Chapter 1
　　Inasmuch as the scene of this story is that historic pile, BelpherCastle, in the county of Hampshire, it would be an agreeable taskto open it with a leisurely description of the place, followed bysome notes on the history of the Earls of Marshmoreton, who haveowned it since the fifteenth century. Unfortunately, in these daysof rush and hurry, a novelist works at a disadvantage. He mustleap into the middle of his tale with as little delay as he wouldemploy in boarding a moving tramcar. He must get off the mark withthe smooth swiftness of a jack-rabbit surprised while lunching.
　　Otherwise, people throw him aside and go out to picture palaces.
　　I may briefly remark that the present Lord Marshmoreton is awidower of some forty-eight years: that he has two children--a son,Percy Wilbraham Marsh, Lord Belpher, who is on the brink of histwenty-first birthday, and a daughter, Lady Patricia Maud Marsh,who is just twenty: that the chatelaine of the castle is LadyCaroline Byng, Lord Marshmoreton's sister, who married the verywealthy colliery owner, Clifford Byng, a few years before his death(which unkind people say she hastened): and that she has astep-son, Reginald. Give me time to mention these few facts and Iam done. On the glorious past of the Marshmoretons I will not eventouch.
　　Luckily, the loss to literature is not irreparable. LordMarshmoreton himself is engaged upon a history of the family, whichwill doubtless be on every bookshelf as soon as his lordship getsit finished. And, as for the castle and its surroundings, includingthe model dairy and the amber drawing-room, you may see them foryourself any Thursday, when Belpher is thrown open to the public onpayment of a fee of one shilling a head. The money is collected byKeggs the butler, and goes to a worthy local charity. At least,that is the idea. But the voice of calumny is never silent, andthere exists a school of thought, headed by Albert, the page-boy,which holds that Keggs sticks to these shillings like glue, andadds them to his already considerable savings in the Farmers' andMerchants' Bank, on the left side of the High Street in Belphervillage, next door to the Oddfellows' Hall.
　　With regard to this, one can only say that Keggs looks far too muchlike a particularly saintly bishop to indulge in any such practices.
　　On the other hand, Albert knows Keggs. We must leave the matteropen.
　　Of course, appearances are deceptive. Anyone, for instance, who hadbeen standing outside the front entrance of the castle at eleveno'clock on a certain June morning might easily have made a mistake.
　　Such a person would probably have jumped to the conclusion that themiddle-aged lady of a determined cast of countenance who wasstanding near the rose-garden, talking to the gardener and watchingthe young couple strolling on the terrace below, was the mother ofthe pretty girl, and that she was smiling because the latter hadrecently become engaged to the tall, pleasant-faced youth at herside.
　　Sherlock Holmes himself might have been misled. One can hear himexplaining the thing to Watson in one of those lightning flashes ofinductive reasoning of his. "It is the only explanation, my dearWatson. If the lady were merely complimenting the gardener on hisrose-garden, and if her smile were merely caused by the excellentappearance of that rose-garden, there would be an answering smileon the face of the gardener. But, as you see, he looks morose andgloomy."As a matter of fact, the gardener--that is to say, the stocky,brown-faced man in shirt sleeves and corduroy trousers who wasfrowning into a can of whale-oil solution--was the Earl ofMarshmoreton, and there were two reasons for his gloom. He hated tobe interrupted while working, and, furthermore, Lady Caroline Byngalways got on his nerves, and never more so than when, as now, shespeculated on the possibility of a romance between her step-sonReggie and his lordship's daughter Maud.
　　Only his intimates would have recognized in this curiouscorduroy-trousered figure the seventh Earl of Marshmoreton. TheLord Marshmoreton who made intermittent appearances in London, wholunched among bishops at the Athenaeum Club without excitingremark, was a correctly dressed gentleman whom no one would havesuspected of covering his sturdy legs in anything but the finestcloth. But if you will glance at your copy of Who's Who, and turnup the "M's", you will find in the space allotted to the Earl thewords "Hobby--Gardening". To which, in a burst of modest pride, hislordship has added "Awarded first prize for Hybrid Teas, TempleFlower Show, 1911". The words tell their own story.
　　Lord Marshmoreton was the most enthusiastic amateur gardener in aland of enthusiastic amateur gardeners. He lived for his garden.
　　The love which other men expend on their nearest and dearest LordMarshmoreton lavished on seeds, roses and loamy soil. The hatredwhich some of his order feel for Socialists and Demagogues LordMarshmoreton kept for roseslugs, rose-beetles and the small,yellowish-white insect which is so depraved and sinister acharacter that it goes through life with an alias--being sometimescalled a rose-hopper and sometimes a thrips. A simple soul, LordMarshmoreton--mild and pleasant. Yet put him among the thrips, andhe became a dealer-out of death and slaughter, a destroyer in theclass of Attila the Hun and Genghis Khan. Thrips feed on theunderside of rose leaves, sucking their juice and causing them toturn yellow; and Lord Marshmoreton's views on these things were sorigid that he would have poured whale-oil solution on hisgrandmother if he had found her on the underside of one of his roseleaves sucking its juice.
　　The only time in the day when he ceased to be the horny-handedtoiler and became the aristocrat was in the evening after dinner,when, egged on by Lady Caroline, who gave him no rest in thematter--he would retire to his private study and work on hisHistory of the Family, assisted by his able secretary, AliceFaraday. His progress on that massive work was, however, slow. Tenhours in the open air made a man drowsy, and too often LordMarshmoreton would fall asleep in mid-sentence to the annoyance ofMiss Faraday, who was a conscientious girl and liked to earn hersalary.
　　The couple on the terrace had turned. Reggie Byng's face, as hebent over Maud, was earnest and animated, and even from a distanceit was possible to see how the girl's eyes lit up at what he wassaying. She was hanging on his words. Lady Caroline's smile becamemore and more benevolent.
　　"They make a charming pair," she murmured. "I wonder what dearReggie is saying. Perhaps at this very moment--"She broke off with a sigh of content. She had had her troubles overthis affair. Dear Reggie, usually so plastic in her hands, haddisplayed an unaccountable reluctance to offer his agreeable selfto Maud--in spite of the fact that never, not even on the publicplatform which she adorned so well, had his step-mother reasonedmore clearly than she did when pointing out to him the advantagesof the match. It was not that Reggie disliked Maud. He admittedthat she was a "topper", on several occasions going so far as todescribe her as "absolutely priceless". But he seemed reluctant toask her to marry him. How could Lady Caroline know that Reggie'sentire world--or such of it as was not occupied by racing cars andgolf--was filled by Alice Faraday? Reggie had never told her. Hehad not even told Miss Faraday.
　　"Perhaps at this very moment," went on Lady Caroline, "the dear boyis proposing to her."Lord Marshmoreton grunted, and continued to peer with a questioningeye in the awesome brew which he had prepared for the thrips.
　　"One thing is very satisfactory," said Lady Caroline. "I mean thatMaud seems entirely to have got over that ridiculous infatuation ofhers for that man she met in Wales last summer. She could not be socheerful if she were still brooding on that. I hope you will admitnow, John, that I was right in keeping her practically a prisonerhere and never allowing her a chance of meeting the man againeither by accident or design. They say absence makes the heart growfonder. Stuff! A girl of Maud's age falls in and out of love half adozen times a year. I feel sure she has almost forgotten the man bynow.""Eh?" said Lord Marshmoreton. His mind had been far away, dealingwith green flies.
　　"I was speaking about that man Maud met when she was staying withBrenda in Wales.""Oh, yes!""Oh, yes!" echoed Lady Caroline annoyed. "Is that the only commentyou can find to make? Your only daughter becomes infatuated with aperfect stranger--a man we have never seen--of whom we know nothing,not even his name--nothing except that he is an American and hasn'ta penny--Maud admitted that. And all you say is 'Oh, yes'!""But it's all over now, isn't it? I understood the dashed affairwas all over.""We hope so. But I should feel safer if Maud were engaged toReggie. I do think you might take the trouble to speak to Maud.""Speak to her? I do speak to her." Lord Marshmoreton's brain movedslowly when he was pre-occupied with his roses. "We're onexcellent terms."Lady Caroline frowned impatiently. Hers was an alert, vigorousmind, bright and strong like a steel trap, and her brother'svagueness and growing habit of inattention irritated her.
　　"I mean to speak to her about becoming engaged to Reggie. You areher father. Surely you can at least try to persuade her.""Can't coerce a girl.""I never suggested that you should coerce her, as you put it. Imerely meant that you could point out to her, as a father, whereher duty and happiness lie.""Drink this!" cried his lordship with sudden fury, spraying his canover the nearest bush, and addressing his remark to the invisiblethrips. He had forgotten Lady Caroline completely. "Don't stintyourselves! There's lots more!"A girl came down the steps of the castle and made her way towardsthem. She was a good-looking girl, with an air of quiet efficiencyabout her. Her eyes were grey and whimsical. Her head wasuncovered, and the breeze stirred her dark hair. She made agraceful picture in the morning sunshine, and Reggie Byng, sightingher from the terrace, wobbled in his tracks, turned pink, and lostthe thread of his remarks.
　　The sudden appearance of Alice Faraday always affected him likethat.
　　"I have copied out the notes you made last night, LordMarshmoreton. I typed two copies."Alice Faraday spoke in a quiet, respectful, yet subtlyauthoritative voice. She was a girl of great character. Previousemployers of her services as secretary had found her a jewel. ToLord Marshmoreton she was rapidly becoming a perfect incubus. Theirviews on the relative importance of gardening and family historiesdid not coincide. To him the history of the Marshmoreton family wasthe occupation of the idle hour: she seemed to think that he oughtto regard it as a life-work. She was always coming and digging himout of the garden and dragging him back to what should have been apurely after-dinner task. It was Lord Marshmoreton's habit, whenhe awoke after one of his naps too late to resume work, to throwout some vague promise of "attending to it tomorrow"; but, hereflected bitterly, the girl ought to have tact and sense tounderstand that this was only polite persiflage, and not to betaken literally.
　　"They are very rough," continued Alice, addressing her conversationto the seat of his lordship's corduroy trousers. Lord Marshmoretonalways assumed a stooping attitude when he saw Miss Faradayapproaching with papers in her hand; for he laboured under apathetic delusion, of which no amount of failures could rid him,that if she did not see his face she would withdraw. "You rememberlast night you promised you would attend to them this morning." Shepaused long enough to receive a non-committal grunt by way ofanswer. "Of course, if you're busy--" she said placidly, with ahalf-glance at Lady Caroline. That masterful woman could always becounted on as an ally in these little encounters.
　　"Nothing of the kind!" said Lady Caroline crisply. She was stillruffled by the lack of attention which her recent utterances hadreceived, and welcomed the chance of administering discipline. "Getup at once, John, and go in and work.""I am working," pleaded Lord Marshmoreton.
　　Despite his forty-eight years his sister Caroline still had thepower at times to make him feel like a small boy. She had been agreat martinet in the days of their mutual nursery.
　　"The Family History is more important than grubbing about in thedirt. I cannot understand why you do not leave this sort of thingto MacPherson. Why you should pay him liberal wages and then do hiswork for him, I cannot see. You know the publishers are waiting forthe History. Go and attend to these notes at once.""You promised you would attend to them this morning, LordMarshmoreton," said Alice invitingly.
　　Lord Marshmoreton clung to his can of whale-oil solution with theclutch of a drowning man. None knew better than he that theseinterviews, especially when Caroline was present to lend the weightof her dominating personality, always ended in the same way.
　　"Yes, yes, yes!" he said. "Tonight, perhaps. After dinner, eh? Yes,after dinner. That will be capital.""I think you ought to attend to them this morning," said Alice,gently persistent. It really perturbed this girl to feel that shewas not doing work enough to merit her generous salary. And on thesubject of the history of the Marshmoreton family she was anenthusiast. It had a glamour for her.
　　Lord Marshmoreton's fingers relaxed their hold. Throughout therose-garden hundreds of spared thrips went on with their morningmeal, unwitting of doom averted.
　　"Oh, all right, all right, all right! Come into the library.""Very well, Lord Marshmoreton." Miss Faraday turned to LadyCaroline. "I have been looking up the trains, Lady Caroline. Thebest is the twelve-fifteen. It has a dining-car, and stops atBelpher if signalled.""Are you going away, Caroline?" inquired Lord Marshmoretonhopefully.
　　"I am giving a short talk to the Social Progress League atLewisham. I shall return tomorrow.""Oh!" said Marshmoreton, hope fading from his voice.
　　"Thank you, Miss Faraday," said Lady Caroline. "The twelve-fifteen.""The motor will be round at a quarter to twelve.""Thank you. Oh, by the way, Miss Faraday, will you call to Reggieas you pass, and tell him I wish to speak to him."Maud had left Reggie by the time Alice Faraday reached him, andthat ardent youth was sitting on a stone seat, smoking a cigaretteand entertaining himself with meditations in which thoughts ofAlice competed for precedence with graver reflections connectedwith the subject of the correct stance for his approach-shots.
　　Reggie's was a troubled spirit these days. He was in love, and hehad developed a bad slice with his mid-iron. He was practically asoul in torment.
　　"Lady Caroline asked me to tell you that she wishes to speak toyou, Mr. Byng."Reggie leaped from his seat.
　　"Hullo-ullo-ullo! There you are! I mean to say, what?"He was conscious, as was his custom in her presence, of a warm,prickly sensation in the small of the back. Some kind ofelephantiasis seemed to have attacked his hands and feet, swellingthem to enormous proportions. He wished profoundly that he couldget rid of his habit of yelping with nervous laughter whenever heencountered the girl of his dreams. It was calculated to give her awrong impression of a chap--make her think him a fearful chump andwhat not!
　　"Lady Caroline is leaving by the twelve-fifteen.""That's good! What I mean to say is--oh, she is, is she? I seewhat you mean." The absolute necessity of saying something at leastmoderately coherent gripped him. He rallied his forces. "Youwouldn't care to come for a stroll, after I've seen the mater, or arow on the lake, or any rot like that, would you?""Thank you very much, but I must go in and help Lord Marshmoretonwith his book.""What a rotten--I mean, what a dam' shame!"The pity of it tore at Reggie's heart strings. He burned withgenerous wrath against Lord Marshmoreton, that modern Simon Legree,who used his capitalistic power to make a slave of this girl andkeep her toiling indoors when all the world was sunshine.
　　"Shall I go and ask him if you can't put it off till after dinner?""Oh, no, thanks very much. I'm sure Lord Marshmoreton wouldn'tdream of it."She passed on with a pleasant smile. When he had recovered from theeffect of this Reggie proceeded slowly to the upper level to meethis step-mother.
　　"Hullo, mater. Pretty fit and so forth? What did you want to see meabout?""Well, Reggie, what is the news?""Eh? What? News? Didn't you get hold of a paper at breakfast?
　　Nothing much in it. Tam Duggan beat Alec Fraser three up and two toplay at Prestwick. I didn't notice anything else much. There's anew musical comedy at the Regal. Opened last night, and seems to bejust like mother makes. The Morning Post gave it a topping notice.
　　I must trickle up to town and see it some time this week."Lady Caroline frowned. This slowness in the uptake, coming so soonafter her brother's inattention, displeased her.
　　"No, no, no. I mean you and Maud have been talking to each otherfor quite a long time, and she seemed very interested in what youwere saying. I hoped you might have some good news for me."Reggie's face brightened. He caught her drift.
　　"Oh, ah, yes, I see what you mean. No, there wasn't anything ofthat sort or shape or order.""What were you saying to her, then, that interested her so much?""I was explaining how I landed dead on the pin with my spoon out ofa sand-trap at the eleventh hole yesterday. It certainly was apretty ripe shot, considering. I'd sliced into this baby bunker,don't you know; I simply can't keep 'em straight with the ironnowadays--and there the pill was, grinning up at me from the sand.
　　Of course, strictly speaking, I ought to have used a niblick, but--"Do you mean to say, Reggie, that, with such an excellentopportunity, you did not ask Maud to marry you?""I see what you mean. Well, as a matter of absolute fact, I, as itwere, didn't."Lady Caroline uttered a wordless sound.
　　"By the way, mater," said Reggie, "I forgot to tell you about that.
　　It's all off.""What!""Absolutely. You see, it appears there's a chappie unknown for whomMaud has an absolute pash. It seems she met this sportsman up inWales last summer. She was caught in the rain, and he happened tobe passing and rallied round with his rain-coat, and one thing ledto another. Always raining in Wales, what! Good fishing, though,here and there. Well, what I mean is, this cove was so deucedlycivil, and all that, that now she won't look at anybody else. He'sthe blue-eyed boy, and everybody else is an also-ran, with about asmuch chance as a blind man with one arm trying to get out of abunker with a tooth-pick.""What perfect nonsense! I know all about that affair. It was just apassing fancy that never meant anything. Maud has got over thatlong ago.""She didn't seem to think so.""Now, Reggie," said Lady Caroline tensely, "please listen to me.
　　You know that the castle will be full of people in a day or two forPercy's coming-of-age, and this next few days may be your lastchance of having a real, long, private talk with Maud. I shall beseriously annoyed if you neglect this opportunity. There is noexcuse for the way you are behaving. Maud is a charming girl--""Oh, absolutely! One of the best.""Very well, then!""But, mater, what I mean to say is--""I don't want any more temporizing, Reggie!""No, no! Absolutely not!" said Reggie dutifully, wishing he knewwhat the word meant, and wishing also that life had not become sofrightfully complex.
　　"Now, this afternoon, why should you not take Maud for a long ridein your car?"Reggie grew more cheerful. At least he had an answer for that.
　　"Can't be done, I'm afraid. I've got to motor into town to meetPercy. He's arriving from Oxford this morning. I promised to meethim in town and tool him back in the car.""I see. Well, then, why couldn't you--?""I say, mater, dear old soul," said Reggie hastily, "I think you'dbetter tear yourself away and what not. If you're catching thetwelve-fifteen, you ought to be staggering round to see you haven'tforgotten anything. There's the car coming round now.""I wish now I had decided to go by a later train.""No, no, mustn't miss the twelve-fifteen. Good, fruity train.
　　Everybody speaks well of it. Well, see you anon, mater. I thinkyou'd better run like a hare.""You will remember what I said?""Oh, absolutely!""Good-bye, then. I shall be back tomorrow."Reggie returned slowly to his stone seat. He breathed a littleheavily as he felt for his cigarette case. He felt like a huntedfawn.
　　Maud came out of the house as the car disappeared down the longavenue of elms. She crossed the terrace to where Reggie satbrooding on life and its problem.
　　"Reggie!"Reggie turned.
　　"Hullo, Maud, dear old thing. Take a seat."Maud sat down beside him. There was a flush on her pretty face, andwhen she spoke her voice quivered with suppressed excitement.
　　"Reggie," she said, laying a small hand on his arm. "We're friends,aren't we?"Reggie patted her back paternally. There were few people he likedbetter than Maud.
　　"Always have been since the dear old days of childhood, what!""I can trust you, can't I?""Absolutely!""There's something I want you to do for me, Reggie. You'll have tokeep it a dead secret of course.""The strong, silent man. That's me. What is it?""You're driving into town in your car this afternoon, aren't you,to meet Percy?""That was the idea.""Could you go this morning instead--and take me?""Of course."Maud shook her head.
　　"You don't know what you are letting yourself in for, Reggie, orI'm sure you wouldn't agree so lightly. I'm not allowed to leavethe castle, you know, because of what I was telling you about.""The chappie?""Yes. So there would be terrible scenes if anybody found out.""Never mind, dear old soul. I'll risk it. None shall learn yoursecret from these lips.""You're a darling, Reggie.""But what's the idea? Why do you want to go today particularly?"Maud looked over her shoulder.
　　"Because--" She lowered her voice, though there was no one near.
　　"Because he is back in London! He's a sort of secretary, you know,Reggie, to his uncle, and I saw in the paper this morning that theuncle returned yesterday after a long voyage in his yacht. So--hemust have come back, too. He has to go everywhere his uncle goes.""And everywhere the uncle went, the chappie was sure to go!"murmured Reggie. "Sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt.""I must see him. I haven't seen him since last summer--nearly awhole year! And he hasn't written to me, and I haven't dared towrite to him, for fear of the letter going wrong. So, you see, Imust go. Today's my only chance. Aunt Caroline has gone away.
　　Father will be busy in the garden, and won't notice whether I'mhere or not. And, besides, tomorrow it will be too late, becausePercy will be here. He was more furious about the thing thananyone.""Rather the proud aristocrat, Percy," agreed Reggie. "I understandabsolutely. Tell me just what you want me to do.""I want you to pick me up in the car about half a mile down theroad. You can drop me somewhere in Piccadilly. That will be nearenough to where I want to go. But the most important thing is aboutPercy. You must persuade him to stay and dine in town and come backhere after dinner. Then I shall be able to get back by an afternoontrain, and no one will know I've been gone.""That's simple enough, what? Consider it done. When do you want tostart?""At once.""I'll toddle round to the garage and fetch the car." Reggiechuckled amusedly. "Rum thing! The mater's just been telling me Iought to take you for a drive.""You are a darling, Reggie, really!"Reggie gave her back another paternal pat.
　　"I know what it means to be in love, dear old soul. I say, Maud,old thing, do you find love puts you off your stroke? What I meanis, does it make you slice your approach-shots?"Maud laughed.
　　"No. It hasn't had any effect on my game so far. I went round ineighty-six the other day."Reggie sighed enviously.
　　"Women are wonderful!" he said. "Well, I'll be legging it andfetching the car. When you're ready, stroll along down the road andwait for me."* * *When he had gone Maud pulled a small newspaper clipping from herpocket. She had extracted it from yesterday's copy of the MorningPost's society column. It contained only a few words:
　　"Mr. Wilbur Raymond has returned to his residence atNo. 11a Belgrave Square from a prolonged voyage in hisyacht, the Siren."Maud did not know Mr. Wilbur Raymond, and yet that paragraph hadsent the blood tingling through every vein in her body. For as shehad indicated to Reggie, when the Wilbur Raymonds of this worldreturn to their town residences, they bring with them their nephewand secretary, Geoffrey Raymond. And Geoffrey Raymond was the manMaud had loved ever since the day when she had met him in Wales.
Chapter 2
    The sun that had shone so brightly on Belpher Castle at noon, whenMaud and Reggie Byng set out on their journey, shone on theWest-End of London with equal pleasantness at two o'clock. InLittle Gooch Street all the children of all the small shopkeeperswho support life in that backwater by selling each other vegetablesand singing canaries were out and about playing curious games oftheir own invention. Cats washed themselves on doorsteps,preparatory to looking in for lunch at one of the numerous garbagecans which dotted the sidewalk. Waiters peered austerely from thewindows of the two Italian restaurants which carry on the LucretiaBorgia tradition by means of one shilling and sixpenny table d'hoteluncheons. The proprietor of the grocery store on the corner wasbidding a silent farewell to a tomato which even he, though adauntless optimist, had been compelled to recognize as havingoutlived its utility. On all these things the sun shone with agenial smile. Round the corner, in Shaftesbury Avenue, an east windwas doing its best to pierce the hardened hides of the citizenry;but it did not penetrate into Little Gooch Street, which, facingsouth and being narrow and sheltered, was enabled practically tobask.
　　Mac, the stout guardian of the stage door of the Regal Theatre,whose gilded front entrance is on the Avenue, emerged from thelittle glass case in which the management kept him, and came out toobserve life and its phenomena with an indulgent eye. Mac wasfeeling happy this morning. His job was a permanent one, notinfluenced by the success or failure of the productions whichfollowed one another at the theatre throughout the year; but hefelt, nevertheless, a sort of proprietary interest in theseventures, and was pleased when they secured the approval of thepublic. Last night's opening, a musical piece by an Americanauthor and composer, had undoubtedly made a big hit, and Mac wasglad, because he liked what he had seen of the company, and, in thebrief time in which he had known him, had come to entertain a warmregard for George Bevan, the composer, who had travelled over fromNew York to help with the London production.
　　George Bevan turned the corner now, walking slowly, and, it seemedto Mac, gloomily towards the stage door. He was a young man ofabout twenty-seven, tall and well knit, with an agreeable,clean-cut face, of which a pair of good and honest eyes were themost noticeable feature. His sensitive mouth was drawn down alittle at the corners, and he looked tired.
　　"Morning, Mac.""Good morning, sir.""Anything for me?""Yes, sir. Some telegrams. I'll get 'em. Oh, I'll GET 'em," saidMac, as if reassuring some doubting friend and supporter as to hisability to carry through a labour of Hercules.
　　He disappeared into his glass case. George Bevan remained outsidein the street surveying the frisking children with a sombre glance.
　　They seemed to him very noisy, very dirty and very young.
　　Disgustingly young. Theirs was joyous, exuberant youth which made afellow feel at least sixty. Something was wrong with George today,for normally he was fond of children. Indeed, normally he was fondof most things. He was a good-natured and cheerful young man, wholiked life and the great majority of those who lived itcontemporaneously with himself. He had no enemies and manyfriends.
　　But today he had noticed from the moment he had got out of bed thatsomething was amiss with the world. Either he was in the grip ofsome divine discontent due to the highly developed condition of hissoul, or else he had a grouch. One of the two. Or it might havebeen the reaction from the emotions of the previous night. On themorning after an opening your sensitive artist is always apt tofeel as if he had been dried over a barrel.
　　Besides, last night there had been a supper party after theperformance at the flat which the comedian of the troupe had rentedin Jermyn Street, a forced, rowdy supper party where a number oftired people with over-strained nerves had seemed to feel it a dutyto be artificially vivacious. It had lasted till four o'clock whenthe morning papers with the notices arrived, and George had not gotto bed till four-thirty. These things colour the mental outlook.
　　Mac reappeared.
　　"Here you are, sir.""Thanks."George put the telegrams in his pocket. A cat, on its way back fromlunch, paused beside him in order to use his leg as a serviette.
　　George tickled it under the ear abstractedly. He was alwayscourteous to cats, but today he went through the movementsperfunctorily and without enthusiasm.
　　The cat moved on. Mac became conversational.
　　"They tell me the piece was a hit last night, sir.""It seemed to go very well.""My Missus saw it from the gallery, and all the first-nighters wasspeaking very 'ighly of it. There's a regular click, you know, sir,over here in London, that goes to all the first nights in thegallery. 'Ighly critical they are always. Specially if it's anAmerican piece like this one. If they don't like it, they precioussoon let you know. My missus ses they was all speakin' very 'ighlyof it. My missus says she ain't seen a livelier show for a longtime, and she's a great theatregoer. My missus says they was allspecially pleased with the music.""That's good.""The Morning Leader give it a fine write-up. How was the rest ofthe papers?""Splendid, all of them. I haven't seen the evening papers yet. Icame out to get them."Mac looked down the street.
　　"There'll be a rehearsal this afternoon, I suppose, sir? Here'sMiss Dore coming along."George followed his glance. A tall girl in a tailor-made suit ofblue was coming towards them. Even at a distance one caught thegenial personality of the new arrival. It seemed to go before herlike a heartening breeze. She picked her way carefully through thechildren crawling on the side walk. She stopped for a moment andsaid something to one of them. The child grinned. Even theproprietor of the grocery store appeared to brighten up at thesight of her, as at the sight of some old friend.
　　"How's business, Bill?" she called to him as she passed the spotwhere he stood brooding on the mortality of tomatoes. And, thoughhe replied "Rotten", a faint, grim smile did nevertheless flickeracross his tragic mask.
　　Billie Dore, who was one of the chorus of George Bevan's musicalcomedy, had an attractive face, a mouth that laughed readily,rather bright golden hair (which, she was fond of insisting withperfect truth, was genuine though appearances were against it), andsteady blue eyes. The latter were frequently employed by her inquelling admirers who were encouraged by the former to become tooardent. Billie's views on the opposite sex who forgot themselveswere as rigid as those of Lord Marshmoreton concerning thrips. Sheliked men, and she would signify this liking in a practical mannerby lunching and dining with them, but she was entirelyself-supporting, and when men overlooked that fact she remindedthem of it in no uncertain voice; for she was a girl of ready speechand direct.
　　"'Morning, George. 'Morning, Mac. Any mail?""I'll see, miss.""How did your better four-fifths like the show, Mac?""I was just telling Mr. Bevan, miss, that the missus said she'adn't seen a livelier show for a long time.""Fine. I knew I'd be a hit. Well, George, how's the boy this brightafternoon?""Limp and pessimistic.""That comes of sitting up till four in the morning with festivehams.""You were up as late as I was, and you look like Little Eva after anight of sweet, childish slumber.""Yes, but I drank ginger ale, and didn't smoke eighteen cigars. Andyet, I don't know. I think I must be getting old, George. All-nightparties seem to have lost their charm. I was ready to quit at oneo'clock, but it didn't seem matey. I think I'll marry a farmer andsettle down."George was amazed. He had not expected to find his present view oflife shared in this quarter.
　　"I was just thinking myself," he said, feeling not for the firsttime how different Billie was from the majority of those with whomhis profession brought him in contact, "how flat it all was. Theshow business I mean, and these darned first nights, and the partyafter the show which you can't sidestep. Something tells me I'mabout through."Billie Dore nodded.
　　"Anybody with any sense is always about through with the showbusiness. I know I am. If you think I'm wedded to my art, let metell you I'm going to get a divorce the first chance that comesalong. It's funny about the show business. The way one drifts intoit and sticks, I mean. Take me, for example. Nature had it alldoped out for me to be the Belle of Hicks Corners. What I ought tohave done was to buy a gingham bonnet and milk cows. But I wouldcome to the great city and help brighten up the tired businessman.""I didn't know you were fond of the country, Billie.""Me? I wrote the words and music. Didn't you know I was a countrykid? My dad ran a Bide a Wee Home for flowers, and I used to knowthem all by their middle names. He was a nursery gardener out inIndiana. I tell you, when I see a rose nowadays, I shake its handand say: 'Well, well, Cyril, how's everything with you? And how areJoe and Jack and Jimmy and all the rest of the boys at home?' Doyou know how I used to put in my time the first few nights I wasover here in London? I used to hang around Covent Garden with myhead back, sniffing. The boys that mess about with the flowersthere used to stub their toes on me so often that they got to lookon me as part of the scenery.""That's where we ought to have been last night.""We'd have had a better time. Say, George, did you see the awfulmistake on Nature's part that Babe Sinclair showed up with towardsthe middle of the proceedings? You must have noticed him, becausehe took up more room than any one man was entitled to. His name wasSpenser Gray."George recalled having been introduced to a fat man of his own agewho answered to that name.
　　"It's a darned shame," said Billie indignantly. "Babe is only akid. This is the first show she's been in. And I happen to knowthere's an awfully nice boy over in New York crazy to marry her.
　　And I'm certain this gink is giving her a raw deal. He tried toget hold of me about a week ago, but I turned him down hard; and Isuppose he thinks Babe is easier. And it's no good talking to her;she thinks he's wonderful. That's another kick I have against theshow business. It seems to make girls such darned chumps. Well, Iwonder how much longer Mr. Arbuckle is going to be retrieving mymail. What ho, within there, Fatty!"Mac came out, apologetic, carrying letters.
　　"Sorry, miss. By an oversight I put you among the G's.""All's well that ends well. 'Put me among the G's.' There's a goodtitle for a song for you, George. Excuse me while I grapple withthe correspondence. I'll bet half of these are mash notes. I gotthree between the first and second acts last night. Why thenobility and gentry of this burg should think that I'm theiraffinity just because I've got golden hair--which is perfectlygenuine, Mac; I can show you the pedigree--and because I earn anhonest living singing off the key, is more than I can understand."Mac leaned his massive shoulders comfortably against the building,and resumed his chat.
　　"I expect you're feeling very 'appy today, sir?"George pondered. He was certainly feeling better since he had seenBillie Dore, but he was far from being himself.
　　"I ought to be, I suppose. But I'm not.""Ah, you're getting blarzy, sir, that's what it is. You've 'ad toomuch of the fat, you 'ave. This piece was a big 'it in America,wasn't it?""Yes. It ran over a year in New York, and there are three companiesof it out now.""That's 'ow it is, you see. You've gone and got blarzy. Too big a'elping of success, you've 'ad." Mac wagged a head like a harvestmoon. "You aren't a married man, are you, sir?"Billie Dore finished skimming through her mail, and crumpled theletters up into a large ball, which she handed to Mac.
　　"Here's something for you to read in your spare moments, Mac.
　　Glance through them any time you have a suspicion you may be achump, and you'll have the comfort of knowing that there areothers. What were you saying about being married?""Mr. Bevan and I was 'aving a talk about 'im being blarzy, miss.""Are you blarzy, George?""So Mac says.""And why is he blarzy, miss?" demanded Mac rhetorically.
　　"Don't ask me," said Billie. "It's not my fault.""It's because, as I was saying, 'e's 'ad too big a 'elping ofsuccess, and because 'e ain't a married man. You did say you wasn'ta married man, didn't you, sir?""I didn't. But I'm not.""That's 'ow it is, you see. You pretty soon gets sick of pullingoff good things, if you ain't got nobody to pat you on the back fordoing of it. Why, when I was single, if I got 'old of a sure thingfor the three o'clock race and picked up a couple of quid, thethrill of it didn't seem to linger somehow. But now, if some of thegentlemen that come 'ere put me on to something safe and I make abit, 'arf the fascination of it is taking the stuff 'ome androlling it on to the kitchen table and 'aving 'er pat me on theback.""How about when you lose?""I don't tell 'er," said Mac simply.
　　"You seem to understand the art of being happy, Mac.""It ain't an art, sir. It's just gettin' 'old of the right littlewoman, and 'aving a nice little 'ome of your own to go back to atnight.""Mac," said Billie admiringly, "you talk like a Tin Pan Alley songhit, except that you've left out the scent of honeysuckle and OldMister Moon climbing up over the trees. Well, you're quite right.
　　I'm all for the simple and domestic myself. If I could find theright man, and he didn't see me coming and duck, I'd become one ofthe Mendelssohn's March Daughters right away. Are you going,George? There's a rehearsal at two-thirty for cuts.""I want to get the evening papers and send off a cable or two. Seeyou later.""We shall meet at Philippi."Mac eyed George's retreating back till he had turned the corner.
　　"A nice pleasant gentleman, Mr. Bevan," he said. "Too bad 'e's gotthe pip the way 'e 'as, just after 'avin' a big success like this'ere. Comes of bein' a artist, I suppose."Miss Dore dived into her vanity case and produced a puff with whichshe proceeded to powder her nose.
　　"All composers are nuts, Mac. I was in a show once where themanager was panning the composer because there wasn't a number inthe score that had a tune to it. The poor geek admitted theyweren't very tuney, but said the thing about his music was that ithad such a wonderful aroma. They all get that way. The jazz seemsto go to their heads. George is all right, though, and don't letanyone tell you different.""Have you know him long, miss?""About five years. I was a stenographer in the house that publishedhis songs when I first met him. And there's another thing you'vegot to hand it to George for. He hasn't let success give him aswelled head. The money that boy makes is sinful, Mac. He wearsthousand dollar bills next to his skin winter and summer. But he'sjust the same as he was when I first knew him, when he was justhanging around Broadway, looking out for a chance to be allowed toslip a couple of interpolated numbers into any old show that camealong. Yes. Put it in your diary, Mac, and write it on your cuff,George Bevan's all right. He's an ace."Unconscious of these eulogies, which, coming from one whosejudgment he respected, might have cheered him up, George wandereddown Shaftesbury Avenue feeling more depressed than ever. The sunhad gone in for the time being, and the east wind was frolickinground him like a playful puppy, patting him with a cold paw,nuzzling his ankles, bounding away and bounding back again, andbehaving generally as east winds do when they discover a victim whohas come out without his spring overcoat. It was plain to Georgenow that the sun and the wind were a couple of confidencetricksters working together as a team. The sun had disarmed himwith specious promises and an air of cheery goodfellowship, and haddelivered him into the hands of the wind, which was now goingthrough him with the swift thoroughness of the professional hold-upartist. He quickened his steps, and began to wonder if he was sosunk in senile decay as to have acquired a liver.
　　He discarded the theory as repellent. And yet there must be areason for his depression. Today of all days, as Mac had pointedout, he had everything to make him happy. Popular as he was inAmerica, this was the first piece of his to be produced in London,and there was no doubt that it was a success of unusual dimensions.
　　And yet he felt no elation.
　　He reached Piccadilly and turned westwards. And then, as he passedthe gates of the In and Out Club, he had a moment of clear visionand understood everything. He was depressed because he was bored,and he was bored because he was lonely. Mac, that solid thinker,had been right. The solution of the problem of life was to get holdof the right girl and have a home to go back to at night. He wasmildly surprised that he had tried in any other direction for anexplanation of his gloom. It was all the more inexplicable in thatfully 80 per cent of the lyrics which he had set in the course ofhis musical comedy career had had that thought at the back of them.
　　George gave himself up to an orgy of sentimentality. He seemed tobe alone in the world which had paired itself off into a sort ofseething welter of happy couples. Taxicabs full of happy couplesrolled by every minute. Passing omnibuses creaked beneath theweight of happy couples. The very policeman across the Street hadjust grinned at a flitting shop girl, and she had smiled back athim. The only female in London who did not appear to be attachedwas a girl in brown who was coming along the sidewalk at aleisurely pace, looking about her in a manner that suggested thatshe found Piccadilly a new and stimulating spectacle.
　　As far as George could see she was an extremely pretty girl, smalland dainty, with a proud little tilt to her head and the jauntywalk that spoke of perfect health. She was, in fact, precisely thesort of girl that George felt he could love with all the stored-updevotion of an old buffer of twenty-seven who had squandered noneof his rich nature in foolish flirtations. He had just begun toweave a rose-tinted romance about their two selves, when a coldreaction set in. Even as he paused to watch the girl threading herway through the crowd, the east wind jabbed an icy finger down theback of his neck, and the chill of it sobered him. After all, hereflected bitterly, this girl was only alone because she was on herway somewhere to meet some confounded man. Besides there was noearthly chance of getting to know her. You can't rush up to prettygirls in the street and tell them you are lonely. At least, youcan, but it doesn't get you anywhere except the police station.
　　George's gloom deepened--a thing he would not have believedpossible a moment before. He felt that he had been born too late.
　　The restraints of modern civilization irked him. It was not, hetold himself, like this in the good old days.
　　In the Middle Ages, for example, this girl would have been aDamsel; and in that happy time practically everybody whosetechnical rating was that of Damsel was in distress and only toowilling to waive the formalities in return for services rendered bythe casual passer-by. But the twentieth century is a prosaic age,when girls are merely girls and have no troubles at all. Were heto stop this girl in brown and assure her that his aid and comfortwere at her disposal, she would undoubtedly call that largepoliceman from across the way, and the romance would begin and endwithin the space of thirty seconds, or, if the policeman were aquick mover, rather less.
　　Better to dismiss dreams and return to the practical side of lifeby buying the evening papers from the shabby individual beside him,who had just thrust an early edition in his face. After all noticesare notices, even when the heart is aching. George felt in hispocket for the necessary money, found emptiness, and rememberedthat he had left all his ready funds at his hotel. It was just oneof the things he might have expected on a day like this.
　　The man with the papers had the air of one whose business isconducted on purely cash principles. There was only one thing to bedone, return to the hotel, retrieve his money, and try to forgetthe weight of the world and its cares in lunch. And from the hotelhe could despatch the two or three cables which he wanted to sendto New York.
　　The girl in brown was quite close now, and George was enabled toget a clearer glimpse of her. She more than fulfilled the promiseshe had given at a distance. Had she been constructed to his ownspecifications, she would not have been more acceptable in George'ssight. And now she was going out of his life for ever. With anoverwhelming sense of pathos, for there is no pathos more bitterthan that of parting from someone we have never met, George haileda taxicab which crawled at the side of the road; and, with all therefrains of all the sentimental song hits he had ever composedringing in his ears, he got in and passed away.
　　"A rotten world," he mused, as the cab, after proceeding a coupleof yards, came to a standstill in a block of the traffic. "A dull,flat bore of a world, in which nothing happens or ever will happen.
　　Even when you take a cab it just sticks and doesn't move."At this point the door of the cab opened, and the girl in brownjumped in.
　　"I'm so sorry," she said breathlessly, "but would you mind hidingme, please."
Chapter 3
    George hid her. He did it, too, without wasting precious time byasking questions. In a situation which might well have thrown thequickest-witted of men off his balance, he acted with promptitude,intelligence and despatch. The fact is, George had for years beenan assiduous golfer; and there is no finer school for teachingconcentration and a strict attention to the matter in hand. Fewcrises, however unexpected, have the power to disturb a man who hasso conquered the weakness of the flesh as to have trained himselfto bend his left knee, raise his left heel, swing his arms well outfrom the body, twist himself into the shape of a corkscrew and usethe muscle of the wrist, at the same time keeping his head stilland his eye on the ball. It is estimated that there aretwenty-three important points to be borne in mind simultaneouslywhile making a drive at golf; and to the man who has mastered theart of remembering them all the task of hiding girls in taxicabs ismere child's play. To pull down the blinds on the side of thevehicle nearest the kerb was with George the work of a moment. Thenhe leaned out of the centre window in such a manner as completelyto screen the interior of the cab from public view.
　　"Thank you so much," murmured a voice behind him. It seemed to comefrom the floor.
　　"Not at all," said George, trying a sort of vocal chip-shot out ofthe corner of his mouth, designed to lift his voice backwards andlay it dead inside the cab.
　　He gazed upon Piccadilly with eyes from which the scales hadfallen. Reason told him that he was still in Piccadilly. Otherwiseit would have seemed incredible to him that this could be the samestreet which a moment before he had passed judgment upon and foundflat and uninteresting. True, in its salient features it hadaltered little. The same number of stodgy-looking people moved upand down. The buildings retained their air of not having had a bathsince the days of the Tudors. The east wind still blew. But,though superficially the same, in reality Piccadilly had alteredcompletely. Before it had been just Piccadilly. Now it was a goldenstreet in the City of Romance, a main thoroughfare of Bagdad, oneof the principal arteries of the capital of Fairyland. Arose-coloured mist swam before George's eyes. His spirits, so lowbut a few moments back, soared like a good niblick shot out of thebunker of Gloom. The years fell away from him till, in an instant,from being a rather poorly preserved, liverish greybeard ofsixty-five or so, he became a sprightly lad of twenty-one in aworld of springtime and flowers and laughing brooks. In otherwords, taking it by and large, George felt pretty good. Theimpossible had happened; Heaven had sent him an adventure, and hedidn't care if it snowed.
　　It was possibly the rose-coloured mist before his eyes thatprevented him from observing the hurried approach of a faultlesslyattired young man, aged about twenty-one, who during George'spreparations for ensuring privacy in his cab had been galloping inpursuit in a resolute manner that suggested a well-dressedbloodhound somewhat overfed and out of condition. Only when thisperson stopped and began to pant within a few inches of his facedid he become aware of his existence.
　　"You, sir!" said the bloodhound, removing a gleaming silk hat,mopping a pink forehead, and replacing the luminous superstructureonce more in position. "You, sir!"Whatever may be said of the possibility of love at first sight, inwhich theory George was now a confirmed believer, there can be nodoubt that an exactly opposite phenomenon is of frequentoccurrence. After one look at some people even friendship isimpossible. Such a one, in George's opinion, was this gurglingexcrescence underneath the silk hat. He comprised in his singleperson practically all the qualities which George disliked most. Hewas, for a young man, extraordinarily obese. Already a secondedition of his chin had been published, and the perfectly-cutmorning coat which encased his upper section bulged out in anopulent semi-circle. He wore a little moustache, which to George'sprejudiced eye seemed more a complaint than a moustache. His facewas red, his manner dictatorial, and he was touched in the wind.
　　Take him for all in all he looked like a bit of bad news.
　　George had been educated at Lawrenceville and Harvard, and hadsubsequently had the privilege of mixing socially with many of NewYork's most prominent theatrical managers; so he knew how to behavehimself. No Vere de Vere could have exhibited greater repose ofmanner.
　　"And what," he inquired suavely, leaning a little further out ofthe cab, "is eating you, Bill?"A messenger boy, two shabby men engaged in non-essentialindustries, and a shop girl paused to observe the scene. Time wasnot of the essence to these confirmed sightseers. The shop girl waslate already, so it didn't matter if she was any later; themessenger boy had nothing on hand except a message marked"Important: Rush"; and as for the two shabby men, their onlyimmediate plans consisted of a vague intention of getting to somepublic house and leaning against the wall; so George's time wastheir time. One of the pair put his head on one side and said:
　　"What ho!"; the other picked up a cigar stub from the gutter andbegan to smoke.
　　"A young lady just got into your cab," said the stout young man.
　　"Surely not?" said George.
　　"What the devil do you mean--surely not?""I've been in the cab all the time, and I should have noticed it."At this juncture the block in the traffic was relieved, and the cabbowled smartly on for some fifty yards when it was again halted.
　　George, protruding from the window like a snail, was entertained bythe spectacle of the pursuit. The hunt was up. Short of throwinghis head up and baying, the stout young man behaved exactly as abloodhound in similar circumstances would have conducted itself. Hebroke into a jerky gallop, attended by his self-appointedassociates; and, considering that the young man was so stout, thatthe messenger boy considered it unprofessional to hurry, that theshop girl had doubts as to whether sprinting was quite ladylike,and that the two Bohemians were moving at a quicker gait than ashuffle for the first occasion in eleven years, the cavalcade madegood time. The cab was still stationary when they arrived in abody.
　　"Here he is, guv'nor," said the messenger boy, removing a bead ofperspiration with the rush message.
　　"Here he is, guv'nor," said the non-smoking Bohemian. "What oh!""Here I am!" agreed George affably. "And what can I do for you?"The smoker spat appreciatively at a passing dog. The point seemedto him well taken. Not for many a day had he so enjoyed himself. Inan arid world containing too few goes of gin and too manypolicemen, a world in which the poor were oppressed and couldseldom even enjoy a quiet cigar without having their fingerstrodden upon, he found himself for the moment contented, happy, andexpectant. This looked like a row between toffs, and of all thingswhich most intrigued him a row between toffs ranked highest.
　　"R!" he said approvingly. "Now you're torkin'!"The shop girl had espied an acquaintance in the crowd. She gavetongue.
　　"Mordee! Cummere! Cummere quick! Sumfin' hap'nin'!" Maudie,accompanied by perhaps a dozen more of London's millions, addedherself to the audience. These all belonged to the class which willgather round and watch silently while a motorist mends a tyre. Theyare not impatient. They do not call for rapid and continuousaction. A mere hole in the ground, which of all sights is perhapsthe least vivid and dramatic, is enough to grip their attention forhours at a time. They stared at George and George's cab withunblinking gaze. They did not know what would happen or when itwould happen, but they intended to wait till something did happen.
　　It might be for years or it might be for ever, but they meant to bethere when things began to occur.
　　Speculations became audible.
　　"Wot is it? 'Naccident?""Nah! Gent 'ad 'is pocket picked!""Two toffs 'ad a scrap!""Feller bilked the cabman!"A sceptic made a cynical suggestion.
　　"They're doin' of it for the pictures."The idea gained instant popularity.
　　"Jear that? It's a fillum!""Wot o', Charlie!""The kemerer's 'idden in the keb.""Wot'll they be up to next!"A red-nosed spectator with a tray of collar-studs harnessed to hisstomach started another school of thought. He spoke with decisionas one having authority.
　　"Nothin' of the blinkin' kind! The fat 'un's bin 'avin' one or twoaround the corner, and it's gorn and got into 'is 'ead!"The driver of the cab, who till now had been ostentatiously unawarethat there was any sort of disturbance among the lower orders,suddenly became humanly inquisitive.
　　"What's it all about?" he asked, swinging around and addressingGeorge's head.
　　"Exactly what I want to know," said George. He indicated thecollar-stud merchant. "The gentleman over there with the portableWoolworth-bargain-counter seems to me to have the best theory."The stout young man, whose peculiar behaviour had drawn all thisflattering attention from the many-headed and who appearedconsiderably ruffled by the publicity, had been puffing noisilyduring the foregoing conversation. Now, having recovered sufficientbreath to resume the attack, he addressed himself to George oncemore.
　　"Damn you, sir, will you let me look inside that cab?""Leave me," said George, "I would be alone.""There is a young lady in that cab. I saw her get in, and I havebeen watching ever since, and she has not got out, so she is therenow."George nodded approval of this close reasoning.
　　"Your argument seems to be without a flaw. But what then? Weapplaud the Man of Logic, but what of the Man of Action? What areyou going to do about it?""Get out of my way!""I won't.""Then I'll force my way in!""If you try it, I shall infallibly bust you one on the jaw."The stout young man drew back a pace.
　　"You can't do that sort of thing, you know.""I know I can't," said George, "but I shall. In this life, my dearsir, we must be prepared for every emergency. We must distinguishbetween the unusual and the impossible. It would be unusual for acomparative stranger to lean out of a cab window and sock you one,but you appear to have laid your plans on the assumption that itwould be impossible. Let this be a lesson to you!""I tell you what it is--""The advice I give to every young man starting life is 'Neverconfuse the unusual with the impossible!' Take the present case,for instance. If you had only realized the possibility of somebodysome day busting you on the jaw when you tried to get into a cab,you might have thought out dozens of crafty schemes for dealingwith the matter. As it is, you are unprepared. The thing comes onyou as a surprise. The whisper flies around the clubs: 'Poor oldWhat's-his-name has been taken unawares. He cannot cope with thesituation!'"The man with the collar-studs made another diagnosis. He was seeingclearer and clearer into the thing every minute.
　　"Looney!" he decided. "This 'ere one's bin moppin' of it up, andthe one in the keb's orf 'is bloomin' onion. That's why 'e 'sstandin' up instead of settin'. 'E won't set down 'cept you bring'im a bit o' toast, 'cos he thinks 'e 's a poached egg."George beamed upon the intelligent fellow.
　　"Your reasoning is admirable, but--"He broke off here, not because he had not more to say, but for thereason that the stout young man, now in quite a Berserk frame ofmind, made a sudden spring at the cab door and clutched the handle,which he was about to wrench when George acted with all thepromptitude and decision which had marked his behaviour from thestart.
　　It was a situation which called for the nicest judgment. To allowthe assailant free play with the handle or even to wrestle with himfor its possession entailed the risk that the door might open andreveal the girl. To bust the young man on the jaw, as promised, onthe other hand, was not in George's eyes a practical policy.
　　Excellent a deterrent as the threat of such a proceeding might be,its actual accomplishment was not to be thought of. Gaols yawn andactions for assault lie in wait for those who go about the placebusting their fellows on the jaw. No. Something swift, somethingdecided and immediate was indicated, but something that stoppedshort of technical battery.
　　George brought his hand round with a sweep and knocked the stoutyoung man's silk hat off.
　　The effect was magical. We all of us have our Achilles heel,and--paradoxically enough--in the case of the stout young man thatheel was his hat. Superbly built by the only hatter in London whocan construct a silk hat that is a silk hat, and freshly ironed byloving hands but a brief hour before at the only shaving-parlour inLondon where ironing is ironing and not a brutal attack, it was hispride and joy. To lose it was like losing his trousers. It made himfeel insufficiently clad. With a passionate cry like that of somewild creature deprived of its young, the erstwhile Berserk releasedthe handle and sprang in pursuit. At the same moment the trafficmoved on again.
　　The last George saw was a group scene with the stout young man inthe middle of it. The hat had been popped up into the infield,where it had been caught by the messenger boy. The stout young manwas bending over it and stroking it with soothing fingers. It wastoo far off for anything to be audible, but he seemed to George tobe murmuring words of endearment to it. Then, placing it on hishead, he darted out into the road and George saw him no more. Theaudience remained motionless, staring at the spot where theincident had happened. They would continue to do this till the nextpoliceman came along and moved them on.
　　With a pleasant wave of farewell, in case any of them might beglancing in his direction, George drew in his body and sat down.
　　The girl in brown had risen from the floor, if she had ever beenthere, and was now seated composedly at the further end of the cab.
Chapter 4
    "Well, that's that!" said George.
　　"I'm so much obliged," said the girl.
　　"It was a pleasure," said George.
　　He was enabled now to get a closer, more leisurely and much moresatisfactory view of this distressed damsel than had been his goodfortune up to the present. Small details which, when he had firstcaught sight of her, distance had hidden from his view, nowpresented themselves. Her eyes, he discovered, which he hadsupposed brown, were only brown in their general colour-scheme.
　　They were shot with attractive little flecks of gold, matchingperfectly the little streaks gold which the sun, coming out againon one of his flying visits and now shining benignantly once more onthe world, revealed in her hair. Her chin was square anddetermined, but its resoluteness was contradicted by a dimple andby the pleasant good-humour of the mouth; and a further softeningof the face was effected by the nose, which seemed to have startedout with the intention of being dignified and aristocratic but haddefeated its purpose by tilting very slightly at the tip. This wasa girl who would take chances, but would take them with a smile andlaugh when she lost.
　　George was but an amateur physiognomist, but he could read what wasobvious in the faces he encountered; and the more he looked at thisgirl, the less he was able to understand the scene which had justoccurred. The thing mystified him completely. For all hergood-humour, there was an air, a manner, a something capable anddefensive, about this girl with which he could not imagine any manventuring to take liberties. The gold-brown eyes, as they met hisnow, were friendly and smiling, but he could imagine them freezinginto a stare baleful enough and haughty enough to quell such aperson as the silk-hatted young man with a single glance. Why,then, had that super-fatted individual been able to demoralize herto the extent of flying to the shelter of strange cabs? She wascomposed enough now, it was true, but it had been quite plain thatat the moment when she entered the taxi her nerve had momentarilyforsaken her. There were mysteries here, beyond George.
　　The girl looked steadily at George and George looked steadily ather for the space of perhaps ten seconds. She seemed to George tobe summing him up, weighing him. That the inspection provedsatisfactory was shown by the fact that at the end of this periodshe smiled. Then she laughed, a clear pealing laugh which to Georgewas far more musical than the most popular song-hit he had everwritten.
　　"I suppose you are wondering what it's all about?" she said.
　　This was precisely what George was wondering most consumedly.
　　"No, no," he said. "Not at all. It's not my business.""And of course you're much too well bred to be inquisitive aboutother people's business?""Of course I am. What was it all about?""I'm afraid I can't tell you.""But what am I to say to the cabman?""I don't know. What do men usually say to cabmen?""I mean he will feel very hurt if I don't give him a fullexplanation of all this. He stooped from his pedestal to makeenquiries just now. Condescension like that deserves somerecognition.""Give him a nice big tip."George was reminded of his reason for being in the cab.
　　"I ought to have asked before," he said. "Where can I drive you?""Oh, I mustn't steal your cab. Where were you going?""I was going back to my hotel. I came out without any money, so Ishall have to go there first to get some."The girl started.
　　"What's the matter?" asked George.
　　"I've lost my purse!""Good Lord! Had it much in it?""Not very much. But enough to buy a ticket home.""Any use asking where that is?""None, I'm afraid.""I wasn't going to, of course.""Of course not. That's what I admire so much in you. You aren'tinquisitive."George reflected.
　　"There's only one thing to be done. You will have to wait in thecab at the hotel, while I go and get some money. Then, if you'lllet me, I can lend you what you require.""It's much too kind of you. Could you manage eleven shillings?""Easily. I've just had a legacy.""Of course, if you think I ought to be economical, I'll gothird-class. That would only be five shillings. Ten-and-six is thefirst-class fare. So you see the place I want to get to is twohours from London.""Well, that's something to know.""But not much, is it?""I think I had better lend you a sovereign. Then you'll be able tobuy a lunch-basket.""You think of everything. And you're perfectly right. I shall bestarving. But how do you know you will get the money back?""I'll risk it.""Well, then, I shall have to be inquisitive and ask your name.
　　Otherwise I shan't know where to send the money.""Oh, there's no mystery about me. I'm an open book.""You needn't be horrid about it. I can't help being mysterious.""I didn't mean that.""It sounded as if you did. Well, who is my benefactor?""My name is George Bevan. I am staying at the Carlton at present.""I'll remember."The taxi moved slowly down the Haymarket. The girl laughed.
　　"Yes?" said George.
　　"I was only thinking of back there. You know, I haven't thanked younearly enough for all you did. You were wonderful.""I'm very glad I was able to be of any help.""What did happen? You must remember I couldn't see a thing exceptyour back, and I could only hear indistinctly.""Well, it started by a man galloping up and insisting that you hadgot into the cab. He was a fellow with the appearance of abefore-using advertisement of an anti-fat medicine and the mannersof a ring-tailed chimpanzee."The girl nodded.
　　"Then it was Percy! I knew I wasn't mistaken.""Percy?""That is his name.""It would be! I could have betted on it.""What happened then?""I reasoned with the man, but didn't seem to soothe him, andfinally he made a grab for the door-handle, so I knocked off hishat, and while he was retrieving it we moved on and escaped."The girl gave another silver peal of laughter.
　　"Oh, what a shame I couldn't see it. But how resourceful of you!
　　How did you happen to think of it?""It just came to me," said George modestly.
　　A serious look came into the girl's face. The smile died out of hereyes. She shivered.
　　"When I think how some men might have behaved in your place!""Oh, no. Any man would have done just what I did. Surely, knockingoff Percy's hat was an act of simple courtesy which anyone wouldhave performed automatically!""You might have been some awful bounder. Or, what would have beenalmost worse, a slow-witted idiot who would have stopped to askquestions before doing anything. To think I should have had theluck to pick you out of all London!""I've been looking on it as a piece of luck--but entirely from myviewpoint."She put a small hand on his arm, and spoke earnestly.
　　"Mr. Bevan, you mustn't think that, because I've been laughing agood deal and have seemed to treat all this as a joke, you haven'tsaved me from real trouble. If you hadn't been there and hadn'tacted with such presence of mind, it would have been terrible!""But surely, if that fellow was annoying you, you could have calleda policeman?""Oh, it wasn't anything like that. It was much, much worse. But Imustn't go on like this. It isn't fair on you." Her eyes lit upagain with the old shining smile. "I know you have no curiosityabout me, but still there's no knowing whether I might not arousesome if I went on piling up the mystery. And the silly part is thatreally there's no mystery at all. It's just that I can't tellanyone about it.""That very fact seems to me to constitute the makings of a prettyfair mystery.""Well, what I mean is, I'm not a princess in disguise trying toescape from anarchists, or anything like those things you readabout in books. I'm just in a perfectly simple piece of trouble.
　　You would be bored to death if I told you about it.""Try me."She shook her head.
　　"No. Besides, here we are." The cab had stopped at the hotel, and acommissionaire was already opening the door. "Now, if you haven'trepented of your rash offer and really are going to be so awfullykind as to let me have that money, would you mind rushing off andgetting it, because I must hurry. I can just catch a good train,and it's hours to the next.""Will you wait here? I'll be back in a moment.""Very well."The last George saw of her was another of those exhilarating smilesof hers. It was literally the last he saw of her, for, when hereturned not more than two minutes later, the cab had gone, thegirl had gone, and the world was empty.
　　To him, gaping at this wholly unforeseen calamity the commissionairevouchsafed information.
　　"The young lady took the cab on, sir.""Took the cab on?""Almost immediately after you had gone, sir, she got in again andtold the man to drive to Waterloo."George could make nothing of it. He stood there in silentperplexity, and might have continued to stand indefinitely, had nothis mind been distracted by a dictatorial voice at his elbow.
　　"You, sir! Dammit!"A second taxi-cab had pulled up, and from it a stout, scarlet-faced young man had sprung. One glance told George all. The huntwas up once more. The bloodhound had picked up the trail. Percy wasin again!
　　For the first time since he had become aware of her flight, Georgewas thankful that the girl had disappeared. He perceived that hehad too quickly eliminated Percy from the list of the Things ThatMatter. Engrossed with his own affairs, and having regarded theirlate skirmish as a decisive battle from which there would be norallying, he had overlooked the possibility of this annoying andunnecessary person following them in another cab--a task which, inthe congested, slow-moving traffic, must have been a perfectlysimple one. Well, here he was, his soul manifestly all stirred upand his blood-pressure at a far higher figure than his doctor wouldhave approved of, and the matter would have to be opened all overagain.
　　"Now then!" said the stout young man.
　　George regarded him with a critical and unfriendly eye. He dislikedthis fatty degeneration excessively. Looking him up and down, hecould find no point about him that gave him the least pleasure,with the single exception of the state of his hat, in the side ofwhich he was rejoiced to perceive there was a large and unshapelydent.
　　"You thought you had shaken me off! You thought you'd given me theslip! Well, you're wrong!"George eyed him coldly.
　　"I know what's the matter with you," he said. "Someone's beenfeeding you meat."The young man bubbled with fury. His face turned a deeper scarlet.
　　He gesticulated.
　　"You blackguard! Where's my sister?"At this extraordinary remark the world rocked about George dizzily.
　　The words upset his entire diagnosis of the situation. Until thatmoment he had looked upon this man as a Lothario, a pursuer ofdamsels. That the other could possibly have any right on his sidehad never occurred to him. He felt unmanned by the shock. It seemedto cut the ground from under his feet.
　　"Your sister!""You heard what I said. Where is she?"George was still endeavouring to adjust his scattered faculties.
　　He felt foolish and apologetic. He had imagined himself unassailablyin the right, and it now appeared that he was in the wrong.
　　For a moment he was about to become conciliatory. Then therecollection of the girl's panic and her hints at some troublewhich threatened her--presumably through the medium of this man,brother or no brother--checked him. He did not know what it was allabout, but the one thing that did stand out clearly in the welterof confused happenings was the girl's need for his assistance.
　　Whatever might be the rights of the case, he was her accomplice,and must behave as such.
　　"I don't know what you're talking about," he said.
　　The young man shook a large, gloved fist in his face.
　　"You blackguard!"A rich, deep, soft, soothing voice slid into the heated scene likethe Holy Grail sliding athwart a sunbeam.
　　"What's all this?"A vast policeman had materialized from nowhere. He stood besidethem, a living statue of Vigilant Authority. One thumb restedeasily on his broad belt. The fingers of the other hand caressedlightly a moustache that had caused more heart-burnings among thegentler sex than any other two moustaches in the C-division. Theeyes above the moustache were stern and questioning.
　　"What's all this?"George liked policemen. He knew the way to treat them. His voice,when he replied, had precisely the correct note of respectfuldeference which the Force likes to hear.
　　"I really couldn't say, officer," he said, with just that air ofhaving in a time of trouble found a kind elder brother to help himout of his difficulties which made the constable his ally on thespot. "I was standing here, when this man suddenly made hisextraordinary attack on me. I wish you would ask him to go away."The policeman tapped the stout young man on the shoulder.
　　"This won't do, you know!" he said austerely. "This sort o' thingwon't do, 'ere, you know!""Take your hands off me!" snorted Percy.
　　A frown appeared on the Olympian brow. Jove reached for histhunderbolts.
　　"'Ullo! 'Ullo! 'Ullo!" he said in a shocked voice, as of a goddefied by a mortal. "'Ullo! 'Ullo! 'Ul-lo!"His fingers fell on Percy's shoulder again, but this time not in amere warning tap. They rested where they fell--in an iron clutch.
　　"It won't do, you know," he said. "This sort o' thing won't do!"Madness came upon the stout young man. Common prudence and thelessons of a carefully-taught youth fell from him like a garment.
　　With an incoherent howl he wriggled round and punched the policemansmartly in the stomach.
　　"Ho!" quoth the outraged officer, suddenly becoming human. Hisleft hand removed itself from the belt, and he got a businesslikegrip on his adversary's collar. "Will you come along with me!"It was amazing. The thing had happened in such an incredibly briefspace of time. One moment, it seemed to George, he was the centreof a nasty row in one of the most public spots in London; the next,the focus had shifted; he had ceased to matter; and the entireattention of the metropolis was focused on his late assailant, as,urged by the arm of the Law, he made that journey to Vine StreetPolice Station which so many a better man than he had trod.
　　George watched the pair as they moved up the Haymarket, followed bya growing and increasingly absorbed crowd; then he turned into thehotel.
　　"This," he said to himself; "is the middle of a perfect day! And Ithought London dull!"
Chapter 5
    George awoke next morning with a misty sense that somehow the worldhad changed. As the last remnants of sleep left him, he was awareof a vague excitement. Then he sat up in bed with a jerk. He hadremembered that he was in love.
　　There was no doubt about it. A curious happiness pervaded hisentire being. He felt young and active. Everything was emphaticallyfor the best in this best of all possible worlds. The sun wasshining. Even the sound of someone in the street below whistlingone of his old compositions, of which he had heartily sickenedtwelve months before, was pleasant to his ears, and this in spiteof the fact that the unseen whistler only touched the key in oddspots and had a poor memory for tunes. George sprang lightly out ofbed, and turned on the cold tap in the bath-room. While he latheredhis face for its morning shave he beamed at himself in the mirror.
　　It had come at last. The Real Thing.
　　George had never been in love before. Not really in love. True,from the age of fifteen, he had been in varying degrees ofintensity attracted sentimentally by the opposite sex. Indeed, atthat period of life of which Mr. Booth Tarkington has written sosearchingly--the age of seventeen--he had been in love withpractically every female he met and with dozens whom he had onlyseen in the distance; but ripening years had mellowed his taste androbbed him of that fine romantic catholicity. During the last fiveyears women had found him more or less cold. It was the nature ofhis profession that had largely brought about this cooling of theemotions. To a man who, like George, has worked year in and yearout at the composition of musical comedies, woman comes to losemany of those attractive qualities which ensnare the ordinary male.
　　To George, of late years, it had begun to seem that the salientfeature of woman as a sex was her disposition to kick. For fiveyears he had been wandering in a world of women, many of thembeautiful, all of them superficially attractive, who had left noother impress on his memory except the vigour and frequency withwhich they had kicked. Some had kicked about their musicalnumbers, some about their love-scenes; some had grumbled abouttheir exit lines, others about the lines of their second-actfrocks. They had kicked in a myriad differing ways--wrathfully,sweetly, noisily, softly, smilingly, tearfully, pathetically andpatronizingly; but they had all kicked; with the result that womanhad now become to George not so much a flaming inspiration or atender goddess as something to be dodged--tactfully, if possible;but, if not possible, by open flight. For years he had dreaded tobe left alone with a woman, and had developed a habit of glidingswiftly away when he saw one bearing down on him.
　　The psychological effect of such a state of things is not difficultto realize. Take a man of naturally quixotic temperament, a man ofchivalrous instincts and a feeling for romance, and cut him off forfive years from the exercise of those qualities, and you get anaccumulated store of foolishness only comparable to an escape ofgas in a sealed room or a cellarful of dynamite. A flicker of amatch, and there is an explosion.
　　This girl's tempestuous irruption into his life had supplied flamefor George. Her bright eyes, looking into his, had touched off thespiritual trinitrotoluol which he had been storing up for so long.
　　Up in the air in a million pieces had gone the prudence andself-restraint of a lifetime. And here he was, as desperately inlove as any troubadour of the Middle Ages.
　　It was not till he had finished shaving and was testing thetemperature of his bath with a shrinking toe that the realizationcame over him in a wave that, though he might be in love, thefairway of love was dotted with more bunkers than any golf coursehe had ever played on in his life. In the first place, he did notknow the girl's name. In the second place, it seemed practicallyimpossible that he would ever see her again. Even in the midst ofhis optimism George could not deny that these facts mightreasonably be considered in the nature of obstacles. He went backinto his bedroom, and sat on the bed. This thing wanted thinkingover.
　　He was not depressed--only a little thoughtful. His faith in hisluck sustained him. He was, he realized, in the position of a manwho has made a supreme drive from the tee, and finds his ball nearthe green but in a cuppy lie. He had gained much; it now remainedfor him to push his success to the happy conclusion. The driver ofLuck must be replaced by the spoon--or, possibly, the niblick--ofIngenuity. To fail now, to allow this girl to pass out of his lifemerely because he did not know who she was or where she was, wouldstamp him a feeble adventurer. A fellow could not expect Luck todo everything for him. He must supplement its assistance with hisown efforts.
　　What had he to go on? Well, nothing much, if it came to that,except the knowledge that she lived some two hours by train out ofLondon, and that her journey started from Waterloo Station. Whatwould Sherlock Holmes have done? Concentrated thought supplied noanswer to the question; and it was at this point that the cheeryoptimism with which he had begun the day left George and gave placeto a grey gloom. A dreadful phrase, haunting in its pathos, creptinto his mind. "Ships that pass in the night!" It might easily turnout that way. Indeed, thinking over the affair in all its aspectsas he dried himself after his tub, George could not see how itcould possibly turn out any other way.
　　He dressed moodily, and left the room to go down to breakfast.
　　Breakfast would at least alleviate this sinking feeling which wasunmanning him. And he could think more briskly after a cup or twoof coffee.
　　He opened the door. On a mat outside lay a letter.
　　The handwriting was feminine. It was also in pencil, and strange tohim. He opened the envelope.
　　"Dear Mr. Bevan" (it began).
　　With a sudden leap of the heart he looked at the signature.
　　The letter was signed "The Girl in the Cab.""DEAR MR. BEVAN,"I hope you won't think me very rude, running offwithout waiting to say good-bye. I had to. I saw Percydriving up in a cab, and knew that he must have followed us.
　　He did not see me, so I got away all right. I managedsplendidly about the money, for I remembered that I waswearing a nice brooch, and stopped on the way to thestation to pawn it.
　　"Thank you ever so much again for all your wonderfulkindness.
　　Yours,THE GIRL IN THE CAB."George read the note twice on the way down to the breakfast room,and three times more during the meal; then, having committed itscontents to memory down to the last comma, he gave himself up toglowing thoughts.
　　What a girl! He had never in his life before met a woman who couldwrite a letter without a postscript, and this was but the smallestof her unusual gifts. The resource of her, to think of pawning thatbrooch! The sweetness of her to bother to send him a note! Morethan ever before was he convinced that he had met his ideal, andmore than ever before was he determined that a triviality likebeing unaware of her name and address should not keep him from her.
　　It was not as if he had no clue to go upon. He knew that she livedtwo hours from London and started home from Waterloo. It narrowedthe thing down absurdly. There were only about three counties inwhich she could possibly live; and a man must be a poor fellow whois incapable of searching through a few small counties for the girlhe loves. Especially a man with luck like his.
　　Luck is a goddess not to be coerced and forcibly wooed by those whoseek her favours. From such masterful spirits she turns away. Butit happens sometimes that, if we put our hand in hers with thehumble trust of a little child, she will have pity on us, and notfail us in our hour of need. On George, hopefully watching forsomething to turn up, she smiled almost immediately.
　　It was George's practice, when he lunched alone, to relieve thetedium of the meal with the assistance of reading matter in theshape of one or more of the evening papers. Today, sitting down toa solitary repast at the Piccadilly grill-room, he had brought withhim an early edition of the Evening News. And one of the firstitems which met his eye was the following, embodied in a columnon one of the inner pages devoted to humorous comments in prose andverse on the happenings of the day. This particular happening thewriter had apparently considered worthy of being dignified byrhyme. It was headed:
　　"THE PEER AND THE POLICEMAN.""Outside the 'Carlton,' 'tis averred, these stirringhappenings occurred. The hour, 'tis said (and no onedoubts) was half-past two, or thereabouts. The day wasfair, the sky was blue, and everything was peaceful too,when suddenly a well-dressed gent engaged in heatedargument and roundly to abuse began another well-dressedgentleman. His suede-gloved fist he raised on high to dotthe other in the eye. Who knows what horrors might havebeen, had there not come upon the scene old London city'sfavourite son, Policeman C. 231. 'What means this conduct?
　　Prithee stop!' exclaimed that admirable slop. With which heplaced a warning hand upon the brawler's collarband. Wesimply hate to tell the rest. No subject here for flippantjest. The mere remembrance of the tale has made our inkturn deadly pale. Let us be brief. Some demon sent starkmadness on the well-dressed gent. He gave the constable apunch just where the latter kept his lunch. The constablesaid 'Well! Well! Well!' and marched him to a dungeon cell.
　　At Vine Street Station out it came--Lord Belpher was theculprit's name. But British Justice is severe alike onpauper and on peer; with even hand she holds the scale; athumping fine, in lieu of gaol, induced Lord B. to feelremorse and learn he mustn't punch the Force."George's mutton chop congealed on the plate, untouched. The Frenchfried potatoes cooled off, unnoticed. This was no time for food.
　　Rightly indeed had he relied upon his luck. It had stood by himnobly. With this clue, all was over except getting to the nearestFree Library and consulting Burke's Peerage. He paid his bill andleft the restaurant.
　　Ten minutes later he was drinking in the pregnant information thatBelpher was the family name of the Earl of Marshmoreton, and thatthe present earl had one son, Percy Wilbraham Marsh, educ. Eton andChrist Church, Oxford, and what the book with its customarycurtness called "one d."--Patricia Maud. The family seat, saidBurke, was Belpher Castle, Belpher, Hants.
　　Some hours later, seated in a first-class compartment of a trainthat moved slowly out of Waterloo Station, George watched Londonvanish behind him. In the pocket closest to his throbbing heartwas a single ticket to Belpher.
Chapter 6
    At about the time that George Bevan's train was leaving Waterloo, agrey racing car drew up with a grinding of brakes and a sputter ofgravel in front of the main entrance of Belpher Castle. The slimand elegant young man at the wheel removed his goggles, pulled outa watch, and addressed the stout young man at his side.
　　"Two hours and eighteen minutes from Hyde Park Corner, Boots. Notso dusty, what?"His companion made no reply. He appeared to be plunged in thought.
　　He, too, removed his goggles, revealing a florid and gloomy face,equipped, in addition to the usual features, with a small moustacheand an extra chin. He scowled forbiddingly at the charming scenewhich the goggles had hidden from him.
　　Before him, a symmetrical mass of grey stone and green ivy, BelpherCastle towered against a light blue sky. On either side rollingpark land spread as far as the eye could see, carpeted here andthere with violets, dotted with great oaks and ashes and Spanishchestnuts, orderly, peaceful and English. Nearer, on his left, wererose-gardens, in the centre of which, tilted at a sharp angle,appeared the seat of a pair of corduroy trousers, whose wearerseemed to be engaged in hunting for snails. Thrushes sang in thegreen shrubberies; rooks cawed in the elms. Somewhere in thedistance sounded the tinkle of sheep bells and the lowing of cows.
　　It was, in fact, a scene which, lit by the evening sun of a perfectspring day and fanned by a gentle westerly wind, should havebrought balm and soothing meditations to one who was the soleheir to all this Paradise.
　　But Percy, Lord Belpher, remained uncomforted by the notableco-operation of Man and Nature, and drew no solace from thereflection that all these pleasant things would one day be his own.
　　His mind was occupied at the moment, to the exclusion of all otherthoughts, by the recollection of that painful scene in Bow StreetPolice Court. The magistrate's remarks, which had been tactless andunsympathetic, still echoed in his ears. And that infernal night inVine Street police station . . . The darkness . . . The hard bed. . .
　　The discordant vocalising of the drunk and disorderly in thenext cell. . . . Time might soften these memories, might lessen thesharp agony of them; but nothing could remove them altogether.
　　Percy had been shaken to the core of his being. Physically, he wasstill stiff and sore from the plank bed. Mentally, he was avolcano. He had been marched up the Haymarket in the full sight ofall London by a bounder of a policeman. He had been talked to likean erring child by a magistrate whom nothing could convince that hehad not been under the influence of alcohol at the moment of hisarrest. (The man had said things about his liver, kindlybe-warned-in-time-and-pull-up-before-it-is-too-late things, whichwould have seemed to Percy indecently frank if spoken by hismedical adviser in the privacy of the sick chamber.) It is perhapsnot to be wondered at that Belpher Castle, for all its beauty ofscenery and architecture, should have left Lord Belpher a littlecold. He was seething with a fury which the conversation of ReggieByng had done nothing to allay in the course of the journey fromLondon. Reggie was the last person he would willingly have chosenas a companion in his hour of darkness. Reggie was not soothing. Hewould insist on addressing him by his old Eton nickname of Bootswhich Percy detested. And all the way down he had been breaking outat intervals into ribald comments on the recent unfortunateoccurrence which were very hard to bear.
　　He resumed this vein as they alighted and rang the bell.
　　"This," said Reggie, "is rather like a bit out of a melodrama.
　　Convict son totters up the steps of the old home and punches thebell. What awaits him beyond? Forgiveness? Or the raspberry? True,the white-haired butler who knew him as a child will sob on hisneck, but what of the old dad? How will dad take the blot of thefamily escutcheon?"Lord Belpher's scowl deepened.
　　"It's not a joking matter," he said coldly.
　　"Great Heavens, I'm not joking. How could I have the heart to jokeat a moment like this, when the friend of my youth has suddenlybecome a social leper?""I wish to goodness you would stop.""Do you think it is any pleasure to me to be seen about with a manwho is now known in criminal circles as Percy, the PiccadillyPoliceman-Puncher? I keep a brave face before the world, butinwardly I burn with shame and agony and what not."The great door of the castle swung open, revealing Keggs, thebutler. He was a man of reverend years, portly and dignified, witha respectfully benevolent face that beamed gravely on the youngmaster and Mr. Byng, as if their coming had filled his cup ofpleasure. His light, slightly protruding eyes expressed reverentialgood will. He gave just that touch of cosy humanity to the scenewhich the hall with its half lights and massive furniture needed tomake it perfect to the returned wanderer. He seemed to beintimating that this was a moment to which he had looked forwardlong, and that from now on quiet happiness would reign supreme. Itis distressing to have to reveal the jarring fact that, in hishours of privacy when off duty, this apparently ideal servitor wasso far from being a respecter of persons that he was accustomed tospeak of Lord Belpher as "Percy", and even as "His Nibs". It was,indeed, an open secret among the upper servants at the castle, anda fact hinted at with awe among the lower, that Keggs was at hearta Socialist.
　　"Good evening, your lordship. Good evening, sir."Lord Belpher acknowledged the salutation with a grunt, but Reggiewas more affable.
　　"How are you, Keggs? Now's your time, if you're going to do it." Hestepped a little to one side and indicated Lord Belpher's crimsonneck with an inviting gesture.
　　"I beg your pardon, sir?""Ah. You'd rather wait till you can do it a little more privately.
　　Perhaps you're right."The butler smiled indulgently. He did not understand what Reggiewas talking about, but that did not worry him. He had long sincecome to the conclusion that Reggie was slightly mad, a theorysupported by the latter's valet, who was of the same opinion. Keggsdid not dislike Reggie, but intellectually he considered himnegligible.
　　"Send something to drink into the library, Keggs," said LordBelpher.
　　"Very good, your lordship.""A topping idea," said Reggie. "I'll just take the old car round tothe garage, and then I'll be with you."He climbed to the steering wheel, and started the engine. LordBelpher proceeded to the library, while Keggs melted away throughthe green baize door at the end of the hail which divided theservants' quarters from the rest of the house.
　　Reggie had hardly driven a dozen yards when he perceived hisstepmother and Lord Marshmoreton coming towards him from thedirection of the rose-garden. He drew up to greet them.
　　"Hullo, mater. What ho, uncle! Back again at the old homestead,what?"Beneath Lady Caroline's aristocratic front agitation seemed tolurk.
　　"Reggie, where is Percy?""Old Boots? I think he's gone to the library. I just decanted himout of the car."Lady Caroline turned to her brother.
　　"Let us go to the library, John.""All right. All right. All right," said Lord Marshmoretonirritably. Something appeared to have ruffled his calm.
　　Reggie drove on. As he was strolling back after putting the caraway he met Maud.
　　"Hullo, Maud, dear old thing.""Why, hullo, Reggie. I was expecting you back last night.""Couldn't get back last night. Had to stick in town and rally roundold Boots. Couldn't desert the old boy in his hour of trial."Reggie chuckled amusedly. "'Hour of trial,' is rather good, what?
　　What I mean to say is, that's just what it was, don't you know.""Why, what happened to Percy?""Do you mean to say you haven't heard? Of course not. It wouldn'thave been in the morning papers. Why, Percy punched a policeman.""Percy did what?""Slugged a slop. Most dramatic thing. Sloshed him in the midriff.
　　Absolutely. The cross marks the spot where the tragedy occurred."Maud caught her breath. Somehow, though she could not trace theconnection, she felt that this extraordinary happening must belinked up with her escapade. Then her sense of humour got thebetter of apprehension. Her eyes twinkled delightedly.
　　"You don't mean to say Percy did that?""Absolutely. The human tiger, and what not. Menace to Society andall that sort of thing. No holding him. For some unexplained reasonthe generous blood of the Belphers boiled over, and then--zing.
　　They jerked him off to Vine Street. Like the poem, don't you know.
　　'And poor old Percy walked between with gyves upon his wrists.' Andthis morning, bright and early, the beak parted him from ten quid.
　　You know, Maud, old thing, our duty stares us plainly in theeyeball. We've got to train old Boots down to a reasonable weightand spring him on the National Sporting Club. We've been letting achampion middleweight blush unseen under our very roof tree."Maud hesitated a moment.
　　"I suppose you don't know," she asked carelessly, "why he did it? Imean, did he tell you anything?""Couldn't get a word out of him. Oysters garrulous and tombs chattyin comparison. Absolutely. All I know is that he popped one intothe officer's waistband. What led up to it is more than I can tellyou. How would it be to stagger to the library and join thepost-mortem?""The post-mortem?""Well, I met the mater and his lordship on their way to thelibrary, and it looked to me very much as if the mater must havegot hold of an evening paper on her journey from town. When did shearrive?""Only a short while ago.""Then that's what's happened. She would have bought an eveningpaper to read in the train. By Jove, I wonder if she got hold ofthe one that had the poem about it. One chappie was so carried awayby the beauty of the episode that he treated it in verse. I thinkwe ought to look in and see what's happening."Maud hesitated again. But she was a girl of spirit. And she had anintuition that her best defence would be attack. Bluff was what wasneeded. Wide-eyed, innocent wonder . . . After all, Percy couldn'tbe certain he had seen her in Piccadilly.
　　"All right.""By the way, dear old girl," inquired Reggie, "did your littlebusiness come out satisfactorily? I forgot to ask.""Not very. But it was awfully sweet of you to take me into town.""How would it be," said Reggie nervously, "not to dwell too much onthat part of it? What I mean to say is, for heaven's sake don't letthe mater know I rallied round.""Don't worry," said Maud with a laugh. "I'm not going to talk aboutthe thing at all."Lord Belpher, meanwhile, in the library, had begun with the aid ofa whisky and soda to feel a little better. There was somethingabout the library with its sombre half tones that soothed hisbruised spirit. The room held something of the peace of a desertedcity. The world, with its violent adventures and tall policemen,did not enter here. There was balm in those rows and rows of bookswhich nobody ever read, those vast writing tables at which nobodyever wrote. From the broad mantel-piece the bust of some unnamedancient looked down almost sympathetically. Something remotelyresembling peace had begun to steal into Percy's soul, when it wasexpelled by the abrupt opening of the door and the entry of LadyCaroline Byng and his father. One glance at the face of the formerwas enough to tell Lord Belpher that she knew all.
　　He rose defensively.
　　"Let me explain."Lady Caroline quivered with repressed emotion. This masterly womanhad not lost control of herself, but her aristocratic calm hadseldom been so severely tested. As Reggie had surmised, she had readthe report of the proceedings in the evening paper in the train, andher world had been reeling ever since. Caesar, stabbed by Brutus,could scarcely have experienced a greater shock. The other membersof her family had disappointed her often. She had become inured tothe spectacle of her brother working in the garden in corduroytrousers and in other ways behaving in a manner beneath the dignityof an Earl of Marshmoreton. She had resigned herself to the innateflaw in the character of Maud which had allowed her to fall in lovewith a nobody whom she had met without an introduction. Even Reggiehad exhibited at times democratic traits of which she thoroughlydisapproved. But of her nephew Percy she had always been sure. Hewas solid rock. He, at least, she had always felt, would never doanything to injure the family prestige. And now, so to speak, "Lo,Ben Adhem's name led all the rest." In other words, Percy was theworst of the lot. Whatever indiscretions the rest had committed, atleast they had never got the family into the comic columns of theevening papers. Lord Marshmoreton might wear corduroy trousers andrefuse to entertain the County at garden parties and go to bed witha book when it was his duty to act as host at a formal ball; Maudmight give her heart to an impossible person whom nobody had everheard of; and Reggie might be seen at fashionable restaurants withpugilists; but at any rate evening paper poets had never writtenfacetious verses about their exploits. This crowning degradation hadbeen reserved for the hitherto blameless Percy, who, of all theyoung men of Lady Caroline's acquaintance, had till now appeared tohave the most scrupulous sense of his position, the most rigidregard for the dignity of his great name. Yet, here he was, if thecarefully considered reports in the daily press were to be believed,spending his time in the very spring-tide of his life running aboutLondon like a frenzied Hottentot, brutally assaulting the police.
　　Lady Caroline felt as a bishop might feel if he suddenly discoveredthat some favourite curate had gone over to the worship of MumboJumbo.
　　"Explain?" she cried. "How can you explain? You--my nephew, theheir to the title, behaving like a common rowdy in the streets ofLondon . . . your name in the papers . . .
　　"If you knew the circumstances.""The circumstances? They are in the evening paper. They are inprint.""In verse," added Lord Marshmoreton. He chuckled amiably at therecollection. He was an easily amused man. "You ought to read it,my boy. Some of it was capital . . .""John!""But deplorable, of course," added Lord Marshmoreton hastily. "Verydeplorable." He endeavoured to regain his sister's esteem by a showof righteous indignation. "What do you mean by it, damn it? You'remy only son. I have watched you grow from child to boy, from boy toman, with tender solicitude. I have wanted to be proud of you. Andall the time, dash it, you are prowling about London like a lion,seeking whom you may devour, terrorising the metropolis, puttingharmless policemen in fear of their lives. . .""Will you listen to me for a moment?" shouted Percy. He began tospeak rapidly, as one conscious of the necessity of saying his saywhile the saying was good. "The facts are these. I was walkingalong Piccadilly on my way to lunch at the club, when, nearBurlington Arcade, I was amazed to see Maud."Lady Caroline uttered an exclamation.
　　"Maud? But Maud was here.""I can't understand it," went on Lord Marshmoreton, pursuing hisremarks. Righteous indignation had, he felt, gone well. It might bejudicious to continue in that vein, though privately he held theopinion that nothing in Percy's life so became him as this assaulton the Force. Lord Marshmoreton, who in his time had committed allthe follies of youth, had come to look on his blameless son asscarcely human. "It's not as if you were wild. You've never gotinto any scrapes at Oxford. You've spent your time collecting oldchina and prayer rugs. You wear flannel next your skin . . .""Will you please be quiet," said Lady Caroline impatiently. "Goon, Percy.""Oh, very well," said Lord Marshmoreton. "I only spoke. I merelymade a remark.""You say you saw Maud in Piccadilly, Percy?""Precisely. I was on the point of putting it down to an extraordinaryresemblance, when suddenly she got into a cab. Then I knew."Lord Marshmoreton could not permit this to pass in silence. He wasa fair-minded man.
　　"Why shouldn't the girl have got into a cab? Why must a girlwalking along Piccadilly be my daughter Maud just because she gotinto a cab. London," he proceeded, warming to the argument andthrilled by the clearness and coherence of his reasoning, "is fullof girls who take cabs.""She didn't take a cab.""You just said she did," said Lord Marshmoreton cleverly.
　　"I said she got into a cab. There was somebody else already in thecab. A man. Aunt Caroline, it was the man.""Good gracious," ejaculated Lady Caroline, falling into a chair asif she had been hamstrung.
　　"I am absolutely convinced of it," proceeded Lord Belpher solemnly.
　　"His behaviour was enough to confirm my suspicions. The cab hadstopped in a block of the traffic, and I went up and requested himin a perfectly civil manner to allow me to look at the lady who hadjust got in. He denied that there was a lady in the cab. And I hadseen her jump in with my own eyes. Throughout the conversation hewas leaning out of the window with the obvious intention ofscreening whoever was inside from my view. I followed him alongPiccadilly in another cab, and tracked him to the Carlton. When Iarrived there he was standing on the pavement outside. There wereno signs of Maud. I demanded that he tell me her whereabouts. . .""That reminds me," said Lord Marshmoreton cheerfully, "of a story Iread in one of the papers. I daresay it's old. Stop me if you'veheard it. A woman says to the maid: 'Do you know anything of myhusband's whereabouts?' And the maid replies--""Do be quiet," snapped Lady Caroline. "I should have thought thatyou would be interested in a matter affecting the vital welfare ofyour only daughter.""I am. I am," said Lord Marshmoreton hastily. "The maid replied:
　　'They're at the wash.' Of course I am. Go on, Percy. Good God, boy,don't take all day telling us your story.""At that moment the fool of a policeman came up and wanted to knowwhat the matter was. I lost my head. I admit it freely. Thepoliceman grasped my shoulder, and I struck him.""Where?" asked Lord Marshmoreton, a stickler for detail.
　　"What does that matter?" demanded Lady Caroline. "You did quiteright, Percy. These insolent jacks in office ought not to beallowed to manhandle people. Tell me, what this man was like?""Extremely ordinary-looking. In fact, all I can remember about himwas that he was clean-shaven. I cannot understand how Maud couldhave come to lose her head over such a man. He seemed to me tohave no attraction whatever," said Lord Belpher, a littleunreasonably, for Apollo himself would hardly appear attractivewhen knocking one's best hat off.
　　"It must have been the same man.""Precisely. If we wanted further proof, he was an American. Yourecollect that we heard that the man in Wales was American."There was a portentous silence. Percy stared at the floor. LadyCaroline breathed deeply. Lord Marshmoreton, feeling that somethingwas expected of him, said "Good Gad!" and gazed seriously at astuffed owl on a bracket. Maud and Reggie Byng came in.
　　"What ho, what ho, what ho!" said Reggie breezily. He alwaysbelieved in starting a conversation well, and putting people attheir ease. "What ho! What ho!"Maud braced herself for the encounter.
　　"Hullo, Percy, dear," she said, meeting her brother's accusing eyewith the perfect composure that comes only from a thoroughly guiltyconscience. "What's all this I hear about your being the Scourge ofLondon? Reggie says that policemen dive down manholes when they seeyou coming."The chill in the air would have daunted a less courageous girl.
　　Lady Caroline had risen, and was staring sternly. Percy was pullingthe puffs of an overwrought soul. Lord Marshmoreton, whose thoughtshad wandered off to the rose garden, pulled himself together andtried to look menacing. Maud went on without waiting for a reply.
　　She was all bubbling gaiety and insouciance, a charming picture ofyoung English girlhood that nearly made her brother foam at themouth.
　　"Father dear," she said, attaching herself affectionately to hisbuttonhole, "I went round the links in eighty-three this morning.
　　I did the long hole in four. One under par, a thing I've never donebefore in my life." ("Bless my soul," said Lord Marshmoretonweakly, as, with an apprehensive eye on his sister, he patted hisdaughter's shoulder.) "First, I sent a screecher of a drive rightdown the middle of the fairway. Then I took my brassey and put theball just on the edge of the green. A hundred and eighty yards ifit was an inch. My approach putt--"Lady Caroline, who was no devotee of the royal and ancient game,interrupted the recital.
　　"Never mind what you did this morning. What did you do yesterdayafternoon?""Yes," said Lord Belpher. "Where were you yesterday afternoon?"Maud's gaze was the gaze of a young child who has never evenattempted to put anything over in all its little life.
　　"Whatever do you mean?""What were you doing in Piccadilly yesterday afternoon?" said LadyCaroline.
　　"Piccadilly? The place where Percy fights policemen? I don'tunderstand."Lady Caroline was no sportsman. She put one of those directquestions, capable of being answered only by "Yes" or "No", whichought not to be allowed in controversy. They are the verbalequivalent of shooting a sitting bird.
　　"Did you or did you not go to London yesterday, Maud?"The monstrous unfairness of this method of attack pained Maud. Fromchildhood up she had held the customary feminine views upon the LieDirect. As long as it was a question of suppression of the true orsuggestion of the false she had no scruples. But she had adistaste for deliberate falsehood. Faced now with a choice betweentwo evils, she chose the one which would at least leave herself-respect.
　　"Yes, I did."Lady Caroline looked at Lord Belpher. Lord Belpher looked atLady Caroline.
　　"You went to meet that American of yours?"Reggie Byng slid softly from the room. He felt that he would behappier elsewhere. He had been an acutely embarrassed spectator ofthis distressing scene, and had been passing the time by shufflinghis feet, playing with his coat buttons and perspiring.
　　"Don't go, Reggie," said Lord Belpher.
　　"Well, what I mean to say is--family row and what not--if you seewhat I mean--I've one or two things I ought to do--"He vanished. Lord Belpher frowned a sombre frown. "Then it wasthat man who knocked my hat off?""What do you mean?" said Lady Caroline. "Knocked your hat off? Younever told me he knocked your hat off.""It was when I was asking him to let me look inside the cab. I hadgrasped the handle of the door, when he suddenly struck my hat,causing it to fly off. And, while I was picking it up, he droveaway.""C'k," exploded Lord Marshmoreton. "C'k, c'k, c'k." He twisted hisface by a supreme exertion of will power into a mask ofindignation. "You ought to have had the scoundrel arrested," hesaid vehemently. "It was a technical assault.""The man who knocked your hat off, Percy," said Maud, "wasnot . . . He was a different man altogether. A stranger.""As if you would be in a cab with a stranger," said Lady Carolinecaustically. "There are limits, I hope, to even your indiscretions."Lord Marshmoreton cleared his throat. He was sorry for Maud, whomhe loved.
　　"Now, looking at the matter broadly--""Be quiet," said Lady Caroline.
　　Lord Marshmoreton subsided.
　　"I wanted to avoid you," said Maud, "so I jumped into the first cabI saw.""I don't believe it," said Percy.
　　"It's the truth.""You are simply trying to put us off the scent."Lady Caroline turned to Maud. Her manner was plaintive. She lookedlike a martyr at the stake who deprecatingly lodges a timidcomplaint, fearful the while lest she may be hurting the feelingsof her persecutors by appearing even for a moment out of sympathywith their activities.
　　"My dear child, why will you not be reasonable in this matter? Whywill you not let yourself be guided by those who are older andwiser than you?""Exactly," said Lord Belpher.
　　"The whole thing is too absurd.""Precisely," said Lord Belpher.
　　Lady Caroline turned on him irritably.
　　"Please do not interrupt, Percy. Now, you've made me forget what Iwas going to say.""To my mind," said Lord Marshmoreton, coming to the surface oncemore, "the proper attitude to adopt on occasions like the present--""Please," said Lady Caroline.
　　Lord Marshmoreton stopped, and resumed his silent communion with thestuffed bird.
　　"You can't stop yourself being in love, Aunt Caroline," said Maud.
　　"You can be stopped if you've somebody with a level head lookingafter you."Lord Marshmoreton tore himself away from the bird.
　　"Why, when I was at Oxford in the year '87," he said chattily, "Ifancied myself in love with the female assistant at a tobacconistshop. Desperately in love, dammit. Wanted to marry her. I recollectmy poor father took me away from Oxford and kept me here at Belpherunder lock and key. Lock and key, dammit. I was deucedly upset atthe time, I remember." His mind wandered off into the gloriouspast. "I wonder what that girl's name was. Odd one can't remembernames. She had chestnut hair and a mole on the side of her chin. Iused to kiss it, I recollect--"Lady Caroline, usually such an advocate of her brother's researchesinto the family history, cut the reminiscences short.
　　"Never mind that now.""I don't. I got over it. That's the moral.""Well," said Lady Caroline, "at any rate poor father acted withgreat good sense on that occasion. There seems nothing to do but totreat Maud in just the same way. You shall not stir a step from thecastle till you have got over this dreadful infatuation. You willbe watched.""I shall watch you," said Lord Belpher solemnly, "I shall watchyour every movement."A dreamy look came into Maud's brown eyes.
　　"Stone walls do not a prison make nor iron bars a cage," she saidsoftly.
　　"That wasn't your experience, Percy, my boy," said LordMarshmoreton.
　　"They make a very good imitation," said Lady Caroline coldly,ignoring the interruption.
　　Maud faced her defiantly. She looked like a princess in captivityfacing her gaolers.
　　"I don't care. I love him, and I always shall love him, and nothingis ever going to stop me loving him--because I love him," sheconcluded a little lamely.
　　"Nonsense," said Lady Caroline. "In a year from now you will haveforgotten his name. Don't you agree with me, Percy?""Quite," said Lord Belpher.
　　"I shan't.""Deuced hard things to remember, names," said Lord Marshmoreton.
　　"If I've tried once to remember that tobacconist girl's name, I'vetried a hundred times. I have an idea it began with an 'L.' Murielor Hilda or something.""Within a year," said Lady Caroline, "you will be wondering how youever came to be so foolish. Don't you think so, Percy?""Quite," said Lord Belpher.
　　Lord Marshmoreton turned on him irritably.
　　"Good God, boy, can't you answer a simple question with a plainaffirmative? What do you mean--quite? If somebody came to me andpointed you out and said, 'Is that your son?' do you suppose Ishould say 'Quite?' I wish the devil you didn't collect prayerrugs. It's sapped your brain.""They say prison life often weakens the intellect, father," saidMaud. She moved towards the door and turned the handle. Albert,the page boy, who had been courting earache by listening at thekeyhole, straightened his small body and scuttled away. "Well, isthat all, Aunt Caroline? May I go now?""Certainly. I have said all I wished to say.""Very well. I'm sorry to disobey you, but I can't help it.""You'll find you can help it after you've been cooped up here for afew more months," said Percy.
　　A gentle smile played over Maud's face.
　　"Love laughs at locksmiths," she murmured softly, and passed fromthe room.
　　"What did she say?" asked Lord Marshmoreton, interested.
　　"Something about somebody laughing at a locksmith? I don'tunderstand. Why should anyone laugh at locksmiths? Most respectablemen. Had one up here only the day before yesterday, forcing openthe drawer of my desk. Watched him do it. Most interesting. Hesmelt rather strongly of a damned bad brand of tobacco. Fellow musthave a throat of leather to be able to smoke the stuff. But hedidn't strike me as an object of derision. From first to last, Iwas never tempted to laugh once."Lord Belpher wandered moodily to the window and looked out into thegathering darkness.
　　"And this has to happen," he said bitterly, "on the eve of mytwenty-first birthday."
Chapter 7
    The first requisite of an invading army is a base. George, havingentered Belpher village and thus accomplished the first stage inhis foreward movement on the castle, selected as his base theMarshmoreton Arms. Selected is perhaps hardly the right word, as itimplies choice, and in George's case there was no choice. There aretwo inns at Belpher, but the Marshmoreton Arms is the only one thatoffers accommodation for man and beast, assuming--that is tosay--that the man and beast desire to spend the night. The otherhouse, the Blue Boar, is a mere beerhouse, where the lower strataof Belpher society gather of a night to quench their thirst and totell one another interminable stories without any point whatsoever.
　　But the Marshmoreton Arms is a comfortable, respectable hostelry,catering for the village plutocrats. There of an evening you willfind the local veterinary surgeon smoking a pipe with the grocer,the baker, and the butcher, with perhaps a sprinkling ofneighbouring farmers to help the conversation along. There is a"shilling ordinary"--which is rural English for a cut off the jointand a boiled potato, followed by hunks of the sort of cheese whichbelieves that it pays to advertise, and this is usually wellattended. On the other days of the week, until late in the evening,however, the visitor to the Marshmoreton Arms has the place almostentirely to himself.
　　It is to be questioned whether in the whole length and breadth ofthe world there is a more admirable spot for a man in love to passa day or two than the typical English village. The Rocky Mountains,that traditional stamping-ground for the heartbroken, may be wellenough in their way; but a lover has to be cast in a pretty stemmould to be able to be introspective when at any moment he may meetan annoyed cinnamon bear. In the English village there are no suchobstacles to meditation. It combines the comforts of civilizationwith the restfulness of solitude in a manner equalled by no otherspot except the New York Public Library. Here your lover may wanderto and fro unmolested, speaking to nobody, by nobody addressed, andhave the satisfaction at the end of the day of sitting down to acapitally cooked chop and chips, lubricated by golden English ale.
　　Belpher, in addition to all the advantages of the usual village,has a quiet charm all its own, due to the fact that it has seenbetter days. In a sense, it is a ruin, and ruins are alwayssoothing to the bruised soul. Ten years before, Belpher had been aflourishing centre of the South of England oyster trade. It issituated by the shore, where Hayling Island, lying athwart themouth of the bay, forms the waters into a sort of brackish lagoon,in much the same way as Fire Island shuts off the Great South Bayof Long Island from the waves of the Atlantic. The water of BelpherCreek is shallow even at high tide, and when the tide runs out itleaves glistening mud flats, which it is the peculiar taste of theoyster to prefer to any other habitation. For years Belpher oystershad been the mainstay of gay supper parties at the Savoy, theCarlton and Romano's. Dukes doted on them; chorus girls wept ifthey were not on the bill of fare. And then, in an evil hour,somebody discovered that what made the Belpher Oyster soparticularly plump and succulent was the fact that it breakfasted,lunched and dined almost entirely on the local sewage. There is buta thin line ever between popular homage and execration. We see itin the case of politicians, generals and prize-fighters; andoysters are no exception to the rule. There was a typhoidscare--quite a passing and unjustified scare, but strong enough todo its deadly work; and almost overnight Belpher passed from aplace of flourishing industry to the sleepy, by-the-world-forgottenspot which it was when George Bevan discovered it. The shallowwater is still there; the mud is still there; even the oyster-bedsare still there; but not the oysters nor the little world ofactivity which had sprung up around them. The glory of Belpher isdead; and over its gates Ichabod is written. But, if it has lost inimportance, it has gained in charm; and George, for one, had noregrets. To him, in his present state of mental upheaval, Belpherwas the ideal spot.
　　It was not at first that George roused himself to the point ofasking why he was here and what--now that he was here--he proposedto do. For two languorous days he loafed, sufficiently occupiedwith his thoughts. He smoked long, peaceful pipes in thestable-yard, watching the ostlers as they groomed the horses; heplayed with the Inn puppy, bestowed respectful caresses on the Inncat. He walked down the quaint cobbled street to the harbour,sauntered along the shore, and lay on his back on the little beachat the other side of the lagoon, from where he could see the redroofs of the village, while the imitation waves splashed busily onthe stones, trying to conceal with bustle and energy the fact thatthe water even two hundred yards from the shore was only eighteeninches deep. For it is the abiding hope of Belpher Creek that itmay be able to deceive the occasional visitor into mistaking it forthe open sea.
　　And presently the tide would ebb. The waste of waters became a seaof mud, cheerfully covered as to much of its surface with greengrasses. The evening sun struck rainbow colours from the moistsoftness. Birds sang in the thickets. And George, heaving himselfup, walked back to the friendly cosiness of the Marshmoreton Arms.
　　And the remarkable part of it was that everything seemed perfectlynatural and sensible to him, nor had he any particular feeling thatin falling in love with Lady Maud Marsh and pursuing her to Belpherhe had set himself anything in the nature of a hopeless task. Likeone kissed by a goddess in a dream, he walked on air; and, whileone is walking on air, it is easy to overlook the boulders in thepath.
　　Consider his position, you faint-hearted and self-pitying young menwho think you have a tough row to hoe just because, when you payyour evening visit with the pound box of candy under your arm, yousee the handsome sophomore from Yale sitting beside her on theporch, playing the ukulele. If ever the world has turned black toyou in such a situation and the moon gone in behind a cloud, thinkof George Bevan and what he was up against. You are at least on thespot. You can at least put up a fight. If there are ukuleles in theworld, there are also guitars, and tomorrow it may be you and nothe who sits on the moonlit porch; it may be he and not you whoarrives late. Who knows? Tomorrow he may not show up till you havefinished the Bedouin's Love Song and are annoying the local birds,roosting in the trees, with Poor Butterfly.
　　What I mean to say is, you are on the map. You have a sportingchance. Whereas George... Well, just go over to England and trywooing an earl's daughter whom you have only met once--and thenwithout an introduction; whose brother's hat you have smashedbeyond repair; whose family wishes her to marry some other man: whowants to marry some other man herself--and not the same other man,but another other man; who is closely immured in a mediaeval castle. . . Well, all I say is--try it. And then go back to your porchwith a chastened spirit and admit that you might be a whole lotworse off.
　　George, as I say, had not envisaged the peculiar difficulties ofhis position. Nor did he until the evening of his second day at theMarshmoreton Arms. Until then, as I have indicated, he roamed in agolden mist of dreamy meditation among the soothing by-ways of thevillage of Belpher. But after lunch on the second day it came uponhim that all this sort of thing was pleasant but not practical.
　　Action was what was needed. Action.
　　The first, the obvious move was to locate the castle. Inquiries atthe Marshmoreton Arms elicited the fact that it was "a step" up theroad that ran past the front door of the inn. But this wasn't theday of the week when the general public was admitted. Thesightseer could invade Belpher Castle on Thursdays only, betweenthe hours of two and four. On other days of the week all he coulddo was to stand like Moses on Pisgah and take in the general effectfrom a distance. As this was all that George had hoped to be ableto do, he set forth.
　　It speedily became evident to George that "a step" was a euphemism.
　　Five miles did he tramp before, trudging wearily up a winding lane,he came out on a breeze-swept hill-top, and saw below him, nestlingin its trees, what was now for him the centre of the world. He saton a stone wail and lit a pipe. Belpher Castle. Maud's home. Thereit was. And now what?
　　The first thought that came to him was practical, even prosaic--the thought that he couldn't possibly do this five-miles-thereand-five-miles-back walk, every time he wanted to see the place.
　　He must shift his base nearer the scene of operations. One of thosetrim, thatched cottages down there in the valley would be just thething, if he could arrange to take possession of it. They sat thereall round the castle, singly and in groups, like small dogs roundtheir master. They looked as if they had been there for centuries.
　　Probably they had, as they were made of stone as solid as that ofthe castle. There must have been a time, thought George, when thecastle was the central rallying-point for all those scatteredhomes; when rumour of danger from marauders had sent all thatlittle community scuttling for safety to the sheltering walls.
　　For the first time since he had set out on his expedition, acertain chill, a discomforting sinking of the heart, afflictedGeorge as he gazed down at the grim grey fortress which he hadundertaken to storm. So must have felt those marauders of old whenthey climbed to the top of this very hill to spy out the land. AndGeorge's case was even worse than theirs. They could at least hopethat a strong arm and a stout heart would carry them past thosesolid walls; they had not to think of social etiquette. WhereasGeorge was so situated that an unsympathetic butler could put him torout by refusing him admittance.
　　The evening was drawing in. Already, in the brief time he had spenton the hill-top, the sky had turned from blue to saffron and fromsaffron to grey. The plaintive voices of homing cows floated up tohim from the valley below. A bat had left its shelter and waswheeling around him, a sinister blot against the sky. A sickle moongleamed over the trees. George felt cold. He turned. The shadowsof night wrapped him round, and little things in the hedgerowschirped and chittered mockery at him as he stumbled down the lane.
　　George's request for a lonely furnished cottage somewhere in theneighbourhood of the castle did not, as he had feared, strike theBelpher house-agent as the demand of a lunatic. Every well-dressedstranger who comes to Belpher is automatically set down by thenatives as an artist, for the picturesqueness of the place hascaused it to be much infested by the brothers and sisters of thebrush. In asking for a cottage, indeed, George did precisely asBelpher society expected him to do; and the agent was reaching forhis list almost before the words were out of his mouth. In lessthan half an hour George was out in the street again, the owner forthe season of what the agent described as a "gem" and the employerof a farmer's wife who lived near-by and would, as was her customwith artists, come in the morning and evening to "do" for him. Theinterview would have taken but a few minutes, had it not beenprolonged by the chattiness of the agent on the subject of theoccupants of the castle, to which George listened attentively. Hewas not greatly encouraged by what he heard of Lord Marshmoreton.
　　The earl had made himself notably unpopular in the village recentlyby his firm--the house-agent said "pig-headed"--attitude in respectto a certain dispute about a right-of-way. It was Lady Caroline,and not the easy-going peer, who was really to blame in the matter;but the impression that George got from the house-agent'sdescription of Lord Marshmoreton was that the latter was a sort ofNero, possessing, in addition to the qualities of a Roman tyrant,many of the least lovable traits of the ghila monster of Arizona.
　　Hearing this about her father, and having already had the privilegeof meeting her brother and studying him at first hand, his heartbled for Maud. It seemed to him that existence at the castle insuch society must be little short of torture.
　　"I must do something," he muttered. "I must do something quick.""Beg pardon," said the house-agent.
　　"Nothing," said George. "Well, I'll take that cottage. I'd betterwrite you a cheque for the first month's rent now."So George took up his abode, full of strenuous--if vague--purpose,in the plainly-furnished but not uncomfortable cottage knownlocally as "the one down by Platt's." He might have found a worsebillet. It was a two-storied building of stained red brick, not oneof the thatched nests on which he had looked down from the hill.
　　Those were not for rent, being occupied by families whose ancestorshad occupied them for generations back. The one down by Platt'swas a more modern structure--a speculation, in fact, of the farmerwhose wife came to "do" for George, and designed especially toaccommodate the stranger who had the desire and the money to rentit. It so departed from type that it possessed a small butundeniable bath-room. Besides this miracle, there was a cosysitting-room, a larger bedroom on the floor above and next to thisan empty room facing north, which had evidently served artistoccupants as a studio. The remainder of the ground floor was takenup by kitchen and scullery. The furniture had been constructed bysomebody who would probably have done very well if he had taken upsome other line of industry; but it was mitigated by a very fineand comfortable wicker easy chair, left there by one of last year'sartists; and other artists had helped along the good work byrelieving the plainness of the walls with a landscape or two. Infact, when George had removed from the room two antimacassars,three group photographs of the farmer's relations, an illuminatedtext, and a china statuette of the Infant Samuel, and stacked themin a corner of the empty studio, the place became almost a homefrom home.
　　Solitude can be very unsolitary if a man is in love. George nevereven began to be bored. The only thing that in any way troubled hispeace was the thought that he was not accomplishing a great deal inthe matter of helping Maud out of whatever trouble it was that hadbefallen her. The most he could do was to prowl about roads nearthe castle in the hope of an accidental meeting. And such was hisgood fortune that, on the fourth day of his vigil, the accidentalmeeting occurred.
　　Taking his morning prowl along the lanes, he was rewarded by thesight of a grey racing-car at the side of the road. It was empty,but from underneath it protruded a pair of long legs, while besideit stood a girl, at the sight of whom George's heart began to thumpso violently that the long-legged one might have been pardoned hadhe supposed that his engine had started again of its own volition.
　　Until he spoke the soft grass had kept her from hearing hisapproach. He stopped close behind her, and cleared his throat. Shestarted and turned, and their eyes met.
　　For a moment hers were empty of any recognition. Then they lit up.
　　She caught her breath quickly, and a faint flush came into herface.
　　"Can I help you?" asked George.
　　The long legs wriggled out into the road followed by a long body.
　　The young man under the car sat up, turning a grease-streaked andpleasant face to George.
　　"Eh, what?""Can I help you? I know how to fix a car."The young man beamed in friendly fashion.
　　"It's awfully good of you, old chap, but so do I. It's the onlything I can do well. Thanks very much and so forth all the same."George fastened his eyes on the girl's. She had not spoken.
　　"If there is anything in the world I can possibly do for you," hesaid slowly, "I hope you will let me know. I should like above allthings to help you."The girl spoke.
　　"Thank you," she said in a low voice almost inaudible.
　　George walked away. The grease-streaked young man followed him withhis gaze.
　　"Civil cove, that," he said. "Rather gushing though, what?
　　American, wasn't he?""Yes. I think he was.""Americans are the civillest coves I ever struck. I remember askingthe way of a chappie at Baltimore a couple of years ago when I wasthere in my yacht, and he followed me for miles, shrieking adviceand encouragement. I thought it deuced civil of him.""I wish you would hurry up and get the car right, Reggie. We shallbe awfully late for lunch."Reggie Byng began to slide backwards under the car.
　　"All right, dear heart. Rely on me. It's something quite simple.""Well, do be quick.""Imitation of greased lightning--very difficult," said Reggieencouragingly. "Be patient. Try and amuse yourself somehow. Askyourself a riddle. Tell yourself a few anecdotes. I'll be with youin a moment. I say, I wonder what the cove is doing at Belpher?
　　Deuced civil cove," said Reggie approvingly. "I liked him. And now,business of repairing breakdown."His smiling face vanished under the car like the Cheshire cat.
　　Maud stood looking thoughtfully down the road in the direction inwhich George had disappeared.
Chapter 8
    The following day was a Thursday and on Thursdays, as has beenstated, Belpher Castle was thrown open to the general public betweenthe hours of two and four. It was a tradition of long standing, thisperiodical lowering of the barriers, and had always been faithfullyobserved by Lord Marshmoreton ever since his accession to the title.
　　By the permanent occupants of the castle the day was regarded withmixed feelings. Lord Belpher, while approving of it in theory, as hedid of all the family traditions--for he was a great supporter ofall things feudal, and took his position as one of the hereditaryaristocracy of Great Britain extremely seriously--heartily dislikedit in practice. More than once he had been obliged to exit hastilyby a further door in order to keep from being discovered by a droveof tourists intent on inspecting the library or the greatdrawing-room; and now it was his custom to retire to his bedroomimmediately after lunch and not to emerge until the tide of invasionhad ebbed away.
　　Keggs, the butler, always looked forward to Thursdays withpleasurable anticipation. He enjoyed the sense of authority whichit gave him to herd these poor outcasts to and fro among thesurroundings which were an every-day commonplace to himself. Alsohe liked hearing the sound of his own voice as it lectured inrolling periods on the objects of interest by the way-side. Buteven to Keggs there was a bitter mixed with the sweet. No one wasbetter aware than himself that the nobility of his manner,excellent as a means of impressing the mob, worked against him whenit came to a question of tips. Again and again had he been harrowedby the spectacle of tourists, huddled together like sheep, debatingamong themselves in nervous whispers as to whether they could offerthis personage anything so contemptible as half a crown for himselfand deciding that such an insult was out of the question. It washis endeavour, especially towards the end of the proceedings, tocultivate a manner blending a dignity fitting his position with asunny geniality which would allay the timid doubts of the touristand indicate to him that, bizarre as the idea might seem, there wasnothing to prevent him placing his poor silver in more worthyhands.
　　Possibly the only member of the castle community who was absolutelyindifferent to these public visits was Lord Marshmoreton. He madeno difference between Thursday and any other day. Precisely asusual he donned his stained corduroys and pottered about hisbeloved garden; and when, as happened on an average once a quarter,some visitor, strayed from the main herd, came upon him as heworked and mistook him for one of the gardeners, he accepted theerror without any attempt at explanation, sometimes going so far asto encourage it by adopting a rustic accent in keeping with hisappearance. This sort thing tickled the simple-minded peer.
　　George joined the procession punctually at two o'clock, just asKeggs was clearing his throat preparatory to saying, "We are now inthe main 'all, and before going any further I would like to callyour attention to Sir Peter Lely's portrait of--" It was his customto begin his Thursday lectures with this remark, but today it waspostponed; for, no sooner had George appeared, than a breezy voiceon the outskirts of the throng spoke in a tone that madecompetition impossible.
　　"For goodness' sake, George."And Billie Dore detached herself from the group, a trim vision inblue. She wore a dust-coat and a motor veil, and her eyes andcheeks were glowing from the fresh air.
　　"For goodness' sake, George, what are you doing here?""I was just going to ask you the same thing.""Oh, I motored down with a boy I know. We had a breakdown justoutside the gates. We were on our way to Brighton for lunch. Hesuggested I should pass the time seeing the sights while he fixedup the sprockets or the differential gear or whatever it was. He'scoming to pick me up when he's through. But, on the level, George,how do you get this way? You sneak out of town and leave the showflat, and nobody has a notion where you are. Why, we were thinkingof advertising for you, or going to the police or something. Forall anybody knew, you might have been sandbagged or dropped in theriver."This aspect of the matter had not occurred to George till now. Hissudden descent on Belpher had seemed to him the only natural courseto pursue. He had not realized that he would be missed, and thathis absence might have caused grave inconvenience to a large numberof people.
　　"I never thought of that. I--well, I just happened to come here.""You aren't living in this old castle?""Not quite. I've a cottage down the road. I wanted a few days inthe country so I rented it.""But what made you choose this place?"Keggs, who had been regarding these disturbers of the peace withdignified disapproval, coughed.
　　"If you would not mind, madam. We are waiting.""Eh? How's that?" Miss Dore looked up with a bright smile. "I'msorry. Come along, George. Get in the game." She nodded cheerfullyto the butler. "All right. All set now. You may fire when ready,Gridley."Keggs bowed austerely, and cleared his throat again.
　　"We are now in the main 'all, and before going any further I wouldlike to call your attention to Sir Peter Lely's portrait of thefifth countess. Said by experts to be in his best manner."There was an almost soundless murmur from the mob, expressive ofwonder and awe, like a gentle breeze rustling leaves. Billie Doreresumed her conversation in a whisper.
　　"Yes, there was an awful lot of excitement when they found that youhad disappeared. They were phoning the Carlton every ten minutestrying to get you. You see, the summertime number flopped on thesecond night, and they hadn't anything to put in its place. Butit's all right. They took it out and sewed up the wound, and nowyou'd never know there had been anything wrong. The show was tenminutes too long, anyway.""How's the show going?""It's a riot. They think it will run two years in London. As faras I can make it out you don't call it a success in London unlessyou can take your grandchildren to see the thousandth night.""That's splendid. And how is everybody? All right?""Fine. That fellow Gray is still hanging round Babe. It beats mewhat she sees in him. Anybody but an infant could see the manwasn't on the level. Well, I don't blame you for quitting London,George. This sort of thing is worth fifty Londons."The procession had reached one of the upper rooms, and they werelooking down from a window that commanded a sweep of miles of thecountryside, rolling and green and wooded. Far away beyond the lastcovert Belpher Bay gleamed like a streak of silver. Billie Doregave a little sigh.
　　"There's nothing like this in the world. I'd like to stand here forthe rest of my life, just lapping it up.""I will call your attention," boomed Keggs at their elbow, "to thiswindow, known in the fem'ly tredition as Leonard's Leap. It was inthe year seventeen 'undred and eighty-seven that Lord LeonardForth, eldest son of 'Is Grace the Dook of Lochlane, 'urled 'imselfout of this window in order to avoid compromising the beautifulCountess of Marshmoreton, with oom 'e is related to 'ave 'ad aninnocent romance. Surprised at an advanced hour by 'is lordshipthe earl in 'er ladyship's boudoir, as this room then was, 'eleaped through the open window into the boughs of the cedar treewhich stands below, and was fortunate enough to escape with a few'armless contusions."A murmur of admiration greeted the recital of the ready tact ofthis eighteenth-century Steve Brodie.
　　"There," said Billie enthusiastically, "that's exactly what I meanabout this country. It's just a mass of Leonard's Leaps and things.
　　I'd like to settle down in this sort of place and spend the rest ofmy life milking cows and taking forkfuls of soup to the deservingvillagers.""We will now," said Keggs, herding the mob with a gesture, "proceedto the Amber Drawing-Room, containing some Gobelin Tapestries'ighly spoken of by connoozers."The obedient mob began to drift out in his wake.
　　"What do you say, George," asked Billie in an undertone, "if weside-step the Amber Drawing-Room? I'm wild to get into that garden.
　　There's a man working among those roses. Maybe he would show usround."George followed her pointing finger. Just below them a sturdy,brown-faced man in corduroys was pausing to light a stubby pipe.
　　"Just as you like."They made their way down the great staircase. The voice of Keggs,saying complimentary things about the Gobelin Tapestry, came totheir ears like the roll of distant drums. They wandered outtowards the rose-garden. The man in corduroys had lit his pipe andwas bending once more to his task.
　　"Well, dadda," said Billie amiably, "how are the crops?"The man straightened himself. He was a nice-looking man of middleage, with the kind eyes of a friendly dog. He smiled genially, andstarted to put his pipe away.
　　Billie stopped him.
　　"Don't stop smoking on my account," she said. "I like it. Well,you've got the right sort of a job, haven't you! If I was a man,there's nothing I'd like better than to put in my eight hours in arose-garden." She looked about her. "And this," she said withapproval, "is just what a rose-garden ought to be.""Are you fond of roses--missy?""You bet I am! You must have every kind here that was everinvented. All the fifty-seven varieties.""There are nearly three thousand varieties," said the man incorduroys tolerantly.
　　"I was speaking colloquially, dadda. You can't teach me anythingabout roses. I'm the guy that invented them. Got any Ayrshires?"The man in corduroys seemed to have come to the conclusion thatBillie was the only thing on earth that mattered. This revelationof a kindred spirit had captured him completely. George was merelyamong those present.
　　"Those--them--over there are Ayrshires, missy.""We don't get Ayrshires in America. At least, I never ran acrossthem. I suppose they do have them.""You want the right soil.""Clay and lots of rain.""You're right."There was an earnest expression on Billie Dore's face that Georgehad never seen there before.
　　"Say, listen, dadda, in this matter of rose-beetles, what would youdo if--"George moved away. The conversation was becoming too technical forhim, and he had an idea that he would not be missed. There had cometo him, moreover, in a flash one of those sudden inspirations whichgreat generals get. He had visited the castle this afternoonwithout any settled plan other than a vague hope that he mightsomehow see Maud. He now perceived that there was no chance ofdoing this. Evidently, on Thursdays, the family went to earth andremained hidden until the sightseers had gone. But there wasanother avenue of communication open to him. This gardener seemedan exceptionally intelligent man. He could be trusted to deliver anote to Maud.
　　In his late rambles about Belpher Castle in the company of Keggsand his followers, George had been privileged to inspect thelibrary. It was an easily accessible room, opening off the mainhail. He left Billie and her new friend deep in a discussion ofslugs and plant-lice, and walked quickly back to the house. Thelibrary was unoccupied.
　　George was a thorough young man. He believed in leaving nothing tochance. The gardener had seemed a trustworthy soul, but you neverknew. It was possible that he drank. He might forget or lose theprecious note. So, with a wary eye on the door, George hastilyscribbled it in duplicate. This took him but a few minutes. He wentout into the garden again to find Billie Dore on the point ofstepping into a blue automobile.
　　"Oh, there you are, George. I wondered where you had got to. Say, Imade quite a hit with dadda. I've given him my address, and he'spromised to send me a whole lot of roses. By the way, shake handswith Mr. Forsyth. This is George Bevan, Freddie, who wrote themusic of our show."The solemn youth at the wheel extended a hand.
　　"Topping show. Topping music. Topping all round.""Well, good-bye, George. See you soon, I suppose?""Oh, yes. Give my love to everybody.""All right. Let her rip, Freddie. Good-bye.""Good-bye."The blue car gathered speed and vanished down the drive. Georgereturned to the man in corduroys, who had bent himself double inpursuit of a slug.
　　"Just a minute," said George hurriedly. He pulled out the first ofthe notes. "Give this to Lady Maud the first chance you get. It'simportant. Here's a sovereign for your trouble."He hastened away. He noticed that gratification had turned theother nearly purple in the face, and was anxious to leave him. Hewas a modest young man, and effusive thanks always embarrassed him.
　　There now remained the disposal of the duplicate note. It washardly worth while, perhaps, taking such a precaution, but Georgeknew that victories are won by those who take no chances. He hadwandered perhaps a hundred yards from the rose-garden when heencountered a small boy in the many-buttoned uniform of a page. Theboy had appeared from behind a big cedar, where, as a matter offact, he had been smoking a stolen cigarette.
　　"Do you want to earn half a crown?" asked George.
　　The market value of messengers had slumped.
　　The stripling held his hand out.
　　"Give this note to Lady Maud.""Right ho!""See that it reaches her at once."George walked off with the consciousness of a good day's work done.
　　Albert the page, having bitten his half-crown, placed it in hispocket. Then he hurried away, a look of excitement and gratificationin his deep blue eyes.
Chapter 9
    While George and Billie Dore wandered to the rose garden tointerview the man in corduroys, Maud had been seated not a hundredyards away--in a very special haunt of her own, a cracked stuccotemple set up in the days of the Regency on the shores of a littlelily-covered pond. She was reading poetry to Albert the page.
　　Albert the page was a recent addition to Maud's inner circle. Shehad interested herself in him some two months back in much the samespirit as the prisoner in his dungeon cell tames and pets theconventional mouse. To educate Albert, to raise him above hisgroove in life and develop his soul, appealed to her romanticnature as a worthy task, and as a good way of filling in the time.
　　It is an exceedingly moot point--and one which his associates ofthe servants' hall would have combated hotly--whether Albertpossessed a soul. The most one could say for certain is that helooked as if he possessed one. To one who saw his deep blue eyesand their sweet, pensive expression as they searched the middledistance he seemed like a young angel. How was the watcher to knowthat the thought behind that far-off gaze was simply a speculationas to whether the bird on the cedar tree was or was not withinrange of his catapult? Certainly Maud had no such suspicion. Sheworked hopefully day by day to rouse Albert to an appreciation ofthe nobler things of life.
　　Not but what it was tough going. Even she admitted that. Albert'ssoul did not soar readily. It refused to leap from the earth. Hisreception of the poem she was reading could scarcely have beencalled encouraging. Maud finished it in a hushed voice, and lookedpensively across the dappled water of the pool. A gentle breezestirred the water-lilies, so that they seemed to sigh.
　　"Isn't that beautiful, Albert?" she said.
　　Albert's blue eyes lit up. His lips parted eagerly,"That's the first hornet I seen this year," he said pointing.
　　Maud felt a little damped.
　　"Haven't you been listening, Albert?""Oh, yes, m'lady! Ain't he a wopper, too?""Never mind the hornet, Albert.""Very good, m'lady.""I wish you wouldn't say 'Very good, m'lady'. It's like--like--"She paused. She had been about to say that it was like a butler,but, she reflected regretfully, it was probably Albert's dearestambition to be like a butler. "It doesn't sound right. Just say'Yes'.""Yes, m'lady."Maud was not enthusiastic about the 'M'lady', but she let it go.
　　After all, she had not quite settled in her own mind what exactlyshe wished Albert's attitude towards herself to be. Broadlyspeaking, she wanted him to be as like as he could to a medievalpage, one of those silk-and-satined little treasures she had readabout in the Ingoldsby Legends. And, of course, they presumablysaid 'my lady'. And yet--she felt--not for the first time--that itis not easy, to revive the Middle Ages in these curious days. Pageslike other things, seem to have changed since then.
　　"That poem was written by a very clever man who married one of myancestresses. He ran away with her from this very castle in theseventeenth century.""Lor'", said Albert as a concession, but he was still interested nthe hornet.
　　"He was far below her in the eyes of the world, but she knew what awonderful man he was, so she didn't mind what people said about hermarrying beneath her.""Like Susan when she married the pleeceman.""Who was Susan?""Red-'eaded gel that used to be cook 'ere. Mr. Keggs says to 'er,'e says, 'You're marrying beneath you, Susan', 'e says. I 'eard'im. I was listenin' at the door. And she says to 'im, she says,'Oh, go and boil your fat 'ead', she says."This translation of a favourite romance into terms of the servants'
　　hall chilled Maud like a cold shower. She recoiled from it.
　　"Wouldn't you like to get a good education, Albert," she saidperseveringly, "and become a great poet and write wonderful poems?"Albert considered the point, and shook his head.
　　"No, m'lady."It was discouraging. But Maud was a girl of pluck. You cannot leapinto strange cabs in Piccadilly unless you have pluck. She pickedup another book from the stone seat.
　　"Read me some of this," she said, "and then tell me if it doesn'tmake you feel you want to do big things."Albert took the book cautiously. He was getting a little fed upwith all this sort of thing. True, 'er ladyship gave him chocolatesto eat during these sessions, but for all that it was too much likeschool for his taste. He regarded the open page with disfavour.
　　"Go on," said Maud, closing her eyes. "It's very beautiful."Albert began. He had a husky voice, due, it is to be feared,to precocious cigarette smoking, and his enunciation was not asgood as it might have been.
　　"Wiv' blekest morss the flower-portsWas-I mean were-crusted one and orl;Ther rusted niles fell from the knortsThat 'eld the pear to the garden-worll.
　　Ther broken sheds looked sed and stringe;Unlifted was the clinking latch;Weeded and worn their ancient thatchEr-pon ther lownely moated gringe,She only said 'Me life is dreary,'E cometh not,' she said."Albert rather liked this part. He was never happy in narrativeunless it could be sprinkled with a plentiful supply of "he said's"and "she said's." He finished with some gusto.
　　"She said - I am aweary, aweary,I would that I was dead."Maud had listened to this rendition of one of her most adored poemswith much the same feeling which a composer with an over-sensitiveear would suffer on hearing his pet opus assassinated by aschoolgirl. Albert, who was a willing lad and prepared, if suchshould be her desire, to plough his way through the entire sevenstanzas, began the second verse, but Maud gently took the book awayfrom him. Enough was sufficient.
　　"Now, wouldn't you like to be able to write a wonderful thing likethat, Albert?""Not me, m'lady.""You wouldn't like to be a poet when you grow up?"Albert shook his golden head.
　　"I want to be a butcher when I grow up, m'lady."Maud uttered a little cry.
　　"A butcher?""Yus, m'lady. Butchers earn good money," he said, a light ofenthusiasm in his blue eyes, for he was now on his favouritesubject. "You've got to 'ave meat, yer see, m'lady. It ain't likepoetry, m'lady, which no one wants.""But, Albert," cried Maud faintly. "Killing poor animals. Surelyyou wouldn't like that?"Albert's eyes glowed softly, as might an acolyte's at the sight ofthe censer.
　　"Mr. Widgeon down at the 'ome farm," he murmured reverently, "hesays, if I'm a good boy, 'e'll let me watch 'im kill a pigToosday."He gazed out over the water-lilies, his thoughts far away. Maudshuddered. She wondered if medieval pages were ever quite as earthyas this.
　　"Perhaps you had better go now, Albert. They may be needing you inthe house.""Very good, m'lady."Albert rose, not unwilling to call it a day. He was conscious ofthe need for a quiet cigarette. He was fond of Maud, but a mancan't spend all his time with the women.
　　"Pigs squeal like billy-o, m'lady!" he observed by way of adding aparting treasure to Maud's stock of general knowledge. "Oo! 'Ear'em a mile orf, you can!"Maud remained where she was, thinking, a wistful figure.
　　Tennyson's "Mariana" always made her wistful even when rendered byAlbert. In the occasional moods of sentimental depression whichcame to vary her normal cheerfulness, it seemed to her that thepoem might have been written with a prophetic eye to her specialcase, so nearly did it crystallize in magic words her own story.
　　"With blackest moss the flower-potsWere thickly crusted, one and all."Well, no, not that particular part, perhaps. If he had found somuch as one flower-pot of his even thinly crusted with any foreignsubstance, Lord Marshmoreton would have gone through the place likean east wind, dismissing gardeners and under-gardeners with everybreath. But--"She only said 'My life is dreary,He cometh not,' she said.
　　She said 'I am aweary, aweary.
　　I would that I were dead!"How exactly--at these moments when she was not out on the linkspicking them off the turf with a midiron or engaged in one of thoseother healthful sports which tend to take the mind off itstroubles--those words summed up her case.
　　Why didn't Geoffrey come? Or at least write? She could not write tohim. Letters from the castle left only by way of the castlepost-bag, which Rogers, the chauffeur, took down to the villageevery evening. Impossible to entrust the kind of letter she wishedto write to any mode of delivery so public--especially now, whenher movements were watched. To open and read another's letters is alow and dastardly act, but she believed that Lady Caroline would doit like a shot. She longed to pour out her heart to Geoffrey in along, intimate letter, but she did not dare to take the risk ofwriting for a wider public. Things were bad enough as it was, afterthat disastrous sortie to London.
　　At this point a soothing vision came to her--the vision of GeorgeBevan knocking off her brother Percy's hat. It was the onlypleasant thing that had happened almost as far back as she couldremember. And then, for the first time, her mind condescended todwell for a moment on the author of that act, George Bevan, thefriend in need, whom she had met only the day before in the lane.
　　What was George doing at Belpher? His presence there wassignificant, and his words even more so. He had stated explicitlythat he wished to help her.
　　She found herself oppressed by the irony of things. A knight hadcome to the rescue--but the wrong knight. Why could it not havebeen Geoffrey who waited in ambush outside the castle, and not apleasant but negligible stranger? Whether, deep down in herconsciousness, she was aware of a fleeting sense of disappointmentin Geoffrey, a swiftly passing thought that he had failed her, shecould hardly have said, so quickly did she crush it down.
　　She pondered on the arrival of George. What was the use of hisbeing somewhere in the neighbourhood if she had no means of knowingwhere she could find him? Situated as she was, she could not wanderat will about the countryside, looking for him. And, even if shefound him, what then? There was not much that any stranger, howeverpleasant, could do.
　　She flushed at a sudden thought. Of course there was somethingGeorge could do for her if he were willing. He could receive,despatch and deliver letters. If only she could get in touch withhim, she could--through him--get in touch with Geoffrey.
　　The whole world changed for her. The sun was setting and chilllittle winds had begun to stir the lily-pads, giving a depressingair to the scene, but to Maud it seemed as if all Nature smiled.
　　With the egotism of love, she did not perceive that what sheproposed to ask George to do was practically to fulfil the humblerole of the hollow tree in which lovers dump letters, to beextracted later; she did not consider George's feelings at all. Hehad offered to help her, and this was his job. The world is full ofGeorges whose task it is to hang about in the background and makethemselves unobtrusively useful.
　　She had reached this conclusion when Albert, who had taken a shortcut the more rapidly to accomplish his errand, burst upon herdramatically from the heart of a rhododendron thicket.
　　"M'lady! Gentleman give me this to give yer!"Maud read the note. It was brief, and to the point.
　　"I am staying near the castle at a cottage they call 'theone down by Platt's'. It is a rather new, red-brick place.
　　You can easily find it. I shall be waiting there if you wantme."It was signed "The Man in the Cab".
　　"Do you know a cottage called 'the one down by Platt's', Albert?"asked Maud.
　　"Yes, m'lady. It's down by Platt's farm. I see a chicken killedthere Wednesday week. Do you know, m'lady, after a chicken's 'eadis cut orf, it goes running licketty-split?"Maud shivered slightly. Albert's fresh young enthusiasms frequentlyjarred upon her.
　　"I find a friend of mine is staying there. I want you to take anote to him from me.""Very good, m'lady.""And, Albert--""Yes, m'lady?""Perhaps it would be as well if you said nothing about this to anyof your friends."In Lord Marshmoreton's study a council of three was sitting indebate. The subject under discussion was that other note whichGeorge had written and so ill-advisedly entrusted to one whom hehad taken for a guileless gardener. The council consisted of LordMarshmoreton, looking rather shamefaced, his son Percy lookingswollen and serious, and Lady Caroline Byng, looking like a tragedyqueen.
　　"This", Lord Belpher was saying in a determined voice, "settles it.
　　From now on Maud must not be allowed out of our sight."Lord Marshmoreton spoke.
　　"I rather wish", he said regretfully, "I hadn't spoken about thenote. I only mentioned it because I thought you might think itamusing.""Amusing!" Lady Caroline's voice shook the furniture.
　　"Amusing that the fellow should have handed me of all people aletter for Maud," explained her brother. "I don't want to get Maudinto trouble.""You are criminally weak," said Lady Caroline severely. "I reallyhonestly believe that you were capable of giving the note to thatpoor, misguided girl, and saying nothing about it." She flushed.
　　"The insolence of the man, coming here and settling down at thevery gates of the castle! If it was anybody but this man Platt whowas giving him shelter I should insist on his being turned out. Butthat man Platt would be only too glad to know that he is causing usannoyance.""Quite!" said Lord Belpher.
　　"You must go to this man as soon as possible," continued LadyCaroline, fixing her brother with a commanding stare, "and do yourbest to make him see how abominable his behaviour is.""Oh, I couldn't!" pleaded the earl. "I don't know the fellow. He'dthrow me out.""Nonsense. Go at the very earliest opportunity.""Oh, all right, all right, all right. Well, I think I'll beslipping out to the rose garden again now. There's a clear hourbefore dinner."There was a tap at the door. Alice Faraday entered bearing papers,a smile of sweet helpfulness on her pretty face.
　　"I hoped I should find you here, Lord Marshmoreton. You promised togo over these notes with me, the ones about the Essex branch--"The hunted peer looked as if he were about to dive through thewindow.
　　"Some other time, some other time. I--I have important matters--""Oh, if you're busy--""Of course, Lord Marshmoreton will be delighted to work on yournotes, Miss Faraday," said Lady Caroline crisply. "Take thischair. We are just going."Lord Marshmoreton gave one wistful glance through the open window.
　　Then he sat down with a sigh, and felt for his reading-glasses.
Chapter 10
    Your true golfer is a man who, knowing that life is short andperfection hard to attain, neglects no opportunity of practisinghis chosen sport, allowing neither wind nor weather nor anyexternal influence to keep him from it. There is a story, with anexcellent moral lesson, of a golfer whose wife had determined toleave him for ever. "Will nothing alter your decision?" he says.
　　"Will nothing induce you to stay? Well, then, while you're packing,I think I'll go out on the lawn and rub up my putting a bit."George Bevan was of this turn of mind. He might be in love; romancemight have sealed him for her own; but that was no reason forblinding himself to the fact that his long game was bound to sufferif he neglected to keep himself up to the mark. His first act onarriving at Belpher village had been to ascertain whether there wasa links in the neighbourhood; and thither, on the morning after hisvisit to the castle and the delivery of the two notes, he repaired.
　　At the hour of the day which he had selected the club-house wasempty, and he had just resigned himself to a solitary game, when,with a whirr and a rattle, a grey racing-car drove up, and from itemerged the same long young man whom, a couple of days earlier, hehad seen wriggle out from underneath the same machine. It wasReggie Byng's habit also not to allow anything, even love, tointerfere with golf; and not even the prospect of hanging about thecastle grounds in the hope of catching a glimpse of Alice Faradayand exchanging timorous words with her had been enough to keep himfrom the links.
　　Reggie surveyed George with a friendly eye. He had a dimrecollection of having seen him before somewhere at some time orother, and Reggie had the pleasing disposition which caused him torank anybody whom he had seen somewhere at some time or other as abosom friend.
　　"Hullo! Hullo! Hullo!" he observed.
　　"Good morning," said George.
　　"Waiting for somebody?""No.""How about it, then? Shall we stagger forth?""Delighted."George found himself speculating upon Reggie. He was unable toplace him. That he was a friend of Maud he knew, and guessed thathe was also a resident of the castle. He would have liked toquestion Reggie, to probe him, to collect from him insideinformation as to the progress of events within the castle walls;but it is a peculiarity of golf, as of love, that it temporarilychanges the natures of its victims; and Reggie, a confirmed babbleroff the links, became while in action a stern, silent, intentperson, his whole being centred on the game. With the exception ofa casual remark of a technical nature when he met George on thevarious tees, and an occasional expletive when things went wrongwith his ball, he eschewed conversation. It was not till the end ofthe round that he became himself again.
　　"If I'd known you were such hot stuff," he declared generously, asGeorge holed his eighteenth putt from a distance of ten feet, "I'dhave got you to give me a stroke or two.""I was on my game today," said George modestly. "Sometimes I sliceas if I were cutting bread and can't putt to hit a haystack.""Let me know when one of those times comes along, and I'll take youon again. I don't know when I've seen anything fruitier than theway you got out of the bunker at the fifteenth. It reminded me ofa match I saw between--" Reggie became technical. At the end of hisobservations he climbed into the grey car.
　　"Can I drop you anywhere?""Thanks," said George. "If it's not taking you out your way.""I'm staying at Belpher Castle.""I live quite near there. Perhaps you'd care to come in and have adrink on your way?""A ripe scheme," agreed ReggieTen minutes in the grey car ate up the distance between the linksand George's cottage. Reggie Byng passed these minutes, in theintervals of eluding carts and foiling the apparently suicidalintentions of some stray fowls, in jerky conversation on thesubject of his iron-shots, with which he expressed a deepsatisfaction.
　　"Topping little place! Absolutely!" was the verdict he pronouncedon the exterior of the cottage as he followed George in. "I'veoften thought it would be a rather sound scheme to settle down inthis sort of shanty and keep chickens and grow a honey colouredbeard, and have soup and jelly brought to you by the vicar's wifeand so forth. Nothing to worry you then. Do you live all alonehere?"George was busy squirting seltzer into his guest's glass.
　　"Yes. Mrs. Platt comes in and cooks for me. The farmer's wife nextdoor."An exclamation from the other caused him to look up. Reggie Byngwas staring at him, wide-eyed.
　　"Great Scott! Mrs. Platt! Then you're the Chappie?"George found himself unequal to the intellectual pressure of theconversation.
　　"The Chappie?""The Chappie there's all the row about. The mater was telling meonly this morning that you lived here.""Is there a row about me?""Is there what!" Reggie's manner became solicitous. "I say, my dearold sportsman, I don't want to be the bearer of bad tidings andwhat not, if you know what I mean, but didn't you know there was acertain amount of angry passion rising and so forth because of you?
　　At the castle, I mean. I don't want to seem to be discussing yourprivate affairs, and all that sort of thing, but what I mean is...
　　Well, you don't expect you can come charging in the way you havewithout touching the family on the raw a bit. The daughter of thehouse falls in love with you; the son of the house languishes inchokey because he has a row with you in Piccadilly; and on top ofall that you come here and camp out at the castle gates! Naturallythe family are a bit peeved. Only natural, eh? I mean to say,what?"George listened to this address in bewilderment. Maud in love withhim! It sounded incredible. That he should love her after their onemeeting was a different thing altogether. That was perfectlynatural and in order. But that he should have had the incredibleluck to win her affection. The thing struck him as grotesque andridiculous.
　　"In love with me?" he cried. "What on earth do you mean?"Reggie's bewilderment equalled his own.
　　"Well, dash it all, old top, it surely isn't news to you? She musthave told you. Why, she told me!""Told you? Am I going mad?""Absolutely! I mean absolutely not! Look here." Reggie hesitated.
　　The subject was delicate. But, once started, it might as well beproceeded with to some conclusion. A fellow couldn't go on talkingabout his iron-shots after this just as if nothing had happened.
　　This was the time for the laying down of cards, the opening ofhearts. "I say, you know," he went on, feeling his way, "you'llprobably think it deuced rummy of me talking like this. Perfectstranger and what not. Don't even know each other's names.""Mine's Bevan, if that'll be any help.""Thanks very much, old chap. Great help! Mine's Byng. Reggie Byng.
　　Well, as we're all pals here and the meeting's tiled and so forth,I'll start by saying that the mater is most deucedly set on mymarrying Lady Maud. Been pals all our lives, you know. Childrentogether, and all that sort of rot. Now there's nobody I think amore corking sportsman than Maud, if you know what I mean,but--this is where the catch comes in--I'm most frightfully in lovewith somebody else. Hopeless, and all that sort of thing, butstill there it is. And all the while the mater behind me with abradawl, sicking me on to propose to Maud who wouldn't have me if Iwere the only fellow on earth. You can't imagine, my dear old chap,what a relief it was to both of us when she told me the other daythat she was in love with you, and wouldn't dream of looking atanybody else. I tell you, I went singing about the place."George felt inclined to imitate his excellent example. A burst ofsong was the only adequate expression of the mood of heavenlyhappiness which this young man's revelations had brought upon him.
　　The whole world seemed different. Wings seemed to sprout fromReggie's shapely shoulders. The air was filled with soft music.
　　Even the wallpaper seemed moderately attractive.
　　He mixed himself a second whisky and soda. It was the next bestthing to singing.
　　"I see," he said. It was difficult to say anything. Reggie wasregarding him enviously.
　　"I wish I knew how the deuce fellows set about making a girl fallin love with them. Other chappies seem to do it, but I can't evenstart. She seems to sort of gaze through me, don't you know. Shekind of looks at me as if I were more to be pitied than censured,but as if she thought I really ought to do something about it. Ofcourse, she's a devilish brainy girl, and I'm a fearful chump.
　　Makes it kind of hopeless, what?"George, in his new-born happiness, found a pleasure in encouraginga less lucky mortal.
　　"Not a bit. What you ought to do is to--""Yes?" said Reggie eagerly.
　　George shook his head.
　　"No, I don't know," he said.
　　"Nor do I, dash it!" said Reggie.
　　George pondered.
　　"It seems to me it's purely a question of luck. Either you're luckyor you're not. Look at me, for instance. What is there about me tomake a wonderful girl love me?""Nothing! I see what you mean. At least, what I mean to say is--""No. You were right the first time. It's all a question of luck.
　　There's nothing anyone can do.""I hang about a good deal and get in her way," said Reggie. "She'salways tripping over me. I thought that might help a bit.""It might, of course.""But on the other hand, when we do meet, I can't think of anythingto say.""That's bad.""Deuced funny thing. I'm not what you'd call a silent sort ofchappie by nature. But, when I'm with her--I don't know. It'srum!" He drained his glass and rose. "Well, I suppose I may as wellbe staggering. Don't get up. Have another game one of these days,what?""Splendid. Any time you like.""Well, so long.""Good-bye."George gave himself up to glowing thoughts. For the first time inhis life he seemed to be vividly aware of his own existence. Itwas as if he were some newly-created thing. Everything around himand everything he did had taken on a strange and novel interest. Heseemed to notice the ticking of the clock for the first time. Whenhe raised his glass the action had a curious air of newness. Allhis senses were oddly alert. He could even--"How would it be," enquired Reggie, appearing in the doorway likepart of a conjuring trick, "if I gave her a flower or two every nowand then? Just thought of it as I was starting the car. She's fondof flowers.""Fine!" said George heartily. He had not heard a word. Thealertness of sense which had come to him was accompanied by astrange inability to attend to other people's speech. This would nodoubt pass, but meanwhile it made him a poor listener.
　　"Well, it's worth trying," said Reggie. "I'll give it a whirl.
　　Toodleoo!""Good-bye.""Pip-pip!"Reggie withdrew, and presently came the noise of the car starting.
　　George returned to his thoughts.
　　Time, as we understand it, ceases to exist for a man in suchcircumstances. Whether it was a minute later or several hours,George did not know; but presently he was aware of a small boystanding beside him--a golden-haired boy with blue eyes, who worethe uniform of a page. He came out of his trance. This, herecognized, was the boy to whom he had given the note for Maud. Hewas different from any other intruder. He meant something inGeorge's scheme of things.
　　"'Ullo!" said the youth.
　　"Hullo, Alphonso!" said George.
　　"My name's not Alphonso.""Well, you be very careful or it soon may be.""Got a note for yer. From Lidy Mord.""You'll find some cake and ginger-ale in the kitchen," said thegrateful George. "Give it a trial.""Not 'arf!" said the stripling.
Chapter 11
    George opened the letter with trembling and reverent fingers.
　　"DEAR MR. BEVAN,"Thank you ever so much for your note, which Albert gaveto me. How very, very kind. . .""Hey, mister!"George looked up testily. The boy Albert had reappeared.
　　"What's the matter? Can't you find the cake?""I've found the kike," rejoined Albert, adducing proof of thestatement in the shape of a massive slice, from which he took asubstantial bite to assist thought. "But I can't find the gingerile."George waved him away. This interruption at such a moment wasannoying.
　　"Look for it, child, look for it! Sniff after it! Bay on its trail!
　　It's somewhere about.""Wri'!" mumbled Albert through the cake. He flicked a crumb off hischeek with a tongue which would have excited the friendly interestof an ant-eater. "I like ginger-ile.""Well, go and bathe in it.""Wri'!"George returned to his letter.
　　"DEAR MR. BEVAN,"Thank you ever so much for your note, which Albert gaveto me. How very, very kind of you to come here like this andto say . . .
　　"Hey, mister!""Good Heavens!" George glared. "What's the matter now? Haven't youfound that ginger-ale yet?""I've found the ginger-ile right enough, but I can't find thething.""The thing? What thing?""The thing. The thing wot you open ginger-ile with.""Oh, you mean the thing? It's in the middle drawer of the dresser.
　　Use your eyes, my boy!""Wri'".
　　George gave an overwrought sigh and began the letter again.
　　"DEAR MR. BEVAN,"Thank you ever so much for your note which Albert gaveto me. How very, very kind of you to come here like this andto say that you would help me. And how clever of you tofind me after I was so secretive that day in the cab! Youreally can help me, if you are willing. It's too long toexplain in a note, but I am in great trouble, and there isnobody except you to help me. I will explain everythingwhen I see you. The difficulty will be to slip away fromhome. They are watching me every moment, I'm afraid. But Iwill try my hardest to see you very soon.
　　Yours sincerely,"MAUD MARSH."Just for a moment it must be confessed, the tone of the letterdamped George. He could not have said just what he had expected,but certainly Reggie's revelations had prepared him for somethingrather warmer, something more in the style in which a girl wouldwrite to the man she loved. The next moment, however, he saw howfoolish any such expectation had been. How on earth could anyreasonable man expect a girl to let herself go at this stage of theproceedings? It was for him to make the first move. Naturally shewasn't going to reveal her feelings until he had revealed his.
　　George raised the letter to his lips and kissed it vigorously.
　　"Hey, mister!"George started guiltily. The blush of shame overspread his cheeks.
　　The room seemed to echo with the sound of that fatuous kiss.
　　"Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!" he called, snapping his fingers, andrepeating the incriminating noise. "I was just calling my cat," heexplained with dignity. "You didn't see her in there, did you?"Albert's blue eyes met his in a derisive stare. The lid of the leftone fluttered. It was but too plain that Albert was not convinced.
　　"A little black cat with white shirt-front," babbled Georgeperseveringly. "She's usually either here or there, or--orsomewhere. Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!"The cupid's bow of Albert's mouth parted. He uttered one word.
　　"Swank!"There was a tense silence. What Albert was thinking one cannot say.
　　The thoughts of Youth are long, long thoughts. What George wasthinking was that the late King Herod had been unjustly blamed fora policy which had been both statesmanlike and in the interests ofthe public. He was blaming the mawkish sentimentality of the modernlegal system which ranks the evisceration and secret burial ofsmall boys as a crime.
　　"What do you mean?""You know what I mean.""I've a good mind to--"Albert waved a deprecating hand.
　　"It's all right, mister. I'm yer friend.""You are, are you? Well, don't let it about. I've got a reputationto keep up.""I'm yer friend, I tell you. I can help yer. I want to help yer!"George's views on infanticide underwent a slight modification.
　　After all, he felt, much must be excused to Youth. Youth thinks itfunny to see a man kissing a letter. It is not funny, of course; itis beautiful; but it's no good arguing the point. Let Youth haveits snigger, provided, after it has finished sniggering, it intendsto buckle to and be of practical assistance. Albert, as an ally,was not to be despised. George did not know what Albert's duties asa page-boy were, but they seemed to be of a nature that gave himplenty of leisure and freedom; and a friendly resident of thecastle with leisure and freedom was just what he needed.
　　"That's very good of you," he said, twisting his reluctantfeatures into a fairly benevolent smile.
　　"I can 'elp!" persisted Albert. "Got a cigaroot?""Do you smoke, child?""When I get 'old of a cigaroot I do.""I'm sorry I can't oblige you. I don't smoke cigarettes.""Then I'll 'ave to 'ave one of my own," said Albert moodily.
　　He reached into the mysteries of his pocket and produced a piece ofstring, a knife, the wishbone of a fowl, two marbles, a crushedcigarette, and a match. Replacing the string, the knife, thewishbone and the marbles, he ignited the match against the tightestpart of his person and lit the cigarette.
　　"I can help yer. I know the ropes.""And smoke them," said George, wincing.
　　"Pardon?""Nothing."Albert took an enjoyable whiff.
　　"I know all about yer.""You do?""You and Lidy Mord.""Oh, you do, do you?""I was listening at the key-'ole while the row was goin' on.""There was a row, was there?"A faint smile of retrospective enjoyment lit up Albert's face. "Anorful row! Shoutin' and yellin' and cussin' all over the shop.
　　About you and Lidy Maud.""And you drank it in, eh?""Pardon?""I say, you listened?""Not 'arf I listened. Seeing I'd just drawn you in the sweepstike,of course, I listened--not 'arf!"George did not follow him here.
　　"The sweepstike? What's a sweepstike?""Why, a thing you puts names in 'ats and draw 'em and theone that gets the winning name wins the money.""Oh, you mean a sweepstake!""That's wot I said--a sweepstike."George was still puzzled.
　　"But I don't understand. How do you mean you drew me in asweepstike--I mean a sweepstake? What sweepstake?""Down in the servants' 'all. Keggs, the butler, started it. I'eard 'im say he always 'ad one every place 'e was in as a butler--leastways, whenever there was any dorters of the 'ouse. There'salways a chance, when there's a 'ouse-party, of one of the dortersof the 'ouse gettin' married to one of the gents in the party, soKeggs 'e puts all of the gents' names in an 'at, and you pay fiveshillings for a chance, and the one that draws the winning namegets the money. And if the dorter of the 'ouse don't get marriedthat time, the money's put away and added to the pool for the next'ouse-party."George gasped. This revelation of life below stairs in the statelyhomes of England took his breath away. Then astonishment gave way toindignation.
　　"Do you mean to tell me that you--you worms--made Lady Maudthe--the prize of a sweepstake!"Albert was hurt.
　　"Who're yer calling worms?"George perceived the need of diplomacy. After all much depended onthis child's goodwill.
　　"I was referring to the butler--what's his name--Keggs.""'E ain't a worm. 'E's a serpint." Albert drew at his cigarette.
　　His brow darkened. "'E does the drawing, Keggs does, and I'd liketo know 'ow it is 'e always manages to cop the fav'rit!"Albert chuckled.
　　"But this time I done him proper. 'E didn't want me in the thing atall. Said I was too young. Tried to do the drawin' without me.
　　'Clip that boy one side of the 'ead!' 'e says, 'and turn 'im out!'
　　'e says. I says, 'Yus, you will!' I says. 'And wot price me goin'
　　to 'is lordship and blowing the gaff?' I says. 'E says, 'Oh, orlright!' 'e says. 'Ave it yer own way!' 'e says.
　　"'Where's yer five shillings?' 'e says. "Ere yer are!' I says.
　　'Oh, very well,' 'e says. 'But you'll 'ave to draw last,' 'e says,'bein' the youngest.' Well, they started drawing the names,and of course Keggs 'as to draw Mr. Byng.""Oh, he drew Mr. Byng, did he?""Yus. And everyone knew Reggie was the fav'rit. Smiled all over hisfat face, the old serpint did! And when it come to my turn, 'e saysto me, 'Sorry, Elbert!' 'e says, 'but there ain't no more names.
　　They've give out!' 'Oh, they 'ave, 'ave they?' I says, 'Well, wot'sthe matter with giving a fellow a sporting chance?' I says. 'Ow doyou mean?' 'e says. 'Why, write me out a ticket marked "Mr. X.",' Isays. 'Then, if 'er lidyship marries anyone not in the 'ouse-party,I cop!' 'Orl right,' 'e says, 'but you know the conditions of this'ere sweep. Nothin' don't count only wot tikes plice during the twoweeks of the 'ouse-party,' 'e says. 'Orl right,' I says. 'Write meticket. It's a fair sportin' venture.' So 'e writes me out meticket, with 'Mr. X.' on it, and I says to them all, I says, 'I'dlike to 'ave witnesses', I says, 'to this 'ere thing. Do all yougents agree that if anyone not in the 'ouse-party and 'oo's nameain't on one of the other tickets marries 'er lidyship, I get thepool?' I says. They all says that's right, and then I says to 'emall straight out, I says, 'I 'appen to know', I says, 'that 'erlidyship is in love with a gent that's not in the party at all. AnAmerican gent,' I says. They wouldn't believe it at first, but,when Keggs 'ad put two and two together, and thought of one or twothings that 'ad 'appened, 'e turned as white as a sheet and said itwas a swindle and wanted the drawin' done over again, but theothers says 'No', they says, 'it's quite fair,' they says, and oneof 'em offered me ten bob slap out for my ticket. But I stuck toit, I did. And that," concluded Albert throwing the cigarette intothe fire-place just in time to prevent a scorched finger, "that'swhy I'm going to 'elp yer!"There is probably no attitude of mind harder for the average man tomaintain than that of aloof disapproval. George was an average man,and during the degrading recital just concluded he had foundhimself slipping. At first he had been revolted, then, in spite ofhimself, amused, and now, when all the facts were before him, hecould induce his mind to think of nothing else than his goodfortune in securing as an ally one who appeared to combine aprecocious intelligence with a helpful lack of scruple. War is war,and love is love, and in each the practical man inclines to demandfrom his fellow-workers the punch rather than a lofty soul. A pageboy replete with the finer feelings would have been useless in thiscrisis. Albert, who seemed, on the evidence of a short butsufficient acquaintance, to be a lad who would not recognize thefiner feelings if they were handed to him on a plate withwatercress round them, promised to be invaluable. Something in hismanner told George that the child was bursting with schemes for hisbenefit.
　　"Have some more cake, Albert," he said ingratiatingly.
　　The boy shook his head.
　　"Do," urged George. "Just a little slice.""There ain't no little slice," replied Albert with regret.
　　"I've ate it all." He sighed and resumed. "I gotta scheme!""Fine! What is it?"Albert knitted his brows.
　　"It's like this. You want to see 'er lidyship, but you can't cometo the castle, and she can't come to you--not with 'er fat brotherdogging of 'er footsteps. That's it, ain't it? Or am I a liar?"George hastened to reassure him.
　　"That is exactly it. What's the answer?""I'll tell yer wot you can do. There's the big ball tonight 'cos ofits bein' 'Is Nibs' comin'-of-age tomorrow. All the county'll be'ere.""You think I could slip in and be taken for a guest?"Albert snorted contempt.
　　"No, I don't think nothin' of the kind, not bein' a fat-head."George apologized. "But wot you could do's this. I 'eard Keggstorkin to the 'ouse-keeper about 'avin' to get in a lot of temp'ywaiters to 'elp out for the night--"George reached forward and patted Albert on the head.
　　"Don't mess my 'air, now," warned that youth coldly.
　　"Albert, you're one of the great thinkers of the age. I could getinto the castle as a waiter, and you could tell Lady Maud I wasthere, and we could arrange a meeting. Machiavelli couldn't havethought of anything smoother.""Mac Who?""One of your ancestors. Great schemer in his day. But, one moment.""Now what?""How am I to get engaged? How do I get the job?""That's orl right. I'll tell the 'ousekeeper you're my cousin--been a waiter in America at the best restaurongs--'ome for a'oliday, but'll come in for one night to oblige. They'll pay yer aquid.""I'll hand it over to you.""Just," said Albert approvingly, "wot I was goin' to suggestmyself.""Then I'll leave all the arrangements to you.""You'd better, if you don't want to mike a mess of everything. Allyou've got to do is to come to the servants' entrance at eightsharp tonight and say you're my cousin.""That's an awful thing to ask anyone to say.""Pardon?""Nothing!" said George.
Chapter 12
    The great ball in honour of Lord Belpher's coming-of-age was at itsheight. The reporter of the Belpher Intelligencer and Farmers'
　　Guide, who was present in his official capacity, and had beenallowed by butler Keggs to take a peep at the scene through aside-door, justly observed in his account of the proceedings nextday that the 'tout ensemble was fairylike', and described thecompany as 'a galaxy of fair women and brave men'. The floor wascrowded with all that was best and noblest in the county; so that ahalf-brick, hurled at any given moment, must infallibly have spiltblue blood. Peers stepped on the toes of knights; honorables bumpedinto the spines of baronets. Probably the only titled person in thewhole of the surrounding country who was not playing his part inthe glittering scene was Lord Marshmoreton; who, on discoveringthat his private study had been converted into a cloakroom, hadretired to bed with a pipe and a copy of Roses Red and Roses White,by Emily Ann Mackintosh (Popgood, Crooly & Co.), which he was todiscover--after he was between the sheets, and it was too late torepair the error--was not, as he had supposed, a treatise on hisfavourite hobby, but a novel of stearine sentimentality dealingwith the adventures of a pure young English girl and an artistnamed Claude.
　　George, from the shaded seclusion of a gallery, looked down uponthe brilliant throng with impatience. It seemed to him that he hadbeen doing this all his life. The novelty of the experience hadlong since ceased to divert him. It was all just like the secondact of an old-fashioned musical comedy (Act Two: The Ballroom,Grantchester Towers: One Week Later)--a resemblance which washeightened for him by the fact that the band had more than onceplayed dead and buried melodies of his own composition, of which hehad wearied a full eighteen months back.
　　A complete absence of obstacles had attended his intrusion into thecastle. A brief interview with a motherly old lady, whom evenAlbert seemed to treat with respect, and who, it appeared was Mrs.
　　Digby, the house-keeper; followed by an even briefer encounter withKeggs (fussy and irritable with responsibility, and, even whiletalking to George carrying on two other conversations on topics ofthe moment), and he was past the censors and free for one nightonly to add his presence to the chosen inside the walls of Belpher.
　　His duties were to stand in this gallery, and with the assistanceof one of the maids to minister to the comfort of such of thedancers as should use it as a sitting-out place. None had so farmade their appearance, the superior attractions of the main floorhaving exercised a great appeal; and for the past hour George hadbeen alone with the maid and his thoughts. The maid, having askedGeorge if he knew her cousin Frank, who had been in America nearlya year, and having received a reply in the negative, seemed to bedisappointed in him, and to lose interest, and had not spoken fortwenty minutes.
　　George scanned the approaches to the balcony for a sight of Albertas the shipwrecked mariner scans the horizon for the passing sail.
　　It was inevitable, he supposed, this waiting. It would be difficultfor Maud to slip away even for a moment on such a night.
　　"I say, laddie, would you mind getting me a lemonade?"George was gazing over the balcony when the voice spoke behind him,and the muscles of his back stiffened as he recognized its genialnote. This was one of the things he had prepared himself for, but,now that it had happened, he felt a wave of stage-fright such as hehad only once experienced before in his life--on the occasion whenhe had been young enough and inexperienced enough to take acurtain-call on a first night. Reggie Byng was friendly, and wouldnot wilfully betray him; but Reggie was also a babbler, who couldnot be trusted to keep things to himself. It was necessary, heperceived, to take a strong line from the start, and convinceReggie that any likeness which the latter might suppose that hedetected between his companion of that afternoon and the waiter oftonight existed only in his heated imagination.
　　As George turned, Reggie's pleasant face, pink with healthfulexercise and Lord Marshmoreton's finest Bollinger, lost most of itscolour. His eyes and mouth opened wider. The fact is Reggie wasshaken. All through the earlier part of the evening he had beensedulously priming himself with stimulants with a view to amassingenough nerve to propose to Alice Faraday: and, now that he haddrawn her away from the throng to this secluded nook and was aboutto put his fortune to the test, a horrible fear swept over him thathe had overdone it. He was having optical illusions.
　　"Good God!"Reggie loosened his collar, and pulled himself together.
　　"Would you mind taking a glass of lemonade to the lady in bluesitting on the settee over there by the statue," he said carefully.
　　He brightened up a little.
　　"Pretty good that! Not absolutely a test sentence, perhaps, like'Truly rural' or 'The intricacies of the British Constitution'.
　　But nevertheless no mean feat.""I say!" he continued, after a pause.
　　"Sir?""You haven't ever seen me before by any chance, if you know what Imean, have you?""No, sir.""You haven't a brother, or anything of that shape or order, haveyou, no?""No, sir. I have often wished I had. I ought to have spoken tofather about it. Father could never deny me anything."Reggie blinked. His misgiving returned. Either his ears, like hiseyes, were playing him tricks, or else this waiter-chappie wastalking pure drivel.
　　"What's that?""Sir?""What did you say?""I said, 'No, sir, I have no brother'.""Didn't you say something else?""No, sir.""What?""No, sir."Reggie's worst suspicions were confirmed.
　　"Good God!" he muttered. "Then I am!"Miss Faraday, when he joined her on the settee, wanted anexplanation.
　　"What were you talking to that man about, Mr. Byng? You seemed tobe having a very interesting conversation.""I was asking him if he had a brother."Miss Faraday glanced quickly at him. She had had a feeling for sometime during the evening that his manner had been strange.
　　"A brother? What made you ask him that?""He--I mean--that is to say--what I mean is, he looked the sort ofchap who might have a brother. Lots of those fellows have!"Alice Faraday's face took on a motherly look. She was fonder ofReggie than that love-sick youth supposed, and by sheer accident hehad stumbled on the right road to her consideration. Alice Faradaywas one of those girls whose dream it is to be a ministering angelto some chosen man, to be a good influence to him and raise him toan appreciation of nobler things. Hitherto, Reggie's personalityhad seemed to her agreeable, but negative. A positive vice likeover-indulgence in alcohol altered him completely. It gave him asignificance.
　　"I told him to get you a lemonade," said Reggie. "He seems to betaking his time about it. Hi!"George approached deferentially.
　　"Sir?""Where's that lemonade?""Lemonade, sir?""Didn't I ask you to bring this lady a glass of lemonade?""I did not understand you to do so, sir.""But, Great Scott! What were we chatting about, then?""You were telling me a diverting story about an Irishman who landedin New York looking for work, sir. You would like a glass oflemonade, sir? Very good, sir."Alice placed a hand gently on Reggie's arm.
　　"Don't you think you had better lie down for a little and rest, Mr.
　　Byng? I'm sure it would do you good."The solicitous note in her voice made Reggie quiver like a jelly.
　　He had never known her speak like that before. For a moment he wasinclined to lay bare his soul; but his nerve was broken. He did notwant her to mistake the outpouring of a strong man's heart for theirresponsible ravings of a too hearty diner. It was one of Life'sironies. Here he was for the first time all keyed up to go rightahead, and he couldn't do it.
　　"It's the heat of the room," said Alice. "Shall we go and sitoutside on the terrace? Never mind about the lemonade. I'm notreally thirsty."Reggie followed her like a lamb. The prospect of the cool night airwas grateful.
　　"That," murmured George, as he watched them depart, "ought to holdyou for a while!"He perceived Albert hastening towards him.
Chapter 13
    Albert was in a hurry. He skimmed over the carpet like awater-beetle.
　　"Quick!" he said.
　　He cast a glance at the maid, George's co-worker. She was reading anovelette with her back turned.
　　"Tell 'er you'll be back in five minutes," said Albert, jerking athumb.
　　"Unnecessary. She won't notice my absence. Ever since shediscovered that I had never met her cousin Frank in America, I havemeant nothing in her life.""Then come on.""Where?""I'll show you."That it was not the nearest and most direct route which they tookto the trysting-place George became aware after he had followed hisyoung guide through doors and up stairs and down stairs and had atlast come to a halt in a room to which the sound of the musicpenetrated but faintly. He recognized the room. He had been in itbefore. It was the same room where he and Billie Dore had listenedto Keggs telling the story of Lord Leonard and his leap. Thatwindow there, he remembered now, opened on to the very balcony fromwhich the historic Leonard had done his spectacular dive. That itshould be the scene of this other secret meeting struck George asappropriate. The coincidence appealed to him.
　　Albert vanished. George took a deep breath. Now that the moment hadarrived for which he had waited so long he was aware of a return ofthat feeling of stage-fright which had come upon him when he heardReggie Byng's voice. This sort of thing, it must be remembered, wasnot in George's usual line. His had been a quiet and uneventfullife, and the only exciting thing which, in his recollection, hadever happened to him previous to the dramatic entry of Lady Maudinto his taxi-cab that day in Piccadilly, had occurred at collegenearly ten years before, when a festive room-mate--no doubt with thebest motives--had placed a Mexican horned toad in his bed on thenight of the Yale football game.
　　A light footstep sounded outside, and the room whirled round Georgein a manner which, if it had happened to Reggie Byng, would havecaused that injudicious drinker to abandon the habits of alifetime. When the furniture had returned to its place and the rughad ceased to spin, Maud was standing before him.
　　Nothing is harder to remember than a once-seen face. It had causedGeorge a good deal of distress and inconvenience that, try as hemight, he could not conjure up anything more than a vague vision ofwhat the only girl in the world really looked like. He had carriedaway with him from their meeting in the cab only a confusedrecollection of eyes that shone and a mouth that curved in a smile;and the brief moment in which he was able to refresh his memory,when he found her in the lane with Reggie Byng and the broken-downcar, had not been enough to add definiteness. The consequence wasthat Maud came upon him now with the stunning effect of beauty seenfor the first time. He gasped. In that dazzling ball-dress, withthe flush of dancing on her cheeks and the light of dancing in hereyes, she was so much more wonderful than any picture of her whichmemory had been able to produce for his inspection that it was asif he had never seen her before.
　　Even her brother, Percy, a stern critic where his nearest anddearest were concerned, had admitted on meeting her in thedrawing-room before dinner that that particular dress suited Maud.
　　It was a shimmering dream-thing of rose-leaves and moon-beams. That,at least, was how it struck George; a dressmaker would have found alonger and less romantic description for it. But that does notmatter. Whoever wishes for a cold and technical catalogue of thestuffs which went to make up the picture that deprived George ofspeech may consult the files of the Belpher Intelligencer andFarmers' Guide, and read the report of the editor's wife, who"does" the dresses for the Intelligencer under the pen-name of"Birdie Bright-Eye". As far as George was concerned, the thing wasmade of rose-leaves and moon-beams.
　　George, as I say, was deprived of speech. That any girl couldpossibly look so beautiful was enough to paralyse his faculties;but that this ethereal being straight from Fairyland could havestooped to love him--him--an earthy brute who wore sock-suspendersand drank coffee for breakfast . . . that was what robbed George ofthe power to articulate. He could do nothing but look at her.
　　From the Hills of Fairyland soft music came. Or, if we must beexact, Maud spoke.
　　"I couldn't get away before!" Then she stopped short and darted tothe door listening. "Was that somebody coming? I had to cut adance with Mr. Plummer to get here, and I'm so afraid he may. . ."He had. A moment later it was only too evident that this wasprecisely what Mr. Plummer had done. There was a footstep on thestairs, a heavy footstep this time, and from outside the voice ofthe pursuer made itself heard.
　　"Oh, there you are, Lady Maud! I was looking for you. This is ourdance."George did not know who Mr. Plummer was. He did not want to know.
　　His only thought regarding Mr. Plummer was a passionate realizationof the superfluity of his existence. It is the presence on theglobe of these Plummers that delays the coming of the Millennium.
　　His stunned mind leaped into sudden activity. He must not be foundhere, that was certain. Waiters who ramble at large about a feudalcastle and are discovered in conversation with the daughter of thehouse excite comment. And, conversely, daughters of the house whotalk in secluded rooms with waiters also find explanationsnecessary. He must withdraw. He must withdraw quickly. And, as agesture from Maud indicated, the withdrawal must be effectedthrough the french window opening on the balcony. Estimating thedistance that separated him from the approaching Plummer at threestairs--the voice had come from below--and a landing, the space oftime allotted to him by a hustling Fate for disappearing was somefour seconds. Inside two and half, the french window had openedand closed, and George was out under the stars, with the cool windsof the night playing on his heated forehead.
　　He had now time for meditation. There are few situations whichprovide more scope for meditation than that of the man penned up ona small balcony a considerable distance from the ground, with hisonly avenue of retreat cut off behind him. So George meditated.
　　First, he mused on Plummer. He thought some hard thoughts aboutPlummer. Then he brooded on the unkindness of a fortune which hadgranted him the opportunity of this meeting with Maud, only tosnatch it away almost before it had begun. He wondered how long thelate Lord Leonard had been permitted to talk on that occasionbefore he, too, had had to retire through these same windows. Therewas no doubt about one thing. Lovers who chose that room for theirinterviews seemed to have very little luck.
　　It had not occurred to George at first that there could be anyfurther disadvantage attached to his position other than theobvious drawbacks which had already come to his notice. He was nowto perceive that he had been mistaken. A voice was speaking in theroom he had left, a plainly audible voice, deep and throaty; andwithin a minute George had become aware that he was to suffer theadditional discomfort of being obliged to listen to a fellowman--one could call Plummer that by stretching the facts alittle--proposing marriage. The gruesomeness of the situation becameintensified. Of all moments when a man--and justice compelled Georgeto admit that Plummer was technically human--of all moments when aman may by all the laws of decency demand to be alone without anaudience of his own sex, the chiefest is the moment when he isasking a girl to marry him. George's was a sensitive nature, and hewrithed at the thought of playing the eavesdropper at such a time.
　　He looked frantically about him for a means of escape. Plummer hadnow reached the stage of saying at great length that he was notworthy of Maud. He said it over and over, again in different ways.
　　George was in hearty agreement with him, but he did not want tohear it. He wanted to get away. But how? Lord Leonard on a similaroccasion had leaped. Some might argue therefore on the principlethat what man has done, man can do, that George should haveimitated him. But men differ. There was a man attached to a circuswho used to dive off the roof of Madison Square Garden on to asloping board, strike it with his chest, turn a couple ofsomersaults, reach the ground, bow six times and go off to lunch.
　　That sort of thing is a gift. Some of us have it, some have not.
　　George had not. Painful as it was to hear Plummer flounderingthrough his proposal of marriage, instinct told him that it wouldbe far more painful to hurl himself out into mid-air on thesporting chance of having his downward progress arrested by thebranches of the big tree that had upheld Lord Leonard. No, thereseemed nothing for it but to remain where he was.
　　Inside the room Plummer was now saying how much the marriage wouldplease his mother.
　　"Psst!"George looked about him. It seemed to him that he had heard avoice. He listened. No. Except for the barking of a distant dog,the faint wailing of a waltz, the rustle of a roosting bird, andthe sound of Plummer saying that if her refusal was due to anythingshe might have heard about that breach-of-promise case of his acouple of years ago he would like to state that he was more sinnedagainst than sinning and that the girl had absolutely misunderstoodhim, all was still.
　　"Psst! Hey, mister!"It was a voice. It came from above. Was it an angel's voice? Notaltogether. It was Albert's. The boy was leaning out of a windowsome six feet higher up the castle wall. George, his eyes by nowgrown used to the darkness, perceived that the striplinggesticulated as one having some message to impart. Then, glancingto one side, he saw what looked like some kind of a rope swayedagainst the wall. He reached for it. The thing was not a rope: itwas a knotted sheet.
　　From above came Albert's hoarse whisper.
　　"Look alive!"This was precisely what George wanted to do for at least anotherfifty years or so; and it seemed to him as he stood there in thestarlight, gingerly fingering this flimsy linen thing, that if hewere to suspend his hundred and eighty pounds of bone and sinew atthe end of it over the black gulf outside the balcony he would lookalive for about five seconds, and after that goodness only knew howhe would look. He knew all about knotted sheets. He had read ahundred stories in which heroes, heroines, low comedy friends andeven villains did all sorts of reckless things with theirassistance. There was not much comfort to be derived from that. Itwas one thing to read about people doing silly things like that,quite another to do them yourself. He gave Albert's sheet atentative shake. In all his experience he thought he had never comeacross anything so supremely unstable. (One calls it Albert's sheetfor the sake of convenience. It was really Reggie Byng's sheet.
　　And when Reggie got to his room in the small hours of the morningand found the thing a mass of knots he jumped to the conclusion--being a simple-hearted young man--that his bosom friend Jack Ferris,who had come up from London to see Lord Belpher through the tryingexperience of a coming-of-age party, had done it as a practicaljoke, and went and poured a jug of water over Jack's bed. That isLife. Just one long succession of misunderstandings and rash actsand what not. Absolutely!)Albert was becoming impatient. He was in the position of a greatgeneral who thinks out some wonderful piece of strategy and can'tget his army to carry it out. Many boys, seeing Plummer enter theroom below and listening at the keyhole and realizing that Georgemust have hidden somewhere and deducing that he must be out on thebalcony, would have been baffled as to how to proceed. Not soAlbert. To dash up to Reggie Byng's room and strip his sheet offthe bed and tie it to the bed-post and fashion a series of knots init and lower it out of the window took Albert about three minutes.
　　His part in the business had been performed without a hitch. Andnow George, who had nothing in the world to do but the childishtask of climbing up the sheet, was jeopardizing the success of thewhole scheme by delay. Albert gave the sheet an irritable jerk.
　　It was the worst thing he could have done. George had almost madeup his mind to take a chance when the sheet was snatched from hisgrasp as if it had been some live thing deliberately eluding hisclutch. The thought of what would have happened had this occurredwhen he was in mid-air caused him to break out in a coldperspiration. He retired a pace and perched himself on the rail ofthe balcony.
　　"Psst!" said Albert.
　　"It's no good saying, 'Psst!'" rejoined George in an annoyedundertone. "I could say "Psst!" Any fool could say 'Psst!'"Albert, he considered, in leaning out of the window and saying"Psst!" was merely touching the fringe of the subject.
　　It is probable that he would have remained seated on the balconyrail regarding the sheet with cold aversion, indefinitely, had nothis hand been forced by the man Plummer. Plummer, during these lastminutes, had shot his bolt. He had said everything that a man couldsay, much of it twice over; and now he was through. All was ended.
　　The verdict was in. No wedding-bells for Plummer.
　　"I think," said Plummer gloomily, and the words smote on George'sear like a knell, "I think I'd like a little air."George leaped from his rail like a hunted grasshopper. If Plummerwas looking for air, it meant that he was going to come out on thebalcony. There was only one thing to be done. It probably meant theabrupt conclusion of a promising career, but he could hesitate nolonger.
　　George grasped the sheet--it felt like a rope of cobwebs--and swunghimself out.
　　Maud looked out on to the balcony. Her heart, which had stood stillwhen the rejected one opened the window and stepped forth to communewith the soothing stars, beat again. There was no one there, onlyemptiness and Plummer.
　　"This," said Plummer sombrely, gazing over the rail into thedarkness, "is the place where that fellow what's-his-name jumpedoff in the reign of thingummy, isn't it?"Maud understood now, and a thrill of the purest admiration forGeorge's heroism swept over her. So rather than compromise her, hehad done Leonard's leap! How splendid of him! If George, now sittingon Reggie Byng's bed taking a rueful census of the bits of skinremaining on his hands and knees after his climb, could have readher thoughts, he would have felt well rewarded for his abrasions.
　　"I've a jolly good mind," said Plummer, "to do it myself!" Heuttered a short, mirthless laugh. "Well, anyway," he saidrecklessly, "I'll jolly well go downstairs and have abrandy-and-soda!"Albert finished untying the sheet from the bedpost, and stuffed itunder the pillow.
　　"And now," said Albert, "for a quiet smoke in the scullery."These massive minds require their moments of relaxation.
Chapter 14
    George's idea was to get home. Quick. There was no possible chanceof a second meeting with Maud that night. They had met and hadbeen whirled asunder. No use to struggle with Fate. Best to give inand hope that another time Fate would be kinder. What George wantednow was to be away from all the gay glitter and the fairylike toutensemble and the galaxy of fair women and brave men, safe in hisown easy-chair, where nothing could happen to him. A nice sense ofduty would no doubt have taken him back to his post in order fullyto earn the sovereign which had been paid to him for his servicesas temporary waiter; but the voice of Duty called to him in vain.
　　If the British aristocracy desired refreshments let them get themfor themselves--and like it! He was through.
　　But if George had for the time being done with the Britisharistocracy, the British aristocracy had not done with him. Hardlyhad he reached the hall when he encountered the one member of theorder whom he would most gladly have avoided.
　　Lord Belpher was not in genial mood. Late hours always made hishead ache, and he was not a dancing man; so that he was by nowfully as weary of the fairylike tout ensemble as was George. But,being the centre and cause of the night's proceedings, he wascompelled to be present to the finish. He was in the position ofcaptains who must be last to leave their ships, and of boys whostand on burning decks whence all but they had fled. He had spentseveral hours shaking hands with total strangers and receiving witha frozen smile their felicitations on the attainment of hismajority, and he could not have been called upon to meet a largerhorde of relations than had surged round him that night if he hadbeen a rabbit. The Belpher connection was wide, straggling overmost of England; and first cousins, second cousins and even thirdand fourth cousins had debouched from practically every county onthe map and marched upon the home of their ancestors. The effort ofhaving to be civil to all of these had told upon Percy. Like theheroine of his sister Maud's favourite poem he was "aweary,aweary," and he wanted a drink. He regarded George's appearance asexceedingly opportune.
　　"Get me a small bottle of champagne, and bring it to the library.""Yes, sir."The two words sound innocent enough, but, wishing as he did toefface himself and avoid publicity, they were the most unfortunatewhich George could have chosen. If he had merely bowed acquiescenceand departed, it is probable that Lord Belpher would not have takena second look at him. Percy was in no condition to subject everyonehe met to a minute scrutiny. But, when you have been addressed foran entire lifetime as "your lordship", it startles you when awaiter calls you "Sir". Lord Belpher gave George a glance in whichreproof and pain were nicely mingled emotions quickly supplanted byamazement. A gurgle escaped him.
　　"Stop!" he cried as George turned away.
　　Percy was rattled. The crisis found him in two minds. On the onehand, he would have been prepared to take oath that this man beforehim was the man who had knocked off his hat in Piccadilly. Thelikeness had struck him like a blow the moment he had taken a goodlook at the fellow. On the other hand, there is nothing which ismore likely to lead one astray than a resemblance. He had neverforgotten the horror and humiliation of the occasion, which hadhappened in his fourteenth year, when a motherly woman atPaddington Station had called him "dearie" and publicly embracedhim, on the erroneous supposition that he was her nephew, Philip.
　　He must proceed cautiously. A brawl with an innocent waiter, comingon the heels of that infernal episode with the policeman, wouldgive people the impression that assailing the lower orders hadbecome a hobby of his.
　　"Sir?" said George politely.
　　His brazen front shook Lord Belpher's confidence.
　　"I haven't seen you before here, have I?" was all he could findto say.
　　"No, sir," replied George smoothly. "I am only temporarily attachedto the castle staff.""Where do you come from?""America, sir."Lord Belpher started. "America!""Yes, sir. I am in England on a vacation. My cousin, Albert, ispage boy at the castle, and he told me there were a few vacanciesfor extra help tonight, so I applied and was given the job."Lord Belpher frowned perplexedly. It all sounded entirelyplausible. And, what was satisfactory, the statement could bechecked by application to Keggs, the butler. And yet there was alingering doubt. However, there seemed nothing to be gained bycontinuing the conversation.
　　"I see," he said at last. "Well, bring that champagne to thelibrary as quick as you can.""Very good, sir."Lord Belpher remained where he stood, brooding. Reason told him heought to be satisfied, but he was not satisfied. It would have beendifferent had he not known that this fellow with whom Maud hadbecome entangled was in the neighbourhood. And if that scoundrelhad had the audacity to come and take a cottage at the castlegates, why not the audacity to invade the castle itself?
　　The appearance of one of the footmen, on his way through the hallwith a tray, gave him the opportunity for further investigation.
　　"Send Keggs to me!""Very good, your lordship."An interval and the butler arrived. Unlike Lord Belpher late hourswere no hardship to Keggs. He was essentially a night-bloomingflower. His brow was as free from wrinkles as his shirt-front. Hebore himself with the conscious dignity of one who, while he wouldhave freely admitted he did not actually own the castle, wasnevertheless aware that he was one of its most conspicuousornaments.
　　"You wished to see me, your lordship?""Yes. Keggs, there are a number of outside men helping heretonight, aren't there?""Indubitably, your lordship. The unprecedented scale of theentertainment necessitated the engagement of a certain number ofsupernumeraries," replied Keggs with an easy fluency which ReggieByng, now cooling his head on the lower terrace, would havebitterly envied. "In the circumstances, such an arrangement wasinevitable.""You engaged all these men yourself?""In a manner of speaking, your lordship, and for all practicalpurposes, yes. Mrs. Digby, the 'ouse-keeper conducted the actualnegotiations in many cases, but the arrangement was in no instanceconsidered complete until I had passed each applicant.""Do you know anything of an American who says he is the cousin ofthe page-boy?""The boy Albert did introduce a nominee whom he stated to be 'iscousin 'ome from New York on a visit and anxious to oblige. I trusthe 'as given no dissatisfaction, your lordship? He seemed arespectable young man.""No, no, not at all. I merely wished to know if you knew him. Onecan't be too careful.""No, indeed, your lordship.""That's all, then.""Thank you, your lordship."Lord Belpher was satisfied. He was also relieved. He felt thatprudence and a steady head had kept him from making himselfridiculous. When George presently returned with the life-savingfluid, he thanked him and turned his thoughts to other things.
　　But, if the young master was satisfied, Keggs was not. Upon Keggs abright light had shone. There were few men, he flattered himself,who could more readily put two and two together and bring the sumto a correct answer. Keggs knew of the strange American gentlemanwho had taken up his abode at the cottage down by Platt's farm. Hislooks, his habits, and his motives for coming there had formed foodfor discussion throughout one meal in the servant's hall; astranger whose abstention from brush and palette showed him to beno artist being an object of interest. And while the solution putforward by a romantic lady's-maid, a great reader of novelettes,that the young man had come there to cure himself of some unhappypassion by communing with nature, had been scoffed at by thecompany, Keggs had not been so sure that there might not besomething in it. Later events had deepened his suspicion, whichnow, after this interview with Lord Belpher, had become certainty.
　　The extreme fishiness of Albert's sudden production of a cousinfrom America was so manifest that only his preoccupation at themoment when he met the young man could have prevented him seeing itbefore. His knowledge of Albert told him that, if one so versed asthat youth in the art of Swank had really possessed a cousin inAmerica, he would long ago have been boring the servants' hall withfictions about the man's wealth and importance. For Albert not tolie about a thing, practically proved that thing non-existent. Suchwas the simple creed of Keggs.
　　He accosted a passing fellow-servitor.
　　"Seen young blighted Albert anywhere, Freddy?"It was in this shameful manner that that mastermind was habituallyreferred to below stairs.
　　"Seen 'im going into the scullery not 'arf a minute ago," repliedFreddy.
　　"Thanks.""So long," said Freddy.
　　"Be good!" returned Keggs, whose mode of speech among those of hisown world differed substantially from that which he considered itbecame him to employ when conversing with the titled.
　　The fall of great men is but too often due to the failure of theirmiserable bodies to give the necessary support to their greatbrains. There are some, for example, who say that Napoleon wouldhave won the battle of Waterloo if he had not had dyspepsia. Nototherwise was it with Albert on that present occasion. The arrivalof Keggs found him at a disadvantage. He had been imprudent enough,on leaving George, to endeavour to smoke a cigar, purloined fromthe box which stood hospitably open on a table in the hall. But forthis, who knows with what cunning counter-attacks he might havefoiled the butler's onslaught? As it was, the battle was awalk-over for the enemy.
　　"I've been looking for you, young blighted Albert!" said Keggscoldly.
　　Albert turned a green but defiant face to the foe.
　　"Go and boil yer 'ead!" he advised.
　　"Never mind about my 'ead. If I was to do my duty to you, I'd giveyou a clip side of your 'ead, that's what I'd do.""And then bury it in the woods," added Albert, wincing as theconsequences of his rash act swept through his small form like somenauseous tidal wave. He shut his eyes. It upset him to see Keggsshimmering like that. A shimmering butler is an awful sight.
　　Keggs laughed a hard laugh. "You and your cousins from America!""What about my cousins from America?""Yes, what about them? That's just what Lord Belpher and me havebeen asking ourselves.""I don't know wot you're talking about.""You soon will, young blighted Albert! Who sneaked that Americanfellow into the 'ouse to meet Lady Maud?""I never!""Think I didn't see through your little game? Why, I knew from thefirst.""Yes, you did! Then why did you let him into the place?"Keggs snorted triumphantly. "There! You admit it! It was thatfeller!"Too late Albert saw his false move--a move which in a normal stateof health, he would have scorned to make. Just as Napoleon, minus astomach-ache, would have scorned the blunder that sent hisCuirassiers plunging to destruction in the sunken road.
　　"I don't know what you're torkin' about," he said weakly.
　　"Well," said Keggs, "I haven't time to stand 'ere chatting withyou. I must be going back to 'is lordship, to tell 'im of the'orrid trick you played on him."A second spasm shook Albert to the core of his being. The doubleassault was too much for him. Betrayed by the body, the spirityielded.
　　"You wouldn't do that, Mr. Keggs!"There was a white flag in every syllable.
　　"I would if I did my duty.""But you don't care about that," urged Albert ingratiatingly.
　　"I'll have to think it over," mused Keggs. "I don't want to be 'andon a young boy." He struggled silently with himself. "Ruinin' 'isprospecks!"An inspiration seemed to come to him.
　　"All right, young blighted Albert," he said briskly. "I'll goagainst my better nature this once and chance it. And now,young feller me lad, you just 'and over that ticket of yours! Youknow what I'm alloodin' to! That ticket you 'ad at the sweep,the one with 'Mr. X' on it."Albert's indomitable spirit triumphed for a moment over hisstricken body.
　　"That's likely, ain't it!"Keggs sighed--the sigh of a good man who has done his best to helpa fellow-being and has been baffled by the other's perversity.
　　"Just as you please," he said sorrowfully. "But I did 'ope Ishouldn't 'ave to go to 'is lordship and tell 'im 'ow you'vedeceived him."Albert capitulated. "'Ere yer are!" A piece of paper changed hands.
　　"It's men like you wot lead to 'arf the crime in the country!""Much obliged, me lad.""You'd walk a mile in the snow, you would," continued Albertpursuing his train of thought, "to rob a starving beggar of aha'penny.""Who's robbing anyone? Don't you talk so quick, young man. I'mdoing the right thing by you. You can 'ave my ticket, marked'Reggie Byng'. It's a fair exchange, and no one the worse!""Fat lot of good that is!""That's as it may be. Anyhow, there it is." Keggs prepared towithdraw. "You're too young to 'ave all that money, Albert. Youwouldn't know what to do with it. It wouldn't make you 'appy.
　　There's other things in the world besides winning sweepstakes. And,properly speaking, you ought never to have been allowed to draw atall, being so young."Albert groaned hollowly. "When you've finished torkin', I wishyou'd kindly have the goodness to leave me alone. I'm not meself.""That," said Keggs cordially, "is a bit of luck for you, my boy.
　　Accept my 'eartiest felicitations!"Defeat is the test of the great man. Your true general is not hewho rides to triumph on the tide of an easy victory, but the onewho, when crushed to earth, can bend himself to the task ofplanning methods of rising again. Such a one was Albert, thepage-boy. Observe Albert in his attic bedroom scarcely more than anhour later. His body has practically ceased to trouble him, and hissoaring spirit has come into its own again. With the exception ofa now very occasional spasm, his physical anguish has passed, andhe is thinking, thinking hard. On the chest of drawers is a grubbyenvelope, addressed in an ill-formed hand to:
　　R. Byng, Esq.
　　On a sheet of paper, soon to be placed in the envelope, are writtenin the same hand these words:
　　"Do not dispare! Remember! Fante hart never wonfair lady. I shall watch your futur progres withconsidurable interest.
　　Your Well-Wisher."The last sentence is not original. Albert's Sunday-school teachersaid it to Albert on the occasion of his taking up his duties atthe castle, and it stuck in his memory. Fortunately, for itexpressed exactly what Albert wished to say. From now on ReggieByng's progress with Lady Maud Marsh was to be the thing nearest toAlbert's heart.
　　And George meanwhile? Little knowing how Fate has changed in aflash an ally into an opponent he is standing at the edge of theshrubbery near the castle gate. The night is very beautiful; thebarked spots on his hands and knees are hurting much less now; andhe is full of long, sweet thoughts. He has just discovered theextraordinary resemblance, which had not struck him as he wasclimbing up the knotted sheet, between his own position and that ofthe hero of Tennyson's Maud, a poem to which he has always beenparticularly addicted--and never more so than during the days sincehe learned the name of the only possible girl. When he has not beenplaying golf, Tennyson's Maud has been his constant companion.
　　"Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girlsCome hither, the dances are done,In glass of satin and glimmer of pearls.
　　Queen lily and rose in one;Shine out, little head, sunning over with curlsTo the flowers, and be their sun."The music from the ballroom flows out to him through the motionlessair. The smell of sweet earth and growing things is everywhere.
　　"Come into the garden, Maud,For the black bat, night, hath flown,Come into the garden, Maud,I am here at the gate alone;And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad,And the musk of the rose is blown."He draws a deep breath, misled young man. The night is verybeautiful. It is near to the dawn now and in the bushes live thingsare beginning to stir and whisper.
　　"Maud!"Surely she can hear him?
　　"Maud!"The silver stars looked down dispassionately. This sort of thinghad no novelty for them.
Chapter 15
    Lord Belpher's twenty-first birthday dawned brightly, heralded inby much twittering of sparrows in the ivy outside his bedroom. ThesePercy did not hear, for he was sound asleep and had had a latenight. The first sound that was able to penetrate his heavy slumberand rouse him to a realization that his birthday had arrived wasthe piercing cry of Reggie Byng on his way to the bath-room acrossthe corridor. It was Reggie's disturbing custom to urge himself onto a cold bath with encouraging yells; and the noise of thisperformance, followed by violent splashing and a series of sharphowls as the sponge played upon the Byng spine, made sleep animpossibility within a radius of many yards. Percy sat up in bed,and cursed Reggie silently. He discovered that he had a headache.
　　Presently the door flew open, and the vocalist entered in person,clad in a pink bathrobe and very tousled and rosy from the tub.
　　"Many happy returns of the day, Boots, old thing!"Reggie burst rollickingly into song.
　　"I'm twenty-one today!
　　Twenty-one today!
　　I've got the key of the door!
　　Never been twenty-one before!
　　And father says I can do what I like!
　　So shout Hip-hip-hooray!
　　I'm a jolly good fellow,Twenty-one today."Lord Belpher scowled morosely.
　　"I wish you wouldn't make that infernal noise!""What infernal noise?""That singing!""My God! This man has wounded me!" said Reggie.
　　"I've a headache.""I thought you would have, laddie, when I saw you getting away withthe liquid last night. An X-ray photograph of your liver would showsomething that looked like a crumpled oak-leaf studded withhob-nails. You ought to take more exercise, dear heart. Except forsloshing that policeman, you haven't done anything athletic foryears.""I wish you wouldn't harp on that affair!"Reggie sat down on the bed.
　　"Between ourselves, old man," he said confidentially, "I also--Imyself--Reginald Byng, in person--was perhaps a shade pollutedduring the evening. I give you my honest word that just afterdinner I saw three versions of your uncle, the bishop, standing ina row side by side. I tell you, laddie, that for a moment I thoughtI had strayed into a Bishop's Beano at Exeter Hall or the Athenaeumor wherever it is those chappies collect in gangs. Then the threebishops sort of congealed into one bishop, a trifle blurred aboutthe outlines, and I felt relieved. But what convinced me that Ihad emptied a flagon or so too many was a rather rummy thing thatoccurred later on. Have you ever happened, during one of thesefeasts of reason and flows of soul, when you were bubbling overwith joie-de-vivre--have you ever happened to see things? What Imean to say is, I had a deuced odd experience last night. I couldhave sworn that one of the waiter-chappies was that fellow whoknocked off your hat in Piccadilly."Lord Belpher, who had sunk back on to the pillows at Reggie'sentrance and had been listening to his talk with only intermittentattention, shot up in bed.
　　"What!""Absolutely! My mistake, of course, but there it was. The fellowmight have been his double.""But you've never seen the man.""Oh yes, I have. I forgot to tell you. I met him on the linksyesterday. I'd gone out there alone, rather expecting to have around with the pro., but, finding this lad there, I suggested thatwe might go round together. We did eighteen holes, and he lickedthe boots off me. Very hot stuff he was. And after the game he tookme off to his cottage and gave me a drink. He lives at the cottagenext door to Platt's farm, so, you see, it was the identicalchappie. We got extremely matey. Like brothers. Absolutely! So youcan understand what a shock it gave me when I found what I took tobe the same man serving bracers to the multitude the same evening.
　　One of those nasty jars that cause a fellow's head to swim a bit,don't you know, and make him lose confidence in himself."Lord Belpher did not reply. His brain was whirling. So he had beenright after all!
　　"You know," pursued Reggie seriously, "I think you are making thebloomer of a lifetime over this hat-swatting chappie. You'vemisjudged him. He's a first-rate sort. Take it from me! Nobody couldhave got out of the bunker at the fifteenth hole better than he did.
　　If you'll take my advice, you'll conciliate the feller. A reallyfirst-class golfer is what you need in the family. Besides, evenleaving out of the question the fact that he can do things with aniblick that I didn't think anybody except the pro. could do, he's acorking good sort. A stout fellow in every respect. I took to thechappie. He's all right. Grab him, Boots, before he gets away.
　　That's my tip to you. You'll never regret it! From first to lastthis lad didn't foozle a single drive, and his approach-putting hasto be seen to be believed. Well, got to dress, I suppose. Mustn'twaste life's springtime sitting here talking to you. Toodle-oo,laddie! We shall meet anon!"Lord Belpher leaped from his bed. He was feeling worse than evernow, and a glance into the mirror told him that he looked ratherworse than he felt. Late nights and insufficient sleep, added tothe need of a shave, always made him look like something thatshould have been swept up and taken away to the ash-bin. And as forhis physical condition, talking to Reggie Byng never tended to makeyou feel better when you had a headache. Reggie's manner was notsoothing, and on this particular morning his choice of a topic hadbeen unusually irritating. Lord Belpher told himself that he couldnot understand Reggie. He had never been able to make his mindquite clear as to the exact relations between the latter and hissister Maud, but he had always been under the impression that, ifthey were not actually engaged, they were on the verge of becomingso; and it was maddening to have to listen to Reggie advocating theclaims of a rival as if he had no personal interest in the affairat all. Percy felt for his complaisant friend something of theannoyance which a householder feels for the watchdog whom he findsfraternizing with the burglar. Why, Reggie, more than anyone else,ought to be foaming with rage at the insolence of this Americanfellow in coming down to Belpher and planting himself at the castlegates. Instead of which, on his own showing, he appeared to haveadopted an attitude towards him which would have excited remarkif adopted by David towards Jonathan. He seemed to spend all hisspare time frolicking with the man on the golf-links and hobnobbingwith him in his house.
　　Lord Belpber was thoroughly upset. It was impossible to prove it orto do anything about it now, but he was convinced that the fellowhad wormed his way into the castle in the guise of a waiter. He hadprobably met Maud and plotted further meetings with her. This thingwas becoming unendurable.
　　One thing was certain. The family honour was in his hands.
　　Anything that was to be done to keep Maud away from the intrudermust be done by himself. Reggie was hopeless: he was capable, asfar as Percy could see, of escorting Maud to the fellow's door inhis own car and leaving her on the threshold with his blessing. Asfor Lord Marshmoreton, roses and the family history took up so muchof his time that he could not be counted on for anything but moralsupport. He, Percy, must do the active work.
　　He had just come to this decision, when, approaching the window andgazing down into the grounds, he perceived his sister Maud walkingrapidly--and, so it seemed to him, with a furtive air--down theeast drive. And it was to the east that Platt's farm and thecottage next door to it lay.
　　At the moment of this discovery, Percy was in a costume ill adaptedfor the taking of country walks. Reggie's remarks about his liverhad struck home, and it had been his intention, by way of acorrective to his headache and a general feeling of swollenill-health, to do a little work before his bath with a pair ofIndian clubs. He had arrayed himself for this purpose in an oldsweater, a pair of grey flannel trousers, and patent leatherevening shoes. It was not the garb he would have chosen himselffor a ramble, but time was flying: even to put on a pair of bootsis a matter of minutes: and in another moment or two Maud would beout of sight. Percy ran downstairs, snatched up a softshooting-hat, which proved, too late, to belong to a person with ahead two sizes smaller than his own; and raced out into thegrounds. He was just in time to see Maud disappearing round thecorner of the drive.
　　Lord Belpher had never belonged to that virile class of thecommunity which considers running a pleasure and a pastime. AtOxford, on those occasions when the members of his college hadturned out on raw afternoons to trot along the river-bankencouraging the college eight with yelling and the swinging ofpolice-rattles, Percy had always stayed prudently in his rooms withtea and buttered toast, thereby avoiding who knows what colds andcoughs. When he ran, he ran reluctantly and with a definite objectin view, such as the catching of a train. He was consequently notin the best of condition, and the sharp sprint which was imperativeat this juncture if he was to keep his sister in view left himspent and panting. But he had the reward of reaching the gates ofthe drive not many seconds after Maud, and of seeing herwalking--more slowly now--down the road that led to Platt's. Thisconfirmation of his suspicions enabled him momentarily to forgetthe blister which was forming on the heel of his left foot. He setout after her at a good pace.
　　The road, after the habit of country roads, wound and twisted. Thequarry was frequently out of sight. And Percy's anxiety was suchthat, every time Maud vanished, he broke into a gallop. Anotherhundred yards, and the blister no longer consented to be ignored.
　　It cried for attention like a little child, and was rapidlyinsinuating itself into a position in the scheme of things where itthreatened to become the centre of the world. By the time the thirdbend in the road was reached, it seemed to Percy that this blisterhad become the one great Fact in an unreal nightmare-like universe.
　　He hobbled painfully: and when he stopped suddenly and darted backinto the shelter of the hedge his foot seemed aflame. The onlyreason why the blister on his left heel did not at this junctureattract his entire attention was that he had become aware thatthere was another of equal proportions forming on his right heel.
　　Percy had stopped and sought cover in the hedge because, as herounded the bend in the road, he perceived, before he had time tocheck his gallop, that Maud had also stopped. She was standing inthe middle of the road, looking over her shoulder, not ten yardsaway. Had she seen him? It was a point that time alone could solve.
　　No! She walked on again. She had not seen him. Lord Belpher, bymeans of a notable triumph of mind over matter, forgot the blistersand hurried after her.
　　They had now reached that point in the road where three choicesoffer themselves to the wayfarer. By going straight on he may winthrough to the village of Moresby-in-the-Vale, a charming littleplace with a Norman church; by turning to the left he may visit theequally seductive hamlet of Little Weeting; by turning to the rightoff the main road and going down a leafy lane he may find himselfat the door of Platt's farm. When Maud, reaching the cross-roads,suddenly swung down the one to the left, Lord Belpher was for themoment completely baffled. Reason reasserted its way the nextminute, telling him that this was but a ruse. Whether or no she hadcaught sight of him, there was no doubt that Maud intended to shakeoff any possible pursuit by taking this speciously innocent turningand making a detour. She could have no possible motive in going toLittle Weeting. He had never been to Little Weeting in his life,and there was no reason to suppose that Maud had either.
　　The sign-post informed him--a statement strenuously denied by thetwin-blisters--that the distance to Little Weeting was one and ahalf miles. Lord Belpher's view of it was that it was nearer fifty.
　　He dragged himself along wearily. It was simpler now to keep Maudin sight, for the road ran straight: but, there being a catch ineverything in this world, the process was also messier. In orderto avoid being seen, it was necessary for Percy to leave the roadand tramp along in the deep ditch which ran parallel to it. Thereis nothing half-hearted about these ditches which accompany Englishcountry roads. They know they are intended to be ditches, not merefurrows, and they behave as such. The one that sheltered LordBelpher was so deep that only his head and neck protruded above thelevel of the road, and so dirty that a bare twenty yards of travelwas sufficient to coat him with mud. Rain, once fallen, isreluctant to leave the English ditch. It nestles inside it forweeks, forming a rich, oatmeal-like substance which has to bestirred to be believed. Percy stirred it. He churned it. Heploughed and sloshed through it. The mud stuck to him like abrother.
　　Nevertheless, being a determined young man, he did not give in.
　　Once he lost a shoe, but a little searching recovered that. Onanother occasion, a passing dog, seeing things going on in theditch which in his opinion should not have been going on--he was ahigh-strung dog, unused to coming upon heads moving along the roadwithout bodies attached--accompanied Percy for over a quarter of amile, causing him exquisite discomfort by making sudden runs at hisface. A well-aimed stone settled this little misunderstanding, andPercy proceeded on his journey alone. He had Maud well in viewwhen, to his surprise, she left the road and turned into the gate ofa house which stood not far from the church.
　　Lord Belpher regained the road, and remained there, a puzzled man.
　　A dreadful thought came to him that he might have had all thistrouble and anguish for no reason. This house bore the unmistakablestamp of a vicarage. Maud could have no reason that was notinnocent for going there. Had he gone through all this, merely tosee his sister paying a visit to a clergyman? Too late it occurredto him that she might quite easily be on visiting terms with theclergy of Little Weeting. He had forgotten that he had been away atOxford for many weeks, a period of time in which Maud, finding lifein the country weigh upon her, might easily have interested herselfcharitably in the life of this village. He paused irresolutely. Hewas baffled.
　　Maud, meanwhile, had rung the bell. Ever since, looking over hershoulder, she had perceived her brother Percy dodging about in thebackground, her active young mind had been busying itself withschemes for throwing him off the trail. She must see George thatmorning. She could not wait another day before establishingcommunication between herself and Geoffrey. But it was not till shereached Little Weeting that there occurred to her any plan thatpromised success.
　　A trim maid opened the door.
　　"Is the vicar in?""No, miss. He went out half an hour back."Maud was as baffled for the moment as her brother Percy, nowleaning against the vicarage wall in a state of advancedexhaustion.
　　"Oh, dear!" she said.
　　The maid was sympathetic.
　　"Mr. Ferguson, the curate, miss, he's here, if he would do."Maud brightened.
　　"He would do splendidly. Will you ask him if I can see him for amoment?""Very well, miss. What name, please?""He won't know my name. Will you please tell him that a lady wishesto see him?""Yes, miss. Won't you step in?"The front door closed behind Maud. She followed the maid into thedrawing-room. Presently a young small curate entered. He had awilling, benevolent face. He looked alert and helpful.
　　"You wished to see me?""I am so sorry to trouble you," said Maud, rocking the young man inhis tracks with a smile of dazzling brilliancy--("No trouble, Iassure you," said the curate dizzily)--"but there is a man followingme!"The curate clicked his tongue indignantly.
　　"A rough sort of a tramp kind of man. He has been following me formiles, and I'm frightened.""Brute!""I think he's outside now. I can't think what he wants. Wouldyou--would you mind being kind enough to go and send him away?"The eyes that had settled George's fate for all eternity flashedupon the curate, who blinked. He squared his shoulders and drewhimself up. He was perfectly willing to die for her.
　　"If you will wait here," he said, "I will go and send him about hisbusiness. It is disgraceful that the public highways should berendered unsafe in this manner.""Thank you ever so much," said Maud gratefully. "I can't helpthinking the poor fellow may be a little crazy. It seems so odd ofhim to follow me all that way. Walking in the ditch too!""Walking in the ditch!""Yes. He walked most of the way in the ditch at the side of theroad. He seemed to prefer it. I can't think why."Lord Belpher, leaning against the wall and trying to decide whetherhis right or left foot hurt him the more excruciatingly, becameaware that a curate was standing before him, regarding him througha pair of gold-rimmed pince-nez with a disapproving and hostileexpression. Lord Belpher returned his gaze. Neither was favourablyimpressed by the other. Percy thought he had seen nicer-lookingcurates, and the curate thought he had seen more prepossessingtramps.
　　"Come, come!" said the curate. "This won't do, my man!" A few hoursearlier Lord Belpher had been startled when addressed by George as"sir". To be called "my man" took his breath away completely.
　　The gift of seeing ourselves as others see us is, as the poetindicates, vouchsafed to few men. Lord Belpher, not being one ofthese fortunates, had not the slightest conception how intenselyrevolting his personal appearance was at that moment. Thered-rimmed eyes, the growth of stubble on the cheeks, and the thickcoating of mud which had resulted from his rambles in the ditchcombined to render him a horrifying object.
　　"How dare you follow that young lady? I've a good mind to give youin charge!"Percy was outraged.
　　"I'm her brother!" He was about to substantiate the statement bygiving his name, but stopped himself. He had had enough of lettinghis name come out on occasions like the present. When thepoliceman had arrested him in the Haymarket, his first act had beento thunder his identity at the man: and the policeman, withoutsaying in so many words that he disbelieved him, had hintedscepticism by replying that he himself was the king of Brixton.
　　"I'm her brother!" he repeated thickly.
　　The curate's disapproval deepened. In a sense, we are all brothers;but that did not prevent him from considering that this mud-stainedderelict had made an impudent and abominable mis-statement of fact.
　　Not unnaturally he came to the conclusion that he had to do with avictim of the Demon Rum.
　　"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," he said severely. "Sadpiece of human wreckage as you are, you speak like an educated man.
　　Have you no self-respect? Do you never search your heart andshudder at the horrible degradation which you have brought onyourself by sheer weakness of will?"He raise his voice. The subject of Temperance was one very near tothe curate's heart. The vicar himself had complimented him onlyyesterday on the good his sermons against the drink evil were doingin the village, and the landlord of the Three Pigeons down the roadhad on several occasions spoken bitter things about blighters whocame taking the living away from honest folks.
　　"It is easy enough to stop if you will but use a little resolution.
　　You say to yourself, 'Just one won't hurt me!' Perhaps not. Butcan you be content with just one? Ah! No, my man, there is nomiddle way for such as you. It must be all or nothing. Stop itnow--now, while you still retain some semblance of humanity. Soon itwill be too late! Kill that craving! Stifle it! Strangle it! Makeup your mind now--now, that not another drop of the accursed stuffshall pass your lips... ."The curate paused. He perceived that enthusiasm was leading himaway from the main issue. "A little perseverance," he concludedrapidly, "and you will soon find that cocoa gives you exactly thesame pleasure. And now will you please be getting along. You havefrightened the young lady, and she cannot continue her walk unlessI assure her that you have gone away."Fatigue, pain and the annoyance of having to listen to this man'swell-meant but ill-judged utterances had combined to induce inPercy a condition bordering on hysteria. He stamped his foot, anduttered a howl as the blister warned him with a sharp twinge thatthis sort of behaviour could not be permitted.
　　"Stop talking!" he bellowed. "Stop talking like an idiot! I'm goingto stay here till that girl comes out, if have to wait all day!"The curate regarded Percy thoughtfully. Percy was no Hercules: butthen, neither was the curate. And in any case, though no Hercules,Percy was undeniably an ugly-looking brute. Strategy, rather thanforce, seemed to the curate to be indicated. He paused a while, asone who weighs pros and cons, then spoke briskly, with the air ofthe man who has decided to yield a point with a good grace.
　　"Dear, dear!" he said. "That won't do! You say you are this younglady's brother?""Yes, I do!""Then perhaps you had better come with me into the house and wewill speak to her.""All right.""Follow me."Percy followed him. Down the trim gravel walk they passed, and upthe neat stone steps. Maud, peeping through the curtains, thoughtherself the victim of a monstrous betrayal or equally monstrousblunder. But she did not know the Rev. Cyril Ferguson. No general,adroitly leading the enemy on by strategic retreat, ever had asituation more thoroughly in hand. Passing with his companionthrough the open door, he crossed the hall to another door,discreetly closed.
　　"Wait in here," he said. Lord Belpher moved unsuspectingly forward.
　　A hand pressed sharply against the small of his back. Behind him adoor slammed and a key clicked. He was trapped. Groping inEgyptian darkness, his hands met a coat, then a hat, then anumbrella. Then he stumbled over a golf-club and fell against awall. It was too dark to see anything, but his sense of touch toldhim all he needed to know. He had been added to the vicar'scollection of odds and ends in the closet reserved for thatpurpose.
　　He groped his way to the door and kicked it. He did not repeat theperformance. His feet were in no shape for kicking things.
　　Percy's gallant soul abandoned the struggle. With a feeble oath, hesat down on a box containing croquet implements, and gave himselfup to thought.
　　"You'll be quite safe now," the curate was saying in the adjoiningroom, not without a touch of complacent self-approval such asbecomes the victor in a battle of wits. "I have locked him in thecupboard. He will be quite happy there." An incorrect statementthis. "You may now continue your walk in perfect safety.""Thank you ever so much," said Maud. "But I do hope he won't beviolent when you let him out.""I shall not let him out," replied the curate, who, though brave,was not rash. "I shall depute the task to a worthy fellow namedWillis, in whom I shall have every confidence. He--he is, in fact,our local blacksmith!"And so it came about that when, after a vigil that seemed to lastfor a lifetime, Percy heard the key turn in the lock and burstforth seeking whom he might devour, he experienced an almostinstant quieting of his excited nervous system. Confronting him wasa vast man whose muscles, like those of that other and morecelebrated village blacksmith, were plainly as strong as ironbands.
　　This man eyed Percy with a chilly eye.
　　"Well," he said. "What's troublin' you?"Percy gulped. The man's mere appearance was a sedative.
　　"Er--nothing!" he replied. "Nothing!""There better hadn't be!" said the man darkly. "Mr. Ferguson giveme this to give to you. Take it!"Percy took it. It was a shilling.
　　"And this."The second gift was a small paper pamphlet. It was entitled "Now'sthe Time!" and seemed to be a story of some kind. At any rate,Percy's eyes, before they began to swim in a manner that preventedsteady reading, caught the words "Job Roberts had always been ahard-drinking man, but one day, as he was coming out of thebar-parlour . . ." He was about to hurl it from him, when he metthe other's eye and desisted. Rarely had Lord Belpher encountered aman with a more speaking eye.
　　"And now you get along," said the man. "You pop off. And I'm goingto watch you do it, too. And, if I find you sneakin' off to theThree Pigeons . . ."His pause was more eloquent than his speech and nearly as eloquentas his eye. Lord Belpher tucked the tract into his sweater,pocketed the shilling, and left the house. For nearly a mile downthe well-remembered highway he was aware of a Presence in his rear,but he continued on his way without a glance behind.
　　"Like one that on a lonely roadDoth walk in fear and dread;And, having once looked back, walks onAnd turns no more his head!
　　Because he knows a frightful fiendDoth close behind him tread!"Maud made her way across the fields to the cottage down by Platt's.
　　Her heart was as light as the breeze that ruffled the green hedges.
　　Gaily she tripped towards the cottage door. Her hand was justraised to knock, when from within came the sound of a well-knownvoice.
　　She had reached her goal, but her father had anticipated her. LordMarshmoreton had selected the same moment as herself for paying acall upon George Bevan.
　　Maud tiptoed away, and hurried back to the castle. Never before hadshe so clearly realized what a handicap an adhesive family can beto a young girl.
Chapter 16
    At the moment of Lord Marshmoreton's arrival, George was reading aletter from Billie Dore, which had come by that morning's post. Itdealt mainly with the vicissitudes experienced by Miss Dore'sfriend, Miss Sinclair, in her relations with the man Spenser Gray.
　　Spenser Gray, it seemed, had been behaving oddly. Ardent towardsMiss Sinclair almost to an embarrassing point in the early stages oftheir acquaintance, he had suddenly cooled; at a recent lunch hadbehaved with a strange aloofness; and now, at this writing, hadvanished altogether, leaving nothing behind him but an abrupt noteto the effect that he had been compelled to go abroad and that,much as it was to be regretted, he and she would probably nevermeet again.
　　"And if," wrote Miss Dore, justifiably annoyed, "after saying allthose things to the poor kid and telling her she was the only thingin sight, he thinks he can just slide off with a 'Good-bye! Goodluck! and God bless you!' he's got another guess coming. Andthat's not all. He hasn't gone abroad! I saw him in Piccadilly thisafternoon. He saw me, too, and what do you think he did? Duckeddown a side-street, if you please. He must have run like a rabbit,at that, because, when I got there, he was nowhere to be seen. Itell you, George, there's something funny about all this."Having been made once or twice before the confidant of thetempestuous romances of Billie's friends, which always seemed to gowrong somewhere in the middle and to die a natural death beforearriving at any definite point, George was not particularlyinterested, except in so far as the letter afforded rathercomforting evidence that he was not the only person in the world whowas having trouble of the kind. He skimmed through the rest of it,and had just finished when there was a sharp rap at the front door.
　　"Come in!" called George.
　　There entered a sturdy little man of middle age whom at first sightGeorge could not place. And yet he had the impression that he hadseen him before. Then he recognized him as the gardener to whom hehad given the note for Maud that day at the castle. The alterationin the man's costume was what had momentarily baffled George. Whenthey had met in the rose-garden, the other had been arrayed inuntidy gardening clothes. Now, presumably in his Sunday suit, itwas amusing to observe how almost dapper he had become. Really, youmight have passed him in the lane and taken him for someneighbouring squire.
　　George's heart raced. Your lover is ever optimistic, and he couldconceive of no errand that could have brought this man to hiscottage unless he was charged with the delivery of a note fromMaud. He spared a moment from his happiness to congratulate himselfon having picked such an admirable go-between. Here evidently, wasone of those trusty old retainers you read about, faithful,willing, discreet, ready to do anything for "the little missy"(bless her heart!). Probably he had danced Maud on his knee in herinfancy, and with a dog-like affection had watched her at herchildish sports. George beamed at the honest fellow, and felt inhis pocket to make sure that a suitable tip lay safely therein.
　　"Good morning," he said.
　　"Good morning," replied the man.
　　A purist might have said he spoke gruffly and without geniality.
　　But that is the beauty of these old retainers. They make a point ofdeliberately trying to deceive strangers as to the goldenness oftheir hearts by adopting a forbidding manner. And "Good morning!"Not "Good morning, sir!" Sturdy independence, you observe, as befitsa free man. George closed the door carefully. He glanced into thekitchen. Mrs. Platt was not there. All was well.
　　"You have brought a note from Lady Maud?"The honest fellow's rather dour expression seemed to grow a shadebleaker.
　　"If you are alluding to Lady Maud Marsh, my daughter," he repliedfrostily, "I have not!"For the past few days George had been no stranger to shocks, andhad indeed come almost to regard them as part of the normaleveryday life; but this latest one had a stumbling effect.
　　"I beg your pardon?" he said.
　　"So you ought to," replied the earl.
　　George swallowed once or twice to relieve a curious dryness of themouth.
　　"Are you Lord Marshmoreton?""I am.""Good Lord!""You seem surprised.""It's nothing!" muttered George. "At least, you--I mean to say . . .
　　It's only that there's a curious resemblance between you and oneof your gardeners at the castle. I--I daresay you have noticed ityourself.""My hobby is gardening."Light broke upon George. "Then was it really you--?""It was!"George sat down. "This opens up a new line of thought!" he said.
　　Lord Marshmoreton remained standing. He shook his head sternly.
　　"It won't do, Mr. . . . I have never heard your name.""Bevan," replied George, rather relieved at being able to rememberit in the midst of his mental turmoil.
　　"It won't do, Mr. Bevan. It must stop. I allude to this absurdentanglement between yourself and my daughter. It must stop atonce."It seemed to George that such an entanglement could hardly be saidto have begun, but he did not say so.
　　Lord Marshmoreton resumed his remarks. Lady Caroline had sent himto the cottage to be stern, and his firm resolve to be stern lenthis style of speech something of the measured solemnity and carefulphrasing of his occasional orations in the House of Lords.
　　"I have no wish to be unduly hard upon the indiscretions of Youth.
　　Youth is the period of Romance, when the heart rules the head. Imyself was once a young man.""Well, you're practically that now," said George.
　　"Eh?" cried Lord Marshmoreton, forgetting the thread of hisdiscourse in the shock of pleased surprise.
　　"You don't look a day over forty.""Oh, come, come, my boy! . . . I mean, Mr. Bevan.""You don't honestly.""I'm forty-eight.""The Prime of Life.""And you don't think I look it?""You certainly don't.""Well, well, well! By the way, have you tobacco, my boy. I camewithout my pouch.""Just at your elbow. Pretty good stuff. I bought it in the village.""The same I smoke myself.""Quite a coincidence.""Distinctly.""Match?""Thank you, I have one."George filled his own pipe. The thing was becoming a love-feast.
　　"What was I saying?" said Lord Marshmoreton, blowing a comfortablecloud. "Oh, yes." He removed his pipe from his mouth with a touch ofembarrassment. "Yes, yes, to be sure!"There was an awkward silence.
　　"You must see for yourself," said the earl, "how impossible it is."George shook his head.
　　"I may be slow at grasping a thing, but I'm bound to say I can'tsee that."Lord Marshmoreton recalled some of the things his sister had toldhim to say. "For one thing, what do we know of you? You are aperfect stranger.""Well, we're all getting acquainted pretty quick, don't you think?
　　I met your son in Piccadilly and had a long talk with him, and nowyou are paying me a neighbourly visit.""This was not intended to be a social call.""But it has become one.""And then, that is one point I wish to make, you know. Ours is anold family, I would like to remind you that there wereMarshmoretons in Belpher before the War of the Roses.""There were Bevans in Brooklyn before the B.R.T.""I beg your pardon?""I was only pointing out that I can trace my ancestry a long way.
　　You have to trace things a long way in Brooklyn, if you want tofind them.""I have never heard of Brooklyn.""You've heard of New York?""Certainly.""New York's one of the outlying suburbs."Lord Marshmoreton relit his pipe. He had a feeling that they werewandering from the point.
　　"It is quite impossible.""I can't see it.""Maud is so young.""Your daughter could be nothing else.""Too young to know her own mind," pursued Lord Marshmoreton,resolutely crushing down a flutter of pleasure. There was no doubtthat this singularly agreeable man was making things very difficultfor him. It was disarming to discover that he was really capitalcompany--the best, indeed, that the earl could remember to havediscovered in the more recent period of his rather lonely life. "Atpresent, of course, she fancies that she is very much in love withyou . . . It is absurd!""You needn't tell me that," said George. Really, it was only thefact that people seemed to go out of their way to call at hiscottage and tell him that Maud loved him that kept him from feelinghis cause perfectly hopeless. "It's incredible. It's a miracle.""You are a romantic young man, and you no doubt for the momentsuppose that you are in love with her.""No!" George was not going to allow a remark like that to passunchallenged. "You are wrong there. As far as I am concerned, thereis no question of its being momentary or supposititious or anythingof that kind. I am in love with your daughter. I was from the firstmoment I saw her. I always shall be. She is the only girl in theworld!""Stuff and nonsense!""Not at all. Absolute, cold fact.""You have known her so little time.""Long enough."Lord Marshmoreton sighed. "You are upsetting things terribly.""Things are upsetting me terribly.""You are causing a great deal of trouble and annoyance.""So did Romeo.""Eh?""I said--So did Romeo.""I don't know anything about Romeo.""As far as love is concerned, I begin where he left off.""I wish I could persuade you to be sensible.""That's just what I think I am.""I wish I could get you to see my point of view.""I do see your point of view. But dimly. You see, my own takes upsuch a lot of the foreground."There was a pause.
　　"Then I am afraid," said Lord Marshmoreton, "that we must leavematters as they stand.""Until they can be altered for the better.""We will say no more about it now.""Very well.""But I must ask you to understand clearly that I shall have to doeverything in my power to stop what I look on as an unfortunateentanglement.""I understand,""Very well."Lord Marshmoreton coughed. George looked at him with some surprise.
　　He had supposed the interview to be at an end, but the other madeno move to go. There seemed to be something on the earl's mind.
　　"There is--ah--just one other thing," said Lord Marshmoreton. Hecoughed again. He felt embarrassed. "Just--just one other thing,"he repeated.
　　The reason for Lord Marshmoreton's visit to George had beentwofold. In the first place, Lady Caroline had told him to go.
　　That would have been reason enough. But what made the visitimperative was an unfortunate accident of which he had only thatmorning been made aware.
　　It will be remembered that Billie Dore had told George that thegardener with whom she had become so friendly had taken her nameand address with a view later on to send her some of his roses. Thescrap of paper on which this information had been written was nowlost. Lord Marshmoreton had been hunting for it since breakfastwithout avail.
　　Billie Dore had made a decided impression upon Lord Marshmoreton.
　　She belonged to a type which he had never before encountered, andit was one which he had found more than agreeable. Her knowledge ofroses and the proper feeling which she manifested towardsrose-growing as a life-work consolidated the earl's liking for her.
　　Never, in his memory, had he come across so sensible and charming agirl; and he had looked forward with a singular intensity tomeeting her again. And now some too zealous housemaid, tidying upafter the irritating manner of her species, had destroyed the onlyclue to her identity.
　　It was not for some time after this discovery that hope dawnedagain for Lord Marshmoreton. Only after he had given up the searchfor the missing paper as fruitless did he recall that it was inGeorge's company that Billie had first come into his life. Betweenher, then, and himself George was the only link.
　　It was primarily for the purpose of getting Billie's name andaddress from George that he had come to the cottage. And now thatthe moment had arrived for touching upon the subject, he felt alittle embarrassed.
　　"When you visited the castle," he said, "when you visited thecastle . . .""Last Thursday," said George helpfully.
　　"Exactly. When you visited the castle last Thursday, there was ayoung lady with you."Not realizing that the subject had been changed, George was underthe impression that the other had shifted his front and was aboutto attack him from another angle. He countered what seemed to himan insinuation stoutly.
　　"We merely happened to meet at the castle. She came there quiteindependently of me."Lord Marshmoreton looked alarmed. "You didn't know her?" he saidanxiously.
　　"Certainly I knew her. She is an old friend of mine. But if you arehinting . . .""Not at all," rejoined the earl, profoundly relieved. "Not at all.
　　I ask merely because this young lady, with whom I had someconversation, was good enough to give me her name and address. She,too, happened to mistake me for a gardener.""It's those corduroy trousers," murmured George in extenuation.
　　"I have unfortunately lost them.""You can always get another pair.""Eh?""I say you can always get another pair of corduroy trousers.""I have not lost my trousers. I have lost the young lady's name andaddress.""Oh!""I promised to send her some roses. She will be expecting them.""That's odd. I was just reading a letter from her when you came in.
　　That must be what she's referring to when she says, 'If you seedadda, the old dear, tell him not to forget my roses.' I read itthree times and couldn't make any sense out of it. Are you Dadda?"The earl smirked. "She did address me in the course of ourconversation as dadda.""Then the message is for you.""A very quaint and charming girl. What is her name? And where can Ifind her?""Her name's Billie Dore.""Billie?""Billie.""Billie!" said Lord Marshmoreton softly. "I had better write itdown. And her address?""I don't know her private address. But you could always reach herat the Regal Theatre.""Ah! She is on the stage?""Yes. She's in my piece, 'Follow the Girl'.""Indeed! Are you a playwright, Mr. Bevan?""Good Lord, no!" said George, shocked. "I'm a composer.""Very interesting. And you met Miss Dore through her being in thisplay of yours?""Oh, no. I knew her before she went on the stage. She was astenographer in a music-publisher's office when we first met.""Good gracious! Was she really a stenographer?""Yes. Why?""Oh--ah--nothing, nothing. Something just happened to come to mymind."What happened to come into Lord Marshmoreton's mind was a fleetingvision of Billie installed in Miss Alice Faraday's place as hissecretary. With such a helper it would be a pleasure to work onthat infernal Family History which was now such a bitter toil. Butthe day-dream passed. He knew perfectly well that he had not thecourage to dismiss Alice. In the hands of that calm-eyed girl hewas as putty. She exercised over him the hypnotic spell alion-tamer exercises over his little playmates.
　　"We have been pals for years," said George "Billie is one of thebest fellows in the world.""A charming girl.""She would give her last nickel to anyone that asked for it.""Delightful!""And as straight as a string. No one ever said a word againstBillie.""No?""She may go out to lunch and supper and all that kind of thing, butthere's nothing to that.""Nothing!" agreed the earl warmly. "Girls must eat!""They do. You ought to see them.""A little harmless relaxation after the fatigue of the day!""Exactly. Nothing more."Lord Marshmoreton felt more drawn than ever to this sensible youngman--sensible, at least, on all points but one. It was a pity theycould not see eye to eye on what was and what was not suitable inthe matter of the love-affairs of the aristocracy.
　　"So you are a composer, Mr. Bevan?" he said affably.
　　"Yes."Lord Marshmoreton gave a little sigh. "It's a long time since Iwent to see a musical performance. More than twenty years. When Iwas up at Oxford, and for some years afterwards, I was a greattheatre-goer. Never used to miss a first night at the Gaiety. Thosewere the days of Nellie Farren and Kate Vaughan. Florence St.
　　John, too. How excellent she was in Faust Up To Date! But we missedNellie Farren. Meyer Lutz was the Gaiety composer then. But a gooddeal of water has flowed under the bridge since those days. I don'tsuppose you have ever heard of Meyer Lutz?""I don't think I have.""Johnnie Toole was playing a piece called Partners. Not a goodplay. And the Yeoman of the Guard had just been produced at theSavoy. That makes it seem a long time ago, doesn't it? Well, Imustn't take up all your time. Good-bye, Mr. Bevan. I am glad tohave had the opportunity of this little talk. The Regal Theatre, Ithink you said, is where your piece is playing? I shall probably begoing to London shortly. I hope to see it." Lord Marshmoreton rose.
　　"As regards the other matter, there is no hope of inducing you tosee the matter in the right light?""We seem to disagree as to which is the right light.""Then there is nothing more to be said. I will be perfectly frankwith you, Mr. Bevan. I like you . . .""The feeling is quite mutual.""But I don't want you as a son-in-law. And, dammit," exploded LordMarshmoreton, "I won't have you as a son-in-law! Good God! do youthink that you can harry and assault my son Percy in the heart ofPiccadilly and generally make yourself a damned nuisance and thensettle down here without an invitation at my very gates and expectto be welcomed into the bosom of the family? If I were a youngman . . .""I thought we had agreed that you were a young man.""Don't interrupt me!""I only said . . .""I heard what you said. Flattery!""Nothing of the kind. Truth."Lord Marshmoreton melted. He smiled. "Young idiot!""We agree there all right."Lord Marshmoreton hesitated. Then with a rush he unbosomed himself,and made his own position on the matter clear.
　　"I know what you'll be saying to yourself the moment my back isturned. You'll be calling me a stage heavy father and an old snoband a number of other things. Don't interrupt me, dammit! You will,I tell you! And you'll be wrong. I don't think the Marshmoretonsare fenced off from the rest of the world by some sort of divinity.
　　My sister does. Percy does. But Percy's an ass! If ever you findyourself thinking differently from my son Percy, on any subject,congratulate yourself. You'll be right.""But . . .""I know what you're going to say. Let me finish. If I were the onlyperson concerned, I wouldn't stand in Maud's way, whoever shewanted to marry, provided he was a good fellow and likely to makeher happy. But I'm not. There's my sister Caroline. There's a wholecrowd of silly, cackling fools--my sisters--my sons-in-law--all thewhole pack of them! If I didn't oppose Maud in this damnedinfatuation she's got for you--if I stood by and let her marryyou--what do you think would happen to me?--I'd never have a moment'speace! The whole gabbling pack of them would be at me, saying I wasto blame. There would be arguments, discussions, family councils!
　　I hate arguments! I loathe discussions! Family councils make mesick! I'm a peaceable man, and I like a quiet life! And, damme,I'm going to have it. So there's the thing for you in letters ofone syllable. I don't object to you personally, but I'm not goingto have you bothering me like this. I'll admit freely that, since Ihave made your acquaintance, I have altered the unfavourableopinion I had formed of you from--from hearsay. . .""Exactly the same with me," said George. "You ought never tobelieve what people tell you. Everyone told me your middle name wasNero, and that. . .""Don't interrupt me!""I wasn't. I was just pointing out . . .""Be quiet! I say I have changed my opinion of you to a greatextent. I mention this unofficially, as a matter that has nobearing on the main issue; for, as regards any idea you may have ofinducing me to agree to your marrying my daughter, let me tell youthat I am unalterably opposed to any such thing!""Don't say that.""What the devil do you mean--don't say that! I do say that! It isout of the question. Do you understand? Very well, then. Goodmorning."The door closed. Lord Marshmoreton walked away feeling that he hadbeen commendably stern. George filled his pipe and sat smokingthoughtfully. He wondered what Maud was doing at that moment.
　　Maud at that moment was greeting her brother with a bright smile,as he limped downstairs after a belated shave and change ofcostume.
　　"Oh, Percy, dear," she was saying, "I had quite an adventurethis morning. An awful tramp followed me for miles! Such ahorrible-looking brute. I was so frightened that I had to aska curate in the next village to drive him away. I did wish Ihad had you there to protect me. Why don't you come out withme sometimes when I take a country walk? It really isn't safefor me to be alone!"
Chapter 17
    The gift of hiding private emotion and keeping up appearancesbefore strangers is not, as many suppose, entirely a product of ourmodern civilization. Centuries before we were born or thought ofthere was a widely press-agented boy in Sparta who even went so faras to let a fox gnaw his tender young stomach without permittingthe discomfort inseparable from such a proceeding to interfere witheither his facial expression or his flow of small talk. Historianshave handed it down that, even in the later stages of the meal, thepolite lad continued to be the life and soul of the party. But,while this feat may be said to have established a record neversubsequently lowered, there is no doubt that almost every day inmodern times men and women are performing similar and scarcely lessimpressive miracles of self-restraint. Of all the qualities whichbelong exclusively to Man and are not shared by the lower animals,this surely is the one which marks him off most sharply from thebeasts of the field. Animals care nothing about keeping upappearances. Observe Bertram the Bull when things are not going justas he could wish. He stamps. He snorts. He paws the ground. Hethrows back his head and bellows. He is upset, and he doesn't carewho knows it. Instances could be readily multiplied. Deposit acharge of shot in some outlying section of Thomas the Tiger, andnote the effect. Irritate Wilfred the Wasp, or stand behind Maudthe Mule and prod her with a pin. There is not an animal on thelist who has even a rudimentary sense of the social amenities; andit is this more than anything else which should make us proud thatwe are human beings on a loftier plane of development.
　　In the days which followed Lord Marshmoreton's visit to George atthe cottage, not a few of the occupants of Belpher Castle had theirmettle sternly tested in this respect; and it is a pleasure to beable to record that not one of them failed to come through theordeal with success. The general public, as represented by theuncles, cousins, and aunts who had descended on the place to helpLord Belpher celebrate his coming-of-age, had not a notion thatturmoil lurked behind the smooth fronts of at least half a dozen ofthose whom they met in the course of the daily round.
　　Lord Belpher, for example, though he limped rather painfully,showed nothing of the baffled fury which was reducing his weight atthe rate of ounces a day. His uncle Francis, the Bishop, when hetackled him in the garden on the subject of Intemperance--for UncleFrancis, like thousands of others, had taken it for granted, onreading the report of the encounter with the policeman and Percy'ssubsequent arrest, that the affair had been the result of a drunkenoutburst--had no inkling of the volcanic emotions that seethed inhis nephew's bosom. He came away from the interview, indeed,feeling that the boy had listened attentively and with a becomingregret, and that there was hope for him after all, provided that hefought the impulse. He little knew that, but for the conventions(which frown on the practice of murdering bishops), Percy wouldgladly have strangled him with his bare hands and jumped upon theremains.
　　Lord Belpher's case, inasmuch as he took himself extremelyseriously and was not one of those who can extract humour even fromtheir own misfortunes, was perhaps the hardest which comes underour notice; but his sister Maud was also experiencing mentaldisquietude of no mean order. Everything had gone wrong with Maud.
　　Barely a mile separated her from George, that essential link in herchain of communication with Geoffrey Raymond; but so thickly did itbristle with obstacles and dangers that it might have been a mileof No Man's Land. Twice, since the occasion when the discovery ofLord Marshmoreton at the cottage had caused her to abandon herpurpose of going in and explaining everything to George, had sheattempted to make the journey; and each time some trifling,maddening accident had brought about failure. Once, just as she wasstarting, her aunt Augusta had insisted on joining her for what shedescribed as "a nice long walk"; and the second time, when she waswithin a bare hundred yards of her objective, some sort of a cousinpopped out from nowhere and forced his loathsome company on her.
　　Foiled in this fashion, she had fallen back in desperation on hersecond line of attack. She had written a note to George, explainingthe whole situation in good, clear phrases and begging him as a manof proved chivalry to help her. It had taken up much of oneafternoon, this note, for it was not easy to write; and it hadresulted in nothing. She had given it to Albert to deliver andAlbert had returned empty-handed.
　　"The gentleman said there was no answer, m'lady!""No answer! But there must be an answer!""No answer, m'lady. Those was his very words," stoutly maintainedthe black-souled boy, who had destroyed the letter within twominutes after it had been handed to him. He had not even botheredto read it. A deep, dangerous, dastardly stripling this, who foughtto win and only to win. The ticket marked "R. Byng" was in hispocket, and in his ruthless heart a firm resolve that R. Byng andno other should have the benefit of his assistance.
　　Maud could not understand it. That is to say, she resolutely keptherself from accepting the only explanation of the episode thatseemed possible. In black and white she had asked George to go toLondon and see Geoffrey and arrange for the passage--throughhimself as a sort of clearing-house--of letters between Geoffreyand herself. She had felt from the first that such a request shouldbe made by her in person and not through the medium of writing, butsurely it was incredible that a man like George, who had beenthrough so much for her and whose only reason for being in theneighbourhood was to help her, could have coldly refused withouteven a word. And yet what else was she to think? Now, more thanever, she felt alone in a hostile world.
　　Yet, to her guests she was bright and entertaining. Not one of themhad a suspicion that her life was not one of pure sunshine.
　　Albert, I am happy to say, was thoroughly miserable. The littlebrute was suffering torments. He was showering anonymous Advice tothe Lovelorn on Reggie Byng--excellent stuff, culled from the pagesof weekly papers, of which there was a pile in the housekeeper'sroom, the property of a sentimental lady's maid--and nothing seemedto come of it. Every day, sometimes twice and thrice a day, hewould leave on Reggie's dressing-table significant notes similar intone to the one which he had placed there on the night of the ball;but, for all the effect they appeared to exercise on theirrecipient, they might have been blank pages.
　　The choicest quotations from the works of such established writersas "Aunt Charlotte" of Forget-Me-Not and "Doctor Cupid", theheart-expert of Home Chat, expended themselves fruitlessly onReggie. As far as Albert could ascertain--and he was one of thoseboys who ascertain practically everything within a radius ofmiles--Reggie positively avoided Maud's society.
　　And this after reading "Doctor Cupid's" invaluable tip about"Seeking her company on all occasions" and the dictum of "AuntCharlotte" to the effect that "Many a wooer has won his lady bybeing persistent"--Albert spelled it "persistuent" but the effectis the same--"and rendering himself indispensable by constantlittle attentions". So far from rendering himself indispensable toMaud by constant little attentions, Reggie, to the disgust of hisbacker and supporter, seemed to spend most of his time with AliceFaraday. On three separate occasions had Albert been revolted bythe sight of his protege in close association with the Faradaygirl--once in a boat on the lake and twice in his grey car. It wasenough to break a boy's heart; and it completely spoiled Albert'sappetite--a phenomenon attributed, I am glad to say, in theServants' Hall to reaction from recent excesses. The moment whenKeggs, the butler, called him a greedy little pig and hoped itwould be a lesson to him not to stuff himself at all hours withstolen cakes was a bitter moment for Albert.
　　It is a relief to turn from the contemplation of these torturedsouls to the pleasanter picture presented by Lord Marshmoreton.
　　Here, undeniably, we have a man without a secret sorrow, a man atpeace with this best of all possible worlds. Since his visit toGeorge a second youth seems to have come upon Lord Marshmoreton. Heworks in his rose-garden with a new vim, whistling or even singingto himself stray gay snatches of melodies popular in the 'eighties.
　　Hear him now as he toils. He has a long garden-implement in hishand, and he is sending up the death-rate in slug circles with adevastating rapidity.
　　"Ta-ra-ra boom-de-ayTa-ra-ra BOOM--"And the boom is a death-knell. As it rings softly out on thepleasant spring air, another stout slug has made the Great Change.
　　It is peculiar, this gaiety. It gives one to think. Others havenoticed it, his lordship's valet amongst them.
　　"I give you my honest word, Mr. Keggs," says the valet, awed, "thisvery morning I 'eard the old devil a-singing in 'is barth!
　　Chirruping away like a blooming linnet!""Lor!" says Keggs, properly impressed.
　　"And only last night 'e gave me 'arf a box of cigars and said I wasa good, faithful feller! I tell you, there's somethin' happened tothe old buster--you mark my words!"
Chapter 18
    Over this complex situation the mind of Keggs, the butler, playedlike a searchlight. Keggs was a man of discernment and sagacity. Hehad instinct and reasoning power. Instinct told him that Maud, allunsuspecting the change that had taken place in Albert's attitudetoward her romance, would have continued to use the boy as a linkbetween herself and George: and reason, added to an intimateknowledge of Albert, enabled him to see that the latter mustinevitably have betrayed her trust. He was prepared to bet ahundred pounds that Albert had been given letters to deliver andhad destroyed them. So much was clear to Keggs. It only remained tosettle on some plan of action which would re-establish the brokenconnection. Keggs did not conceal a tender heart beneath a ruggedexterior: he did not mourn over the picture of two loving fellowhuman beings separated by a misunderstanding; but he did want towin that sweepstake.
　　His position, of course, was delicate. He could not got to Maud andbeg her to confide in him. Maud would not understand his motives,and might leap to the not unjustifiable conclusion that he had beenat the sherry. No! Men were easier to handle than women. As soon ashis duties would permit--and in the present crowded condition ofthe house they were arduous--he set out for George's cottage.
　　"I trust I do not disturb or interrupt you, sir," he said, beamingin the doorway like a benevolent high priest. He had doffed hisprofessional manner of austere disapproval, as was his custom inmoments of leisure.
　　"Not at all," replied George, puzzled. "Was there anything . . .?""There was, sir.""Come along in and sit down.""I would not take the liberty, if it is all the same to you, sir. Iwould prefer to remain standing."There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Uncomfortable, that isto say, on the part of George, who was wondering if the butlerremembered having engaged him as a waiter only a few nights back.
　　Keggs himself was at his ease. Few things ruffled this man.
　　"Fine day," said George.
　　"Extremely, sir, but for the rain.""Oh, is it raining?""Sharp downpour, sir.""Good for the crops," said George.
　　"So one would be disposed to imagine, sir."Silence fell again. The rain dripped from the eaves.
　　"If I might speak freely, sir . . .?" said Keggs.
　　"Sure. Shoot!""I beg your pardon, sir?""I mean, yes. Go ahead!"The butler cleared his throat.
　　"Might I begin by remarking that your little affair of the 'eart,if I may use the expression, is no secret in the Servants' 'All? I'ave no wish to seem to be taking a liberty or presuming, but Ishould like to intimate that the Servants' 'All is aware of thefacts.""You don't have to tell me that," said George coldly. "I know allabout the sweepstake."A flicker of embarrassment passed over the butler's large, smoothface--passed, and was gone.
　　"I did not know that you 'ad been apprised of that little matter,sir. But you will doubtless understand and appreciate our point ofview. A little sporting flutter--nothing more--designed tohalleviate the monotony of life in the country.""Oh, don't apologize," said George, and was reminded of a pointwhich had exercised him a little from time to time since his vigilon the balcony. "By the way, if it isn't giving away secrets, whodrew Plummer?""Sir?""Which of you drew a man named Plummer in the sweep?""I rather fancy, sir," Keggs' brow wrinkled in thought, "I ratherfancy it was one of the visiting gentlemen's gentlemen. I gave thepoint but slight attention at the time. I did not fancy Mr.
　　Plummer's chances. It seemed to me that Mr. Plummer was anegligible quantity.""Your knowledge of form was sound. Plummer's out!""Indeed, sir! An amiable young gentleman, but lacking in many ofthe essential qualities. Perhaps he struck you that way, sir?""I never met him. Nearly, but not quite!""It entered my mind that you might possibly have encountered Mr.
　　Plummer on the night of the ball, sir.""Ah, I was wondering if you remembered me!""I remember you perfectly, sir, and it was the fact that we hadalready met in what one might almost term a social way thatemboldened me to come 'ere today and offer you my services as ahintermediary, should you feel disposed to avail yourself of them."George was puzzled.
　　"Your services?""Precisely, sir. I fancy I am in a position to lend you what mightbe termed an 'elping 'and.""But that's remarkably altruistic of you, isn't it?""Sir?""I say that is very generous of you. Aren't you forgetting that youdrew Mr. Byng?"The butler smiled indulgently.
　　"You are not quite abreast of the progress of events, sir. Sincethe original drawing of names, there 'as been a triflinghadjustment. The boy Albert now 'as Mr. Byng and I 'ave you, sir. Alittle amicable arrangement informally conducted in the scullery onthe night of the ball.""Amicable?""On my part, entirely so."George began to understand certain things that had been perplexingto him.
　　"Then all this while. . .?""Precisely, sir. All this while 'er ladyship, under the impressionthat the boy Albert was devoted to 'er cause, has no doubt beenplacing a misguided confidence in 'im . . . The little blighter!"said Keggs, abandoning for a moment his company manners andpermitting vehemence to take the place of polish. "I beg yourpardon for the expression, sir," he added gracefully. "It escapedme inadvertently.""You think that Lady Maud gave Albert a letter to give to me, andthat he destroyed it?""Such, I should imagine, must undoubtedly have been the case. Theboy 'as no scruples, no scruples whatsoever.""Good Lord!""I appreciate your consternation, sir.""That must be exactly what has happened.""To my way of thinking there is no doubt of it. It was for thatreason that I ventured to come 'ere. In the 'ope that I might behinstrumental in arranging a meeting."The strong distaste which George had had for plotting with thisoverfed menial began to wane. It might be undignified, he toldhimself but it was undeniably practical. And, after all, a man whohas plotted with page-boys has little dignity to lose by plottingwith butlers. He brightened up. If it meant seeing Maud again hewas prepared to waive the decencies.
　　"What do you suggest?" he said.
　　"It being a rainy evening and everyone indoors playing games andwhat not,"--Keggs was amiably tolerant of the recreations of thearistocracy--"you would experience little chance of a hinterruption,were you to proceed to the lane outside the heast entrance of thecastle grounds and wait there. You will find in the field at theroadside a small disused barn only a short way from the gates, whereyou would be sheltered from the rain. In the meantime, I wouldhinform 'er ladyship of your movements, and no doubt it would bepossible for 'er to slip off.""It sounds all right.""It is all right, sir. The chances of a hinterruption may be saidto be reduced to a minimum. Shall we say in one hour's time?""Very well.""Then I will wish you good evening, sir. Thank you, sir. I am gladto 'ave been of assistance."He withdrew as he had come, with a large impressiveness. The roomseemed very empty without him. George, with trembling fingers,began to put on a pair of thick boots.
　　For some minutes after he had set foot outside the door of thecottage, George was inclined to revile the weather for havingplayed him false. On this evening of all evenings, he felt, theelements should, so to speak, have rallied round and done theirbit. The air should have been soft and clear and scented: thereshould have been an afterglow of sunset in the sky to light him onhis way. Instead, the air was full of that peculiar smell ofhopeless dampness which comes at the end of a wet English day. Thesky was leaden. The rain hissed down in a steady flow, whisperingof mud and desolation, making a dreary morass of the lane throughwhich he tramped. A curious sense of foreboding came upon George.
　　It was as if some voice of the night had murmured maliciously inhis ear a hint of troubles to come. He felt oddly nervous, as heentered the barn.
　　The barn was both dark and dismal. In one of the dark corners anintermittent dripping betrayed the presence of a gap in its ancientroof. A rat scurried across the floor. The dripping stopped andbegan again. George struck a match and looked at his watch. He wasearly. Another ten minutes must elapse before he could hope for herarrival. He sat down on a broken wagon which lay on its sideagainst one of the walls.
　　Depression returned. It was impossible to fight against it in thisbeast of a barn. The place was like a sepulchre. No one but a foolof a butler would have suggested it as a trysting-place. Hewondered irritably why places like this were allowed to get intothis condition. If people wanted a barn earnestly enough to takethe trouble of building one, why was it not worth while to keep thething in proper repair? Waste and futility! That was what it was.
　　That was what everything was, if you came down to it. Sitting here,for instance, was a futile waste of time. She wouldn't come. Therewere a dozen reasons why she should not come. So what was the useof his courting rheumatism by waiting in this morgue of deadagricultural ambitions? None whatever--George went on waiting.
　　And what an awful place to expect her to come to, if by some miracleshe did come--where she would be stifled by the smell of mouldy hay,damped by raindrops and--reflected George gloomily as there wasanother scurry and scutter along the unseen floor--gnawed by rats.
　　You could not expect a delicately-nurtured girl, accustomed to allthe comforts of a home, to be bright and sunny with a platoon ofrats crawling all over her. . . .
　　The grey oblong that was the doorway suddenly darkened.
　　"Mr. Bevan!"George sprang up. At the sound of her voice every nerve in his bodydanced in mad exhilaration. He was another man. Depression fellfrom him like a garment. He perceived that he had misjudged allsorts of things. The evening, for instance, was a splendidevening--not one of those awful dry, baking evenings which make youfeel you can't breathe, but pleasantly moist and full of adelightfully musical patter of rain. And the barn! He had been allwrong about the barn. It was a great little place, comfortable,airy, and cheerful. What could be more invigorating than that smellof hay? Even the rats, he felt, must be pretty decent rats, whenyou came to know them.
　　"I'm here!"Maud advanced quickly. His eyes had grown accustomed to the murk,and he could see her dimly. The smell of her damp raincoat came tohim like a breath of ozone. He could even see her eyes shining inthe darkness, so close was she to him.
　　"I hope you've not been waiting long?"George's heart was thundering against his ribs. He could scarcelyspeak. He contrived to emit a No.
　　"I didn't think at first I could get away. I had to . . ." Shebroke off with a cry. The rat, fond of exercise like all rats, hadmade another of its excitable sprints across the floor.
　　A hand clutched nervously at George's arm, found it and held it.
　　And at the touch the last small fragment of George's self-controlfled from him. The world became vague and unreal. There remainedof it but one solid fact--the fact that Maud was in his arms andthat he was saying a number of things very rapidly in a voice thatseemed to belong to somebody he had never met before.
Chapter 19
    With a shock of dismay so abrupt and overwhelming that it was likea physical injury, George became aware that something was wrong.
　　Even as he gripped her, Maud had stiffened with a sharp cry; andnow she was struggling, trying to wrench herself free. She brokeaway from him. He could hear her breathing hard.
　　"You--you----" She gulped.
　　"Maud!""How dare you!"There was a pause that seemed to George to stretch on and onendlessly. The rain pattered on the leaky roof. Somewhere in thedistance a dog howled dismally. The darkness pressed down like ablanket, stifling thought.
　　"Good night, Mr. Bevan." Her voice was ice. "I didn't think youwere--that kind of man."She was moving toward the door; and, as she reached it, George'sstupor left him. He came back to life with a jerk, shaking fromhead to foot. All his varied emotions had become one emotion--acold fury.
　　"Stop!"Maud stopped. Her chin was tilted, and she was wasting a balefulglare on the darkness.
　　"Well, what is it?"Her tone increased George's wrath. The injustice of it made himdizzy. At that moment he hated her. He was the injured party. Itwas he, not she, that had been deceived and made a fool of.
　　"I want to say something before you go.""I think we had better say no more about it!"By the exercise of supreme self-control George kept himself fromspeaking until he could choose milder words than those that rushedto his lips.
　　"I think we will!" he said between his teeth.
　　Maud's anger became tinged with surprise. Now that the first shockof the wretched episode was over, the calmer half of her mind wasendeavouring to soothe the infuriated half by urging that George'sbehaviour had been but a momentary lapse, and that a man may losehis head for one wild instant, and yet remain fundamentally agentleman and a friend. She had begun to remind herself that thisman had helped her once in trouble, and only a day or two beforehad actually risked his life to save her from embarrassment. Whenshe heard him call to her to stop, she supposed that his betterfeelings had reasserted themselves; and she had prepared herself toreceive with dignity a broken, stammered apology. But the voicethat had just spoken with a crisp, biting intensity was not thevoice of remorse. It was a very angry man, not a penitent one, whowas commanding--not begging--her to stop and listen to him.
　　"Well?" she said again, more coldly this time. She was quite unableto understand this attitude of his. She was the injured party. Itwas she, not he who had trusted and been betrayed.
　　"I should like to explain.""Please do not apologize."George ground his teeth in the gloom.
　　"I haven't the slightest intention of apologizing. I said I wouldlike to explain. When I have finished explaining, you can go.""I shall go when I please," flared Maud.
　　This man was intolerable.
　　"There is nothing to be afraid of. There will be no repetition ofthe--incident."Maud was outraged by this monstrous misinterpretation of her words.
　　"I am not afraid!""Then, perhaps, you will be kind enough to listen. I won't detainyou long. My explanation is quite simple. I have been made a foolof. I seem to be in the position of the tinker in the play whomeverybody conspired to delude into the belief that he was a king.
　　First a friend of yours, Mr. Byng, came to me and told me that youhad confided to him that you loved me."Maud gasped. Either this man was mad, or Reggie Byng was. Shechoose the politer solution.
　　"Reggie Byng must have lost his senses.""So I supposed. At least, I imagined that he must be mistaken. But aman in love is an optimistic fool, of course, and I had loved youever since you got into my cab that morning . . .""What!""So after a while," proceeded George, ignoring the interruption, "Ialmost persuaded myself that miracles could still happen, and thatwhat Byng said was true. And when your father called on me and toldme the very same thing I was convinced. It seemed incredible, but Ihad to believe it. Now it seems that, for some inscrutable reason,both Byng and your father were making a fool of me. That's all.
　　Good night."Maud's reply was the last which George or any man would haveexpected. There was a moment's silence, and then she burst into apeal of laughter. It was the laughter of over-strained nerves, butto George's ears it had the ring of genuine amusement.
　　"I'm glad you find my story entertaining," he said dryly. He wasconvinced now that he loathed this girl, and that all he desiredwas to see her go out of his life for ever. "Later, no doubt, thefunny side of it will hit me. Just at present my sense of humour israther dormant."Maud gave a little cry.
　　"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, Mr. Bevan. It wasn't that. It wasn't thatat all. Oh, I am so sorry. I don't know why I laughed. It certainlywasn't because I thought it funny. It's tragic. There's been adreadful mistake!""I noticed that," said George bitterly. The darkness began toafflict his nerves. "I wish to God we had some light."The glare of a pocket-torch smote upon him.
　　"I brought it to see my way back with," said Maud in a curious,small voice. "It's very dark across the fields. I didn't light itbefore, because I was afraid somebody might see."She came towards him, holding the torch over her head. The beamshowed her face, troubled and sympathetic, and at the sight allGeorge's resentment left him. There were mysteries here beyond hisunravelling, but of one thing he was certain: this girl was not toblame. She was a thoroughbred, as straight as a wand. She was puregold.
　　"I came here to tell you everything," she said. She placed thetorch on the wagon-wheel so that its ray fell in a pool of light onthe ground between them. "I'll do it now. Only--only it isn't soeasy now. Mr. Bevan, there's a man--there's a man that father andReggie Byng mistook--they thought . . . You see, they knew it wasyou that I was with that day in the cab, and so they naturallythought, when you came down here, that you were the man I had goneto meet that day--the man I--I--""The man you love.""Yes," said Maud in a small voice; and there was silence again.
　　George could feel nothing but sympathy. It mastered other emotionin him, even the grey despair that had come her words. He couldfeel all that she was feeling.
　　"Tell me all about it," he said.
　　"I met him in Wales last year." Maud's voice was a whisper. "Thefamily found out, and I was hurried back here, and have been hereever since. That day when I met you I had managed to slip away fromhome. I had found out that he was in London, and I was going tomeet him. Then I saw Percy, and got into your cab. It's all been ahorrible mistake. I'm sorry.""I see," said George thoughtfully. "I see."His heart ached like a living wound. She had told so little, andhe could guess so much. This unknown man who had triumphed seemedto sneer scornfully at him from the shadows.
　　"I'm sorry," said Maud again.
　　"You mustn't feel like that. How can I help you? That's the point.
　　What is it you want me to do?""But I can't ask you now.""Of course you can. Why not?""Why--oh, I couldn't!"George managed to laugh. It was a laugh that did not soundconvincing even to himself, but it served.
　　"That's morbid," he said. "Be sensible. You need help, and I may beable to give it. Surely a man isn't barred for ever from doing youa service just because he happens to love you? Suppose you weredrowning and Mr. Plummer was the only swimmer within call, wouldn'tyou let him rescue you?""Mr. Plummer? What do you mean?""You've not forgotten that I was a reluctant ear-witness to hisrecent proposal of marriage?"Maud uttered an exclamation.
　　"I never asked! How terrible of me. Were you much hurt?""Hurt?" George could not follow her.
　　"That night. When you were on the balcony, and--""Oh!" George understood. "Oh, no, hardly at all. A few scratches. Iscraped my hands a little.""It was a wonderful thing to do," said Maud, her admiration glowingfor a man who could treat such a leap so lightly. She had alwayshad a private theory that Lord Leonard, after performing the samefeat, had bragged about it for the rest of his life.
　　"No, no, nothing," said George, who had since wondered why he hadever made such a to-do about climbing up a perfectly stout sheet.
　　"It was splendid!"George blushed.
　　"We are wandering from the main theme," he said. "I want to helpyou. I came here at enormous expense to help you. How can I doit?"Maud hesitated.
　　"I think you may be offended at my asking such a thing.""You needn't.""You see, the whole trouble is that I can't get in touch withGeoffrey. He's in London, and I'm here. And any chance I might haveof getting to London vanished that day I met you, when Percy saw mein Piccadilly.""How did your people find out it was you?""They asked me--straight out.""And you owned up?""I had to. I couldn't tell them a direct lie."George thrilled. This was the girl he had had doubts of.
　　"So then it was worse then ever," continued Maud. "I daren't riskwriting to Geoffrey and having the letter intercepted. I waswondering--I had the idea almost as soon as I found that you hadcome here--""You want me to take a letter from you and see that it reaches him.
　　And then he can write back to my address, and I can smuggle theletter to you?""That's exactly what I do want. But I almost didn't like to ask.""Why not? I'll be delighted to do it.""I'm so grateful.""Why, it's nothing. I thought you were going to ask me to look inon your brother and smash another of his hats."Maud laughed delightedly. The whole tension of the situation hadbeen eased for her. More and more she found herself liking George.
　　Yet, deep down in her, she realized with a pang that for him therehad been no easing of the situation. She was sad for George. ThePlummers of this world she had consigned to what they declaredwould be perpetual sorrow with scarcely a twinge of regret. ButGeorge was different.
　　"Poor Percy!" she said. "I don't suppose he'll ever get over it. Hewill have other hats, but it won't be the same." She came back tothe subject nearest her heart. "Mr. Bevan, I wonder if you would dojust a little more for me?""If it isn't criminal. Or, for that matter, if it is.""Could you go to Geoffrey, and see him, and tell him all about meand--and come back and tell me how he looks, and what he saidand--and so on?""Certainly. What is his name, and where do I find him?""I never told you. How stupid of me. His name is Geoffrey Raymond,and he lives with his uncle, Mr. Wilbur Raymond, at 11a, BelgraveSquare.""I'll go to him tomorrow.""Thank you ever so much."George got up. The movement seemed to put him in touch with theouter world. He noticed that the rain had stopped, and that starshad climbed into the oblong of the doorway. He had an impressionthat he had been in the barn a very long time; and confirmed thiswith a glance at his watch, though the watch, he felt, understatedthe facts by the length of several centuries. He was abstainingfrom too close an examination of his emotions from a prudentfeeling that he was going to suffer soon enough without assistancefrom himself.
　　"I think you had better be going back," he said. "It's rather late.
　　They may be missing you."Maud laughed happily.
　　"I don't mind now what they do. But I suppose dinners must bedressed for, whatever happens." They moved together to the door.
　　"What a lovely night after all! I never thought the rain would stopin this world. It's like when you're unhappy and think it's goingon for ever.""Yes," said George.
　　Maud held out her hand.
　　"Good night, Mr. Bevan.""Good night."He wondered if there would be any allusion to the earlier passagesof their interview. There was none. Maud was of the class whoseeducation consists mainly of a training in the delicate ignoring ofdelicate situations.
　　"Then you will go and see Geoffrey?""Tomorrow.""Thank you ever so much.""Not at all."George admired her. The little touch of formality which she hadcontrived to impart to the conversation struck just the right note,created just the atmosphere which would enable them to part withoutweighing too heavily on the deeper aspect of that parting.
　　"You're a real friend, Mr. Bevan.""Watch me prove it.""Well, I must rush, I suppose. Good night!""Good night!"She moved off quickly across the field. Darkness covered her. Thedog in the distance had begun to howl again. He had his troubles,too.
Chapter 20
    Trouble sharpens the vision. In our moments of distress we can seeclearly that what is wrong with this world of ours is the fact thatMisery loves company and seldom gets it. Toothache is an unpleasantailment; but, if toothache were a natural condition of life, if allmankind were afflicted with toothache at birth, we should notnotice it. It is the freedom from aching teeth of all those withwhom we come in contact that emphasizes the agony. And, as withtoothache, so with trouble. Until our private affairs go wrong, wenever realize how bubbling over with happiness the bulk of mankindseems to be. Our aching heart is apparently nothing but a desertisland in an ocean of joy.
　　George, waking next morning with a heavy heart, made this discoverybefore the day was an hour old. The sun was shining, and birds sangmerrily, but this did not disturb him. Nature is ever callous tohuman woes, laughing while we weep; and we grow to take hercallousness for granted. What jarred upon George was the infernalcheerfulness of his fellow men. They seemed to be doing it onpurpose--triumphing over him--glorying in the fact that, howeverFate might have shattered him, they were all right.
　　People were happy who had never been happy before. Mrs. Platt, forinstance. A grey, depressed woman of middle age, she had seemedhitherto to have few pleasures beyond breaking dishes and relatingthe symptoms of sick neighbours who were not expected to livethrough the week. She now sang. George could hear her as sheprepared his breakfast in the kitchen. At first he had had a hopethat she was moaning with pain; but this was dispelled when he hadfinished his toilet and proceeded downstairs. The sounds sheemitted suggested anguish, but the words, when he was able todistinguish them, told another story. Incredible as it might seem,on this particular morning Mrs. Platt had elected to belight-hearted. What she was singing sounded like a dirge, butactually it was "Stop your tickling, Jock!" And. later, when shebrought George his coffee and eggs, she spent a full ten minutesprattling as he tried to read his paper, pointing out to him anumber of merry murders and sprightly suicides which otherwise hemight have missed. The woman went out of her way to show him thatfor her, if not for less fortunate people, God this morning was inHis heaven and all was right in the world.
　　Two tramps of supernatural exuberance called at the cottage shortlyafter breakfast to ask George, whom they had never even consultedabout their marriages, to help support their wives and children.
　　Nothing could have been more care-free and _debonnaire_ than thedemeanour of these men.
　　And then Reggie Byng arrived in his grey racing car, more cheerfulthan any of them.
　　Fate could not have mocked George more subtly. A sorrow's crown ofsorrow is remembering happier things, and the sight of Reggie inthat room reminded him that on the last occasion when they hadtalked together across this same table it was he who had been in aFool's Paradise and Reggie who had borne a weight of care. Reggiethis morning was brighter than the shining sun and gayer than thecarolling birds.
　　"Hullo-ullo-ullo-ullo-ullo-ullo-ul-Lo! Topping morning, isn't it!"observed Reggie. "The sunshine! The birds! The absolutewhat-do-you-call-it of everything and so forth, and all that sortof thing, if you know what I mean! I feel like a two-year-old!"George, who felt older than this by some ninety-eight years,groaned in spirit. This was more than man was meant to bear.
　　"I say," continued Reggie, absently reaching out for a slice ofbread and smearing it with marmalade, "this business of marriage,now, and all that species of rot! What I mean to say is, what aboutit? Not a bad scheme, taking it big and large? Or don't you thinkso?"George writhed. The knife twisted in the wound. Surely it was badenough to see a happy man eating bread and marmalade without havingto listen to him talking about marriage.
　　"Well, anyhow, be that as it may," said Reggie, biting jovially andspeaking in a thick but joyous voice. "I'm getting married today,and chance it. This morning, this very morning, I leap off thedock!"George was startled out of his despondency.
　　"What!""Absolutely, laddie!"George remembered the conventions.
　　"I congratulate you.""Thanks, old man. And not without reason. I'm the luckiest fellowalive. I hardly knew I was alive till now.""Isn't this rather sudden?"Reggie looked a trifle furtive. His manner became that of aconspirator.
　　"I should jolly well say it is sudden! It's got to be sudden.
　　Dashed sudden and deuced secret! If the mater were to hear of it,there's no doubt whatever she would form a flying wedge and bust upthe proceedings with no uncertain voice. You see, laddie, it's MissFaraday I'm marrying, and the mater--dear old soul--has other ideasfor Reginald. Life's a rummy thing, isn't it! What I mean to sayis, it's rummy, don't you know, and all that.""Very," agreed George.
　　"Who'd have thought, a week ago, that I'd be sitting in this jollyold chair asking you to be my best man? Why, a week ago I didn'tknow you, and, if anybody had told me Alice Faraday was going tomarry me, I'd have given one of those hollow, mirthless laughs.""Do you want me to be your best man?""Absolutely, if you don't mind. You see," said Reggieconfidentially, "it's like this. I've got lots of pals, of course,buzzing about all over London and its outskirts, who'd be gladenough to rally round and join the execution-squad; but you knowhow it is. Their maters are all pals of my mater, and I don't wantto get them into trouble for aiding and abetting my little show, ifyou understand what I mean. Now, you're different. You don't knowthe mater, so it doesn't matter to you if she rolls around and putsthe Curse of the Byngs on you, and all that sort of thing. Besides,I don't know." Reggie mused. "Of course, this is the happiest dayof my life," he proceeded, "and I'm not saying it isn't, but youknow how it is--there's absolutely no doubt that a chappie does notshow at his best when he's being married. What I mean to say is,he's more or less bound to look a fearful ass. And I'm perfectlycertain it would put me right off my stroke if I felt that somechump like Jack Ferris or Ronnie Fitzgerald was trying not togiggle in the background. So, if you will be a sportsman and comeand hold my hand till the thing's over, I shall be eternallygrateful.""Where are you going to be married?""In London. Alice sneaked off there last night. It was easy, as ithappened, because by a bit of luck old Marshmoreton had gone totown yesterday morning--nobody knows why: he doesn't go up toLondon more than a couple of times a year. She's going to meet meat the Savoy, and then the scheme was to toddle round to thenearest registrar and request the lad to unleash the marriageservice. I'm whizzing up in the car, and I'm hoping to be able topersuade you to come with me. Say the word, laddie!"George reflected. He liked Reggie, and there was no particularreason in the world why he should not give him aid and comfort inthis crisis. True, in his present frame of mind, it would betorture to witness a wedding ceremony; but he ought not to let thatstand in the way of helping a friend.
　　"All right," he said.
　　"Stout fellow! I don't know how to thank you. It isn't putting youout or upsetting your plans, I hope, or anything on those lines?""Not at all. I had to go up to London today, anyway.""Well, you can't get there quicker than in my car. She's a hummer.
　　By the way, I forgot to ask. How is your little affair comingalong? Everything going all right?""In a way," said George. He was not equal to confiding his troublesto Reggie.
　　"Of course, your trouble isn't like mine was. What I mean is, Maudloves you, and all that, and all you've got to think out is ascheme for laying the jolly old family a stymie. It's apity--almost--that yours isn't a case of having to win the girl,like me; because by Jove, laddie," said Reggie with solemnemphasis, "I could help you there. I've got the thing down fine.
　　I've got the infallible dope."George smiled bleakly.
　　"You have? You're a useful fellow to have around. I wish you wouldtell me what it is.""But you don't need it.""No, of course not. I was forgetting."Reggie looked at his watch.
　　"We ought to be shifting in a quarter of an hour or so. I don'twant to be late. It appears that there's a catch of some sort inthis business of getting married. As far as I can make out, if youroll in after a certain hour, the Johnnie in charge of theproceedings gives you the miss-in-baulk, and you have to turn upagain next day. However, we shall be all right unless we have abreakdown, and there's not much chance of that. I've been tuning upthe old car since seven this morning, and she's sound in wind andlimb, absolutely. Oil--petrol--water--air--nuts--bolts--sprockets--carburetter--all present and correct. I've been looking after themlike a lot of baby sisters. Well, as I was saying, I've got thedope. A week ago I was just one of the mugs--didn't know a thingabout it--but now! Gaze on me, laddie! You see before you oldColonel Romeo, the Man who Knows! It all started on the night ofthe ball. There was the dickens of a big ball, you know, tocelebrate old Boots' coming-of-age--to which, poor devil, hecontributed nothing but the sunshine of his smile, never havinglearned to dance. On that occasion a most rummy and extraordinarything happened. I got pickled to the eyebrows!" He laughed happily.
　　"I don't mean that that was a unique occurrence and so forth,because, when I was a bachelor, it was rather a habit of mine toget a trifle submerged every now and again on occasions of decentmirth and festivity. But the rummy thing that night was that Ishowed it. Up till then, I've been told by experts, I was achappie in whom it was absolutely impossible to detect thesymptoms. You might get a bit suspicious if you found I couldn'tmove, but you could never be certain. On the night of the ball,however, I suppose I had been filling the radiator a trifle tooenthusiastically. You see, I had deliberately tried to shovemyself more or less below the surface in order to get enough nerveto propose to Alice. I don't know what your experience has been,but mine is that proposing's a thing that simply isn't within thescope of a man who isn't moderately woozled. I've often wonderedhow marriages ever occur in the dry States of America. Well, as Iwas saying, on the night of the ball a most rummy thing happened.
　　I thought one of the waiters was you!"He paused impressively to allow this startling statement to sinkin.
　　"And was he?" said George.
　　"Absolutely not! That was the rummy part of it. He looked as likeyou as your twin brother.""I haven't a twin brother.""No, I know what you mean, but what I mean to say is he looked justlike your twin brother would have looked if you had had a twinbrother. Well, I had a word or two with this chappie, and after abrief conversation it was borne in upon me that I was up to thegills. Alice was with me at the time, and noticed it too. Now you'dhave thought that that would have put a girl off a fellow, and allthat. But no. Nobody could have been more sympathetic. And she hasconfided to me since that it was seeing me in my oiled conditionthat really turned the scale. What I mean is, she made up her mindto save me from myself. You know how some girls are. Angelsabsolutely! Always on the look out to pluck brands from theburning, and what not. You may take it from me that the good seedwas definitely sown that night.""Is that your recipe, then? You would advise the would-bebridegroom to buy a case of champagne and a wedding licence and getto work? After that it would be all over except sending out theinvitations?"Reggie shook his head.
　　"Not at all. You need a lot more than that. That's only the start.
　　You've got to follow up the good work, you see. That's where anumber of chappies would slip up, and I'm pretty certain I shouldhave slipped up myself, but for another singularly rummyoccurrence. Have you ever had a what-do-you-call it? What's theword I want? One of those things fellows get sometimes.""Headaches?" hazarded George.
　　"No, no. Nothing like that. I don't mean anything you get--I meansomething you get, if you know what I mean.""Measles?""Anonymous letter. That's what I was trying to say. It's a mostextraordinary thing, and I can't understand even now where thedeuce they came from, but just about then I started to get a wholebunch of anonymous letters from some chappie unknown who didn'tsign his name.""What you mean is that the letters were anonymous," said George.
　　"Absolutely. I used to get two or three a day sometimes. WheneverI went up to my room, I'd find another waiting for me on thedressing-table.""Offensive?""Eh?""Were the letters offensive? Anonymous letters usually are.""These weren't. Not at all, and quite the reverse. Theycontained a series of perfectly topping tips on how a fellow shouldproceed who wants to get hold of a girl.""It sounds as though somebody had been teaching you ju-jitsu bypost.""They were great! Real red-hot stuff straight from the stable.
　　Priceless tips like 'Make yourself indispensable to her in littleways', 'Study her tastes', and so on and so forth. I tell you,laddie, I pretty soon stopped worrying about who was sending themto me, and concentrated the old bean on acting on them. Theyworked like magic. The last one came yesterday morning, and it wasa topper! It was all about how a chappie who was nervous shouldproceed. Technical stuff, you know, about holding her hand andtelling her you're lonely and being sincere and straightforward andletting your heart dictate the rest. Have you ever asked for onecard when you wanted to fill a royal flush and happened to pick outthe necessary ace? I did once, when I was up at Oxford, and, byJove, this letter gave me just the same thrill. I didn't hesitate.
　　I just sailed in. I was cold sober, but I didn't worry about that.
　　Something told me I couldn't lose. It was like having to hole out athree-inch putt. And--well, there you are, don't you know." Reggiebecame thoughtful. "Dash it all! I'd like to know who the fellowwas who sent me those letters. I'd like to send him awedding-present or a bit of the cake or something. Though I supposethere won't be any cake, seeing the thing's taking place at aregistrar's.""You could buy a bun," suggested George.
　　"Well, I shall never know, I suppose. And now how about tricklingforth? I say, laddie, you don't object if I sing slightly from timeto time during the journey? I'm so dashed happy, you know.""Not at all, if it's not against the traffic regulations."Reggie wandered aimlessly about the room in an ecstasy.
　　"It's a rummy thing," he said meditatively, "I've just rememberedthat, when I was at school, I used to sing a thing called thewhat's-it's-name's wedding song. At house-suppers, don't you know,and what not. Jolly little thing. I daresay you know it. It starts'Ding dong! Ding dong!' or words to that effect, 'Hurry along! Forit is my wedding-morning!' I remember you had to stretch out the'mor' a bit. Deuced awkward, if you hadn't laid in enough breath.
　　'The Yeoman's Wedding-Song.' That was it. I knew it was somechappie or other's. And it went on 'And the bride in something orother is doing something I can't recollect.' Well, what I mean is,now it's my wedding-morning! Rummy, when you come to think of it,what? Well, as it's getting tolerable late, what about it? Shiftho?""I'm ready. Would you like me to bring some rice?""Thank you, laddie, no. Dashed dangerous stuff, rice! Worse thanshrapnel. Got your hat? All set?""I'm waiting.""Then let the revels commence," said Reggie. "Ding dong! DingDong! Hurry along! For it is my wedding-morning! And the bride--Dash it, I wish I could remember what the bride was doing!""Probably writing you a note to say that she's changed her mind,and it's all off.""Oh, my God!" exclaimed Reggie. "Come on!"
Chapter 21
    Mr. and Mrs. Reginald Byng, seated at a table in the corner of theRegent Grill-Room, gazed fondly into each other's eyes. George,seated at the same table, but feeling many miles away, watched themmoodily, fighting to hold off a depression which, cured for a whileby the exhilaration of the ride in Reggie's racing-car (it hadbeaten its previous record for the trip to London by nearly twentyminutes), now threatened to return. The gay scene, the ecstasy ofReggie, the more restrained but equally manifest happiness of hisbride--these things induced melancholy in George. He had not wishedto attend the wedding-lunch, but the happy pair seemed to berevolted at the idea that he should stroll off and get a bite toeat somewhere else.
　　"Stick by us, laddie," Reggie had said pleadingly, "for there ismuch to discuss, and we need the counsel of a man of the world. Weare married all right--""Though it didn't seem legal in that little registrar's office,"put in Alice.
　　"--But that, as the blighters say in books, is but a beginning, notan end. We have now to think out the most tactful way of lettingthe news seep through, as it were, to the mater.""And Lord Marshmoreton," said Alice. "Don't forget he has lost hissecretary.""And Lord Marshmoreton," amended Reggie. "And about a million otherpeople who'll be most frightfully peeved at my doing the WeddingGlide without consulting them. Stick by us, old top. Join oursimple meal. And over the old coronas we will discuss many things."The arrival of a waiter with dishes broke up the silent communionbetween husband and wife, and lowered Reggie to a more earthlyplane. He refilled the glasses from the stout bottle that nestledin the ice-bucket--(" Only this one, dear!" murmured the bride ina warning undertone, and "All right darling!" replied the dutifulgroom)--and raised his own to his lips.
　　"Cheerio! Here's to us all! Maddest, merriest day of all the gladNew year and so forth. And now," he continued, becoming sternlypractical, "about the good old sequel and aftermath, so to speak,of this little binge of ours. What's to be done. You're a brainysort of feller, Bevan, old man, and we look to you for suggestions.
　　How would you set about breaking the news to mother?""Write her a letter," said George.
　　Reggie was profoundly impressed.
　　"Didn't I tell you he would have some devilish shrewd scheme?" hesaid enthusiastically to Alice. "Write her a letter! What could bebetter? Poetry, by Gad!" His face clouded. "But what would you sayin it? That's a pretty knotty point.""Not at all. Be perfectly frank and straightforward. Say you aresorry to go against her wishes--""Wishes," murmured Reggie, scribbling industrially on the back ofthe marriage licence.
　　"--But you know that all she wants is your happiness--"Reggie looked doubtful.
　　"I'm not sure about that last bit, old thing. You don't know themater!""Never mind, Reggie," put in Alice. "Say it, anyhow. Mr. Bevan isperfectly right.""Right ho, darling! All right, laddie--'happiness'. And then?""Point out in a few well-chosen sentences how charming Mrs. Byngis . . .""Mrs. Byng!" Reggie smiled fatuously. "I don't think I ever heardanything that sounded so indescribably ripping. That part'll beeasy enough. Besides, the mater knows Alice.""Lady Caroline has seen me at the castle," said his bridedoubtfully, "but I shouldn't say she knows me. She has hardlyspoken a dozen words to me.""There," said Reggie, earnestly, "you're in luck, dear heart! Themater's a great speaker, especially in moments of excitement. I'mnot looking forward to the time when she starts on me. Betweenourselves, laddie, and meaning no disrespect to the dear soul, whenthe mater is moved and begins to talk, she uses up most of thelanguage.""Outspoken, is she?""I should hate to meet the person who could out-speak her," saidReggie.
　　George sought information on a delicate point.
　　"And financially? Does she exercise any authority over you in thatway?""You mean has the mater the first call on the family doubloons?"said Reggie. "Oh, absolutely not! You see, when I call her themater, it's using the word in a loose sense, so to speak. She's mystep-mother really. She has her own little collection of pieces ofeight, and I have mine. That part's simple enough.""Then the whole thing is simple. I don't see what you've beenworrying about.""Just what I keep telling him, Mr. Bevan," said Alice.
　　"You're a perfectly free agent. She has no hold on you of anykind."Reggie Byng blinked dizzily.
　　"Why, now you put it like that," he exclaimed, "I can see that Ijolly well am! It's an amazing thing, you know, habit and all that.
　　I've been so accustomed for years to jumping through hoops andshamming dead when the mater lifted a little finger, that itabsolutely never occurred to me that I had a soul of my own. I giveyou my honest word I never saw it till this moment.""And now it's too late!""Eh?"George indicated Alice with a gesture. The newly-made Mrs. Byngsmiled.
　　"Mr. Bevan means that now you've got to jump through hoops and shamdead when I lift a little finger!"Reggie raised her hand to his lips, and nibbled at it gently.
　　"Blessums 'ittle finger! It shall lift it and have 'ums Reggiejumping through. . . ." He broke off and tendered George a manlyapology. "Sorry, old top! Forgot myself for the moment. Shan'toccur again! Have another chicken or an eclair or some soup orsomething!"Over the cigars Reggie became expansive.
　　"Now that you've lifted the frightful weight of the mater off mymind, dear old lad," he said, puffing luxuriously, "I find myselfsurveying the future in a calmer spirit. It seems to me that thebest thing to do, as regards the mater and everybody else, issimply to prolong the merry wedding-trip till Time the Great Healerhas had a chance to cure the wound. Alice wants to put in a week orso in Paris. . . .""Paris!" murmured the bride ecstatically.
　　"Then I would like to trickle southwards to the Riviera. . .""If you mean Monte Carlo, dear," said his wife with gentlefirmness, "no!""No, no, not Monte Carlo," said Reggie hastily, "though it's agreat place. Air--scenery--and what not! But Nice and Bordigheraand Mentone and other fairly ripe resorts. You'd enjoy them. Andafter that . . . I had a scheme for buying back my yacht, the jollyold Siren, and cruising about the Mediterranean for a month or so. Isold her to a local sportsman when I was in America a couple ofyears ago. But I saw in the paper yesterday that the poor oldbuffer had died suddenly, so I suppose it would be difficult to gethold of her for the time being." Reggie broke off with a sharpexclamation.
　　"My sainted aunt!""What's the matter?"Both his companions were looking past him, wide-eyed. Georgeoccupied the chair that had its back to the door, and was unable tosee what it was that had caused their consternation; but he deducedthat someone known to both of them must have entered therestaurant; and his first thought, perhaps naturally, was that itmust be Reggie's "mater". Reggie dived behind a menu, which he heldbefore him like a shield, and his bride, after one quick look, hadturned away so that her face was hidden. George swung around, butthe newcomer, whoever he or she was, was now seated andindistinguishable from the rest of the lunchers.
　　"Who is it?"Reggie laid down the menu with the air of one who after a momentarypanic rallies.
　　"Don't know what I'm making such a fuss about," he said stoutly. "Ikeep forgetting that none of these blighters really matter in thescheme of things. I've a good mind to go over and pass the time ofday.""Don't!" pleaded his wife. "I feel so guilty.""Who is it?" asked George again. "Your step-mother?""Great Scott, no!" said Reggie. "Nothing so bad as that. It's oldMarshmoreton.""Lord Marshmoreton!""Absolutely! And looking positively festive.""I feel so awful, Mr. Bevan," said Alice. "You know, I left thecastle without a word to anyone, and he doesn't know yet that therewon't be any secretary waiting for him when he gets back."Reggie took another look over George's shoulder and chuckled.
　　"It's all right, darling. Don't worry. We can nip off secretly bythe other door. He's not going to stop us. He's got a girl withhim! The old boy has come to life--absolutely! He's gassing awaysixteen to the dozen to a frightfully pretty girl with gold hair.
　　If you slew the old bean round at an angle of about forty-five,Bevan, old top, you can see her. Take a look. He won't see you.
　　He's got his back to us.""Do you call her pretty?" asked Alice disparagingly.
　　"Now that I take a good look, precious," replied Reggie withalacrity, "no! Absolutely not! Not my style at all!"His wife crumbled bread.
　　"I think she must know you, Reggie dear," she said softly. "She'swaving to you.""She's waving to ME," said George, bringing back the sunshine toReggie's life, and causing the latter's face to lose its huntedlook. "I know her very well. Her name's Dore. Billie Dore.""Old man," said Reggie, "be a good fellow and slide over to theirtable and cover our retreat. I know there's nothing to be afraid ofreally, but I simply can't face the old boy.""And break the news to him that I've gone, Mr. Bevan," added Alice.
　　"Very well, I'll say good-bye, then.""Good-bye, Mr. Bevan, and thank you ever so much."Reggie shook George's hand warmly.
　　"Good-bye, Bevan old thing, you're a ripper. I can't tell you howbucked up I am at the sportsmanlike way you've rallied round. I'lldo the same for you one of these days. Just hold the old boy inplay for a minute or two while we leg it. And, if he wants us, tellhim our address till further notice is Paris. What ho! What ho!
　　What ho! Toodle-oo, laddie, toodle-oo!"George threaded his way across the room. Billie Dore welcomed himwith a friendly smile. The earl, who had turned to observe hisprogress, seemed less delighted to see him. His weather-beaten facewore an almost furtive look. He reminded George of a schoolboy whohas been caught in some breach of the law.
　　"Fancy seeing you here, George!" said Billie. "We're alwaysmeeting, aren't we? How did you come to separate yourself from thepigs and chickens? I thought you were never going to leave them.""I had to run up on business," explained George. "How are you, LordMarshmoreton?"The earl nodded briefly.
　　"So you're on to him, too?" said Billie. "When did you get wise?""Lord Marshmoreton was kind enough to call on me the other morningand drop the incognito.""Isn't dadda the foxiest old thing!" said Billie delightedly.
　　"Imagine him standing there that day in the garden, kidding usalong like that! I tell you, when they brought me his card lastnight after the first act and I went down to take a slant at thisLord Marshmoreton and found dadda hanging round the stage door, youcould have knocked me over with a whisk-broom.""I have not stood at the stage-door for twenty-five years," saidLord Marshmoreton sadly.
　　"Now, it's no use your pulling that Henry W. Methuselah stuff,"said Billie affectionately. "You can't get away with it. Anyonecan see you're just a kid. Can't they, George?" She indicated theblushing earl with a wave of the hand. "Isn't dadda the youngestthing that ever happened?""Exactly what I told him myself."Lord Marshmoreton giggled. There is no other verb that describesthe sound that proceeded from him.
　　"I feel young," he admitted.
　　"I wish some of the juveniles in the shows I've been in," saidBillie, "were as young as you. It's getting so nowadays that one'sthankful if a juvenile has teeth." She glanced across the room.
　　"Your pals are walking out on you, George. The people you werelunching with," she explained. "They're leaving.""That's all right. I said good-bye to them." He looked at LordMarshmoreton. It seemed a suitable opportunity to break the news.
　　"I was lunching with Mr. and Mrs. Byng," he said.
　　Nothing appeared to stir beneath Lord Marshmoreton's tannedforehead.
　　"Reggie Byng and his wife, Lord Marshmoreton," added George.
　　This time he secured the earl's interest. Lord Marshmoretonstarted.
　　"What!""They are just off to Paris," said George.
　　"Reggie Byng is not married!""Married this morning. I was best man.""Busy little creature!" interjected Billie.
　　"But--but--!""You know his wife," said George casually. "She was a Miss Faraday.
　　I think she was your secretary."It would have been impossible to deny that Lord Marshmoreton showedemotion. His mouth opened, and he clutched the tablecloth. Butjust what the emotion was George was unable to say till, with asigh that seemed to come from his innermost being, the otherexclaimed "Thank Heaven!"George was surprised.
　　"You're glad?""Of course I'm glad!""It's a pity they didn't know how you were going to feel. It wouldhave saved them a lot of anxiety. I rather gathered they supposedthat the shock was apt to darken your whole life.""That girl," said Lord Marshmoreton vehemently, "was driving mecrazy. Always bothering me to come and work on that damned familyhistory. Never gave me a moment's peace . . .""I liked her," said George.
　　"Nice enough girl," admitted his lordship grudgingly. "But a damnednuisance about the house; always at me to go on with the familyhistory. As if there weren't better things to do with one's timethan writing all day about my infernal fools of ancestors!""Isn't dadda fractious today?" said Billie reprovingly, giving theEarl's hand a pat. "Quit knocking your ancestors! You're very luckyto have ancestors. I wish I had. The Dore family seems to go backabout as far as the presidency of Willard Filmore, and then it kindof gets discouraged and quite cold. Gee! I'd like to feel that mygreat-great-great-grandmother had helped Queen Elizabeth with therent. I'm strong for the fine old stately families of England.""Stately old fiddlesticks!" snapped the earl.
　　"Did you see his eyes flash then, George? That's what they callaristocratic rage. It's the fine old spirit of the Marshmoretonsboiling over.""I noticed it," said George. "Just like lightning.""It's no use trying to fool us, dadda," said Billie. "You know justas well as I do that it makes you feel good to think that, everytime you cut yourself with your safety-razor, you bleed blue!""A lot of silly nonsense!" grumbled the earl.
　　"What is?""This foolery of titles and aristocracy. Silly fetish-worship!
　　One man's as good as another. . . .""This is the spirit of '76!" said George approvingly.
　　"Regular I.W.W. stuff," agreed Billie. "Shake hands the Presidentof the Bolsheviki!"Lord Marshmoreton ignored the interruption. There was a strangelook in his eyes. It was evident to George, watching him with closeinterest, that here was a revelation of the man's soul; thatthoughts, locked away for years in the other's bosom were cryingfor utterance.
　　"Damned silly nonsense! When I was a boy, I wanted to bean engine-driver. When I was a young man, I was a Socialistand hadn't any idea except to work for my living and make aname for myself. I was going to the colonies. Canada. Thefruit farm was actually bought. Bought and paid for!" Hebrooded a moment on that long-lost fruit farm. "My father wasa younger son. And then my uncle must go and break his neckhunting, and the baby, poor little chap, got croup or something. . . And there I was, saddled with the title, and all my plansgone up in smoke . . . Silly nonsense! Silly nonsense!"He bit the end of a cigar. "And you can't stand up against it," hewent on ruefully. "It saps you. It's like some damned drug. Ifought against it as long as I could, but it was no use. I'm as biga snob as any of them now. I'm afraid to do what I want to do.
　　Always thinking of the family dignity. I haven't taken a free stepfor twenty-five years."George and Billie exchanged glances. Each had the uncomfortablefeeling that they were eavesdropping and hearing things not meantto be heard. George rose.
　　"I must be getting along now," he said. "I've one or twothings to do. Glad to have seen you again, Billie. Is the showgoing all right?""Fine. Making money for you right along.""Good-bye, Lord Marshmoreton."The earl nodded without speaking. It was not often now that herebelled even in thoughts against the lot which fate had thrustupon him, and never in his life before had he done so in words. Hewas still in the grip of the strange discontent which had come uponhim so abruptly.
　　There was a silence after George had gone.
　　"I'm glad we met George," said Billie. "He's a good boy." She spokesoberly. She was conscious of a curious feeling of affection forthe sturdy, weather-tanned little man opposite her. The glimpseshe had been given of his inner self had somehow made him comealive for her.
　　"He wants to marry my daughter," said Lord Marshmoreton. A fewmoments before, Billie would undoubtedly have replied to such astatement with some jocular remark expressing disbelief that theearl could have a daughter old enough to be married. But now shefelt oddly serious and unlike her usual flippant self.
　　"Oh?" was all she could find to say.
　　"She wants to marry him."Not for years had Billie Dore felt embarrassed, but she felt sonow. She judged herself unworthy to be the recipient of these veryprivate confidences.
　　"Oh?" she said again.
　　"He's a good fellow. I like him. I liked him the moment we met. Heknew it, too. And I knew he liked me."A group of men and girls from a neighbouring table passed on theirway to the door. One of the girls nodded to Billie. She returnedthe nod absently. The party moved on. Billie frowned down at thetablecloth and drew a pattern on it with a fork.
　　"Why don't you let George marry your daughter, Lord Marshmoreton?"The earl drew at his cigar in silence.
　　"I know it's not my business," said Billie apologetically,interpreting the silence as a rebuff.
　　"Because I'm the Earl of Marshmoreton.""I see.""No you don't," snapped the earl. "You think I mean by that that Ithink your friend isn't good enough to marry my daughter. You thinkthat I'm an incurable snob. And I've no doubt he thinks so, too,though I took the trouble to explain my attitude to him when welast met. You're wrong. It isn't that at all. When I say 'I'm theEarl of Marshmoreton', I mean that I'm a poor spineless fool who'safraid to do the right thing because he daren't go in the teeth ofthe family.""I don't understand. What have your family got to do with it?""They'd worry the life out of me. I wish you could meet my sisterCaroline! That's what they've got to do with it. Girls in mydaughter's unfortunate position have got to marry position ormoney.""Well, I don't know about position, but when it comes tomoney--why, George is the fellow that made the dollar-bill famous.
　　He and Rockefeller have got all there is, except the little bitthey have let Andy Carnegie have for car-fare.""What do you mean? He told me he worked for a living." Billie wasbecoming herself again. Embarrassment had fled.
　　"If you call it work. He's a composer.""I know. Writes tunes and things."Billie regarded him compassionately.
　　"And I suppose, living out in the woods the way that you do thatyou haven't a notion that they pay him for it.""Pay him? Yes, but how much? Composers were not rich men in my day.""I wish you wouldn't talk of 'your day' as if you telling the boysdown at the corner store about the good times they all had beforethe Flood. You're one of the Younger Set and don't let me have totell you again. Say, listen! You know that show you saw last night.
　　The one where I was supported by a few underlings. Well, Georgewrote the music for that.""I know. He told me so.""Well, did he tell you that he draws three per cent of the grossreceipts? You saw the house we had last night. It was a fairaverage house. We are playing to over fourteen thousand dollars aweek. George's little bit of that is--I can't do it in my head, butit's a round four hundred dollars. That's eighty pounds of yourmoney. And did he tell you that this same show ran over a year inNew York to big business all the time, and that there are threecompanies on the road now? And did he mention that this is theninth show he's done, and that seven of the others were just as bighits as this one? And did he remark in passing that he getsroyalties on every copy of his music that's sold, and that at leastten of his things have sold over half a million? No, he didn't,because he isn't the sort of fellow who stands around blowing abouthis income. But you know it now.""Why, he's a rich man!""I don't know what you call rich, but, keeping on the safe side, Ishould say that George pulls down in a good year, during theseason--around five thousand dollars a week."Lord Marshmoreton was frankly staggered.
　　"A thousand pounds a week! I had no idea!""I thought you hadn't. And, while I'm boosting George, let me tellyou another thing. He's one of the whitest men that ever happened.
　　I know him. You can take it from me, if there's anything rotten ina fellow, the show-business will bring it out, and it hasn't comeout in George yet, so I guess it isn't there. George is allright!""He has at least an excellent advocate.""Oh, I'm strong for George. I wish there were more like him . . .
　　Well, if you think I've butted in on your private affairssufficiently, I suppose I ought to be moving. We've a rehearsalthis afternoon.""Let it go!" said Lord Marshmoreton boyishly.
　　"Yes, and how quick do you think they would let me go, if I did?
　　I'm an honest working-girl, and I can't afford to lose jobs."Lord Marshmoreton fiddled with his cigar-butt.
　　"I could offer you an alternative position, if you cared to acceptit."Billie looked at him keenly. Other men in similar circumstances hadmade much the same remark to her. She was conscious of feeling alittle disappointed in her new friend.
　　"Well?" she said dryly. "Shoot.""You gathered, no doubt, from Mr. Bevan's conversation, that mysecretary has left me and run away and got married? Would you liketo take her place?"It was not easy to disconcert Billie Dore, but she was taken aback.
　　She had been expecting something different.
　　"You're a shriek, dadda!""I'm perfectly serious.""Can you see me at a castle?""I can see you perfectly." Lord Marshmoreton's rather formal mannerleft him. "Do please accept, my dear child. I've got to finish thisdamned family history some time or other. The family expect me to.
　　Only yesterday my sister Caroline got me in a corner and bored mefor half an hour about it. I simply can't face the prospect ofgetting another Alice Faraday from an agency. Charming girl,charming girl, of course, but . . . but . . . well, I'll be damnedif I do it, and that's the long and short of it!"Billie bubbled over with laughter.
　　"Of all the impulsive kids!" she gurgled. "I never met anyone likeyou, dadda! You don't even know that I can use a typewriter.""I do. Mr. Bevan told me you were an excellent stenographer.""So George has been boosting me, too, has he?" She mused. "I mustsay, I'd love to come. That old place got me when I saw it that day.""That's settled, then," said Lord Marshmoreton masterfully. "Go tothe theatre and tell them--tell whatever is usual in these cases.
　　And then go home and pack, and meet me at Waterloo at six o'clock.
　　The train leaves at six-fifteen.""Return of the wanderer, accompanied by dizzy blonde! You'vecertainly got it all fixed, haven't you! Do you think the familywill stand for me?""Damn the family!" said Lord Marshmoreton, stoutly.
　　"There's one thing," said Billie complacently, eyeing herreflection in the mirror of her vanity-case, "I may glitter in thefighting-top, but it is genuine. When I was a kid, I was a regularlittle tow-head.""I never supposed for a moment that it was anything butgenuine.""Then you've got a fine, unsuspicious nature, dadda, and I admireyou for it.""Six o'clock at Waterloo," said the earl. "I will be waiting foryou."Billie regarded him with affectionate admiration.
　　"Boys will be boys," she said. "All right. I'll be there."
Chapter 22
    "Young blighted Albert," said Keggs the butler, shifting his weightso that it distributed itself more comfortably over the creakingchair in which he reclined, "let this be a lesson to you, youngfeller me lad."The day was a week after Lord Marshmoreton's visit to London, thehour six o'clock. The housekeeper's room, in which the upperservants took their meals, had emptied. Of the gay company whichhad just finished dinner only Keggs remained, placidly digesting.
　　Albert, whose duty it was to wait on the upper servants, was movingto and fro, morosely collecting the plates and glasses. The boy wasin no happy frame of mind. Throughout dinner the conversation attable had dealt almost exclusively with the now celebratedelopement of Reggie Byng and his bride, and few subjects could havemade more painful listening to Albert.
　　"What's been the result and what I might call the upshot," saidKeggs, continuing his homily, "of all your making yourself so busyand thrusting of yourself forward and meddling in the affairs ofyour elders and betters? The upshot and issue of it 'as been thatyou are out five shillings and nothing to show for it. Fiveshillings what you might have spent on some good book and improvedyour mind! And goodness knows it wants all the improving it canget, for of all the worthless, idle little messers it's ever beenmy misfortune to have dealings with, you are the champion. Becareful of them plates, young man, and don't breathe so hard. You'aven't got hasthma or something, 'ave you?""I can't breathe now!" complained the stricken child.
　　"Not like a grampus you can't, and don't you forget it." Keggswagged his head reprovingly. "Well, so your Reggie Byng's gone andeloped, has he! That ought to teach you to be more careful anothertime 'ow you go gambling and plunging into sweepstakes. The idea ofa child of your age 'aving the audacity to thrust 'isself forwardlike that!""Don't call him my Reggie Byng! I didn't draw 'im!""There's no need to go into all that again, young feller. Youaccepted 'im freely and without prejudice when the fair exchangewas suggested, so for all practical intents and purposes he is yourReggie Byng. I 'ope you're going to send him a wedding-present.""Well, you ain't any better off than me, with all your 'ighwayrobbery!""My what!""You 'eard what I said.""Well, don't let me 'ear it again. The idea! If you 'ad anyobjections to parting with that ticket, you should have stated themclearly at the time. And what do you mean by saying I ain't anybetter off than you are?""I 'ave my reasons.""You think you 'ave, which is a very different thing. I suppose youimagine that you've put a stopper on a certain little affair bysurreptitiously destroying letters entrusted to you.""I never!" exclaimed Albert with a convulsive start that nearlysent eleven plates dashing to destruction.
　　"'Ow many times have I got to tell you to be careful of themplates?" said Keggs sternly. "Who do you think you are--a juggleron the 'Alls, 'urling them about like that? Yes, I know all aboutthat letter. You thought you was very clever, I've no doubt. Butlet me tell you, young blighted Albert, that only the other evening'er ladyship and Mr. Bevan 'ad a long and extended interview inspite of all your hefforts. I saw through your little game, and Iproceeded and went and arranged the meeting."In spite of himself Albert was awed. He was oppressed by the senseof struggling with a superior intellect.
　　"Yes, you did!" he managed to say with the proper note ofincredulity, but in his heart he was not incredulous. Dimly, Alberthad begun to perceive that years must elapse before he could becomecapable of matching himself in battles of wits with thismaster-strategist.
　　"Yes, I certainly did!" said Keggs. "I don't know what 'appened atthe interview--not being present in person. But I've no doubt thateverything proceeded satisfactorily.""And a fat lot of good that's going to do you, when 'e ain'tallowed to come inside the 'ouse!"A bland smile irradiated the butler's moon-like face.
　　"If by 'e you're alloodin' to Mr. Bevan, young blighted Albert, letme tell you that it won't be long before 'e becomes a regular dulyinvited guest at the castle!""A lot of chance!""Would you care to 'ave another five shillings even money on it?"Albert recoiled. He had had enough of speculation where the butlerwas concerned. Where that schemer was allowed to get within reachof it, hard cash melted away.
　　"What are you going to do?""Never you mind what I'm going to do. I 'ave my methods. All I'ave to say to you is that tomorrow or the day after Mr. Bevanwill be seated in our dining-'all with 'is feet under our table,replying according to his personal taste and preference, when I ask'im if 'e'll 'ave 'ock or sherry. Brush all them crumbs carefullyoff the tablecloth, young blighted Albert--don't shuffle yourfeet--breathe softly through your nose--and close the door be'indyou when you've finished!""Oh, go and eat cake!" said Albert bitterly. But he saidit to his immortal soul, not aloud. The lad's spirit was broken.
　　Keggs, the processes of digestion completed, presented himselfbefore Lord Belpher in the billiard-room. Percy was alone. Thehouse-party, so numerous on the night of the ball and on hisbirthday, had melted down now to reasonable proportions. Thesecond and third cousins had retired, flushed and gratified, toobscure dens from which they had emerged, and the castle housedonly the more prominent members of the family, always harder todislodge than the small fry. The Bishop still remained, and theColonel. Besides these, there were perhaps half a dozen more of thecloser relations: to Lord Belpher's way of thinking, half a dozentoo many. He was not fond of his family.
　　"Might I have a word with your lordship?""What is it, Keggs?"Keggs was a self-possessed man, but he found it a little hard tobegin. Then he remembered that once in the misty past he had seenLord Belpher spanked for stealing jam, he himself having acted onthat occasion as prosecuting attorney; and the memory nerved him.
　　"I earnestly 'ope that your lordship will not think that I amtaking a liberty. I 'ave been in his lordship your father's servicemany years now, and the family honour is, if I may be pardoned forsaying so, extremely near my 'eart. I 'ave known your lordshipsince you were a mere boy, and . . ."Lord Belpher had listened with growing impatience to this preamble.
　　His temper was seldom at its best these days, and the rollingperiods annoyed him.
　　"Yes, yes, of course," he said. "What is it?"Keggs was himself now. In his opening remarks he had simply been,as it were, winding up. He was now prepared to begin.
　　"Your lordship will recall inquiring of me on the night of the ballas to the bona fides of one of the temporary waiters? The one thatstated that 'e was the cousin of young bli--of the boy Albert, thepage? I have been making inquiries, your lordship, and I regret tosay I find that the man was a impostor. He informed me that 'e wasAlbert's cousin, but Albert now informs me that 'e 'as no cousin inAmerica. I am extremely sorry this should have occurred, yourlordship, and I 'ope you will attribute it to the bustle and hasteinseparable from duties as mine on such a occasion.""I know the fellow was an impostor. He was probably after thespoons!"Keggs coughed.
　　"If I might be allowed to take a further liberty, your lordship,might I suggest that I am aware of the man's identity and of hismotive for visiting the castle."He waited a little apprehensively. This was the crucial point inthe interview. If Lord Belpher did not now freeze him with a glanceand order him from the room, the danger would be past, and he couldspeak freely. His light blue eyes were expressionless as they metPercy's, but inwardly he was feeling much the same sensation as hewas wont to experience when the family was in town and he hadmanaged to slip off to Kempton Park or some other race-course andput some of his savings on a horse. As he felt when the racingsteeds thundered down the straight, so did he feel now.
　　Astonishment showed in Lord Belpher's round face. Just as it wasabout to be succeeded by indignation, the butler spoke again.
　　"I am aware, your lordship, that it is not my place to offersuggestions as to the private and intimate affairs of the family I'ave the honour to serve, but, if your lordship would consent tooverlook the liberty, I think I could be of 'elp and assistance ina matter which is causing annoyance and unpleasantness to all."He invigorated himself with another dip into the waters of memory.
　　Yes. The young man before him might be Lord Belpher, son of hisemployer and heir to all these great estates, but once he had seenhim spanked.
　　Perhaps Percy also remembered this. Perhaps he merely felt thatKeggs was a faithful old servant and, as such, entitled to thrusthimself into the family affairs. Whatever his reasons, he nowdefinitely lowered the barrier.
　　"Well," he said, with a glance at the door to make sure that therewere no witnesses to an act of which the aristocrat in himdisapproved, "go on!"Keggs breathed freely. The danger-point was past.
　　"'Aving a natural interest, your lordship," he said, "we of theServants' 'All generally manage to become respectfully aware ofwhatever 'appens to be transpirin' above stairs. May I say that Ibecame acquainted at an early stage with the trouble which yourlordship is unfortunately 'aving with a certain party?"Lord Belpher, although his whole being revolted against whatpractically amounted to hobnobbing with a butler, perceived that hehad committed himself to the discussion. It revolted him to thinkthat these delicate family secrets were the subject of conversationin menial circles, but it was too late to do anything now. Andsuch was the whole-heartedness with which he had declared war uponGeorge Bevan that, at this stage in the proceedings, his chiefemotion was a hope that Keggs might have something sensible tosuggest.
　　"I think, begging your lordship's pardon for making the remark,that you are acting injudicious. I 'ave been in service a greatnumber of years, startin' as steward's room boy and rising to mypresent position, and I may say I 'ave 'ad experience during thoseyears of several cases where the daughter or son of the 'ousecontemplated a misalliance, and all but one of the cases endeddisastrously, your lordship, on account of the family tryingopposition. It is my experience that opposition in matters of the'eart is useless, feedin', as it, so to speak, does the flame.
　　Young people, your lordship, if I may be pardoned for employing theexpression in the present case, are naturally romantic and if youkeep 'em away from a thing they sit and pity themselves and want itall the more. And in the end you may be sure they get it. There'sno way of stoppin' them. I was not on sufficiently easy terms withthe late Lord Worlingham to give 'im the benefit of my experienceon the occasion when the Honourable Aubrey Pershore fell in lovewith the young person at the Gaiety Theatre. Otherwise I could'ave told 'im he was not acting judicious. His lordship opposedthe match in every way, and the young couple ran off and gotmarried at a registrar's. It was the same when a young man who wastutor to 'er ladyship's brother attracted Lady Evelyn Walls, theonly daughter of the Earl of Ackleton. In fact, your lordship, theonly entanglement of the kind that came to a satisfactoryconclusion in the whole of my personal experience was the affair ofLady Catherine Duseby, Lord Bridgefield's daughter, whoinjudiciously became infatuated with a roller-skating instructor."Lord Belpher had ceased to feel distantly superior to his companion.
　　The butler's powerful personality hypnotized him. Long ere theharangue was ended, he was as a little child drinking in theutterances of a master. He bent forward eagerly. Keggs had brokenoff his remarks at the most interesting point.
　　"What happened?" inquired Percy.
　　"The young man," proceeded Keggs, "was a young man of considerablepersonal attractions, 'aving large brown eyes and a athleticlissome figure, brought about by roller-skating. It was no wonder,in the opinion of the Servants' 'All, that 'er ladyship should havefound 'erself fascinated by him, particularly as I myself 'ad 'eardher observe at a full luncheon-table that roller-skating was inher opinion the only thing except her toy Pomeranian that made lifeworth living. But when she announced that she had become engaged tothis young man, there was the greatest consternation. I was not, ofcourse, privileged to be a participant at the many councils anddiscussions that ensued and took place, but I was aware that suchtranspired with great frequency. Eventually 'is lordship took theshrewd step of assuming acquiescence and inviting the young man tovisit us in Scotland. And within ten days of his arrival, yourlordship, the match was broken off. He went back to 'isroller-skating, and 'er ladyship took up visiting the poor andeventually contracted an altogether suitable alliance by marryingLord Ronald Spofforth, the second son of his Grace the Duke ofGorbals and Strathbungo.""How did it happen?""Seein' the young man in the surroundings of 'er own 'ome, 'erladyship soon began to see that she had taken too romantic a viewof 'im previous, your lordship. 'E was one of the lower middleclass, what is sometimes termed the bourjoisy, and 'is 'abits werenot the 'abits of the class to which 'er ladyship belonged. 'E 'adnothing in common with the rest of the 'ouse-party, and wasinjudicious in 'is choice of forks. The very first night at dinner'e took a steel knife to the ontray, and I see 'er ladyship look athim very sharp, as much as to say that scales had fallen from 'ereyes. It didn't take 'er long after that to become convinced that'er 'eart 'ad led 'er astray.""Then you think--?""It is not for me to presume to offer anything but the mostrespectful advice, your lordship, but I should most certainlyadvocate a similar procedure in the present instance."Lord Belpher reflected. Recent events had brought home to him themagnitude of the task he had assumed when he had appointed himselfthe watcher of his sister's movements. The affair of the curate andthe village blacksmith had shaken him both physically andspiritually. His feet were still sore, and his confidence inhimself had waned considerably. The thought of having to continuehis espionage indefinitely was not a pleasant one. How much simplerand more effective it would be to adopt the suggestion which hadbeen offered to him.
　　"--I'm not sure you aren't right, Keggs.""Thank you, your lordship. I feel convinced of it.""I will speak to my father tonight.""Very good, your lordship. I am glad to have been of service.""Young blighted Albert," said Keggs crisply, shortly afterbreakfast on the following morning, "you're to take this note toMr. Bevan at the cottage down by Platt's farm, and you're todeliver it without playing any of your monkey-tricks, and you're towait for an answer, and you're to bring that answer back to me,too, and to Lord Marshmoreton. And I may tell you, to save you thetrouble of opening it with steam from the kitchen kettle, that I'ave already done so. It's an invitation to dine with us tonight.
　　So now you know. Look slippy!"Albert capitulated. For the first time in his life he felt humble.
　　He perceived how misguided he had been ever to suppose that hecould pit his pigmy wits against this smooth-faced worker ofwonders.
　　"Crikey!" he ejaculated.
　　It was all that he could say.
　　"And there's one more thing, young feller me lad," added Keggsearnestly, "don't you ever grow up to be such a fat'ead as ourfriend Percy. Don't forget I warned you."
Chapter 23
    Life is like some crazy machine that is always going either tooslow or too fast. From the cradle to the grave we alternate betweenthe Sargasso Sea and the rapids--forever either becalmed orstorm-tossed. It seemed to Maud, as she looked across thedinner-table in order to make sure for the twentieth time that itreally was George Bevan who sat opposite her, that, after months inwhich nothing whatever had happened, she was now living through aperiod when everything was happening at once. Life, from being abroken-down machine, had suddenly begun to race.
　　To the orderly routine that stretched back to the time when she hadbeen hurried home in disgrace from Wales there had succeeded a madwhirl of events, to which the miracle of tonight had come as afitting climax. She had not begun to dress for dinner till somewhatlate, and had consequently entered the drawing-room just as Keggswas announcing that the meal was ready. She had received her firstshock when the love-sick Plummer, emerging from a mixed crowd ofrelatives and friends, had informed her that he was to take her in.
　　She had not expected Plummer to be there, though he lived in theneighbourhood. Plummer, at their last meeting, had stated hisintention of going abroad for a bit to mend his bruised heart: andit was a little disconcerting to a sensitive girl to find hervictim popping up again like this. She did not know that, as far asPlummer was concerned, the whole affair was to be considered openedagain. To Plummer, analysing the girl's motives in refusing him,there had come the idea that there was Another, and that this othermust be Reggie Byng. From the first he had always looked uponReggie as his worst rival. And now Reggie had bolted with theFaraday girl, leaving Maud in excellent condition, so it seemed toPlummer, to console herself with a worthier man. Plummer knew allabout the Rebound and the part it plays in the affairs of theheart. His own breach-of-promise case two years earlier had beenentirely due to the fact that the refusal of the youngest Devenishgirl to marry him had caused him to rebound into the dangeroussociety of the second girl from the O.P. end of the first row inthe "Summertime is Kissing-time" number in the Alhambra revue. Hehad come to the castle tonight gloomy, but not without hope.
　　Maud's second shock eclipsed the first entirely. No notificationhad been given to her either by her father or by Percy of theproposed extension of the hand of hospitality to George, and thesight of him standing there talking to her aunt Caroline made hermomentarily dizzy. Life, which for several days had had all theproperties now of a dream, now of a nightmare, became more unrealthan ever. She could conceive no explanation of George's presence.
　　He could not be there--that was all there was to it; yet thereundoubtedly he was. Her manner, as she accompanied Plummer down thestairs, took on such a dazed sweetness that her escort felt that incoming there that night he had done the wisest act of a lifetimestudded but sparsely with wise acts. It seemed to Plummer that thisgirl had softened towards him. Certainly something had changed her.
　　He could not know that she was merely wondering if she was awake.
　　George, meanwhile, across the table, was also having a littledifficulty in adjusting his faculties to the progress of events. Hehad given up trying to imagine why he had been invited to thisdinner, and was now endeavouring to find some theory which wouldsquare with the fact of Billie Dore being at the castle. Atprecisely this hour Billie, by rights, should have been putting thefinishing touches on her make-up in a second-floor dressing-room atthe Regal. Yet there she sat, very much at her ease in thisaristocratic company, so quietly and unobtrusively dressed in someblack stuff that at first he had scarcely recognized her. She wastalking to the Bishop. . .
　　The voice of Keggs at his elbow broke in on his reverie.
　　"Sherry or 'ock, sir?"George could not have explained why this reminder of the butler'spresence should have made him feel better, but it did. There wassomething solid and tranquilizing about Keggs. He had noticed itbefore. For the first time the sensation of having been smittenover the head with some blunt instrument began to abate. It was asif Keggs by the mere intonation of his voice had said, "All thisno doubt seems very strange and unusual to you, but feel no alarm!
　　I am here!"George began to sit up and take notice. A cloud seemed to havecleared from his brain. He found himself looking on hisfellow-diners as individuals rather than as a confused mass. Theprophet Daniel, after the initial embarrassment of finding himselfin the society of the lions had passed away, must have experienceda somewhat similar sensation.
　　He began to sort these people out and label them. There had beenintroductions in the drawing-room, but they had left him with abewildered sense of having heard somebody recite a page fromBurke's peerage. Not since that day in the free library in London,when he had dived into that fascinating volume in order to discoverMaud's identity, had he undergone such a rain of titles. He nowtook stock, to ascertain how many of these people he couldidentify.
　　The stock-taking was an absolute failure. Of all those present theonly individuals he could swear to were his own personal littleplaymates with whom he had sported in other surroundings. There wasLord Belpher, for instance, eyeing him with a hostility that couldhardly be called veiled. There was Lord Marshmoreton at the head ofthe table, listening glumly to the conversation of a stout womanwith a pearl necklace, but who was that woman? Was it Lady JaneAllenby or Lady Edith Wade-Beverly or Lady Patricia Fowles? Andwho, above all, was the pie-faced fellow with the moustache talkingto Maud?
　　He sought assistance from the girl he had taken in to dinner. Sheappeared, as far as he could ascertain from a short acquaintance,to be an amiable little thing. She was small and young and fluffy,and he had caught enough of her name at the moment of introductionto gather that she was plain "Miss" Something--a fact which seemedto him to draw them together.
　　"I wish you would tell me who some of these people are," he said,as she turned from talking to the man on her other-side. "Who isthe man over there?""Which man?""The one talking to Lady Maud. The fellow whose face ought to beshuffled and dealt again.""That's my brother."That held George during the soup.
　　"I'm sorry about your brother," he said rallying with the fish.
　　"That's very sweet of you.""It was the light that deceived me. Now that I look again, I seethat his face has great charm."The girl giggled. George began to feel better.
　　"Who are some of the others? I didn't get your name, for instance.
　　They shot it at me so quick that it had whizzed by before I couldcatch it.""My name is Plummer."George was electrified. He looked across the table with more vividinterest. The amorous Plummer had been just a Voice to him tillnow. It was exciting to see him in the flesh.
　　"And who are the rest of them?""They are all members of the family. I thought you knew them.""I know Lord Marshmoreton. And Lady Maud. And, of course, LordBelpher." He caught Percy's eye as it surveyed him coldly from theother side of the table, and nodded cheerfully. "Great pal ofmine, Lord Belpher."The fluffy Miss Plummer twisted her pretty face into a grimace ofdisapproval.
　　"I don't like Percy.""No!""I think he's conceited.""Surely not? 'What could he have to be conceited about?""He's stiff.""Yes, of course, that's how he strikes people at first. The firsttime I met him, I thought he was an awful stiff. But you should seehim in his moments of relaxation. He's one of those fellows youhave to get to know. He grows on you.""Yes, but look at that affair with the policeman in London.
　　Everybody in the county is talking about it.""Young blood!" sighed George. "Young blood! Of course, Percy iswild.""He must have been intoxicated.""Oh, undoubtedly," said George.
　　Miss Plummer glanced across the table.
　　"Do look at Edwin!""Which is Edwin?""My brother, I mean. Look at the way he keeps staring at Maud.
　　Edwin's awfully in love with Maud," she rattled on with engagingfrankness. "At least, he thinks he is. He's been in love with adifferent girl every season since I came out. And now that ReggieByng has gone and married Alice Faraday, he thinks he has a chance.
　　You heard about that, I suppose?""Yes, I did hear something about it.""Of course, Edwin's wasting his time, really. I happen toknow"--Miss Plummer sank her voice to a whisper--"I happen to knowthat Maud's awfully in love with some man she met in Wales lastyear, but the family won't hear of it.""Families are like that," agreed George.
　　"Nobody knows who he is, but everybody in the county knows all aboutit. Those things get about, you know. Of course, it's out of thequestion. Maud will have to marry somebody awfully rich or with atitle. Her family's one of the oldest in England, you know.""So I understand.""It isn't as if she were the daughter of Lord Peebles, somebodylike that.""Why Lord Peebles?""Well, what I mean to say is," said Miss Plummer, with a silveryecho of Reggie Byng, "he made his money in whisky.""That's better than spending it that way," argued George.
　　Miss Plummer looked puzzled. "I see what you mean," she said alittle vaguely. "Lord Marshmoreton is so different.""Haughty nobleman stuff, eh?""Yes.""So you think this mysterious man in Wales hasn't a chance?""Not unless he and Maud elope like Reggie Byng and Alice. Wasn'tthat exciting? Who would ever have suspected Reggie had the dash todo a thing like that? Lord Marshmoreton's new secretary is verypretty, don't you think?""Which is she?""The girl in black with the golden hair.""Is she Lord Marshmoreton's secretary?""Yes. She's an American girl. I think she's much nicer than AliceFaraday. I was talking to her before dinner. Her name is Dore. Herfather was a captain in the American army, who died without leavingher a penny. He was the younger son of a very distinguished family,but his family disowned him because he married against theirwishes.""Something ought to be done to stop these families," said George.
　　"They're always up to something.""So Miss Dore had to go out and earn her own living. It must havebeen awful for her, mustn't it, having to give up society.""Did she give up society?""Oh, yes. She used to go everywhere in New York before her fatherdied. I think American girls are wonderful. They have so muchenterprise."George at the moment was thinking that it was in imagination thatthey excelled.
　　"I wish I could go out and earn my living," said Miss Plummer.
　　"But the family won't dream of it.""The family again!" said George sympathetically. "They're a perfectcurse.""I want to go on the stage. Are you fond of the theatre?""Fairly.""I love it. Have you seen Hubert Broadleigh in ''Twas Once inSpring'?""I'm afraid I haven't.""He's wonderful. Have you see Cynthia Dane in 'A Woman's No'?""I missed that one too.""Perhaps you prefer musical pieces? I saw an awfully good musicalcomedy before I left town. It's called 'Follow the Girl'. It's atthe Regal Theatre. Have you see it?""I wrote it.""You--what!""That is to say, I wrote the music.""But the music's lovely," gasped little Miss Plummer, as if thefact made his claim ridiculous. "I've been humming it ever since.""I can't help that. I still stick to it that I wrote it.""You aren't George Bevan!""I am!""But--" Miss Plummer's voice almost failed here--"But I've beendancing to your music for years! I've got about fifty of yourrecords on the Victrola at home."George blushed. However successful a man may be he can never getused to Fame at close range.
　　"Why, that tricky thing--you know, in the second act--is thedarlingest thing I ever heard. I'm mad about it.""Do you mean the one that goes lumty-lumty-tum, tumty-tumty-tum?""No the one that goes ta-rumty-tum-tum, ta-rumty-tum.
　　You know! The one about Granny dancing the shimmy.""I'm not responsible for the words, you know," urged Georgehastily. "Those are wished on me by the lyrist.""I think the words are splendid. Although poor popper thinks itsimproper, Granny's always doing it and nobody can stop her! I lovedit." Miss Plummer leaned forward excitedly. She was an impulsivegirl. "Lady Caroline."Conversation stopped. Lady Caroline turned.
　　"Yes, Millie?""Did you know that Mr. Bevan was THE Mr. Bevan?"Everybody was listening now. George huddled pinkly in his chair. Hehad not foreseen this bally-hooing. Shadrach, Meschach and Abednegocombined had never felt a tithe of the warmth that consumed him. Hewas essentially a modest young man.
　　"THE Mr. Bevan?" echoed Lady Caroline coldly. It was painful to herto have to recognize George's existence on the same planet asherself. To admire him, as Miss Plummer apparently expected her todo, was a loathsome task. She cast one glance, fresh from therefrigerator, at the shrinking George, and elevated heraristocratic eyebrows.
　　Miss Plummer was not damped. She was at the hero-worshipping age,and George shared with the Messrs. Fairbanks, Francis X. Bushman,and one or two tennis champions an imposing pedestal in her Hall ofFame.
　　"You know! George Bevan, who wrote the music of 'Follow the Girl'."Lady Caroline showed no signs of thawing. She had not heard of'Follow the Girl'. Her attitude suggested that, while she admittedthe possibility of George having disgraced himself in the mannerindicated, it was nothing to her.
　　"And all those other things," pursued Miss Plummer indefatigably.
　　"You must have heard his music on the Victrola.""Why, of course!"It was not Lady Caroline who spoke, but a man further down thetable. He spoke with enthusiasm.
　　"Of course, by Jove!" he said. "The Schenectady Shimmy, by Jove,and all that! Ripping!"Everybody seemed pleased and interested. Everybody, that is to say,except Lady Caroline and Lord Belpher. Percy was feeling that hehad been tricked. He cursed the imbecility of Keggs in suggestingthat this man should be invited to dinner. Everything had gonewrong. George was an undoubted success. The majority of thecompany were solid for him. As far as exposing his unworthiness inthe eyes of Maud was concerned, the dinner had been a ghastlyfailure. Much better to have left him to lurk in his infernalcottage. Lord Belpher drained his glass moodily. He was seriouslyupset.
　　But his discomfort at that moment was as nothing to the agony whichrent his tortured soul a moment later. Lord Marshmoreton, who hadbeen listening with growing excitement to the chorus of approval,rose from his seat. He cleared his throat. It was plain that LordMarshmoreton had something on his mind.
　　"Er. . . ." he said.
　　The clatter of conversation ceased once more--stunned, as it alwaysis at dinner parties when one of the gathering is seen to haveassumed an upright position. Lord Marshmoreton cleared his throatagain. His tanned face had taken on a deeper hue, and there was alook in his eyes which seemed to suggest that he was defyingsomething or somebody. It was the look which Ajax had in his eyeswhen he defied the lightning, the look which nervous husbands havewhen they announce their intention of going round the corner to bowla few games with the boys. One could not say definitely that LordMarshmoreton looked pop-eyed. On the other hand, one could notassert truthfully that he did not. At any rate, he was manifestlyembarrassed. He had made up his mind to a certain course of actionon the spur of the moment, taking advantage, as others have done,of the trend of popular enthusiasm: and his state of mind wasnervous but resolute, like that of a soldier going over the top.
　　He cleared his throat for the third time, took one swift glance athis sister Caroline, then gazed glassily into the emptiness aboveher head.
　　"Take this opportunity," he said rapidly, clutching at thetable-cloth for support, "take this opportunity of announcing theengagement of my daughter Maud to Mr. Bevan. And," he concludedwith a rush, pouring back into his chair, "I should like you all todrink their health!"There was a silence that hurt. It was broken by two sounds,occurring simultaneously in different parts of the room. One was agasp from Lady Caroline. The other was a crash of glass.
　　For the first time in a long unblemished career Keggs the butlerhad dropped a tray.
Chapter 24
    Out on the terrace the night was very still. From a steel-blue skythe stars looked down as calmly as they had looked on the night ofthe ball, when George had waited by the shrubbery listening to thewailing of the music and thinking long thoughts. From the darkmeadows by the brook came the cry of a corncrake, its harsh notesoftened by distance.
　　"What shall we do?" said Maud. She was sitting on the stone seatwhere Reggie Byng had sat and meditated on his love for AliceFaraday and his unfortunate habit of slicing his approach-shots. ToGeorge, as he stood beside her, she was a white blur in thedarkness. He could not see her face.
　　"I don't know!" he said frankly.
　　Nor did he. Like Lady Caroline and Lord Belpher and Keggs, thebutler, he had been completely overwhelmed by Lord Marshmoreton'sdramatic announcement. The situation had come upon him unheraldedby any warning, and had found him unequal to it.
　　A choking sound suddenly proceeded from the whiteness that wasMaud. In the stillness it sounded like some loud noise. It jarredon George's disturbed nerves.
　　"Please!""I c-can't help it!""There's nothing to cry about, really! If we think long enough, weshall find some way out all right. Please don't cry.""I'm not crying!" The choking sound became an unmistakable ripple ofmirth. "It's so absurd! Poor father getting up like that in frontof everyone! Did you see Aunt Caroline's face?""It haunts me still," said George. "I shall never forget it. Yourbrother didn't seem any too pleased, either."Maud stopped laughing.
　　"It's an awful position," she said soberly. "The announcement willbe in the Morning Post the day after tomorrow. And then the lettersof congratulation will begin to pour in. And after that thepresents. And I simply can't see how we can convince them all thatthere has been a mistake." Another aspect of the matter struck her.
　　"It's so hard on you, too.""Don't think about me," urged George. "Heaven knows I'd give thewhole world if we could just let the thing go on, but there's nouse discussing impossibilities." He lowered his voice. "There's nouse, either, in my pretending that I'm not going to have a prettybad time. But we won't discuss that. It was my own fault. I camebutting in on your life of my own free will, and, whatever happens,it's been worth it to have known you and tried to be of service toyou.""You're the best friend I've ever had.""I'm glad you think that.""The best and kindest friend any girl ever had. I wish . . ."She broke off. "Oh, well. . ."There was a silence. In the castle somebody had begun to play thepiano. Then a man's voice began to sing.
　　"That's Edwin Plummer," said Maud. "How badly he sings."George laughed. Somehow the intrusion of Plummer had removed thetension. Plummer, whether designedly and as a sombre commentary onthe situation or because he was the sort of man who does sing thatparticular song, was chanting Tosti's "Good-bye". He was giving toits never very cheery notes a wailing melancholy all his own. A dogin the stables began to howl in sympathy, and with the sound came acurious soothing of George's nerves. He might feel broken-heartedlater, but for the moment, with this double accompaniment, it wasimpossible for a man with humour in his soul to dwell on the deeperemotions. Plummer and his canine duettist had brought him toearth. He felt calm and practical.
　　"We'd better talk the whole thing over quietly," he said. "There'scertain to be some solution. At the worst you can always go to LordMarshmoreton and tell him that he spoke without a sufficient graspof his subject.""I could," said Maud, "but, just at present, I feel as if I'drather do anything else in the world. You don't realize what itmust have cost father to defy Aunt Caroline openly like that. Eversince I was old enough to notice anything, I've seen how shedominated him. It was Aunt Caroline who really caused all thistrouble. If it had only been father, I could have coaxed him to letme marry anyone I pleased. I wish, if you possibly can, you wouldthink of some other solution.""I haven't had an opportunity of telling you," said George, "that Icalled at Belgrave Square, as you asked me to do. I went theredirectly I had seen Reggie Byng safely married.""Did you see him married?""I was best man.""Dear old Reggie! I hope he will be happy.""He will. Don't worry about that. Well, as I was saying, I calledat Belgrave Square, and found the house shut up. I couldn't get anyanswer to the bell, though I kept my thumb on it for minutes at atime. I think they must have gone abroad again.""No, it wasn't that. I had a letter from Geoffrey this morning. Hisuncle died of apoplexy, while they were in Manchester on a businesstrip." She paused. "He left Geoffrey all his money," she went on.
　　"Every penny."The silence seemed to stretch out interminably. The music from thecastle had ceased. The quiet of the summer night was unbroken. ToGeorge the stillness had a touch of the sinister. It was theghastly silence of the end of the world. With a shock he realizedthat even now he had been permitting himself to hope, futile as herecognized the hope to be. Maud had told him she loved another man.
　　That should have been final. And yet somehow his indomitablesub-conscious self had refused to accept it as final. But this newsended everything. The only obstacle that had held Maud and this manapart was removed. There was nothing to prevent them marrying.
　　George was conscious of a vast depression. The last strand of therope had parted, and he was drifting alone out into the ocean ofdesolation.
　　"Oh!" he said, and was surprised that his voice sounded very muchthe same as usual. Speech was so difficult that it seemed strangethat it should show no signs of effort. "That alters everything,doesn't it.""He said in his letter that he wanted me to meet him in Londonand--talk things over, I suppose.""There's nothing now to prevent your going. I mean, now that yourfather has made this announcement, you are free to go where youplease.""Yes, I suppose I am."There was another silence.
　　"Everything's so difficult," said Maud.
　　"In what way?""Oh, I don't know.""If you are thinking of me," said George, "please don't. I knowexactly what you mean. You are hating the thought of hurting myfeelings. I wish you would look on me as having no feelings. All Iwant is to see you happy. As I said just now, it's enough for me toknow that I've helped you. Do be reasonable about it. The fact thatour engagement has been officially announced makes no difference inour relations to each other. As far as we two are concerned, weare exactly where we were the last time we met. It's no worse forme now than it was then to know that I'm not the man you love, andthat there's somebody else you loved before you ever knew of myexistence. For goodness' sake, a girl like you must be used tohaving men tell her that they love her and having to tell them thatshe can't love them in return.""But you're so different.""Not a bit of it. I'm just one of the crowd.""I've never known anybody quite like you.""Well, you've never known anybody quite like Plummer, I shouldimagine. But the thought of his sufferings didn't break yourheart.""I've known a million men exactly like Edwin Plummer," said Maudemphatically. "All the men I ever have known have been likehim--quite nice and pleasant and negative. It never seemed tomatter refusing them. One knew that they would be just a little bitpiqued for a week or two and then wander off and fall in love withsomebody else. But you're different. You . . . matter.""That is where we disagree. My argument is that, where yourhappiness is concerned, I don't matter."Maud rested her chin on her hand, and stared out into the velvetdarkness.
　　"You ought to have been my brother instead of Percy," she said atlast. "What chums we should have been! And how simple that wouldhave made everything!""The best thing for you to do is to regard me as an honorarybrother. That will make everything simple.""It's easy to talk like that . . . No, it isn't. It's horriblyhard. I know exactly how difficult it is for you to talk as youhave been doing--to try to make me feel better by pretending thewhole trouble is just a trifle . . . It's strange . . . We haveonly met really for a few minutes at a time, and three weeks ago Ididn't know there was such a person as you, but somehow I seem toknow everything you're thinking. I've never felt like that beforewith any man . . . Even Geoffrey. . . He always puzzled me. . . ."She broke off. The corncrake began to call again out in thedistance.
　　"I wish I knew what to do," she said with a catch in her voice.
　　"I'll tell you in two words what to do. The whole thing is absurdlysimple. You love this man and he loves you, and all that kept youapart before was the fact that he could not afford to marry you.
　　Now that he is rich, there is no obstacle at all. I simply won'tlet you look on me and my feelings as an obstacle. Rule me outaltogether. Your father's mistake has made the situation a littlemore complicated than it need have been, but that can easily beremedied. Imitate the excellent example of Reggie Byng. He was in aposition where it would have been embarrassing to announce what heintended to do, so he very sensibly went quietly off and did it andleft everybody to find out after it was done. I'm bound to say Inever looked on Reggie as a master mind, but, when it came to finda way out of embarrassing situations, one has to admit he had theright idea. Do what he did!"Maud started. She half rose from the stone seat. George could hearthe quick intake of her breath.
　　"You mean--run away?""Exactly. Run away!"An automobile swung round the corner of the castle from thedirection of the garage, and drew up, purring, at the steps. Therewas a flood of light and the sound of voices, as the great dooropened. Maud rose.
　　"People are leaving," she said. "I didn't know it was so late." Shestood irresolutely. "I suppose I ought to go in and say good-bye.
　　But I don't think I can.""Stay where you are. Nobody will see you."More automobiles arrived. The quiet of the night was shattered bythe noise of their engines. Maud sat down again.
　　"I suppose they will think it very odd of me not being there.""Never mind what people think. Reggie Byng didn't."Maud's foot traced circles on the dry turf.
　　"What a lovely night," she said. "There's no dew at all."The automobiles snorted, tooted, back-fired, and passed away.
　　Their clamour died in the distance, leaving the night a thing ofpeace and magic once more. The door of the castle closed with abang.
　　"I suppose I ought to be going in now," said Maud.
　　"I suppose so. And I ought to be there, too, politely making myfarewells. But something seems to tell me that Lady Caroline andyour brother will be quite ready to dispense with the formalities.
　　I shall go home."They faced each other in the darkness.
　　"Would you really do that?" asked Maud. "Run away, Imean, and get married in London.""It's the only thing to do.""But . . . can one get married as quickly as that?""At a registrar's? Nothing simpler. You should have seenReggie Byng's wedding. It was over before one realized it hadstarted. A snuffy little man in a black coat with a cold in hishead asked a few questions, wrote a few words, and the thing wasdone.""That sounds rather . . . dreadful.""Reggie didn't seem to think so.""Unromantic, I mean. . . . Prosaic.""You would supply the romance.""Of course, one ought to be sensible. It is just the same as aregular wedding.""In effects, absolutely."They moved up the terrace together. On the gravel drive by thesteps they paused.
　　"I'll do it!" said Maud.
　　George had to make an effort before he could reply. For all hissane and convincing arguments, he could not check a pang at thisdefinite acceptance of them. He had begun to appreciate now thestrain under which he had been speaking.
　　"You must," he said. "Well . . . good-bye."There was light on the drive. He could see her face. Her eyes weretroubled.
　　"What will you do?" she asked.
　　"Do?""I mean, are you going to stay on in your cottage?""No, I hardly think I could do that. I shall go back to Londontomorrow, and stay at the Carlton for a few days. Then I shall sailfor America. There are a couple of pieces I've got to do for theFall. I ought to be starting on them."Maud looked away.
　　"You've got your work," she said almost inaudibly.
　　George understood her.
　　"Yes, I've got my work.""I'm glad."She held out her hand.
　　"You've been very wonderful... Right from the beginning . . .
　　You've been . . . oh, what's the use of me saying anything?""I've had my reward. I've known you. We're friends, aren't we?""My best friend.""Pals?""Pals!"They shook hands.
Chapter 25
    "I was never so upset in my life!" said Lady Caroline.
　　She had been saying the same thing and many other things for thepast five minutes. Until the departure of the last guest she hadkept an icy command of herself and shown an unruffled front to theworld. She had even contrived to smile. But now, with the finalautomobile whirring homewards, she had thrown off the mask. Thevery furniture of Lord Marshmoreton's study seemed to shrink, searedby the flame of her wrath. As for Lord Marshmoreton himself, helooked quite shrivelled.
　　It had not been an easy matter to bring her erring brother to bay.
　　The hunt had been in progress full ten minutes before she and LordBelpher finally cornered the poor wretch. His plea, through thekeyhole of the locked door, that he was working on the familyhistory and could not be disturbed, was ignored; and now he wasface to face with the avengers.
　　"I cannot understand it," continued Lady Caroline. "You know thatfor months we have all been straining every nerve to break off thishorrible entanglement, and, just as we had begun to hope thatsomething might be done, you announce the engagement in the mostpublic manner. I think you must be out of your mind. I can hardlybelieve even now that this appalling thing has happened. I amhoping that I shall wake up and find it is all a nightmare. How youcan have done such a thing, I cannot understand.""Quite!" said Lord Belpher.
　　If Lady Caroline was upset, there are no words in the language thatwill adequately describe the emotions of Percy.
　　From the very start of this lamentable episode in high life, Percyhad been in the forefront of the battle. It was Percy who had hadhis best hat smitten from his head in the full view of allPiccadilly. It was Percy who had suffered arrest and imprisonmentin the cause. It was Percy who had been crippled for days owing tohis zeal in tracking Maud across country. And now all hissufferings were in vain. He had been betrayed by his own father.
　　There was, so the historians of the Middle West tell us, a man ofChicago named Young, who once, when his nerves were unstrung, puthis mother (unseen) in the chopping-machine, and canned her andlabelled her "Tongue". It is enough to say that the glance ofdisapproval which Percy cast upon his father at this juncture wouldhave been unduly severe if cast by the Young offspring upon theirparent at the moment of confession.
　　Lord Marshmoreton had rallied from his initial panic. The spirit ofrevolt began to burn again in his bosom. Once the die is cast forrevolution, there can be no looking back. One must defy, notapologize. Perhaps the inherited tendencies of a line of ancestorswho, whatever their shortcomings, had at least known how to treattheir women folk, came to his aid. Possibly there stood by his sidein this crisis ghosts of dead and buried Marshmoretons, whisperingspectral encouragement in his ear--the ghosts, let us suppose, ofthat earl who, in the days of the seventh Henry, had stabbed hiswife with a dagger to cure her tendency to lecture him at night; orof that other earl who, at a previous date in the annals of thefamily, had caused two aunts and a sister to be poisoned apparentlyfrom a mere whim. At any rate, Lord Marshmoreton produced fromsome source sufficient courage to talk back.
　　"Silly nonsense!" he grunted. "Don't see what you're making allthis fuss about. Maud loves the fellow. I like the fellow.
　　Perfectly decent fellow. Nothing to make a fuss about. Whyshouldn't I announce the engagement?""You must be mad!" cried Lady Caroline. "Your only daughter and aman nobody knows anything about!""Quite!" said Percy.
　　Lord Marshmoreton seized his advantage with the skill of an adroitdebater.
　　"That's where you're wrong. I know all about him. He's a very richman. You heard the way all those people at dinner behaved when theyheard his name. Very celebrated man! Makes thousands of pounds ayear. Perfectly suitable match in every way.""It is not a suitable match," said Lady Caroline vehemently. "Idon't care whether this Mr. Bevan makes thousands of pounds a yearor twopence-ha'penny. The match is not suitable. Money is noteverything."She broke off. A knock had come on the door. The door opened, andBillie Dore came in. A kind-hearted girl, she had foreseen thatLord Marshmoreton might be glad of a change of subject at aboutthis time.
　　"Would you like me to help you tonight?" she asked brightly. "Ithought I would ask if there was anything you wanted me to do."Lady Caroline snatched hurriedly at her aristocratic calm. Sheresented the interruption acutely, but her manner, when she spoke,was bland.
　　"Lord Marshmoreton will not require your help tonight," she said.
　　"He will not be working.""Good night," said Billie.
　　"Good night," said Lady Caroline.
　　Percy scowled a valediction.
　　"Money," resumed Lady Caroline, "is immaterial. Maud is in noposition to be obliged to marry a rich man. What makes the thingimpossible is that Mr. Bevan is nobody. He comes from nowhere. Hehas no social standing whatsoever.""Don't see it," said Lord Marshmoreton. "The fellow's a thoroughlydecent fellow. That's all that matters.""How can you be so pig-headed! You are talking like an imbecile.
　　Your secretary, Miss Dore, is a nice girl. But how would you feelif Percy were to come to you and say that he was engaged to bemarried to her?""Exactly!" said Percy. "Quite!"Lord Marshmoreton rose and moved to the door. He did it with acertain dignity, but there was a strange hunted expression in hiseyes.
　　"That would be impossible," he said.
　　"Precisely," said his sister. "I am glad that you admit it."Lord Marshmoreton had reached the door, and was standing holdingthe handle. He seemed to gather strength from its support.
　　"I've been meaning to tell you about that," he said.
　　"About what?""About Miss Dore. I married her myself last Wednesday," said LordMarshmoreton, and disappeared like a diving duck.
Chapter 26
     At a quarter past four in the afternoon, two days after thememorable dinner-party at which Lord Marshmoreton had behaved withso notable a lack of judgment, Maud sat in Ye Cosy Nooke, waitingfor Geoffrey Raymond. He had said in his telegram that he wouldmeet her there at four-thirty: but eagerness had brought Maud to thetryst a quarter of an hour ahead of time: and already the sadnessof her surroundings was causing her to regret this impulsiveness.
　　Depression had settled upon her spirit. She was aware of somethingthat resembled foreboding.
　　Ye Cosy Nooke, as its name will immediately suggest to those whoknow their London, is a tea-shop in Bond Street, conducted bydistressed gentlewomen. In London, when a gentlewoman becomesdistressed--which she seems to do on the slightest provocation--shecollects about her two or three other distressed gentlewomen,forming a quorum, and starts a tea-shop in the West-End, which shecalls Ye Oak Leaf, Ye Olde Willow-Pattern, Ye Linden-Tree, or YeSnug Harbour, according to personal taste. There, dressed inTyrolese, Japanese, Norwegian, or some other exotic costume, sheand her associates administer refreshments of an afternoon with aproud languor calculated to knock the nonsense out of the cheeriestcustomer. Here you will find none of the coarse bustle andefficiency of the rival establishments of Lyons and Co., nor theglitter and gaiety of Rumpelmayer's. These places have anatmosphere of their own. They rely for their effect on aninsufficiency of light, an almost total lack of ventilation, aproperty chocolate cake which you are not supposed to cut, and thesad aloofness of their ministering angels. It is to be doubtedwhether there is anything in the world more damping to the spiritthan a London tea-shop of this kind, unless it be another Londontea-shop of the same kind.
　　Maud sat and waited. Somewhere out of sight a kettle bubbled in anundertone, like a whispering pessimist. Across the room twodistressed gentlewomen in fancy dress leaned against the wall.
　　They, too, were whispering. Their expressions suggested that theylooked on life as low and wished they were well out of it, like thebody upstairs. One assumed that there was a body upstairs. Onecannot help it at these places. One's first thought on entering isthat the lady assistant will approach one and ask in a hushed voice"Tea or chocolate? And would you care to view the remains?"Maud looked at her watch. It was twenty past four. She couldscarcely believe that she had only been there five minutes, but theticking of the watch assured her that it had not stopped. Herdepression deepened. Why had Geoffrey told her to meet him in acavern of gloom like this instead of at the Savoy? She would haveenjoyed the Savoy. But here she seemed to have lost beyond recoverythe first gay eagerness with which she had set out to meet the manshe loved.
　　Suddenly she began to feel frightened. Some evil spirit, possiblythe kettle, seemed to whisper to her that she had been foolish incoming here, to cast doubts on what she had hitherto regarded asthe one rock-solid fact in the world, her love for Geoffrey. Couldshe have changed since those days in Wales? Life had been soconfusing of late. In the vividness of recent happenings those daysin Wales seemed a long way off, and she herself different from thegirl of a year ago. She found herself thinking about George Bevan.
　　It was a curious fact that, the moment she began to think of GeorgeBevan, she felt better. It was as if she had lost her way in awilderness and had met a friend. There was something so capable, sosoothing about George. And how well he had behaved at that lastinterview. George seemed somehow to be part of her life. She couldnot imagine a life in which he had no share. And he was at thismoment, probably, packing to return to America, and she would neversee him again. Something stabbed at her heart. It was as if shewere realizing now for the first time that he was really going.
　　She tried to rid herself of the ache at her heart by thinking ofWales. She closed her eyes, and found that that helped her toremember. With her eyes shut, she could bring it all back--thatrainy day, the graceful, supple figure that had come to her out ofthe mist, those walks over the hills . . . If only Geoffrey wouldcome! It was the sight of him that she needed.
　　"There you are!"Maud opened her eyes with a start. The voice had sounded likeGeoffrey's. But it was a stranger who stood by the table. And nota particularly prepossessing stranger. In the dim light of Ye CosyNooke, to which her opening eyes had not yet grown accustomed, allshe could see of the man was that he was remarkably stout. Shestiffened defensively. This was what a girl who sat about intea-rooms alone had to expect.
　　"Hope I'm not late," said the stranger, sitting down and breathingheavily. "I thought a little exercise would do me good, so Iwalked."Every nerve in Maud's body seemed to come to life simultaneously.
　　She tingled from head to foot. It was Geoffrey!
　　He was looking over his shoulder and endeavouring by snapping hisfingers to attract the attention of the nearest distressedgentlewoman; and this gave Maud time to recover from the frightfulshock she had received. Her dizziness left her; and, leaving, wassucceeded by a panic dismay. This couldn't be Geoffrey! It wasoutrageous that it should be Geoffrey! And yet it undeniably wasGeoffrey. For a year she had prayed that Geoffrey might be givenback to her, and the gods had heard her prayer. They had given herback Geoffrey, and with a careless generosity they had given hertwice as much of him as she had expected. She had asked for theslim Apollo whom she had loved in Wales, and this colossalchangeling had arrived in his stead.
　　We all of us have our prejudices. Maud had a prejudice against fatmen. It may have been the spectacle of her brother Percy, bulgingmore and more every year she had known him, that had caused thiskink in her character. At any rate, it existed, and she gazed insickened silence at Geoffrey. He had turned again now, and she wasenabled to get a full and complete view of him. He was not merelystout. He was gross. The slim figure which had haunted her for ayear had spread into a sea of waistcoat. The keen lines of his facehad disappeared altogether. His cheeks were pink jellies.
　　One of the distressed gentlewomen had approached with aslow disdain, and was standing by the table, brooding on thecorpse upstairs. It seemed a shame to bother her.
　　"Tea or chocolate?" she inquired proudly.
　　"Tea, please," said Maud, finding her voice.
　　"One tea," sighed the mourner.
　　"Chocolate for me," said Geoffrey briskly, with the air of onediscoursing on a congenial topic. "I'd like plenty of whippedcream. And please see that it's hot.""One chocolate."Geoffrey pondered. This was no light matter that occupied him.
　　"And bring some fancy cakes--I like the ones with icing onthem--and some tea-cake and buttered toast. Please see there'splenty of butter on it."Maud shivered. This man before her was a man in whose lexicon thereshould have been no such word as butter, a man who should havecalled for the police had some enemy endeavoured to thrust butterupon him.
　　"Well," said Geoffrey leaning forward, as the haughty ministrantdrifted away, "you haven't changed a bit. To look at, I mean.""No?" said Maud.
　　"You're just the same. I think I"--he squinted down at hiswaistcoat--"have put on a little weight. I don't know if you noticeit?"Maud shivered again. He thought he had put on a little weight, anddidn't know if she had noticed it! She was oppressed by the eternalmelancholy miracle of the fat man who does not realize that he hasbecome fat.
　　"It was living on the yacht that put me a little out of condition,"said Geoffrey. "I was on the yacht nearly all the time since I sawyou last. The old boy had a Japanese cook and lived pretty high. Itwas apoplexy that got him. We had a great time touring about. Wewere on the Mediterranean all last winter, mostly at Nice.""I should like to go to Nice," said Maud, for something to say. Shewas feeling that it was not only externally that Geoffrey hadchanged. Or had he in reality always been like this, commonplaceand prosaic, and was it merely in her imagination that he had beenwonderful?
　　"If you ever go," said Geoffrey, earnestly, "don't fail to lunch atthe Hotel Cote d'Azur. They give you the most amazing selection ofhors d'oeuvres you ever saw. Crayfish as big as baby lobsters! Andthere's a fish--I've forgotten it's name, it'll come back tome--that's just like the Florida pompano. Be careful to have itbroiled, not fried. Otherwise you lose the flavour. Tell thewaiter you must have it broiled, with melted butter and a littleparsley and some plain boiled potatoes. It's really astonishing.
　　It's best to stick to fish on the Continent. People can say whatthey like, but I maintain that the French don't really understandsteaks or any sort of red meat. The veal isn't bad, though I preferour way of serving it. Of course, what the French are real geniusesat is the omelet. I remember, when we put in at Toulon for coal, Iwent ashore for a stroll, and had the most delicious omelet withchicken livers beautifully cooked, at quite a small, unpretentiousplace near the harbour. I shall always remember it."The mourner returned, bearing a laden tray, from which she removedthe funeral bakemeats and placed them limply on the table. Geoffreyshook his head, annoyed.
　　"I particularly asked for plenty of butter on my toast!" he said.
　　"I hate buttered toast if there isn't lots of butter. It isn'tworth eating. Get me a couple of pats, will you, and I'll spread itmyself. Do hurry, please, before the toast gets cold. It's no goodif the toast gets cold. They don't understand tea as a meal atthese places," he said to Maud, as the mourner withdrew. "You haveto go to the country to appreciate the real thing. I remember welay off Lyme Regis down Devonshire way, for a few days, and I wentand had tea at a farmhouse there. It was quite amazing! ThickDevonshire cream and home-made jam and cakes of every kind. Thissort of thing here is just a farce. I do wish that woman wouldmake haste with that butter. It'll be too late in a minute."Maud sipped her tea in silence. Her heart was like lead within her.
　　The recurrence of the butter theme as a sort of leit motif in hercompanion's conversation was fraying her nerves till she felt shecould endure little more. She cast her mind's eye back over thehorrid months and had a horrid vision of Geoffrey steadilyabsorbing butter, day after day, week after week--ever becomingmore and more of a human keg. She shuddered.
　　Indignation at the injustice of Fate in causing her to give herheart to a man and then changing him into another and quitedifferent man fought with a cold terror, which grew as she realizedmore and more clearly the magnitude of the mistake she had made.
　　She felt that she must escape. And yet how could she escape? Shehad definitely pledged herself to this man. ("Ah!" cried Geoffreygaily, as the pats of butter arrived. "That's more like it!" Hebegan to smear the toast. Maud averted her eyes.) She had told himthat she loved him, that he was the whole world to her, that therenever would be anyone else. He had come to claim her. How could sherefuse him just because he was about thirty pounds overweight?
　　Geoffrey finished his meal. He took out a cigarette. ("No smoking,please!" said the distressed gentlewoman.) He put the cigaretteback in its case. There was a new expression in his eyes now, atender expression. For the first time since they had met Maudseemed to catch a far-off glimpse of the man she had loved inWales. Butter appeared to have softened Geoffrey.
　　"So you couldn't wait!" he said with pathos.
　　Maud did not understand.
　　"I waited over a quarter of an hour. It was you who were late.""I don't mean that. I am referring to your engagement. I saw theannouncement in the Morning Post. Well, I hope you will let meoffer you my best wishes. This Mr. George Bevan, whoever he is, islucky."Maud had opened her mouth to explain, to say that it was all amistake. She closed it again without speaking.
　　"So you couldn't wait!" proceeded Geoffrey with gentle regret.
　　"Well, I suppose I ought not to blame you. You are at an age whenit is easy to forget. I had no right to hope that you would beproof against a few months' separation. I expected too much. But itis ironical, isn't it! There was I, thinking always of those dayslast summer when we were everything to each other, while you hadforgotten me--Forgotten me!" sighed Geoffrey. He picked a fragmentof cake absently off the tablecloth and inserted it in his mouth.
　　The unfairness of the attack stung Maud to speech. She looked backover the months, thought of all she had suffered, and ached withself-pity.
　　"I hadn't," she cried.
　　"You hadn't? But you let this other man, this George Bevan, makelove to you.""I didn't! That was all a mistake.""A mistake?""Yes. It would take too long to explain, but . . ." She stopped. Ithad come to her suddenly, in a flash of clear vision, that themistake was one which she had no desire to correct. She felt likeone who, lost in a jungle, comes out after long wandering into theopen air. For days she had been thinking confusedly, unable tointerpret her own emotions: and now everything had abruptly becomeclarified. It was as if the sight of Geoffrey had been the key to acipher. She loved George Bevan, the man she had sent out of herlife for ever. She knew it now, and the shock of realization madeher feel faint and helpless. And, mingled with the shock ofrealization, there came to her the mortification of knowing thather aunt, Lady Caroline, and her brother, Percy, had been rightafter all. What she had mistaken for the love of a lifetime hadbeen, as they had so often insisted, a mere infatuation, unable tosurvive the spectacle of a Geoffrey who had been eating too muchbutter and had put on flesh.
　　Geoffrey swallowed his piece of cake, and bent forward.
　　"Aren't you engaged to this man Bevan?"Maud avoided his eye. She was aware that the crisis had arrived,and that her whole future hung on her next words.
　　And then Fate came to her rescue. Before she could speak, there wasan interruption.
　　"Pardon me," said a voice. "One moment!"So intent had Maud and her companion been on their own affairs thatneither of them observed the entrance of a third party. This was ayoung man with mouse-coloured hair and a freckled, badly-shavenface which seemed undecided whether to be furtive or impudent. Hehad small eyes, and his costume was a blend of the flashy and theshabby. He wore a bowler hat, tilted a little rakishly to one side,and carried a small bag, which he rested on the table between them.
　　"Sorry to intrude, miss." He bowed gallantly to Maud, "but I wantto have a few words with Mr. Spenser Gray here."Maud, looking across at Geoffrey, was surprised to see that hisflorid face had lost much of its colour. His mouth was open, andhis eyes had taken a glassy expression.
　　"I think you have made a mistake," she said coldly. She dislikedthe young man at sight. "This is Mr. Raymond."Geoffrey found speech.
　　"Of course I'm Mr. Raymond!" he cried angrily. "What do you mean bycoming and annoying us like this?"The young man was not discomposed. He appeared to be used to beingunpopular. He proceeded as though there had been no interruption.
　　He produced a dingy card.
　　"Glance at that," he said. "Messrs. Willoughby and Son, Solicitors.
　　I'm son. The guv'nor put this little matter into my hands. I'vebeen looking for you for days, Mr. Gray, to hand you this paper."He opened the bag like a conjurer performing a trick, and broughtout a stiff document of legal aspect. "You're a witness, miss, thatI've served the papers. You know what this is, of course?" he saidto Geoffrey. "Action for breach of promise of marriage. Our client,Miss Yvonne Sinclair, of the Regal Theatre, is suing you for tenthousand pounds. And, if you ask me," said the young man withgenial candour, dropping the professional manner, "I don't mindtelling you, I think it's a walk-over! It's the best little actionfor breach we've handled for years." He became professional again.
　　"Your lawyers will no doubt communicate with us in due course. And,if you take my advice," he concluded, with another of his swiftchanges of manner, "you'll get 'em to settle out of court, for,between me and you and the lamp-post, you haven't an earthly!"Geoffrey had started to his feet. He was puffing with outragedinnocence.
　　"What the devil do you mean by this?" he demanded. "Can't you seeyou've made a mistake? My name is not Gray. This lady has told youthat I am Geoffrey Raymond!""Makes it all the worse for you," said the young man imperturbably,"making advances to our client under an assumed name. We've gotletters and witnesses and the whole bag of tricks. And how aboutthis photo?" He dived into the bag again. "Do you recognize that,miss?"Maud looked at the photograph. It was unmistakably Geoffrey. And ithad evidently been taken recently, for it showed the laterGeoffrey, the man of substance. It was a full-length photograph andacross the stout legs was written in a flowing hand the legend, "ToBabe from her little Pootles". Maud gave a shudder and handed itback to the young man, just as Geoffrey, reaching across the table,made a grab for it.
　　"I recognize it," she said.
　　Mr. Willoughby junior packed the photograph away in his bag, andturned to go.
　　"That's all for today, then, I think," he said, affably.
　　He bowed again in his courtly way, tilted the hat a little more tothe left, and, having greeted one of the distressed gentlewomen wholoitered limply in his path with a polite "If you please, Mabel!"which drew upon him a freezing stare of which he seemed oblivious,he passed out, leaving behind him strained silence.
　　Maud was the first to break it.
　　"I think I'll be going," she said.
　　The words seemed to rouse her companion from his stupor.
　　"Let me explain!""There's nothing to explain.""It was just a . . . it was just a passing . . . It was nothing. . . nothing.""Pootles!" murmured Maud.
　　Geoffrey followed her as she moved to the door.
　　"Be reasonable!" pleaded Geoffrey. "Men aren't saints!
　　It was nothing! . . . Are you going to end . . . everything. . . just because I lost my head?"Maud looked at him with a smile. She was conscious of anoverwhelming relief. The dim interior of Ye Cosy Nooke no longerseemed depressing. She could have kissed this unknown "Babe" whosebusinesslike action had enabled her to close a regrettable chapterin her life with a clear conscience.
　　"But you haven't only lost your head, Geoffrey," she said. "You'velost your figure as well."She went out quickly. With a convulsive bound Geoffrey started tofollow her, but was checked before he had gone a yard.
　　There are formalities to be observed before a patron can leave YeCosy Nooke.
　　"If you please!" said a distressed gentlewomanly voice.
　　The lady whom Mr. Willoughby had addressed as Mabel--erroneously,for her name was Ernestine--was standing beside him with a slip ofpaper.
　　"Six and twopence," said Ernestine.
　　For a moment this appalling statement drew the unhappy man's mindfrom the main issue.
　　"Six and twopence for a cup of chocolate and a few cakes?" hecried, aghast. "It's robbery!""Six and twopence, please!" said the queen of the bandits withundisturbed calm. She had been through this sort of thing before.
　　Ye Cosy Nooke did not get many customers; but it made the most ofthose it did get.
　　"Here!" Geoffrey produced a half-sovereign. "I haven't time toargue!"The distressed brigand showed no gratification. She had the air ofone who is aloof from worldly things. All she wanted was rest andleisure--leisure to meditate upon the body upstairs. All flesh isas grass. We are here today and gone tomorrow. But there, beyondthe grave, is peace.
　　"Your change?" she said.
　　"Damn the change!""You are forgetting your hat.""Damn my hat!"Geoffrey dashed from the room. He heaved his body through the door.
　　He lumbered down the stairs.
　　Out in Bond Street the traffic moved up and the traffic moved down.
　　Strollers strolled upon the sidewalks.
　　But Maud had gone.
Chapter 27
    IN his bedroom at the Carlton Hotel George Bevan was packing. Thatis to say, he had begun packing; but for the last twenty minutes hehad been sitting on the side of the bed, staring into a futurewhich became bleaker and bleaker the more he examined it. In thelast two days he had been no stranger to these grey moods, and theyhad become harder and harder to dispel. Now, with the steamer-trunkbefore him gaping to receive its contents, he gave himself upwhole-heartedly to gloom.
　　Somehow the steamer-trunk, with all that it implied of partings andvoyagings, seemed to emphasize the fact that he was going out aloneinto an empty world. Soon he would be on board the liner, everyrevolution of whose engines would be taking him farther away fromwhere his heart would always be. There were moments when thetorment of this realization became almost physical.
　　It was incredible that three short weeks ago he had been a happyman. Lonely, perhaps, but only in a vague, impersonal way. Notlonely with this aching loneliness that tortured him now. What wasthere left for him? As regards any triumphs which the future mightbring in connection with his work, he was, as Mac the stage-doorkeeper had said, "blarzy". Any success he might have would be but astale repetition of other successes which he had achieved. He wouldgo on working, of course, but--. The ringing of the telephone bellacross the room jerked him back to the present. He got up with amuttered malediction. Someone calling up again from the theatreprobably. They had been doing it all the time since he had announcedhis intention of leaving for America by Saturday's boat.
　　"Hello?" he said wearily.
　　"Is that George?" asked a voice. It seemed familiar, but all femalevoices sound the same over the telephone.
　　"This is George," he replied. "Who are you?""Don't you know my voice?""I do not.""You'll know it quite well before long. I'm a great talker.'
　　"Is that Billie?""It is not Billie, whoever Billie may be. I am female, George.""So is Billie.""Well, you had better run through the list of your feminine friendstill you reach me.""I haven't any feminine friends.""None?""That's odd.""Why?""You told me in the garden two nights ago that you looked on me asa pal."George sat down abruptly. He felt boneless.
　　"Is--is that you?" he stammered. "It can't be--Maud!""How clever of you to guess. George, I want to ask you one or twothings. In the first place, are you fond of butter?"George blinked. This was not a dream. He had just still hurt mostconvincingly. He needed the evidence to assure himself that he wasawake.
　　"Butter?" he queried. "What do you mean?""Oh, well, if you don't even know what butter means, I expect it'sall right. What is your weight, George?""About a hundred and eighty pounds. But I don't understand.""Wait a minute." There was a silence at the other end of the wire.
　　"About thirteen stone," said Maud's voice. "I've been doing it inmy head. And what was it this time last year?""About the same, I think. I always weigh about the same.""How wonderful! George!""Yes?""This is very important. Have you ever been in Florida?""I was there one winter.""Do you know a fish called the pompano?""Tell me about it.""How do you mean? It's just a fish. You eat it.""I know. Go into details.""There aren't any details. You just eat it."The voice at the other end of the wire purred with approval. "Inever heard anything so splendid. The last man who mentioned pompanoto me became absolutely lyrical about sprigs of parsley and meltedbutter. Well, that's that. Now, here's another very important point.
　　How about wall-paper?"George pressed his unoccupied hand against his forehead.
　　This conversation was unnerving him.
　　"I didn't get that," he said.
　　"Didn't get what?""I mean, I didn't quite catch what you said that time. Itsounded to me like 'What about wall-paper?'""It was 'What about wall-paper?' Why not?""But," said George weakly, "it doesn't make any sense.""Oh, but it does. I mean, what about wall-paper for yourden?""My den?""Your den. You must have a den. Where do you suppose you're goingto work, if you don't? Now, my idea would be some nice quietgrass-cloth. And, of course, you would have lots of pictures andbooks. And a photograph of me. I'll go and be taken specially. Thenthere would be a piano for you to work on, and two or three reallycomfortable chairs. And--well, that would be about all, wouldn'tit?"George pulled himself together.
　　"Hello!" he said.
　　"Why do you say 'Hello'?""I forgot I was in London. I should have said 'Are you there?'""Yes, I'm here.""Well, then, what does it all mean?""What does what mean?""What you've been saying--about butter and pompanos and wall-paperand my den and all that? I don't understand.""How stupid of you! I was asking you what sort of wall-paper youwould like in your den after we were married and settled down."George dropped the receiver. It clashed against the side of thetable. He groped for it blindly.
　　"Hello!" he said.
　　"Don't say 'Hello!' It sounds so abrupt!""What did you say then?""I said 'Don't say Hello!'""No, before that! Before that! You said something about gettingmarried.""Well, aren't we going to get married? Our engagement is announcedin the Morning Post.""But--But--""George!" Maud's voice shook. "Don't tell me you are going to jiltme!" she said tragically. "Because, if you are, let me know intime, as I shall want to bring an action for breach of promise.
　　I've just met such a capable young man who will look after thewhole thing for me. He wears a bowler hat on the side of his headand calls waitresses 'Mabel'. Answer 'yes' or 'no'. Will you marryme?""But--But--how about--I mean, what about--I mean how about--?""Make up your mind what you do mean.""The other fellow!" gasped George.
　　A musical laugh was wafted to him over the wire.
　　"What about him?""Well, what about him?" said George.
　　"Isn't a girl allowed to change her mind?" said Maud.
　　George yelped excitedly. Maud gave a cry.
　　"Don't sing!" she said. "You nearly made me deaf.""Have you changed your mind?""Certainly I have!""And you really think--You really want--I mean, you reallywant--You really think--""Don't be so incoherent!""Maud!""Well?""Will you marry me?""Of course I will.""Gosh!""What did you say?""I said Gosh! And listen to me, when I say Gosh, I mean Gosh! Whereare you? I must see you. Where can we meet? I want to see you! ForHeaven's sake, tell me where you are. I want to see you! Where areyou? Where are you?""I'm downstairs.""Where? Here at the 'Carlton'?""Here at the 'Carlton'!""Alone?""Quite alone.""You won't be long!" said George.
　　He hung up the receiver, and bounded across the room to where hiscoat hung over the back of a chair. The edge of the steamer-trunkcaught his shin.
　　"Well," said George to the steamer-trunk, "and what are you buttingin for? Who wants you, I should like to know!"
The End