splendid things which were in the city, and about the King, and what a pretty Princess the King's daughter was."
'Where can one get to see her?' asked the soldier.
"'She is not to be seen at all,' said they, all together 'she lives in a great copper castle, with a great many walls and towers round about it; no one but the King may go in and out there, for it has been prophesied that she shall marry a common soldier, and the King can't bear that."'
"'I should like to see her,' thought the soldier..."
"The reading came from beyond and below me. I fell on my knees, crawled forward, and peered over the top of a slab of rock. On the warm grass, twenty paces from the edge of the cliff, sat a little boy, his brown knees propping a book. By his side, facing the sea, lay a girl of nineteen or twenty years, her hands clasped behind her head. Her eyes were closed. She seemed to be asleep. The reading continued.
"And all his friends knew him again, and cared very much for him indeed."
Once he thought to himself,' It is a very strange thing that one cannot get to see the Princess. They all say she is very beautiful; but what is the use of that, if she has always to sit in the great copper castle with the many towers? Can I not get to see her at all? Where is my tinder-box?' And so he struck a light, and whisk! came the dog with eyes as big as teacups.
"'It is midnight, certainly, said the soldier; 'but I should very much like to see the Princess, only for one little moment.'"
Here the child shaded his eyes and looked down at the sands of a creek, quarter of a mile away.
"There they are," he exclaimed, dropping the book and scrambling to his feet. He waved delightedly to two specks on the sands below. Then:
"Good-bye, Cousin Lallie," he cried. "I'll be home by six," and tore away down the green slope like a mad thing. But his cousin never waked. I watched her meditatively.
A skirt of grey-blue tweed, and the fresh white of a blouse beneath a smart coat to match. Her small grey hat lay on the grass by her side. Her slim legs were crossed comfortably, and the bright sun lighted a face at once strong and gentle, clear-cut under its thick black hair, which was parted in the middle and hung low over each temple. Her brows were straight, and on the red mouth was a faint smile.
I looked away over the glittering waves. Then I came quietly down, picked up "Hans Andersen," and took my seat by her side. I found the place and continued the story aloud:
"And the dog was outside the door directly, and, before the soldier thought it, came back with the Princess. She sat upon the dog's back and slept; and every one could see she was a real Princess, for she was so lovely. The soldier could not refrain from kissing her, for he was a thorough soldier.."
Here the girl stirred, opened her eyes, saw me, and sat up.
"Who on earth—" she began. "It's all right," said I. "It's only a fairy tale. Besides, I'm not a soldier, although I don't see—"
"How long has this been going on?"
"Only just begun," said I. "Listen.
"Then the dog ran back with the Princess. But when morning came—"
"Where's Roy?"
"He had to go and join his friends," said I. "Fortunately I happened to be here to take his place. He asked me to say he should be home not later than six. Where were we? Oh, I know.
"But when morning came—"
She raised a slim hand for me to stop. Then she clasped her knees and regarded me with her head on one side.
"A bad end," she said laconically.
"A good beginning, anyway," said I.
"I might be a sorceress."
"I believe you are."
"Or an adventuress, for all you know."
"Or a Princess," said I.
"What made you do this?"
"I'll tell you," said I. "Whilst you were asleep, a little smile was playing round your lips. And this smile told me that he had two twin sisters who dwelt In your eyes. And, like the soldier, I wanted to see them, Princess."
"Well, you have now, haven't you?"
I looked at her critically. "I'm afraid they must be out," said I. In spite of herself she laughed. "No, there they are. Besides—"
"What?"
"The little smile said he had a big brother living in your heart."
"Yes," she said softly.
"Yes. And that made me very brave, Princess. Otherwise I should never have dared. Honestly, it was all the little smile's fault, bless him. Isn't it glorious here?"
The bright eyes swept the horizon.
"Yes," she said slowly, "it is. In fact, every prospect pleases."
"And only golf is vile."
"Byron never said that."
"I know he didn't," said I. "Nor, in fact, did Heber. He said 'man.' All the same, I'm not vile. I'm rather nice, really. At least, so one of the smaller birds told me."
"Not really?"
"I mean it."
"Perhaps it was a skylark."
"As a matter of fact," I said stiffly, "it was an owl. A breed famous for its wisdom."
"Ah, but you shouldn't believe everything you're told."
"It isn't a question of what I believe, but of what other people believe," said I. "But if you don't believe it yourself, how can you expect—"
"I never said I didn't believe it myself. Besides, I don't want to argue. I want to watch the smiles playing 'Here we go round the mulberry bush.'"
The girl broke into peals of silvery laughter. "Is my nose as bad as all that?" she said presently.
"Your nose is the nose of dainty Columbine," said I. "Dream noses, they call them. And you know that mulberry bushes don't figure in that game any more than the bells of St. Clement Danes are ever used by children playing 'Oranges and lemons.'"
"Admit it was a floater on your part, and I'll let you play a round with me."
"I—er—confess, upon consideration, that the allusion—"
"That'll do," she said, laughing.
I rose. She put out a hand, and I drew her to her feet.
"My clubs are just by that rock there. Do you think you can manage Hans Andersen?"
"Every time," said I, picking up the book. I shouldered her clubs and together we scrambled over the rise and down towards the fifth tee.
"Oh, I told you I adored you, didn't I?" I said suddenly.
"I don't think so."
"Surely I did. Perhaps you were asleep."
"Asleep!" she said scornfully. "I was awake all the time. I nearly died when you began to read."
I stopped short and looked at her. "You are a deceitful witch." I said.
"A what witch?"
"The which to adore," said I.
After the fourth hole the course lies inland. For the next ten holes you play directly away from the sea. Then the fifteenth takes a sharp turn to the left, skirting the deer-park of Mote Abbey, while the sixteenth bears to the left again, heading straight for the club-house and the coast once more.
My lady was a pretty player. I gave her two strokes a hole and led till the fourteenth, but on that green she holed a ten-foot putt which made us all square.
If she hadn't sliced her drive from the fifteenth tee, it would have been a beautiful shot. We watched it curl over the grey wall into the sunshot park.
"Out of bounds, I suppose," said I. "What a pity, pretty Princess."
"Not at all," she replied. "It was a lovely shot. You can't do better than follow that line."
"Into the deer-park?"
"Why not? It's much prettier."
"I'm sure it is," said I.
"But what of that? Unless somebody's moved it since this morning, the green's about a hundred and twenty yards away from the wall on this side. To say nothing of the fact that the park's private property, while there's a notice-board about three feet square, beginning 'Golfers are requested to remember,' at the one place where a giant might effect an entrance."
"Yes," she said quietly, "I got brother to put that board there. We tried to make it polite. The caddies used to frighten the deer so."
I just stood and looked at her. The three smiles blazed back at me. In silence I turned and teed up. Then I drove after her ball into the fair park.
When we reached the place where the board was posted, she touched my hand and pointed to her little brown shoe. For an instant she rested on my palm. The next moment she was on the top of the wall. She smiled her thanks before disappearing. I followed with the clubs. There was a ladder on the other side. She was awaiting my descent. In silence we walked forward together. Presently I touched her arm and stood still. She turned and looked at me, the sun making all manner of exquisite lights in her glorious hair.
"If I had a hat on," I said simply, "I should uncover."
The little bow she gave me would have launched another "thousand ships." In the slight action all the charm of her was voiced exquisitely. Grace, sweetness and dignity—all in a bow. So it was always. Helen's features would not have fired a sheepcote: the charm that lighted them blotted out a city. Cleopatra's form would not have spoiled a slave: the magnetism of her ruined Marc Antony. Elizabeth's speech would not have sunk a coracle: the personality behind it smashed an Armada.
We came to her ball first. As I handed her her brassie:
"Tell me one thing," said I. "If I had not been there, how would you have got over the wall?"
She looked at me mischievously. "I have a way," she said.
"I know," I said, patting her golf-bag. "These aren't really clubs at all."
"What are they, then?"
"Broomsticks."
It was the best part of a mile to the fair lawn, where we holed out underneath the cedars. I won with fourteen, which wasn't bad, considering I was bunkered in a bed of daffodils. She gave me tea in the old library, sweet with the fragrance of pot-pourri. Out of its latticed windows I could see the rolling woods, bright in their fresh green livery. For nearly an hour and a half we sat talking. I told her of Daphne and the others. She told me of her mother and sisters and how her brother had cared for the Abbey since her father's death. It was true that the family was away. She was alone there, save for her eldest sister's child—Roy. Next month she would go to London.
"Where I may come and see you?"
"I should be very hurt if you didn't. It's going to be rather nice."
"It is," I said with conviction.
"I meant the season. I'll enjoy it all. The dances and theatres, Ranelagh, Ascot, Lord's, the Horse Show and everything. But—"
"How glad and happy she'll be to get back to the Abbey with its deep woodland and its warm park, its gentle-eyed deer, its oaks and elms and cedars, its rose-garden and its old paved court. How grateful to lean out of her bedroom window into the cool, quiet, starlit nights. How pleased to watch the setting sun making the ragged clerestory more beautiful than did all its precious panes."
I stopped. She was sitting back in her chair by the window, chin in air, showing her soft, white throat, gazing with half-closed eyes up at the reddening sky.
"He understands," she murmured, "he understands."
For a little space we sat silent. Then I rose.
"Good-bye." I said. "You have been very kind. Perhaps I may come again."
She did not move. Only her eyes left the window and rested on mine. "Ring the bell," she said. "I am going to take you to see the ruins. They are at their best, as you said, at sundown."
"Thank you," I said, and stepped to the fireplace. A footman entered the room. "I want the key of the Abbot's kitchen," said my hostess.
"Some visitors have it, madam. A gentleman called to ask for it ten minutes ago."
"Oh, all right." She rose and turned to me. "Let's go, then. We'll probably meet them bringing it back."
The half-light lent the old quire's walls a rare beauty. A great peace hung over them. Perhaps it was of them. For a little we strolled, talking, upon the greensward. Then:
"Now you shall see the kitchen," she said.
"If you please, Princess."
The kitchen stood away from the ruins, in the middle of a fair meadow: a circular building of grey stone, very lofty and about sixty paces in circumference. Its great oak door was closed. I could see one tiny window—glassless, of course—some sixteen feet from the ground.
"Why!" said the girl, stopping suddenly, "the door's shut."
"Yes," said I; "but what of that?"
"Well, the people must have gone."
"Why?"
"Well, you can't see inside if you shut the door. Besides, if you do, you can't open it again. Not from within I mean. It's a spring lock."
"Perhaps they're locked in."
"They can't be."
"They might," said I. "Come on."
I was right. As we drew near, a confused murmur fell upon our ears. People talking excitedly. Then came the sound of blows upon the door.
"O-o-oh," said my companion. "So they are."
At that moment feminine tones were raised in a wail of expostulation.
"Yes, I shall! It's silly not to. Help! He-elp!"
Daphne's voice.
I fell on the green grass and writhed in silent laughter. When the girl recoiled in horror, I caught her by a warm ankle.
"Don't move!" I whispered. "Don't speak! Don't make a sound! Listen! It's my own party in there—Berry and Co. It's the most perfect thing that ever happened. Hush! We're going to have the time of our lives."
Again I rolled in an ecstasy of mirth. As the comedy of the situation dawned upon the girl, she began to laugh helplessly.
The knocking began again. I got up, and together we approached warily. As we reached the door:
"I'm glad I had four cups of tea," said Berry. "How many did you have?"
"Two," said Jill tearfully.
"Ah, I shall survive you, then. Very likely I shall be alive, if insane, when found. At any rate, with the aid of artificial respiration—"
"Rubbish!" said Daphne. "Some one must hear us soon."
"My dear, the noise we can make wouldn't flush a titlark at twenty paces. No, no!" he went on airily, "a lingering death awaits us. I only wish my caddie was here, too. Is anyone's tongue swelling? That's a sure sign. Directly you feel that, you know you're thirsty."
"Fool!" said his wife, "Besides, they'll miss the key soon."
"Where is the key?" said Jonah. "If we once lose that, we shall never find it again."
There was an awful silence. Then:
"Er—didn't I give it to you?" said Berry.
His words were the signal for a general uproar. The others fell upon Berry and rent him. As it died down, we heard him bitterly comparing them to wolves and curs about a lion at bay. Then a match was struck and there were groping sounds.
"When you've quite finished with my feet," said Daphne in a withering tone.
"Sorry, dearest. I thought it was a bag of meal," said her husband. "My thoughts run on food just now, you see." Here he gave a yell of agony. "Get off!" he screamed. "You're on my hand."
"That's more like it," said Jonah. "That ought to carry."
"Meal-bags don't hurt, do they?" said Daphne coolly. My sister is proud of her dainty feet.
"Vixen," replied her spouse.
I slipped my arm into that of the girl, who was leaning against the wall shaking with laughter. Tears were coursing down my cheeks. I drew her away from the door and whispered brokenly in her ear. She nodded and pulled herself together. Then she went to the door and knocked. Silence.
"Hullo," she said.
"Er-hullo," said Berry.
"I thought I heard somebody calling," said the girl.
"Er—did you?" said Berry.
"Yes, but I'm afraid I must have been mistaken. Perhaps it was some boys calling. Good-bye."
There was a perfect shriek of "Don't go" from Daphne and Jill. Then:
"You idiot!" said Daphne. "Let me." We heard her advance to the door.
"I say," she purred, "it's awfully sweet of you to have come. We did call. You see, it sounds awfully silly, but we're locked in."
"Oh, how dreadful for you," said the girl.
"Yes, isn't it? There's no key-hole this side."
"How awfully tiresome. Have you been there long?"
"Oh, no. Only a few moments. We just came to see the place."
"Well, do you think you can manage to throw the key out of the window? Then I could unlock the door for you, couldn't I?"
"Oh, thank you so very much. If you don't mind waiting a minute—er—it's so dark in here and so confusing that—"
"You don't mean to say you've lost the key?" said the girl.
"Oh, it's not lost," said Daphne. "It's just here somewhere. One of us laid it down for a moment and, really, in this darkness you can't see anything. If we only had some more matches—"
"I've got a box," I said. A long silence followed my words. Then:
"My dear lady," said Berry. "Are you still there?"
"Yes," said my companion, her voice shaking a little.
"Then I beseech you to have no dealing with the being whose vile accents I heard but a moment ago. A man of depraved instincts and profligate ways, he is no fit companion for a young and innocent girl. Moreover, viper-like, he bears malice towards us, who have shielded him for years."
"How awful," said the girl.
"Yes," said Berry, "for your own sake, dear lady, beware of him. And for ours, too, I beg you. On no account accept his proffered assistance—in the matter of the key, I mean. If he really has matches, tell him to throw them in. Adopt a hectoring tone and he will fear you. But, remember, he is as cunning as a serpent, Let but that key fall into his hands—"
"Wait till it's fallen into your own hands, old cock," said I.
"Dear lady," said Berry, "you hear his ribald—"
The rest of the sentence was drowned in the peals of laughter to which my companion at last gave vent. I joined her, and the meadow resounded with our merriment. When we had recovered a little:
"Will you have the matches?" said I, standing beneath the window, "or shall I send for the battering ram?"
"Throw them in, fathead," said my brother-in-law.
"Ask nicely, then."
"I'll see you—"
"Please, Boy, dear," cried Jill.
I laughed and pitched the box into the kitchen. The next second we heard a match struck, and the groping sounds recommenced. The girl and I strolled a little back from the window and stood, awaiting the key.
"So it's all come true," said I, looking at her.
"What has?"
"The fairy tale." I pointed to the kitchen. "There is the copper castle, and here"—with a bow—"the pretty Princess. The tinder-box I have just thrown to my companions."
"And I suppose you're the soldier," she said slowly.
"Yes," I said, "the common soldier."
"Common?"
"Yes, dear," I said, taking her hand. "Common, but thorough; thoroughly common, but uncommonly thorough. And now look at me, pretty Princess."
She turned a laughing face to mine. Suddenly, as I bent forward, the eyes flashed.
"I suppose this is the little smile's fault, too," she said quietly.
Instantly I released her hand and stood up, smiling.
"No," I said gently. "It would have been the soldier's."
For a moment she smiled back. Then she slipped an arm round my neck.
"Let's call it Hans Andersen's," she whispered.
A perfect Babel arose suddenly from the kitchen. In the midst of the turmoil I seemed to discern Berry's fat laugh. The next second a large key hurtled through the window.
I picked it up and strode to the door. When I had put it into the keyhole, I paused.
"Buck up, Boy!" said Berry.
"One question," said I. "Where was the key?"
"Where d'you think?" said Jonah bitterly.
"In his pocket all the time?" said I.
"Right," said Berry. "Now do your worst."
"I'm going to," said I. "I'm going to let you out."
The front door banged. Followed quick steps on the steep, uncarpeted stairs, and a knock on the studio's door.
"Come in," said I.
The door opened and a girl in a lilac dress swept into the room.
"I'm afraid I'm awfully la—O-o-oh!" she said.
"If it isn't her!" said I.
For a moment we stood looking at one another with big eyes. Then:
"Where's Mr. Larel?" she demanded.
"He'll be here in a moment. Won't you sit down? He and I are old friends."
She smiled.
"I know," she said.
"He's told me—"
"The devil he has," said I.
A little peal of laughter.
"As I feared," said I.
"My dear, you've been misled. Yes. That over there is a chair. It cost three and ninepence in the King's Road. Local colour, you know. He's putting it in his new picture, 'Luxury'."
Still smiling, she took her seat. Then:
"He said you were awful," she said.
Till a fortnight ago, I had not seen George Larel for quite five years. Not since we had been at Oxford together. When he went down, he left England, to study, I understood. He always drew rather well. Then one spring morning I struck him in Piccadilly, by the railings of the Green Park. He was standing still, a large, blue air-ball in his hand, steadfastly regarding the Porters' Rest. Our greeting was characteristic.
"Well, George," said I. He looked round.
"Hullo, old chap." He pointed to the Rest. "Rather nice, that. Pity there aren't more. Why didn't they keep the Pike at Hyde Park Corner?"
I shrugged my shoulders. "I begged them to," said I. "But you know what they are."
George looked at me critically. Then:
"That's a good hat," he said. "I'd like to paint you just as you are." He stepped back and half closed his eyes. "Yes, that'll do. When can you come? I always said I would, you know," he added.
"You're very good, George. Come to the club and—"
He shook his head. "We'll talk, when you come. I've got to go to Richmond now." He pointed to the air-ball. "There was a child there yesterday, playing in the Park, with eyes—I've only seen their like once before. That was in Oporto." He sighed. "Will you come to-morrow at eleven? Cheyne Row. I forget the number, but it's got a green door."
"I'd love to."
He hailed a taxi.
"That's right, then." He turned to the driver. "Go to Richmond," he said, opening the door.
As it moved, he put his head out of the window.
"Mind you wear that hat, old boy."
The next morning I had my first sitting. It was a great success. There was much to say, and we talked furiously for three hours. And all the time I sat still upon the throne, and George painted. About his work he said little, but I gathered that he had begun to do well. He mentioned that he had had two or three commissions.
"I'm on that now," he said carelessly, during one of my rests. He was pointing to a canvas, which leaned—face inwards—against the wall. I walked across the studio, and turned it round. A girl's picture. A girl in a flowered dress and a shady hat, her slight shining legs crossed at the knee. Sitting square in the high-backed chair, he was painting her, one small hand on each of its rosewood arms. The face was most of all unfinished.
"You've got those legs well," said I, "And I like the dress. She looks rather lovely, as far as one can tell without seeing the face."
George laughed.
"She's all right," he said.
At the end of my second sitting George picked up a knife and began deliberately to scrape out all the work he had done that morning. I watched him, petrified with horror.
"Sorry, old chap," he said, smiling.
"Stop," I cried. "I like that curve of the nostril. It denotes the force of character which has made me what I am."
George went on ruthlessly.
"I want it to be good of you," he said simply. Half way through my third sitting George gave a cry and flung off his coat.
"What's the matter?" said I. "Something biting—?
"Talk, man," he said, seizing his palette. "Just talk. Don't mind how I answer. I'm going to paint. By Jove, how I'm going to paint!"
Clearly the fit was upon him. These artists! Not daring to disobey, I talked and talked. Heaven knows what I said. After an hour my tongue clove to the roof of my mouth, but I talked on. And all the time George alternately bent his brows upon me, and hung himself at the canvas, uttering strange, smothered cries and oaths, but painting, painting.... At a quarter past two he laid down his palette and cried to me to descend. Stiffly I did so.
For a long moment I looked at the portrait. Then I turned to George and clapped him on the back.
"I think you're going to make a name," said I.
"That's right," he said. "And now give me a cigarette."
Before we went to lunch, he showed me the picture of the girl. It was almost finished. Such a fine, brave face. Not a bit pretty—just beautiful. Dark hair showing under the brim of the hat, steady brown eyes, the mouth exquisite...
That was three days ago. And now—pleasedly I regarded the original.
"May I offer you a cigarette?" I said.
When I had lighted it for her:
"To-day is Thursday, isn't it?" she said.
"That's just what I was going to say."
"Yes, I'm sure it is, because last night brother left—"
"The light on in the kitchen garden, with the result that this morning all the cocks were two hours fast. I know. But of course it is. Hasn't Thursday always been my lucky day?"
She blew out a little cloud of smoke and smiled at it. Then:
"I don't know you at all, you know," she said gravely, "and Aunt Prudence always used to say—"
"I know. 'Beware of pickpockets. No smoking.' They quote her in the lifts on the Tube. But then I'm not a pickpocket, and you are smoking. Besides, your picture knows mine very well. They've seen quite a lot of each other lately.
"Yes, but—"
"And then you know my picture a little, and I know yours by heart."
"You're quick to learn."
"Perhaps. But I do. I know every eyelash, long as they are. I believe I could say them. But then I was always good at poetry." This with a bow.
She rose and made the daintiest curtsey. "Would have been better," she said, resuming her seat in the depths of 'Luxury.' "But the skirts of to-day don't help."
"And my bow would have been deeper: but the braces I bought yesterday afternoon—"
"That'll do," she said, laughing. "Seriously, where is Mr. Larel, and why are you here?"
"George is probably scouring Battersea for a child he saw there last autumn with ears such as he has never beheld outside Khartoum. I am here, as you are, in the interest of Posterity."
"Did he tell you Thursday, too?"
"Certainly. I remember it perfectly. We were standing in St. James's Square, near where I get my shirts. Nobody recognized us. George had a cigar in his mouth, and his exact words were, 'Wottabow Hursday?' I had some of the wood pavement in my eye, and my exact words were therefore excusable."
"And now he's forgotten us both."
"On the contrary, he's probably remembered."
"And is consequently afraid to come himself?"
"Exactly. Well, we couldn't very well overlook the insult, could we?"
"It might be wiped out in paint."
I shook my head. Then:
"French polish might do," I said. "But then, he hasn't got any of that. However. To tell you the truth, I don't know that I'm very angry with him. I shall pretend to be, of course. But, now that from admiring the imitation, I find myself face to face with the real thing, I—"
"And the rest. I like these cigarettes rather."
"Dear Sir or Madam," said I, "what is it about our cigarettes that so appeals to your palate?"
She laughed. "I don't know anything about cigarettes, really, but these seem so fresh."
"My dear," said I, "you could have said nothing more calculated to warm the cockles of my heart. You are a connoisseurs (very good indeed). These cigarettes are actually straight from the stable, I mean the Ottoman Empire. I shall send you a box this afternoon by Carter Paterson."
"You're very kind. But tell me, why is their paper brown?"
"Berry says it's swank. But then he would. As a matter of fact, it's maize. I like it myself: it's so nourishing. Besides, it goes so well with a blue suit. Talking of which, with a flowered dress and dark hair, it's absolutely it."
She stretched out a shapely hand, reflectively settling her frock. "White ones would match my gloves, though."
"They would. And the whites of your eggs—I mean eyes. I know. Oh, and your soft throat. But—"
"He said you were awful."
"You see, my dear, we live in an age of contrast. Women no longer play for safety in dress. They have begun to dare. And contrasts show imagination. Sometimes they're actually striking."
"While matches have to be struck."
"Like bargains. Exactly. They're passive, while contrasts are active. We're rather clever this morning, aren't you?"
"It's the coming of summer in my case. I was in the Row at half-past seven this morning, and the air—"
"I know. It was like hock-cup out of a stone jar, while the others are on the bank looking for a place to tie the punt up. I noticed it too. I was in the bathroom—"
"Lazy."
"Taking off my riding boots. You see, you don't give me time."
"I don't believe you."
"Hush. I feel that my tie is not straight. This must be rectified. Is there a mirror in the room? No, there is not a mirror in the room. The room is mirrorless. Very well, then. Either I must use the patent-leather of your little shoes, or perhaps you will lend me one of your large eyes. Of the two, I'd rather have the eye. There's more room."
"Sorry the line's engaged. Shall I call you?"
"If you please. My pet name is Birdie, short for Bolingbroke. Meanwhile, may I have a nail? Only one little nail?"
"You'll have a whole palm in a minute."
"Which will be quite in order. I have frequently borne the palm."
"How many biscuits have you taken?"
"Seven, and two buns. My sister's awfully proud of them. But about this tie."
"You shouldn't wear made-up ties," she said severely.
I sat up and looked at her. Mischievously she regarded the ceiling. Presently:
"Note the awful silence," I said.
"And dickeys are going out too."
"Look here," said I, "I shall undress in a minute. Just to show you. These are matters touching the reputation."
With that I gravely untied my tie.
To my indignation she clapped her small hands with delight, and gave way to quiet laughter. I nodded solemnly.
"Very good," I said. "Now I shall simply have to have an eye. No mere nail will suffice."
"You will have nothing of the kind."
I rose and walked to the window in some dudgeon. After considerable focussing, I managed to locate the environs of my collar in a dusty pane. While the work of reconstruction was proceeding:
"Once upon a time," said I, "there was a queen. She was very beautiful from the crown of her little head, which the dark hair kept always, to the soles of her shining feet. And people loved to look at her and hear the music of her laughing. Only, it was no good going on Thursday, because that was early-closing day in her realm, and she and The Mint and The Dogs' Cemetery, and all the other places of interest were closed. You weren't allowed to see the crown jewels, which she wore in her eyes..."
Outside a taxi slowed down and stopped. Cautiously I peered out of the window. George.
I turned to the girl. "Here he is," I said.
As I spoke, an idea came to me. Hurriedly I glanced round the studio. Then:
"Quick," I said, pointing to a little recess, which was curtained off. "You go in there. We'll punish him."
A smile, and she whipped behind the curtain.
"Are you all right?" I whispered.
"Yes."
"Put your hand out a second. Quick, lass!" I spoke excitedly.
"What for?" she said, thrusting it between the curtains.
"Homage," said I, kissing the slight fingers.
The next moment George burst into the room. "Thank heaven," he said, as soon as he saw me.
"What d'you mean?" I said stiffly.
"I'm so thankful," he said with a sigh of relief. "I knew it was you. I was a fool to worry. But, you know, I suddenly got an idea that I'd fixed Thursday for Margery Cicester."
"That would have been awful," I said bitterly.
"Yes," said George, "it would, wouldn't it?"
I could have sworn I heard smothered laughter in the recess.
"But, George," I said, "how did you know I liked waiting?"
George laughed and clapped me on the back.
"I forgot." he said. "I'm sorry, old man. But you see—"
"One hour and ten minutes," said I, looking at my watch. George took off his coat, and began to draw a blind over the sky-light.
"I was very late last night," he said.
I gasped.
"D'you mean to say you've only just got up?" I roared.
"Oh, I've had breakfast."
I picked up my hat and turned to the door.
"Where are you going?" said George.
"There are limits," I said over my shoulder. "If it had been Miss Cicester, you would have crawled about the room, muttering abject apologies and asking her to kick you. But as it's me—"
"No, I shouldn't. I should have said that my housekeeper'd been taken ill suddenly, or..."
"Go on," said I.
This was better.
"Or that the Tube had stuck, or something."
"Why not tell her the truth, and fling yourself—"
"You know what women are?"
"George, you surprise me. Would you deceive an innocent girl?"
"Women are so narrow-minded. They can't understand...Nice kid, though, this."
This was splendid. "You mean, Margery—er—What's-her-name?"
"Yes. She's taken rather a fancy to you—your picture, I mean."
I laughed deprecatingly. Then:
"What's she like?" I said carelessly. "To look at, I mean?"
"Like!" roared George. "What d'you mean?"
"Like," I replied coolly. "You know. Similar to."
"Well, she's like that, you fool!" said George heatedly, pointing to the picture.
"Ah, of course. Is she really?"
"Look here," said George. "If you can't—"
"Wait a bit," said I. "When was she due here? I mean to say, supposing you had fixed to-day for her to come?"
"Eleven o'clock. Why?"
"There now," I said musingly. "It must have been just about then."
George seized me by the arm. "Has she been and gone?" he cried.
"Well, I don't know. But about an hour ago a girl did come here. Now I come to think, she was something like the picture. I thought she was a model, and—"
George flung up his hands with a cry. I stopped and looked at him.
"Go on," he said excitedly. "What did she say?"
"Yes, I know it was about then, because a van had just gone up the street. You know. One of those big vans with—"
"Damn the van!" said George. "What did she say?"
"She didn't say anything. I tell you, I thought she was a model. I just said you didn't want one this morning."
George literally recoiled.
"What's the matter?" said I. "Aren't you well?"
"Had she a lilac dress on?" he cried, with the air of one hoping against hope.
"Er—yes," said I.
At that, George uttered a terrible cry, snatched up his coat, and before I could stop him, rushed out of the studio. I put my head out of the window. As he dashed hatless out of the front door:
"Where are you going?" I said.
He threw me a black look. Then: "To wire an apology," he said.
I turned to find my lady at my shoulder.
"He's gone to wire you an apology," I said.
"You are wicked," she said. "Poor Mr. Larel. I feel quite—"
I put my head on one side and regarded her. "Nice kid, though," I said.
"I know," she said severely. "But the poor man—"
"She's taken quite a fancy to me," said I.
She drew back, biting a red lip and trying hard not to smile.
"He'll soon be back," I went on, "and then you're going to have your show. Kindly ascend the throne. All queens do sooner or later."
"Really, I think he's had enough," she said, settling herself in the high-backed chair.
After a little argument:
"All you've got to remember," I said, "is that you're awfully sorry you're so late, and that the truth is you forgot all about the sitting, and that, by the way, when you got here, you met a man going out, and that you don't know who he was, but you suppose it was alright. Only you thought Mr. Larel ought to know."
"I've never met anyone like you before."
"My dear, you never will. I am unique. And remember you've taken rather a fancy—— Here he is. Yes, queens always have their hands kissed. All real queens..."
I seized my hat, stick, and gloves, and faded behind the curtains. She was really wonderful. "Mr. Larel, will you ever forgive me? I'm most awfully sorry. D'you know I quite forgot. I suppose you'd given me up? And now it's too late. Oh, yes. I only came to apologize. I can't think—"
George couldn't get a word in edgeways. I watched him through the crack of the curtains. His face was a study. Of course, he was mentally cursing himself for sending the wire so precipitately, and wondering how the deuce he could explain its arrival without revealing the true state of affairs. Apparently in the end he decided for the moment, at any rate, to say nothing about it, for, as soon as she let him speak, he assured her it didn't matter at all, and passed, somewhat uneasily, direct to the weather.
"By the way," said Margery suddenly, "there was a man here when I came. I suppose it was all right."
George started. "You mean him?" he said, pointing to my portrait.
"That?" cried Margery. "The man you're painting? Oh, no. It wasn't him. At least," she added, leaning forward and looking carefully at the picture, "I don't think so."
"But it must have been," cried George. "He was here five minutes ago, and no other man—it must have been him."
"But the one I saw was clean-shaven," said Margery.
George pointed to my portrait with a shaking finger. "Isn't that one clean-shaven?" he wailed.
"So it is," said Margery. "For the moment, the shadow—"
"I'll never paint again!" said George fiercely. "They've hung over each other's portraits for a week—" "Oh!" cried Margery. "And the first time they see one another, they don't know one another from Adam."
"Did you find the post office all right?" said I. Then I came out.
"One thing," said Margery. "Did the Tube stick?"
George stared at her. "Then you were here," he gasped.
"All the time," said I. Margery broke into long laughter.
George regarded us darkly. "You two," he said.
"One hour and ten minutes," said I. "To say nothing of asking us both on the same day."
"You two," said George.
"We two give you five minutes," I said. "Of these, three may be conveniently occupied by your full and abject apology, and two by the arranging of our next sittings. Then we two are going to lunch. It is, ah, some time since we two breakfasted."
I made a careful note of Margery's sittings-to-be, as well as of my own.
As we were going: "You know, old chap," said I, "you've never apologized."
"Miss Cicester knows that I am her humble servant."
"At any rate," said I, "there'll be the telegram."
Half-way down the stairs Margery turned and ran back to the studio. When she came back, she was smiling.
"What new mischief...?" I began.
She turned to me with a maddening smile and opened her mouth. Then she changed her mind and raised her eyebrows instead.
"This isn't fair," I said. "You can't ride with the herring and run with the beagles too."
But she would not tell me. Neither would she let me give her lunch.
"But the telegram," said I desperately. "You might let me—"
"I don't suppose you have tea, but if you do happen to be in St. James's Street about a quarter to five..."
That afternoon she showed me the wire. It was as follows:
"Thousand apologies housekeeper's sudden illness detained me just learned my fool of servant misunderstood hasty instructions and refused you admission another thousand apologies two thousand in all writing." We thought it was rather good.
The next morning I glanced at the clock and pushed back my chair.
"I must be off," I murmured.
Jonah raised his eyes and then looked at Berry. The latter's eyes were already raised. He had begun to sigh.
"What's the matter with you?" said I defiantly.
"One moment," said Berry. "My flesh is creeping. Now then. How many more of these sittings?"
"Wednesday'll be the last, I think."
"Which means that she's leaving Town on Thursday."
I looked at him sharply. Then:
"What d'you mean, 'She'" I said shortly.
"I have known you for—"
"Less of it," said I. "Much less."
"You know, old chap," said Daphne lazily, "you do seem suspiciously keen about this portrait business, don't you?"
I looked at her. She returned my indignant gaze with a steady smile, her chin propped on her white hands, her elbows upon the table.
"Yes," said Jonah. "Afraid of being a minute late, and all that sort of bilge."
"This is an outrage," I gasped. This was nothing but the truth. It really was, They were simply drawing a bow at a venture.
"Don't tell me—" Berry began.
"I shan't," said I.
"Naughty temper," said my brother-in-law. "Has she shell-like ears?"
"Look here," I said, "all of you."
"Must we?" said Berry. "We've only just finished a heavy meal, and—"
"I have been five times to George's studio, each time solely with the object of affording him an opportunity, if possible, of perpetuating upon canvas my gripping personality." This was the whole truth.
"Guilty upon your own confession of felony," said Jonah. "Have you anything to say why the Court—"
"With the same object I am going to-day." This was the truth. George was going to give me an hour before Margery came.
"Perhaps we're wronging Boy," said Jill.
"Thank you, dear," said I.
"You can't wrong outlaws," said Berry. "Never mind. Some day we shall know the ter-ruth."
"I believe you're jealous," said I. "Just because you can't find an artist sufficiently dauntless to reproduce your brutal physiognomy—"
"He means to be rude," Berry explained.
I walked to the door.
"Don't forget our lunch, old chap," said my sister.
"You've taken away my appetite," said I.
"Oh, Boy, you know we love you."
I opened the door.
"I say," said Berry.
"What?" said I, pausing.
"Tell George to put in the warts."
Six weeks had hurried away. And then, one morning, I got a note from George, saying that he had had my picture framed and was sending it along. I broke the news to the others after breakfast.
"Oh, Boy!" cried Jill excitedly.
"I want to see it awfully," said Daphne.
"Why rush upon your fate?" said her husband.
"I hope you'll like it," said I nervously.
"Where are we going to bury—I mean, hang it?" said Jonah.
"What about the potting-shed?" said Berry. "We can easily move the more sensitive bulbs."
"If it's good," said Daphne, "we'll have it in the library."
"I object," said her husband. "I don't want to be alone with it after dark."
I smiled upon him. Then:
"Bur-rother," said I. "I like to think that I shall be always with you. Though in reality harsh leagues may lie between us, yet from the east wall of the library, just above the type-writer, I shall smile down upon your misshapen head a peaceful, forgiving smile. What a thought! And you will look UP from your London Mail and—"
"Don't," said Berry, emitting a hollow groan. "I am unworthy. Unworthy." He covered his face with his hands. "Where is the Indian Club?" he added brokenly, "I don't mean the one in Whitehall Court. The jagged one with nails in it. I would beat my breast. Unworthy."
"Conundrum," said Jonah. "Where were the worthy worthies worthy?"
"I know," said I. "They were worthy where they were."
"Where the blaze is," said Berry.
"The right answer," said Jonah, "is Eastbourne."
Daphne turned to Jill. "Is the trick-cycle ready, dear? We're on next, you know."
Here a servant came in and announced that a picture had come for me. We poured into the hall. Yes, it had come. In the charge of two messenger-boys and a taxi, carefully shrouded in sackcloth. Berry touched the latter and nodded approval. Then he turned to the boys.
"Are there no ashes?" he said.
We bore it into the dining-room and set it upon a chair by the side of a window. I took out my knife and proceeded to cut the string.
"Wait a moment," said Jonah. "Where's the police-whistle?"
"It's all right," said Berry. "James has gone for the divisional surgeon."