Chapter 1
    IT rose for them--their honey-moon--over the waters of a lake sofamed as the scene of romantic raptures that they were ratherproud of not having been afraid to choose it as the setting oftheir own.
　　"It required a total lack of humour, or as great a gift for itas ours, to risk the experiment," Susy Lansing opined, as theyhung over the inevitable marble balustrade and watched theirtutelary orb roll its magic carpet across the waters to theirfeet.
　　"Yes--or the loan of Strefford's villa," her husband emended,glancing upward through the branches at a long low patch ofpaleness to which the moonlight was beginning to give the formof a white house-front.
　　"Oh, come when we'd five to choose from. At least if you countthe Chicago flat.""So we had--you wonder!" He laid his hand on hers, and histouch renewed the sense of marvelling exultation which thedeliberate survey of their adventure always roused in her ....
　　It was characteristic that she merely added, in her steadylaughing tone: "Or, not counting the flat--for I hate to brag-just consider the others: Violet Melrose's place at Versailles,your aunt's villa at Monte Carlo--and a moor!"She was conscious of throwing in the moor tentatively, and yetwith a somewhat exaggerated emphasis, as if to make sure that heshouldn't accuse her of slurring it over. But he seemed to haveno desire to do so. "Poor old Fred!" he merely remarked; andshe breathed out carelessly: "Oh, well--"His hand still lay on hers, and for a long interval, while theystood silent in the enveloping loveliness of the night, she wasaware only of the warm current running from palm to palm, as themoonlight below them drew its line of magic from shore to shore.
　　Nick Lansing spoke at last. "Versailles in May would have beenimpossible: all our Paris crowd would have run us down withintwenty-four hours. And Monte Carlo is ruled out because it'sexactly the kind of place everybody expected us to go. So--with all respect to you--it wasn't much of a mental strain todecide on Como."His wife instantly challenged this belittling of her capacity.
　　"It took a good deal of argument to convince you that we couldface the ridicule of Como!""Well, I should have preferred something in a lower key; atleast I thought I should till we got here. Now I see that thisplace is idiotic unless one is perfectly happy; and that thenit's-as good as any other."She sighed out a blissful assent. "And I must say that Streffyhas done things to a turn. Even the cigars--who do you supposegave him those cigars?" She added thoughtfully: "You'll missthem when we have to go.""Oh, I say, don't let's talk to-night about going. Aren't weoutside of time and space ...? Smell that guinea-a-bottle stuffover there: what is it? Stephanotis?""Y-yes .... I suppose so. Or gardenias .... Oh, the fire-flies! Look ... there, against that splash of moonlight on thewater. Apples of silver in a net-work of gold ...." Theyleaned together, one flesh from shoulder to finger-tips, theireyes held by the snared glitter of the ripples.
　　"I could bear," Lansing remarked, "even a nightingale at thismoment ...."A faint gurgle shook the magnolias behind them, and a longliquid whisper answered it from the thicket of laurel abovetheir heads.
　　"It's a little late in the year for them: they're ending justas we begin."Susy laughed. "I hope when our turn comes we shall say good-byeto each other as sweetly."It was in her husband's mind to answer: "They're not sayinggood-bye, but only settling down to family cares." But as thisdid not happen to be in his plan, or in Susy's, he merely echoedher laugh and pressed her closer.
　　The spring night drew them into its deepening embrace. Theripples of the lake had gradually widened and faded into asilken smoothness, and high above the mountains the moon wasturning from gold to white in a sky powdered with vanishingstars. Across the lake the lights of a little town went out,one after another, and the distant shore became a floatingblackness. A breeze that rose and sank brushed their faces withthe scents of the garden; once it blew out over the water agreat white moth like a drifting magnolia petal. Thenightingales had paused and the trickle of the fountain behindthe house grew suddenly insistent.
　　When Susy spoke it was in a voice languid with visions. "I havebeen thinking," she said, "that we ought to be able to make itlast at least a year longer."Her husband received the remark without any sign of surprise ordisapprobation; his answer showed that he not only understoodher, but had been inwardly following the same train of thought.
　　"You mean," he enquired after a pause, "without counting yourgrandmother's pearls?""Yes--without the pearls."He pondered a while, and then rejoined in a tender whisper:
　　"Tell me again just how.""Let's sit down, then. No, I like the cushions best." Hestretched himself in a long willow chair, and she curled up ona heap of boat-cushions and leaned her head against his knee.
　　Just above her, when she lifted her lids, she saw bits ofmoonflooded sky incrusted like silver in a sharp blackpatterning of plane-boughs. All about them breathed of peaceand beauty and stability, and her happiness was so acute that itwas almost a relief to remember the stormy background of billsand borrowing against which its frail structure had been reared.
　　"People with a balance can't be as happy as all this," Susymused, letting the moonlight filter through her lazy lashes.
　　People with a balance had always been Susy Branch's bugbear;they were still, and more dangerously, to be Susy Lansing's.
　　She detested them, detested them doubly, as the natural enemiesof mankind and as the people one always had to put one's selfout for. The greater part of her life having been passed amongthem, she knew nearly all that there was to know about them, andjudged them with the contemptuous lucidity of nearly twentyyears of dependence. But at the present moment her animositywas diminished not only by the softening effect of love but bythe fact that she had got out of those very people more--yes,ever so much more--than she and Nick, in their hours of mostreckless planning, had ever dared to hope for.
　　"After all, we owe them this!" she mused.
　　Her husband, lost in the drowsy beatitude of the hour, had notrepeated his question; but she was still on the trail of thethought he had started. A year--yes, she was sure now thatwith a little management they could have a whole year of it!
　　"It" was their marriage, their being together, and away frombores and bothers, in a comradeship of which both of them hadlong ago guessed the immediate pleasure, but she at least hadnever imagined the deeper harmony.
　　It was at one of their earliest meetings--at one of theheterogeneous dinners that the Fred Gillows tried to think"literary"--that the young man who chanced to sit next to her,and of whom it was vaguely rumoured that he had "written," hadpresented himself to her imagination as the sort of luxury towhich Susy Branch, heiress, might conceivably have treatedherself as a crowning folly. Susy Branch, pauper, was fond ofpicturing how this fancied double would employ her millions: itwas one of her chief grievances against her rich friends thatthey disposed of theirs so unimaginatively.
　　"I'd rather have a husband like that than a steam-yacht!" shehad thought at the end of her talk with the young man who hadwritten, and as to whom it had at once been clear to her thatnothing his pen had produced, or might hereafter set down, wouldput him in a position to offer his wife anything more costlythan a row-boat.
　　"His wife! As if he could ever have one! For he's not the kindto marry for a yacht either." In spite of her past, Susy hadpreserved enough inner independence to detect the latent signsof it in others, and also to ascribe it impulsively to those ofthe opposite sex who happened to interest her. She had anatural contempt for people who gloried in what they need onlyhave endured. She herself meant eventually to marry, becauseone couldn't forever hang on to rich people; but she was goingto wait till she found some one who combined the maximum ofwealth with at least a minimum of companionableness.
　　She had at once perceived young Lansing's case to be exactly theopposite: he was as poor as he could be, and as companionableas it was possible to imagine. She therefore decided to see asmuch of him as her hurried and entangled life permitted; andthis, thanks to a series of adroit adjustments, turned out to bea good deal. They met frequently all the rest of that winter;so frequently that Mrs. Fred Gillow one day abruptly and sharplygave Susy to understand that she was "making herselfridiculous.""Ah--" said Susy with a long breath, looking her friend andpatroness straight in the painted eyes.
　　"Yes," cried Ursula Gillow in a sob, "before you interfered Nickliked me awfully ... and, of course, I don't want to reproachyou ... but when I think ...."Susy made no answer. How could she, when she thought? Thedress she had on had been given her by Ursula; Ursula's motorhad carried her to the feast from which they were bothreturning. She counted on spending the following August withthe Gillows at Newport ... and the only alternative was to go toCalifornia with the Bockheimers, whom she had hitherto refusedeven to dine with.
　　"Of course, what you fancy is perfect nonsense, Ursula; and asto my interfering--" Susy hesitated, and then murmured: "But ifit will make you any happier I'll arrange to see him lessoften ...." She sounded the lowest depths of subservience inreturning Ursula's tearful kiss ....
　　Susy Branch had a masculine respect for her word; and the nextday she put on her most becoming hat and sought out young Mr.
　　Lansing in his lodgings. She was determined to keep her promiseto Ursula; but she meant to look her best when she did it.
　　She knew at what time the young man was likely to be found, forhe was doing a dreary job on a popular encyclopaedia (V to X),and had told her what hours were dedicated to the hateful task.
　　"Oh, if only it were a novel!" she thought as she mounted hisdingy stairs; but immediately reflected that, if it were thekind that she could bear to read, it probably wouldn't bring himin much more than his encyclopaedia. Miss Branch had herstandards in literature ....
　　The apartment to which Mr. Lansing admitted her was a good dealcleaner, but hardly less dingy, than his staircase. Susy,knowing him to be addicted to Oriental archaeology, had picturedhim in a bare room adorned by a single Chinese bronze offlawless shape, or by some precious fragment of Asiatic pottery.
　　But such redeeming features were conspicuously absent, and noattempt had been made to disguise the decent indigence of thebed-sitting-room.
　　Lansing welcomed his visitor with every sign of pleasure, andwith apparent indifference as to what she thought of hisfurniture. He seemed to be conscious only of his luck in seeingher on a day when they had not expected to meet. This made Susyall the sorrier to execute her promise, and the gladder that shehad put on her prettiest hat; and for a moment or two she lookedat him in silence from under its conniving brim.
　　Warm as their mutual liking was, Lansing had never said a wordof love to her; but this was no deterrent to his visitor, whosehabit it was to speak her meaning clearly when there were noreasons, worldly or pecuniary, for its concealment. After amoment, therefore, she told him why she had come; it was anuisance, of course, but he would understand. Ursula Gillow wasjealous, and they would have to give up seeing each other.
　　The young man's burst of laughter was music to her; for, afterall, she had been rather afraid that being devoted to Ursulamight be as much in his day's work as doing the encyclopaedia.
　　"But I give you my word it's a raving-mad mistake! And I don'tbelieve she ever meant me, to begin with--" he protested; butSusy, her common-sense returning with her reassurance, promptlycut short his denial.
　　"You can trust Ursula to make herself clear on such occasions.
　　And it doesn't make any difference what you think. All thatmatters is what she believes.""Oh, come! I've got a word to say about that too, haven't I?"Susy looked slowly and consideringly about the room. There wasnothing in it, absolutely nothing, to show that he had everpossessed a spare dollar--or accepted a present.
　　"Not as far as I'm concerned," she finally pronounced.
　　"How do you mean? If I'm as free as air--?""I'm not."He grew thoughtful. "Oh, then, of course--. It only seems alittle odd," he added drily, "that in that case, the protestshould have come from Mrs. Gillow.""Instead of coming from my millionaire bridegroom, Oh, I haven'tany; in that respect I'm as free as you.""Well, then--? Haven't we only got to stay free?"Susy drew her brows together anxiously. It was going to berather more difficult than she had supposed.
　　"I said I was as free in that respect. I'm not going tomarry--and I don't suppose you are?""God, no!" he ejaculated fervently.
　　"But that doesn't always imply complete freedom ...."He stood just above her, leaning his elbow against the hideousblack marble arch that framed his fireless grate. As sheglanced up she saw his face harden, and the colour flew to hers.
　　"Was that what you came to tell me?" he asked.
　　"Oh, you don't understand--and I don't see why you don't, sincewe've knocked about so long among exactly the same kind ofpeople." She stood up impulsively and laid her hand on his arm.
　　"I do wish you'd help me--!"He remained motionless, letting the hand lie untouched.
　　"Help you to tell me that poor Ursula was a pretext, but thatthere IS someone who--for one reason or another--really has aright to object to your seeing me too often?"Susy laughed impatiently. "You talk like the hero of a novel--the kind my governess used to read. In the first place I shouldnever recognize that kind of right, as you call it--never!""Then what kind do you?" he asked with a clearing brow.
　　"Why--the kind I suppose you recognize on the part of yourpublisher." This evoked a hollow laugh from him. "A businessclaim, call it," she pursued. "Ursula does a lot for me: Ilive on her for half the year. This dress I've got on now isone she gave me. Her motor is going to take me to a dinnerto-night. I'm going to spend next summer with her atNewport .... If I don't, I've got to go to California with theBockheimers-so good-bye."Suddenly in tears, she was out of the door and down his steepthree flights before he could stop her--though, in thinking itover, she didn't even remember if he had tried to. She onlyrecalled having stood a long time on the corner of Fifth Avenue,in the harsh winter radiance, waiting till a break in thetorrent of motors laden with fashionable women should let hercross, and saying to herself: "After all, I might have promisedUrsula ... and kept on seeing him ...."Instead of which, when Lansing wrote the next day entreating aword with her, she had sent back a friendly but firm refusal;and had managed soon afterward to get taken to Canada for afortnight's ski-ing, and then to Florida for six weeks in ahouse-boat ....
　　As she reached this point in her retrospect the remembrance ofFlorida called up a vision of moonlit waters, magnolia fragranceand balmy airs; merging with the circumambient sweetness, itlaid a drowsy spell upon her lids. Yes, there had been a badmoment: but it was over; and she was here, safe and blissful,and with Nick; and this was his knee her head rested on, andthey had a year ahead of them ... a whole year .... "Notcounting the pearls," she murmured, shutting her eyes ....
Chapter 2
    LANSING threw the end of Strefford's expensive cigar into thelake, and bent over his wife. Poor child! She had fallenasleep .... He leaned back and stared up again at thesilver-flooded sky. How queer--how inexpressibly queer--it wasto think that that light was shed by his honey-moon! A yearago, if anyone had predicted his risking such an adventure, hewould have replied by asking to be locked up at the firstsymptoms ....
　　There was still no doubt in his mind that the adventure was amad one. It was all very well for Susy to remind him twentytimes a day that they had pulled it off--and so why should heworry? Even in the light of her far-seeing cleverness, and ofhis own present bliss, he knew the future would not bear theexamination of sober thought. And as he sat there in the summermoonlight, with her head on his knee, he tried to recapitulatethe successive steps that had landed them on Streffy'slake-front.
　　On Lansing's side, no doubt, it dated back to his leavingHarvard with the large resolve not to miss anything. Therestood the evergreen Tree of Life, the Four Rivers flowing fromits foot; and on every one of the four currents he meant tolaunch his little skiff. On two of them he had not gone veryfar, on the third he had nearly stuck in the mud; but the fourthhad carried him to the very heart of wonder. It was the streamof his lively imagination, of his inexhaustible interest inevery form of beauty and strangeness and folly. On this stream,sitting in the stout little craft of his poverty, hisinsignificance and his independence, he had made some notablevoyages .... And so, when Susy Branch, whom he had sought outthrough a New York season as the prettiest and most amusing girlin sight, had surprised him with the contradictory revelation ofher modern sense of expediency and her old-fashioned standard ofgood faith, he had felt an irresistible desire to put off on onemore cruise into the unknown.
　　It was of the essence of the adventure that, after her one briefvisit to his lodgings, he should have kept his promise and nottried to see her again. Even if her straightforwardness had notroused his emulation, his understanding of her difficultieswould have moved his pity. He knew on how frail a thread thepopularity of the penniless hangs, and how miserably a girl likeSusy was the sport of other people's moods and whims. It was apart of his difficulty and of hers that to get what they likedthey so often had to do what they disliked. But the keeping ofhis promise was a greater bore than he had expected. SusyBranch had become a delightful habit in a life where most of thefixed things were dull, and her disappearance had made itsuddenly clear to him that his resources were growing more andmore limited. Much that had once amused him hugely now amusedhim less, or not at all: a good part of his world of wonder hadshrunk to a village peep-show. And the things which had kepttheir stimulating power--distant journeys, the enjoyment of art,the contact with new scenes and strange societies--were becomingless and less attainable. Lansing had never had more than apittance; he had spent rather too much of it in his first plungeinto life, and the best he could look forward to was a middle-age of poorly-paid hack-work, mitigated by brief and frugalholidays. He knew that he was more intelligent than theaverage, but he had long since concluded that his talents werenot marketable. Of the thin volume of sonnets which a friendlypublisher had launched for him, just seventy copies had beensold; and though his essay on "Chinese Influences in Greek Art"had created a passing stir, it had resulted in controversialcorrespondence and dinner invitations rather than in moresubstantial benefits. There seemed, in short, no prospect ofhis ever earning money, and his restricted future made himattach an increasing value to the kind of friendship that SusyBranch had given him. Apart from the pleasure of looking at herand listening to her--of enjoying in her what others lessdiscriminatingly but as liberally appreciated--he had the sense,between himself and her, of a kind of free-masonry of precocioustolerance and irony. They had both, in early youth, taken themeasure of the world they happened to live in: they knew justwhat it was worth to them and for what reasons, and thecommunity of these reasons lent to their intimacy its lastexquisite touch. And now, because of some jealous whim of adissatisfied fool of a woman, as to whom he felt himself no moreto blame than any young man who has paid for good dinners bygood manners, he was to be deprived of the one completecompanionship he had ever known ....
　　His thoughts travelled on. He recalled the long dull spring inNew York after his break with Susy, the weary grind on his lastarticles, his listless speculations as to the cheapest and leastboring way of disposing of the summer; and then the amazing luckof going, reluctantly and at the last minute, to spend a Sundaywith the poor Nat Fulmers, in the wilds of New Hampshire, and offinding Susy there--Susy, whom he had never even suspected ofknowing anybody in the Fulmers' set!
　　She had behaved perfectly--and so had he--but they wereobviously much too glad to see each other. And then it wasunsettling to be with her in such a house as the Fulmers', awayfrom the large setting of luxury they were both used to, in thecramped cottage where their host had his studio in the verandah,their hostess practiced her violin in the dining-room, and fiveubiquitous children sprawled and shouted and blew trumpets andput tadpoles in the water-jugs, and the mid-day dinner was twohours late-and proportionately bad--because the Italian cookwas posing for Fulmer.
　　Lansing's first thought had been that meeting Susy in suchcircumstances would be the quickest way to cure them both oftheir regrets. The case of the Fulmers was an awful object-lesson in what happened to young people who lost their heads;poor Nat, whose pictures nobody bought, had gone to seed soterribly-and Grace, at twenty-nine, would never again beanything but the woman of whom people say, "I can remember herwhen she was lovely."But the devil of it was that Nat had never been such goodcompany, or Grace so free from care and so full of music; andthat, in spite of their disorder and dishevelment, and the badfood and general crazy discomfort, there was more amusement tobe got out of their society than out of the most opulentlystaged house-party through which Susy and Lansing had everyawned their way.
　　It was almost a relief to tile young man when, on the secondafternoon, Miss Branch drew him into the narrow hall to say: "Ireally can't stand the combination of Grace's violin and littleNat's motor-horn any longer. Do let us slip out till the duetis over.""How do they stand it, I wonder?" he basely echoed, as hefollowed her up the wooded path behind the house.
　　"It might be worth finding out," she rejoined with a musingsmile.
　　But he remained resolutely skeptical. "Oh, give them a year ortwo more and they'll collapse--! His pictures will never sell,you know. He'll never even get them into a show.""I suppose not. And she'll never have time to do anything worthwhile with her music."They had reached a piny knoll high above the ledge on which thehouse was perched. All about them stretched an empty landscapeof endless featureless wooded hills. "Think of sticking hereall the year round!" Lansing groaned.
　　"I know. But then think of wandering over the world with somepeople!""Oh, Lord, yes. For instance, my trip to India with theMortimer Hickses. But it was my only chance and what the deuceis one to do?""I wish I knew!" she sighed, thinking of the Bockheimers; andhe turned and looked at her.
　　"Knew what?""The answer to your question. What is one to do--when one seesboth sides of the problem? Or every possible side of it,indeed?"They had seated themselves on a commanding rock under the pines,but Lansing could not see the view at their feet for the stir ofthe brown lashes on her cheek.
　　"You mean: Nat and Grace may after all be having the best ofit?""How can I say, when I've told you I see all the sides? Ofcourse," Susy added hastily, " I couldn't live as they do for aweek. But it's wonderful how little it's dimmed them.""Certainly Nat was never more coruscating. And she keeps it upeven better." He reflected. "We do them good, I daresay.""Yes--or they us. I wonder which?"After that, he seemed to remember that they sat a long timesilent, and that his next utterance was a boyish outburstagainst the tyranny of the existing order of things, abruptlyfollowed by the passionate query why, since he and she couldn'talter it, and since they both had the habit of looking at factsas they were, they wouldn't be utter fools not to take theirchance of being happy in the only way that was open to them, Tothis challenge he did not recall Susy's making any definiteanswer; but after another interval, in which all the worldseemed framed in a sudden kiss, he heard her murmur to herselfin a brooding tone: "I don't suppose it's ever been triedbefore; but we might--." And then and there she had laid beforehim the very experiment they had since hazarded.
　　She would have none of surreptitious bliss, she began bydeclaring; and she set forth her reasons with her usual lucidimpartiality. In the first place, she should have to marry someday, and when she made the bargain she meant it to be an honestone; and secondly, in the matter of love, she would never giveherself to anyone she did not really care for, and if suchhappiness ever came to her she did not want it shorn of half itsbrightness by the need of fibbing and plotting and dodging.
　　"I've seen too much of that kind of thing. Half the women Iknow who've had lovers have had them for the fun of sneaking andlying about it; but the other half have been miserable. And Ishould be miserable."It was at this point that she unfolded her plan. Why shouldn'tthey marry; belong to each other openly and honourably, if forever so short a time, and with the definite understanding thatwhenever either of them got the chance to do better he or sheshould be immediately released? The law of their countryfacilitated such exchanges, and society was beginning to viewthem as indulgently as the law. As Susy talked, she warmed toher theme and began to develop its endless possibilities.
　　"We should really, in a way, help more than we should hampereach other," she ardently explained. "We both know the ropes sowell; what one of us didn't see the other might--in the way ofopportunities, I mean. And then we should be a novelty asmarried people. We're both rather unusually popular--why not befrank!--and it's such a blessing for dinner-givers to be able tocount on a couple of whom neither one is a blank. Yes, I reallybelieve we should be more than twice the success we are now; atleast," she added with a smile, "if there's that amount of roomfor improvement. I don't know how you feel; a man's popularityis so much less precarious than a girl's--but I know it wouldfurbish me up tremendously to reappear as a married woman." Sheglanced away from him down the long valley at their feet, andadded in a lower tone: "And I should like, just for a littlewhile, to feel I had something in life of my very own--somethingthat nobody had lent me, like a fancy-dress or a motor or anopera cloak."The suggestion, at first, had seemed to Lansing as mad as it wasenchanting: it had thoroughly frightened him. But Susy'sarguments were irrefutable, her ingenuities inexhaustible. Hadhe ever thought it all out? She asked. No. Well, she had; andwould he kindly not interrupt? In the first place, there wouldbe all the wedding-presents. Jewels, and a motor, and a silverdinner service, did she mean? Not a bit of it! She could seehe'd never given the question proper thought. Cheques, my dear,nothing but cheques--she undertook to manage that on her side:
　　she really thought she could count on about fifty, and shesupposed he could rake up a few more? Well, all that wouldsimply represent pocket-money! For they would have plenty ofhouses to live in: he'd see. People were always glad to lendtheir house to a newly-married couple. It was such fun to popdown and see them: it made one feel romantic and jolly. Allthey need do was to accept the houses in turn: go on honey-mooning for a year! What was he afraid of? Didn't he thinkthey'd be happy enough to want to keep it up? And why not atleast try--get engaged, and then see what would happen? Even ifshe was all wrong, and her plan failed, wouldn't it have beenrather nice, just for a month or two, to fancy they were goingto be happy? "I've often fancied it all by myself," sheconcluded; "but fancying it with you would somehow be so awfullydifferent ...."That was how it began: and this lakeside dream was what it hadled up to. Fantastically improbable as they had seemed, all herprevisions had come true. If there were certain links in thechain that Lansing had never been able to put his hand on,certain arrangements and contrivances that still needed furtherelucidation, why, he was lazily resolved to clear them up withher some day; and meanwhile it was worth all the past might havecost, and every penalty the future might exact of him, just tobe sitting here in the silence and sweetness, her sleeping headon his knee, clasped in his joy as the hushed world was claspedin moonlight.
　　He stooped down and kissed her. "Wake up," he whispered, "it'sbed-time."
Chapter 3
    THEIR month of Como was within a few hours of ending. Till thelast moment they had hoped for a reprieve; but the accommodatingStreffy had been unable to put the villa at their disposal for alonger time, since he had had the luck to let it for a thumpingprice to some beastly bouncers who insisted on taking possessionat the date agreed on.
　　Lansing, leaving Susy's side at dawn, had gone down to the lakefor a last plunge; and swimming homeward through the crystallight he looked up at the garden brimming with flowers, the longlow house with the cypress wood above it, and the window behindwhich his wife still slept. The month had been exquisite, andtheir happiness as rare, as fantastically complete, as the scenebefore him. He sank his chin into the sunlit ripples and sighedfor sheer content ....
　　It was a bore to be leaving the scene of such completewell-being, but the next stage in their progress promised to behardly less delightful. Susy was a magician: everything shepredicted came true. Houses were being showered on them; on allsides he seemed to see beneficent spirits winging toward them,laden with everything from a piano nobile in Venice to a camp inthe Adirondacks. For the present, they had decided on theformer. Other considerations apart, they dared not risk theexpense of a journey across the Atlantic; so they were headinginstead for the Nelson Vanderlyns' palace on the Giudecca. Theywere agreed that, for reasons of expediency, it might be wise toreturn to New York for the coming winter. It would keep them inview, and probably lead to fresh opportunities; indeed, Susyalready had in mind the convenient flat that she was sure amigratory cousin (if tactfully handled, and assured that theywould not overwork her cook) could certainly be induced to lendthem. Meanwhile the need of making plans was still remote; andif there was one art in which young Lansing's twenty-eight yearsof existence had perfected him it was that of living completelyand unconcernedly in the present ....
　　If of late he had tried to look into the future more insistentlythan was his habit, it was only because of Susy. He had meant,when they married, to be as philosophic for her as for himself;and he knew she would have resented above everything hisregarding their partnership as a reason for anxious thought.
　　But since they had been together she had given him glimpses ofher past that made him angrily long to shelter and defend herfuture. It was intolerable that a spirit as fine as hers shouldbe ever so little dulled or diminished by the kind ofcompromises out of which their wretched lives were made. Forhimself, he didn't care a hang: he had composed for his ownguidance a rough-and-ready code, a short set of "mays" and"mustn'ts" which immensely simplified his course. There werethings a fellow put up with for the sake of certain definite andotherwise unattainable advantages; there were other things hewouldn't traffic with at any price. But for a woman, he beganto see, it might be different. The temptations might begreater, the cost considerably higher, the dividing line betweenthe "mays" and "mustn'ts" more fluctuating and less sharplydrawn. Susy, thrown on the world at seventeen, with only a weakwastrel of a father to define that treacherous line for her, andwith every circumstance soliciting her to overstep it, seemed tohave been preserved chiefly by an innate scorn of most of theobjects of human folly. "Such trash as he went to pieces for,"was her curt comment on her parent's premature demise: asthough she accepted in advance the necessity of ruining one'sself for something, but was resolved to discriminate firmlybetween what was worth it and what wasn't.
　　This philosophy had at first enchanted Lansing; but now it beganto rouse vague fears. The fine armour of her fastidiousness hadpreserved her from the kind of risks she had hitherto beenexposed to; but what if others, more subtle, found a joint init? Was there, among her delicate discriminations, anyequivalent to his own rules? Might not her taste for the bestand rarest be the very instrument of her undoing; and ifsomething that wasn't "trash" came her way, would she hesitate asecond to go to pieces for it?
　　He was determined to stick to the compact that they should donothing to interfere with what each referred to as the other's"chance"; but what if, when hers came, he couldn't agree withher in recognizing it? He wanted for her, oh, so passionately,the best; but his conception of that best had so insensibly, sosubtly been transformed in the light of their first monthtogether!
　　His lazy strokes were carrying him slowly shoreward; but thehour was so exquisite that a few yards from the landing he laidhold of the mooring rope of Streffy's boat and floated there,following his dream .... It was a bore to be leaving; no doubtthat was what made him turn things inside-out so uselessly.
　　Venice would be delicious, of course; but nothing would everagain be as sweet as this. And then they had only a year ofsecurity before them; and of that year a month was gone.
　　Reluctantly he swam ashore, walked up to the house, and pushedopen a window of the cool painted drawing-room. Signs ofdeparture were already visible. There were trunks in the hall,tennis rackets on the stairs; on the landing, the cook Giuliettahad both arms around a slippery hold-all that refused to letitself be strapped. It all gave him a chill sense of unreality,as if the past month had been an act on the stage, andits setting were being folded away and rolled into the wings tomake room for another play in which he and Susy had no part.
　　By the time he came down again, dressed and hungry, to theterrace where coffee awaited him, he had recovered his usualpleasant sense of security. Susy was there, fresh and gay, arose in her breast and the sun in her hair: her head was bowedover Bradshaw, but she waved a fond hand across the breakfastthings, and presently looked up to say: "Yes, I believe we canjust manage it.""Manage what?""To catch the train at Milan--if we start in the motor at tensharp."He stared. "The motor? What motor?""Why, the new people's--Streffy's tenants. He's never told metheir name, and the chauffeur says he can't pronounce it. Thechauffeur's is Ottaviano, anyhow; I've been making friends withhim. He arrived last night, and he says they're not due at Comotill this evening. He simply jumped at the idea of running usover to Milan.""Good Lord--" said Lansing, when she stopped.
　　She sprang up from the table with a laugh. "It will be ascramble; but I'll manage it, if you'll go up at once and pitchthe last things into your trunk. ""Yes; but look here--have you any idea what it's going to cost?"She raised her eyebrows gaily. "Why, a good deal less than ourrailway tickets. Ottaviano's got a sweetheart in Milan, andhasn't seen her for six months. When I found that out I knewhe'd be going there anyhow."It was clever of her, and he laughed. But why was it that hehad grown to shrink from even such harmless evidence of heralways knowing how to "manage"? "Oh, well," he said to himself,"she's right: the fellow would be sure to be going to Milan."Upstairs, on the way to his dressing room, he found her in acloud of finery which her skilful hands were forciblycompressing into a last portmanteau. He had never seen anyonepack as cleverly as Susy: the way she coaxed reluctant thingsinto a trunk was a symbol of the way she fitted discordant factsinto her life. "When I'm rich," she often said, "the thing Ishall hate most will be to see an idiot maid at my trunks."As he passed, she glanced over her shoulder, her face pink withthe struggle, and drew a cigar-box from the depths. "Dearest,do put a couple of cigars into your pocket as a tip forOttaviano."Lansing stared. "Why, what on earth are you doing withStreffy's cigars?""Packing them, of course .... You don't suppose he meant themfor those other people?" She gave him a look of honest wonder.
　　"I don't know whom he meant them for--but they're notours ...."She continued to look at him wonderingly. "I don't seewhat there is to be solemn about. The cigars are not Streffy'seither ... you may be sure he got them out of some bounder. Andthere's nothing he'd hate more than to have them passed on toanother.""Nonsense. If they're not Streffy's they're much less mine.
　　Hand them over, please, dear.""Just as you like. But it does seem a waste; and, of course,the other people will never have one of them .... The gardenerand Giulietta's lover will see to that!"Lansing looked away from her at the waves of lace and muslinfrom which she emerged like a rosy Nereid. "How many boxes ofthem are left?""Only four.""Unpack them, please."Before she moved there was a pause so full of challenge thatLansing had time for an exasperated sense of the disproportionbetween his anger and its cause. And this made him stillangrier.
　　She held out a box. "The others are in your suitcasedownstairs. It's locked and strapped.""Give me the key, then.""We might send them back from Venice, mightn't we? That lock isso nasty: it will take you half an hour.""Give me the key, please." She gave it.
　　He went downstairs and battled with the lock, for the allottedhalf-hour, under the puzzled eyes of Giulietta and the sardonicgrin of the chauffeur, who now and then, from the threshold,politely reminded him how long it would take to get to Milan.
　　Finally the key turned, and Lansing, broken-nailed andperspiring, extracted the cigars and stalked with them into thedeserted drawing room. The great bunches of golden roses thathe and Susy had gathered the day before were dropping theirpetals on the marble embroidery of the floor, pale camelliasfloated in the alabaster tazzas between the windows, hauntingscents of the garden blew in on him with the breeze from thelake. Never had Streffy's little house seemed so like a nest ofpleasures. Lansing laid the cigar boxes on a console and ranupstairs to collect his last possessions. When he came downagain, his wife, her eyes brilliant with achievement, was seatedin their borrowed chariot, the luggage cleverly stowed away, andGiulietta and the gardener kissing her hand and weeping outinconsolable farewells.
　　"I wonder what she's given them?" he thought, as he jumped inbeside her and the motor whirled them through the nightingale-thickets to the gate.
Chapter 4
    CHARLIE STREFFORD'S villa was like a nest in a rose-bush; theNelson Vanderlyns' palace called for loftier analogies.
　　Its vastness and splendour seemed, in comparison, oppressive toSusy. Their landing, after dark, at the foot of the greatshadowy staircase, their dinner at a dimly-lit table under aceiling weighed down with Olympians, their chilly evening in acorner of a drawing room where minuets should have been dancedbefore a throne, contrasted with the happy intimacies of Como astheir sudden sense of disaccord contrasted with the mutualconfidence of the day before.
　　The journey had been particularly jolly: both Susy and Lansinghad had too long a discipline in the art of smoothing thingsover not to make a special effort to hide from each other theravages of their first disagreement. But, deep down andinvisible, the disagreement remained; and compunction for havingbeen its cause gnawed at Susy's bosom as she sat in hertapestried and vaulted bedroom, brushing her hair before atarnished mirror.
　　"I thought I liked grandeur; but this place is really out ofscale," she mused, watching the reflection of a pale hand moveback and forward in the dim recesses of the mirror. "And yet,"she continued, "Ellie Vanderlyn's hardly half an inch tallerthan I am; and she certainly isn't a bit more dignified .... Iwonder if it's because I feel so horribly small to-night thatthe place seems so horribly big."She loved luxury: splendid things always made her feel handsomeand high ceilings arrogant; she did not remember having everbefore been oppressed by the evidences of wealth.
　　She laid down the brush and leaned her chin on her claspedhands .... Even now she could not understand what had made hertake the cigars. She had always been alive to the value of herinherited scruples: her reasoned opinions were unusually free,but with regard to the things one couldn't reason about she wasoddly tenacious. And yet she had taken Streffy's cigars! Shehad taken them--yes, that was the point--she had taken them forNick, because the desire to please him, to make the smallestdetails of his life easy and agreeable and luxurious, had becomeher absorbing preoccupation. She had committed, for him,precisely the kind of little baseness she would most havescorned to commit for herself; and, since he hadn't instantlyfelt the difference, she would never be able to explain it tohim.
　　She stood up with a sigh, shook out her loosened hair, andglanced around the great frescoed room. The maid-servant hadsaid something about the Signora's having left a letter for her;and there it lay on the writing-table, with her mail and Nick's;a thick envelope addressed in Ellie's childish scrawl, with aglaring "Private" dashed across the corner.
　　"What on earth can she have to say, when she hates writing so,"Susy mused.
　　She broke open the envelope, and four or five stamped and sealedletters fell from it. All were addressed, in Ellie's hand, toNelson Vanderlyn Esqre; and in the corner of each was faintlypencilled a number and a date: one, two, three, four--with aweek's interval between the dates.
　　"Goodness--" gasped Susy, understanding.
　　She had dropped into an armchair near the table, and for a longtime she sat staring at the numbered letters. A sheet of papercovered with Ellie's writing had fluttered out among them, butshe let it lie; she knew so well what it would say! She knewall about her friend, of course; except poor old Nelson, whodidn't, But she had never imagined that Ellie would dare to useher in this way. It was unbelievable ... she had never picturedanything so vile .... The blood rushed to her face, and shesprang up angrily, half minded to tear the letters in bits andthrow them all into the fire.
　　She heard her husband's knock on the door between their rooms,and swept the dangerous packet under the blotting-book.
　　"Oh, go away, please, there's a dear," she called out; "Ihaven't finished unpacking, and everything's in such a mess."Gathering up Nick's papers and letters, she ran across the roomand thrust them through the door. "Here's something to keep youquiet," she laughed, shining in on him an instant from thethreshold.
　　She turned back feeling weak with shame. Ellie's letter lay onthe floor: reluctantly she stooped to pick it up, and one byone the expected phrases sprang out at her.
　　"One good turn deserves another .... Of course you and Nick arewelcome to stay all summer .... There won't be a particle ofexpense for you--the servants have orders .... If you'll justbe an angel and post these letters yourself .... It's been myonly chance for such an age; when we meet I'll explaineverything. And in a month at latest I'll be back to fetchClarissa ...."Susy lifted the letter to the lamp to be sure she had readaright. To fetch Clarissa! Then Ellie's child was here? Here,under the roof with them, left to their care? She read on,raging. "She's so delighted, poor darling, to know you'recoming. I've had to sack her beastly governess forimpertinence, and if it weren't for you she'd be all alone witha lot of servants I don't much trust. So for pity's sake begood to my child, and forgive me for leaving her. She thinksI've gone to take a cure; and she knows she's not to tell herDaddy that I'm away, because it would only worry him if hethought I was ill. She's perfectly to be trusted; you'll seewhat a clever angel she is ...." And then, at the bottom of thepage, in a last slanting postscript: "Susy darling, if you'veever owed me anything in the way of kindness, you won't, on yoursacred honour, say a word of this to any one, even to Nick. AndI know I can count on you to rub out the numbers."Susy sprang up and tossed Mrs. Vanderlyn's letter into the fire:
　　then she came slowly back to the chair. There, at her elbow,lay the four fatal envelopes; and her next affair was to make upher mind what to do with them.
　　To destroy them on the spot had seemed, at first thought,inevitable: it might be saving Ellie as well as herself. Butsuch a step seemed to Susy to involve departure on the morrow,and this in turn involved notifying Ellie, whose letter she hadvainly scanned for an address. Well--perhaps Clarissa's nursewould know where one could write to her mother; it was unlikelythat even Ellie would go off without assuring some means ofcommunication with her child. At any rate, there was nothing tobe done that night: nothing but to work out the details oftheir flight on the morrow, and rack her brains to find asubstitute for the hospitality they were rejecting. Susy didnot disguise from herself how much she had counted on theVanderlyn apartment for the summer: to be able to do so hadsingularly simplified the future. She knew Ellie's largeness ofhand, and had been sure in advance that as long as they were herguests their only expense would be an occasional present to theservants. And what would the alternative be? She and Lansing,in their endless talks, had so lived themselves into the visionof indolent summer days on the lagoon, of flaming hours on thebeach of the Lido, and evenings of music and dreams on theirbroad balcony above the Giudecca, that the idea of having torenounce these joys, and deprive her Nick of them, filled Susywith a wrath intensified by his having confided in her that whenthey were quietly settled in Venice he "meant to write."Already nascent in her breast was the fierce resolve of theauthor's wife to defend her husband's privacy and facilitate hisencounters with the Muse. It was abominable, simply abominable,that Ellie Vanderlyn should have drawn her into such a trap!
　　Well--there was nothing for it but to make a clean breast of thewhole thing to Nick. The trivial incident of the cigars-howtrivial it now seemed!--showed her the kind of stand he wouldtake, and communicated to her something of his ownuncompromising energy. She would tell him the whole story inthe morning, and try to find a way out with him: Susy's faithin her power of finding a way out was inexhaustible. Butsuddenly she remembered the adjuration at the end of Mrs.
　　Vanderlyn's letter: "If you're ever owed me anything in the wayof kindness, you won't, on your sacred honour, say a word toNick ...."It was, of course, exactly what no one had the right to ask ofher: if indeed the word "right", could be used in anyconceivable relation to this coil of wrongs. But the factremained that, in the way of kindness, she did owe much toEllie; and that this was the first payment her friend had everexacted. She found herself, in fact, in exactly the sameposition as when Ursula Gillow, using the same argument, hadappealed to her to give up Nick Lansing. Yes, Susy reflected;but then Nelson Vanderlyn had been kind to her too; and themoney Ellie had been so kind with was Nelson's .... The queeredifice of Susy's standards tottered on its base she honestlydidn't know where fairness lay, as between so much that wasfoul.
　　The very depth of her perplexity puzzled her. She had been in"tight places" before; had indeed been in so few that were not,in one way or another, constricting! As she looked back on herpast it lay before her as a very network of perpetualconcessions and contrivings. But never before had she had sucha sense of being tripped up, gagged and pinioned. The littlemisery of the cigars still galled her, and now this bighumiliation superposed itself on the raw wound. Decidedly, thesecond month of their honey-moon was beginning cloudily ....
　　She glanced at the enamel led travelling-clock on her dressingtable--one of the few wedding-presents she had consented toaccept in kind--and was startled at the lateness of the hour.
　　In a moment Nick would be coming; and an uncomfortable sensationin her throat warned her that through sheer nervousness andexasperation she might blurt out something ill-advised. The oldhabit of being always on her guard made her turn once more tothe looking-glass. Her face was pale and haggard; and having,by a swift and skilful application of cosmetics, increased itsappearance of fatigue, she crossed the room and softly openedher husband's door.
　　He too sat by a lamp, reading a letter which he put aside as sheentered. His face was grave, and she said to herself that hewas certainly still thinking about the cigars.
　　"I'm very tired, dearest, and my head aches so horribly thatI've come to bid you good-night." Bending over the back of hischair, she laid her arms on his shoulders. He lifted his handsto clasp hers, but, as he threw his head back to smile up at hershe noticed that his look was still serious, almost remote. Itwas as if, for the first time, a faint veil hung between hiseyes and hers.
　　"I'm so sorry: it's been a long day for you," he said absently,pressing his lips to her handsShe felt the dreaded twitch in her throat.
　　"Nick!" she burst out, tightening her embrace, "before I go,you've got to swear to me on your honour that you know I shouldnever have taken those cigars for myself!"For a moment he stared at her, and she stared back at him withequal gravity; then the same irresistible mirth welled up inboth, and Susy's compunctions were swept away on a gale oflaughter.
　　When she woke the next morning the sun was pouring in betweenher curtains of old brocade, and its refraction from the ripplesof the Canal was drawing a network of golden scales across thevaulted ceiling. The maid had just placed a tray on a slimmarquetry table near the bed, and over the edge of the tray Susydiscovered the small serious face of Clarissa Vanderlyn. At thesight of the little girl all her dormant qualms awoke.
　　Clarissa was just eight, and small for her age: her littleround chin was barely on a level with the tea-service, and herclear brown eyes gazed at Susy between the ribs of the toast-rack and the single tea-rose in an old Murano glass. Susy hadnot seen her for two years, and she seemed, in the interval, tohave passed from a thoughtful infancy to complete ripeness offeminine experience. She was looking with approval at hermother's guest.
　　"I'm so glad you've come," she said in a small sweet voice. "Ilike you so very much. I know I'm not to be often with you; butat least you'll have an eye on me, won't you?""An eye on you! I shall never want to have it off you, if yousay such nice things to me!" Susy laughed, leaning from herpillows to draw the little girl up to her side.
　　Clarissa smiled and settled herself down comfortably on thesilken bedspread. "Oh, I know I'm not to be always about,because you're just married; but could you see to it that I havemy meals regularly?""Why, you poor darling! Don't you always?""Not when mother's away on these cures. The servants don'talways obey me: you see I'm so little for my age. In a fewyears, of course, they'll have to--even if I don't grow much,"she added judiciously. She put out her hand and touched thestring of pearls about Susy's throat. "They're small, butthey're very good. I suppose you don't take the others when youtravel?""The others? Bless you! I haven't any others--and never shallhave, probably.""No other pearls?""No other jewels at all."Clarissa stared. "Is that really true?" she asked, as if inthe presence of the unprecedented.
　　"Awfully true," Susy confessed. "But I think I can make theservants obey me all the same."This point seemed to have lost its interest for Clarissa, whowas still gravely scrutinizing her companion. After a while shebrought forth another question.
　　"Did you have to give up all your jewels when you weredivorced?""Divorced--?" Susy threw her head back against the pillows andlaughed. "Why, what are you thinking of? Don't you rememberthat I wasn't even married the last time you saw me?""Yes; I do. But that was two years ago." The little girl woundher arms about Susy's neck and leaned against her caressingly.
　　"Are you going to be soon, then? I'll promise not to tell if youdon't want me to.""Going to be divorced? Of course not! What in the world madeyou think so? ""Because you look so awfully happy," said Clarissa Vanderlynsimply.
Chapter 5
    IT was a trifling enough sign, but it had remained in Susy'smind: that first morning in Venice Nick had gone out withoutfirst coming in to see her. She had stayed in bed late,chatting with Clarissa, and expecting to see the door open andher husband appear; and when the child left, and she had jumpedup and looked into Nick's room, she found it empty, and a lineon his dressing table informed her that he had gone out to senda telegram.
　　It was lover-like, and even boyish, of him to think it necessaryto explain his absence; but why had he not simply come in andtold her! She instinctively connected the little fact with theshade of preoccupation she had noticed on his face the nightbefore, when she had gone to his room and found him absorbed inletter; and while she dressed she had continued to wonder whatwas in the letter, and whether the telegram he had hurried outto send was an answer to it.
　　She had never found out. When he reappeared, handsome and happyas the morning, he proffered no explanation; and it was part ofher life-long policy not to put uncalled-for questions. It wasnot only that her jealous regard for her own freedom was matchedby an equal respect for that of others; she had steered too longamong the social reefs and shoals not to know how narrow is thepassage that leads to peace of mind, and she was determined tokeep her little craft in mid-channel. But the incident hadlodged itself in her memory, acquiring a sort of symbolicsignificance, as of a turning-point in her relations with herhusband. Not that these were less happy, but that she nowbeheld them, as she had always formerly beheld such joys, as anunstable islet in a sea of storms. Her present bliss was ascomplete as ever, but it was ringed by the perpetual menace ofall she knew she was hiding from Nick, and of all she suspectedhim of hiding from her ....
　　She was thinking of these things one afternoon about three weeksafter their arrival in Venice. It was near sunset, and she satalone on the balcony, watching the cross-lights on the waterweave their pattern above the flushed reflection of oldpalace-basements. She was almost always alone at that hour.
　　Nick had taken to writing in the afternoons--he had been as goodas his word, and so, apparently, had the Muse and it was hishabit to join his wife only at sunset, for a late row on thelagoon. She had taken Clarissa, as usual, to the GiardinoPubblico, where that obliging child had politely butindifferently "played"--Clarissa joined in the diversions of herage as if conforming to an obsolete tradition--and had broughther back for a music lesson, echoes of which now drifted downfrom a distant window.
　　Susy had come to be extremely thankful for Clarissa. But forthe little girl, her pride in her husband's industry might havebeen tinged with a faint sense of being at times left out andforgotten; and as Nick's industry was the completestjustification for their being where they were, and for herhaving done what she had, she was grateful to Clarissa forhelping her to feel less alone. Clarissa, indeed, representedthe other half of her justification: it was as much on thechild's account as on Nick's that Susy had held her tongue,remained in Venice, and slipped out once a week to post one ofEllie's numbered letters. A day's experience of the PalazzoVanderlyn had convinced Susy of the impossibility of desertingClarissa. Long experience had shown her that the most crowdedhouseholds often contain the loneliest nurseries, and that therich child is exposed to evils unknown to less pampered infancy;but hitherto such things had merely been to her one of theuglier bits in the big muddled pattern of life. Now she foundherself feeling where before she had only judged: herprecarious bliss came to her charged with a new weight of pity.
　　She was thinking of these things, and of the approaching date ofEllie Vanderlyn's return, and of the searching truths she wasstoring up for that lady's private ear, when she noticed agondola turning its prow toward the steps below the balcony.
　　She leaned over, and a tall gentleman in shabby clothes,glancing up at her as he jumped out, waved a mouldy Panama injoyful greeting.
　　"Streffy!" she exclaimed as joyfully; and she was half-way downthe stairs when he ran up them followed by his luggage-ladenboatman.
　　"It's all right, I suppose?--Ellie said I might come," heexplained in a shrill cheerful voice; "and I'm to have my samegreen room with the parrot-panels, because its furniture isalready so frightfully stained with my hair-wash."Susy was beaming on him with the deep sense of satisfactionwhich his presence always produced in his friends. There was noone in the world, they all agreed, half as ugly and untidy anddelightful as Streffy; no one who combined such outspokenselfishness with such imperturbable good humour; no one who knewso well how to make you believe he was being charming to youwhen it was you who were being charming to him.
　　In addition to these seductions, of which none estimated thevalue more accurately than their possessor, Strefford had forSusy another attraction of which he was probably unconscious.
　　It was that of being the one rooted and stable being among thefluid and shifting figures that composed her world. Susy hadalways lived among people so denationalized that those one tookfor Russians generally turned out to be American, and those onewas inclined to ascribe to New York proved to have originated inRome or Bucharest. These cosmopolitan people, who, in countriesnot their own, lived in houses as big as hotels, or in hotelswhere the guests were as international as the waiters, hadinter-married, inter-loved and inter-divorced each other overthe whole face of Europe, and according to every code thatattempts to regulate human ties. Strefford, too, had his homein this world, but only one of his homes. The other, the one hespoke of, and probably thought of, least often, was a great dullEnglish country-house in a northern county, where a life asmonotonous and self-contained as his own was chequered anddispersed had gone on for generation after generation; and itwas the sense of that house, and of all it typified even to hisvagrancy and irreverence, which, coming out now and then in histalk, or in his attitude toward something or somebody, gave hima firmer outline and a steadier footing than the othermarionettes in the dance. Superficially so like them all, andso eager to outdo them in detachment and adaptability,ridiculing the prejudices he had shaken off, and the people towhom he belonged, he still kept, under his easy pliancy, theskeleton of old faiths and old fashions. "He talks everylanguage as well as the rest of us," Susy had once said of him,"but at least he talks one language better than the others"; andStrefford, told of the remark, had laughed, called her an idiot,and been pleased.
　　As he shambled up the stairs with her, arm in arm, she wasthinking of this quality with a new appreciation of its value.
　　Even she and Lansing, in spite of their unmixed Americanism,their substantial background of old-fashioned cousinships in NewYork and Philadelphia, were as mentally detached, as universallyat home, as touts at an International Exhibition. If they wereusually recognized as Americans it was only because they spokeFrench so well, and because Nick was too fair to be "foreign,"and too sharp-featured to be English. But Charlie Strefford wasEnglish with all the strength of an inveterate habit; andsomething in Susy was slowly waking to a sense of the beauty ofhabit.
　　Lounging on the balcony, whither he had followed her withoutpausing to remove the stains of travel, Strefford showed himselfimmensely interested in the last chapter of her history, greatlypleased at its having been enacted under his roof, and hugelyand flippantly amused at the firmness with which she refused tolet him see Nick till the latter's daily task was over.
　　"Writing? Rot! What's he writing? He's breaking you in, mydear; that's what he's doing: establishing an alibi. What'llyou bet he's just sitting there smoking and reading Le Rire?
　　Let's go and see."But Susy was firm. "He's read me his first chapter: it'swonderful. It's a philosophic romance--rather like Marius, youknow.""Oh, yes--I do!" said Strefford, with a laugh that she thoughtidiotic.
　　She flushed up like a child. "You're stupid, Streffy. Youforget that Nick and I don't need alibis. We've got rid of allthat hyprocrisy by agreeing that each will give the other a handup when either of us wants a change. We've not married to spyand lie, and nag each other; we've formed a partnership for ourmutual advantage.""I see; that's capital. But how can you be sure that, when Nickwants a change, you'll consider it for his advantage to haveone?"It was the point that had always secretly tormented Susy; sheoften wondered if it equally tormented Nick.
　　"I hope I shall have enough common sense--" she began.
　　"Oh, of course: common sense is what you're both bound to baseyour argument on, whichever way you argue."This flash of insight disconcerted her, and she said, a littleirritably: "What should you do then, if you married?--Hush,Streffy! I forbid you to shout like that--all the gondolas arestopping to look!""How can I help it?" He rocked backward and forward in hischair. "'If you marry,' she says: 'Streffy, what have youdecided to do if you suddenly become a raving maniac?'""I said no such thing. If your uncle and your cousin died,you'd marry to-morrow; you know you would.""Oh, now you're talking business." He folded his long arms andleaned over the balcony, looking down at the dusky ripplesstreaked with fire. "In that case I should say: 'Susan, mydear--Susan--now that by the merciful intervention of Providenceyou have become Countess of Altringham in the peerage of GreatBritain, and Baroness Dunsterville and d'Amblay in the peeragesof Ireland and Scotland, I'll thank you to remember that you area member of one of the most ancient houses in the UnitedKingdom--and not to get found out.'"Susy laughed. "We know what those warnings mean! I pity mynamesake."He swung about and gave her a quick look out of his small uglytwinkling eyes. "Is there any other woman in the world namedSusan?""I hope so, if the name's an essential. Even if Nick chucks me,don't count on me to carry out that programme. I've seen it inpractice too often.""Oh, well: as far as I know, everybody's in perfect health atAltringham." He fumbled in his pocket and drew out a fountainpen, a handkerchief over which it had leaked, and a packet ofdishevelled cigarettes. Lighting one, and restoring the otherobjects to his pocket, he continued calmly: "Tell me how didyou manage to smooth things over with the Gillows? Ursula wasrunning amuck when I was in Newport last Summer; it was justwhen people were beginning to say that you were going to marryNick. I was afraid she'd put a spoke in your wheel; and I hearshe put a big cheque in your hand instead."Susy was silent. From the first moment of Strefford'sappearance she had known that in the course of time he wouldput that question. He was as inquisitive as a monkey, and whenhe had made up his mind to find out anything it was useless totry to divert his attention. After a moment's hesitation shesaid: "I flirted with Fred. It was a bore but he was verydecent.""He would be--poor Fred. And you got Ursula thoroughlyfrightened!""Well--enough. And then luckily that young Nerone Altineriturned up from Rome: he went over to New York to look for a jobas an engineer, and Ursula made Fred put him in their ironworks." She paused again, and then added abruptly: "Streffy!
　　If you knew how I hate that kind of thing. I'd rather have Nickcome in now and tell me frankly, as I know he would, that he'sgoing off with--""With Coral Hicks?" Strefford suggested.
　　She laughed. "Poor Coral Hicks! What on earth made you thinkof the Hickses?""Because I caught a glimpse of them the other day at Capri.
　　They're cruising about: they said they were coming in here.""What a nuisance! I do hope they won't find us out. They wereawfully kind to Nick when he went to India with them, andthey're so simple-minded that they would expect him to be gladto see them."Strefford aimed his cigarette-end at a tourist on a puggaree whowas gazing up from his guidebook at the palace. "Ah," hemurmured with satisfaction, seeing the shot take effect; then headded: "Coral Hicks is growing up rather pretty.""Oh, Streff--you're dreaming! That lump of a girl withspectacles and thick ankles! Poor Mrs. Hicks used to say toNick: 'When Mr. Hicks and I had Coral educated we presumedculture was in greater demand in Europe than it appears to be.'""Well, you'll see: that girl's education won't interfere withher, once she's started. So then: if Nick came in and told youhe was going off--""I should be so thankful if it was with a fright like Coral!
　　But you know," she added with a smile, "we've agreed that it'snot to happen for a year."
Chapter 6
   SUSY found Strefford, after his first burst of nonsense,unusually kind and responsive. The interest he showed in herfuture and Nick's seemed to proceed not so much from hishabitual spirit of scientific curiosity as from simplefriendliness. He was privileged to see Nick's first chapter, ofwhich he formed so favourable an impression that he spokesternly to Susy on the importance of respecting her husband'sworking hours; and he even carried his general benevolence tothe length of showing a fatherly interest in Clarissa Vanderlyn.
　　He was always charming to children, but fitfully and warily,with an eye on his independence, and on the possibility of beingsuddenly bored by them; Susy had never seen him abandon theseprecautions so completely as he did with Clarissa.
　　"Poor little devil! Who looks after her when you and Nick areoff together? Do you mean to tell me Ellie sacked the governessand went away without having anyone to take her place?""I think she expected me to do it," said Susy with a touch ofasperity. There were moments when her duty to Clarissa weighedon her somewhat heavily; whenever she went off alone with Nickshe was pursued by the vision of a little figure waving wistfulfarewells from the balcony.
　　"Ah, that's like Ellie: you might have known she'd get anequivalent when she lent you all this. But I don't believe shethought you'd be so conscientious about it."Susy considered. "I don't suppose she did; and perhaps Ishouldn't have been, a year ago. But you see"--she hesitated--"Nick's so awfully good: it's made me look; at a lot of thingsdifferently ....""Oh, hang Nick's goodness! It's happiness that's done it, mydear. You're just one of the people with whom it happens toagree."Susy, leaning back, scrutinized between her lashes his crookedironic face.
　　"What is it that's agreeing with you, Streffy? I've never seenyou so human. You must be getting an outrageous price for thevilla."Strefford laughed and clapped his hand on his breast-pocket. "Ishould be an ass not to: I've got a wire here saying they musthave it for another month at any price.""What luck! I'm so glad. Who are they, by the way?"He drew himself up out of the long chair in which he wasdisjointedly lounging, and looked down at her with a smile.
　　"Another couple of love-sick idiots like you and Nick .... Isay, before I spend it all let's go out and buy somethingripping for Clarissa."The days passed so quickly and radiantly that, but for herconcern for Clarissa, Susy would hardly have been conscious ofher hostess's protracted absence. Mrs. Vanderlyn had said:
　　"Four weeks at the latest," and the four weeks were over, andshe had neither arrived nor written to explain her non-appearance. She had, in fact, given no sign of life since herdeparture, save in the shape of a post-card which had reachedClarissa the day after the Lansings' arrival, and in which Mrs.
　　Vanderlyn instructed her child to be awfully good, and not toforget to feed the mongoose. Susy noticed that this missive hadbeen posted in Milan.
　　She communicated her apprehensions to Strefford. "I don't trustthat green-eyed nurse. She's forever with the youngergondolier; and Clarissa's so awfully sharp. I don't see whyEllie hasn't come: she was due last Monday."Her companion laughed, and something in the sound of his laughsuggested that he probably knew as much of Ellie's movements asshe did, if not more. The sense of disgust which the subjectalways roused in her made her look away quickly from histolerant smile. She would have given the world, at that moment,to have been free to tell Nick what she had learned on the nightof their arrival, and then to have gone away with him, no matterwhere. But there was Clarissa--!
　　To fortify herself against the temptation, she resolutely fixedher thoughts on her husband. Of Nick's beatitude there could beno doubt. He adored her, he revelled in Venice, he rejoiced inhis work; and concerning the quality of that work her judgmentwas as confident as her heart. She still doubted if he wouldever earn a living by what he wrote, but she no longer doubtedthat he would write something remarkable. The mere fact that hewas engaged on a philosophic romance, and not a mere novel,seemed the proof of an intrinsic superiority. And if she hadmistrusted her impartiality Strefford's approval would havereassured her. Among their friends Strefford passed as anauthority on such matters: in summing him up his eulogistsalways added: "And you know he writes." As a matter of fact,the paying public had remained cold to his few published pages;but he lived among the kind of people who confuse taste withtalent, and are impressed by the most artless attempts atliterary expression; and though he affected to disdain theirjudgment, and his own efforts, Susy knew he was not sorry tohave it said of him: "Oh, if only Streffy had chosen--!"Strefford's approval of the philosophic romance convinced herthat it had been worth while staying in Venice for Nick's sake;and if only Ellie would come back, and carry off Clarissa to St.
　　Moritz or Deauville, the disagreeable episode on which theirhappiness was based would vanish like a cloud, and leave them tocomplete enjoyment.
　　Ellie did not come; but the Mortimer Hickses did, and NickLansing was assailed by the scruples his wife had foreseen.
　　Strefford, coming back one evening from the Lido, reportedhaving recognized the huge outline of the Ibis among thepleasure craft of the outer harbour; and the very next evening,as the guests of Palazzo Vanderlyn were sipping their ices atFlorian's, the Hickses loomed up across the Piazza.
　　Susy pleaded in vain with her husband in defence of his privacy.
　　"Remember you're here to write, dearest; it's your duty not tolet any one interfere with that. Why shouldn't we tell themwe're just leaving!""Because it's no use: we're sure to be always meeting them.
　　And besides, I'll be hanged if I'm going to shirk the Hickses.
　　I spent five whole months on the Ibis, and if they bored meoccasionally, India didn't.""We'll make them take us to Aquileia anyhow," said Streffordphilosophically; and the next moment the Hickses were bearingdown on the defenceless trio.
　　They presented a formidable front, not only because of theirmere physical bulk--Mr. and Mrs. Hicks were equally andmajestically three-dimensional--but because they never movedabroad without the escort of two private secretaries (one forthe foreign languages), Mr. Hicks's doctor, a maiden lady knownas Eldoradder Tooker, who was Mrs. Hicks's cousin andstenographer, and finally their daughter, Coral Hicks.
　　Coral Hicks, when Susy had last encountered the party, had beena fat spectacled school-girl, always lagging behind her parents,with a reluctant poodle in her wake. Now the poodle had gone,and his mistress led the procession. The fat school-girl hadchanged into a young lady of compact if not graceful outline; along-handled eyeglass had replaced the spectacles, and throughit, instead of a sullen glare, Miss Coral Hicks projected on theworld a glance at once confident and critical. She looked sostrong and so assured that Susy, taking her measure in a flash,saw that her position at the head of the procession was notfortuitous, and murmured inwardly: "Thank goodness she's notpretty too!"If she was not pretty, she was well-dressed; and if she wasovereducated, she seemed capable, as Strefford had suggested, ofcarrying off even this crowning disadvantage. At any rate, shewas above disguising it; and before the whole party had beenseated five minutes in front of a fresh supply of ices (withEldorada and the secretaries at a table slightly in thebackground) she had taken up with Nick the question ofexploration in Mesopotamia.
　　"Queer child, Coral," he said to Susy that night as they smokeda last cigarette on their balcony. "She told me this afternoonthat she'd remembered lots of things she heard me say in India.
　　I thought at the time that she cared only for caramels andpicture-puzzles, but it seems she was listening to everything,and reading all the books she could lay her hands on; and shegot so bitten with Oriental archaeology that she took a courselast year at Bryn Mawr. She means to go to Bagdad next spring,and back by the Persian plateau and Turkestan."Susy laughed luxuriously: she was sitting with her hand inNick's, while the late moon--theirs again--rounded its orange-coloured glory above the belfry of San Giorgio.
　　"Poor Coral! How dreary--" Susy murmured"Dreary? Why? A trip like that is about as well worth doing asanything I know.""Oh, I meant: dreary to do it without you or me, she laughed,getting up lazily to go indoors. A broad band of moonlight,dividing her room onto two shadowy halves, lay on the paintedVenetian bed with its folded-back sheet, its old damask coverletand lace-edged pillows. She felt the warmth of Nick's enfoldingarm and lifted her face to his.
　　The Hickses retained the most tender memory of Nick's sojourn onthe Ibis, and Susy, moved by their artless pleasure in meetinghim again, was glad he had not followed her advice and tried toelude them. She had always admired Strefford's ruthless talentfor using and discarding the human material in his path, but nowshe began to hope that Nick would not remember her suggestionthat he should mete out that measure to the Hickses. Even if ithad been less pleasant to have a big yacht at their door duringthe long golden days and the nights of silver fire, the Hickses'
　　admiration for Nick would have made Susy suffer them gladly.
　　She even began to be aware of a growing liking for them, aliking inspired by the very characteristics that would once haveprovoked her disapproval. Susy had had plenty of training inliking common people with big purses; in such cases her stock ofallowances and extenuations was inexhaustible. But they had tobe successful common people; and the trouble was that theHickses, judged by her standards, were failures. It was notonly that they were ridiculous; so, heaven knew, were many oftheir rivals. But the Hickses were both ridiculous andunsuccessful. They had consistently resisted the efforts of theexperienced advisers who had first descried them on the horizonand tried to help them upward. They were always taking up thewrong people, giving the wrong kind of party, and spendingmillions on things that nobody who mattered cared about. Theyall believed passionately in "movements" and "causes" and"ideals," and were always attended by the exponents of theirlatest beliefs, always asking you to hear lectures by haggardwomen in peplums, and having their portraits painted by wildpeople who never turned out to be the fashion.
　　All this would formerly have increased Susy's contempt; now shefound herself liking the Hickses most for their failings. Shewas touched by their simple good faith, their isolation in themidst of all their queer apostles and parasites, their way ofdrifting about an alien and indifferent world in a compactlyclinging group of which Eldorada Tooker, the doctor and the twosecretaries formed the outer fringe, and by their view ofthemselves as a kind of collective re-incarnation of some paststate of princely culture, symbolised for Mrs. Hicks in what shecalled "the court of the Renaissance." Eldorada, of course, wastheir chief prophetess; but even the intensely "bright" andmodern young secretaries, Mr. Beck and Mr. Buttles, showed atouching tendency to share her view, and spoke of Mr. Hicks as"promoting art," in the spirit of Pandolfino celebrating themunificence of the Medicis.
　　"I'm getting really fond of the Hickses; I believe I should benice to them even if they were staying at Danieli's," Susy saidto Strefford.
　　"And even if you owned the yacht?" he answered; and for once hisbanter struck her as beside the point.
　　The Ibis carried them, during the endless June days, far andwide along the enchanted shores; they roamed among theEuganeans, they saw Aquileia and Pomposa and Ravenna. Theirhosts would gladly have taken them farther, across the Adriaticand on into the golden network of the Aegean; but Susy resistedthis infraction of Nick's rules, and he himself preferred tostick to his task. Only now he wrote in the early mornings, sothat on most days they could set out before noon and steam backlate to the low fringe of lights on the lagoon. His workcontinued to progress, and as page was added to page Susyobscurely but surely perceived that each one corresponded with ahidden secretion of energy, the gradual forming within him ofsomething that might eventually alter both their lives. In whatsense she could not conjecture: she merely felt that the factof his having chosen a job and stuck to it, if only through afew rosy summer weeks, had already given him a new way of saying"Yes" and "No."
Chapter 7
    OF some new ferment at work in him Nick Lansing himself wasequally aware. He was a better judge of the book he was tryingto write than either Susy or Strefford; he knew its weaknesses,its treacheries, its tendency to slip through his fingers justas he thought his grasp tightest; but he knew also that at thevery moment when it seemed to have failed him it would suddenlybe back, beating its loud wings in his face.
　　He had no delusions as to its commercial value, and had wincedmore than he triumphed when Susy produced her allusion toMarius. His book was to be called The Pageant of Alexander.
　　His imagination had been enchanted by the idea of picturing theyoung conqueror's advance through the fabulous landscapes ofAsia: he liked writing descriptions, and vaguely felt thatunder the guise of fiction he could develop his theory ofOriental influences in Western art at the expense of lesslearning than if he had tried to put his ideas into an essay.
　　He knew enough of his subject to know that he did not knowenough to write about it; but he consoled himself by rememberingthat Wilhelm Meister has survived many weighty volumes onaesthetics; and between his moments of self-disgust he tookhimself at Susy's valuation, and found an unmixed joy in histask.
　　Never--no, never!--had he been so boundlessly, so confidentlyhappy. His hack-work had given him the habit of application,and now habit wore the glow of inspiration. His previousliterary ventures had been timid and tentative: if this one wasgrowing and strengthening on his hands, it must be because theconditions were so different. He was at ease, he was secure, hewas satisfied; and he had also, for the first time since hisearly youth, before his mother's death, the sense of having someone to look after, some one who was his own particular care, andto whom he was answerable for himself and his actions, as he hadnever felt himself answerable to the hurried and indifferentpeople among whom he had chosen to live.
　　Susy had the same standards as these people: she spoke theirlanguage, though she understood others, she required theirpleasures if she did not revere their gods. But from the momentthat she had become his property he had built up in himself aconception of her answering to some deep-seated need ofveneration. She was his, he had chosen her, she had taken herplace in the long line of Lansing women who had been loved,honoured, and probably deceived, by bygone Lansing men. Hedidn't pretend to understand the logic of it; but the fact thatshe was his wife gave purpose and continuity to his scatteredimpulses, and a mysterious glow of consecration to his task.
　　Once or twice, in the first days of his marriage, he had askedhimself with a slight shiver what would happen if Susy shouldbegin to bore him. The thing had happened to him with otherwomen as to whom his first emotions had not differed inintensity from those she inspired. The part he had played inhis previous love-affairs might indeed have been summed up inthe memorable line: "I am the hunter and the prey," for he hadinvariably ceased to be the first only to regard himself as thesecond. This experience had never ceased to cause him theliveliest pain, since his sympathy for his pursuer was only lesskeen than his commiseration for himself; but as he was always alittle sorrier for himself, he had always ended by distancingthe pursuer.
　　All these pre-natal experiences now seemed utterly inapplicableto the new man he had become. He could not imagine being boredby Susy--or trying to escape from her if he were. He could notthink of her as an enemy, or even as an accomplice, sinceaccomplices are potential enemies: she was some one with whom,by some unheard-of miracle, joys above the joys of friendshipwere to be tasted, but who, even through these fleetingecstasies, remained simply and securely his friend.
　　These new feelings did not affect his general attitude towardlife: they merely confirmed his faith in its ultimate"jolliness." Never had he more thoroughly enjoyed the things hehad always enjoyed. A good dinner had never been as good tohim, a beautiful sunset as beautiful; he still rejoiced in thefact that he appreciated both with an equal acuity. He was asproud as ever of Susy's cleverness and freedom from prejudice:
　　she couldn't be too "modern" for him now that she was his. Heshared to the full her passionate enjoyment of the present, andall her feverish eagerness to make it last. He knew when shewas thinking of ways of extending their golden opportunity, andhe secretly thought with her, wondering what new means theycould devise. He was thankful that Ellie Vanderlyn was stillabsent, and began to hope they might have the palace tothemselves for the remainder of the summer. If they did, hewould have time to finish his book, and Susy to lay up a littleinterest on their wedding cheques; and thus their enchanted yearmight conceivably be prolonged to two.
　　Late as the season was, their presence and Strefford's in Venicehad already drawn thither several wandering members of theirset. It was characteristic of these indifferent butagglutinative people that they could never remain long partedfrom each other without a dim sense of uneasiness. Lansing wasfamiliar with the feeling. He had known slight twinges of ithimself, and had often ministered to its qualms in others. Itwas hardly stronger than the faint gnawing which recalls thetea-hour to one who has lunched well and is sure of dining asabundantly; but it gave a purpose to the purposeless, and helpedmany hesitating spirits over the annual difficulty of decidingbetween Deauville and St. Moritz, Biarritz and Capri.
　　Nick was not surprised to learn that it was becoming thefashion, that summer, to pop down to Venice and take a look atthe Lansings. Streffy had set the example, and Streffy'sexample was always followed. And then Susy's marriage was stilla subject of sympathetic speculation. People knew the story ofthe wedding cheques, and were interested in seeing how long theycould be made to last. It was going to be the thing, that year,to help prolong the honey-moon by pressing houses on theadventurous couple. Before June was over a band of friends werebasking with the Lansings on the Lido.
　　Nick found himself unexpectedly disturbed by their arrival. Toavoid comment and banter he put his book aside and forbade Susyto speak of it, explaining to her that he needed an interval ofrest. His wife instantly and exaggeratedly adopted this view,guarding him from the temptation to work as jealously as she haddiscouraged him from idling; and he was careful not to let herfind out that the change in his habits coincided with his havingreached a difficult point in his book. But though he was notsorry to stop writing he found himself unexpectedly oppressed bythe weight of his leisure. For the first time communal dawdlinghad lost its charm for him; not because his fellow dawdlers wereless congenial than of old, but because in the interval he hadknown something so immeasurably better. He had always felthimself to be the superior of his habitual associates, but nowthe advantage was too great: really, in a sense, it was hardlyfair to them.
　　He had flattered himself that Susy would share this feeling; buthe perceived with annoyance that the arrival of their friendsheightened her animation. It was as if the inward glow whichhad given her a new beauty were now refracted upon her by thepresence of the very people they had come to Venice to avoid.
　　Lansing was vaguely irritated; and when he asked her how sheliked being with their old crowd again his irritation wasincreased by her answering with a laugh that she only hoped thepoor dears didn't see too plainly how they bored her. Thepatent insincerity of the reply was a shock to Lansing. He knewthat Susy was not really bored, and he understood that she hadsimply guessed his feelings and instinctively adopted them:
　　that henceforth she was always going to think as he thought. Toconfirm this fear he said carelessly: "Oh, all the same, it'srather jolly knocking about with them again for a bit;" and sheanswered at once, and with equal conviction: "Yes, isn't it?
　　The old darlings--all the same!"A fear of the future again laid its cold touch on Lansing.
　　Susy's independence and self-sufficiency had been among herchief attractions; if she were to turn into an echo theirdelicious duet ran the risk of becoming the dullest ofmonologues. He forgot that five minutes earlier he had resentedher being glad to see their friends, and for a moment he foundhimself leaning dizzily over that insoluble riddle of thesentimental life: that to be differed with is exasperating, andto be agreed with monotonous.
　　Once more he began to wonder if he were not fundamentallyunfitted for the married state; and was saved from despair onlyby remembering that Susy's subjection to his moods was notlikely to last. But even then it never occurred to him toreflect that his apprehensions were superfluous, since their tiewas avowedly a temporary one. Of the special understanding onwhich their marriage had been based not a trace remained in histhoughts of her; the idea that he or she might ever renounceeach other for their mutual good had long since dwindled to theghost of an old joke.
　　It was borne in on him, after a week or two of unbrokensociability, that of all his old friends it was the MortimerHickses who bored him the least. The Hickses had left the Ibisfor an apartment in a vast dilapidated palace near theCanareggio. They had hired the apartment from a painter (one oftheir newest discoveries), and they put up philosophically withthe absence of modern conveniences in order to secure theinestimable advantage of "atmosphere." In this privileged airthey gathered about them their usual mixed company of quietstudious people and noisy exponents of new theories, themselvestotally unconscious of the disparity between their differentguests, and beamingly convinced that at last they were seated atthe source of wisdom.
　　In old days Lansing would have got half an hour's amusement,followed by a long evening of boredom, from the sight of Mrs.
　　Hicks, vast and jewelled, seated between a quiet-lookingprofessor of archaeology and a large-browed composer, or thehigh priest of a new dance-step, while Mr. Hicks, beaming abovehis vast white waistcoat, saw to it that the champagne flowedmore abundantly than the talk, and the bright young secretariesindustriously "kept up" with the dizzy cross-current of prophecyand erudition. But a change had come over Lansing. Hitherto itwas in contrast to his own friends that the Hickses had seemedmost insufferable; now it was as an escape from these samefriends that they had become not only sympathetic but eveninteresting. It was something, after all, to be with people whodid not regard Venice simply as affording exceptionalopportunities for bathing and adultery, but who were reverentlyif confusedly aware that they were in the presence of somethingunique and ineffable, and determined to make the utmost of theirprivilege.
　　"After all," he said to himself one evening, as his eyeswandered, with somewhat of a convalescent's simple joy, from oneto another of their large confiding faces, "after all, they'vegot a religion ...." The phrase struck him, in the moment ofusing it, as indicating a new element in his own state of mind,and as being, in fact, the key to his new feeling about theHickses. Their muddled ardour for great things was related tohis own new view of the universe: the people who felt, howeverdimly, the wonder and weight of life must ever after be nearerto him than those to whom it was estimated solely by one'sbalance at the bank. He supposed, on reflexion, that that waswhat he meant when he thought of the Hickses as having "areligion" ....
　　A few days later, his well-being was unexpectedly disturbed bythe arrival of Fred Gillow. Lansing had always felt a tolerantliking for Gillow, a large smiling silent young man with anintense and serious desire to miss nothing attainable by one ofhis fortune and standing. What use he made of his experiences,Lansing, who had always gone into his own modest adventuresrather thoroughly, had never been able to guess; but he hadalways suspected the prodigal Fred of being no more than a well-disguised looker-on. Now for the first time he began to viewhim with another eye. The Gillows were, in fact, the one uneasypoint in Nick's conscience. He and Susy from the first, hadtalked of them less than of any other members of their group:
　　they had tacitly avoided the name from the day on which Susy hadcome to Lansing's lodgings to say that Ursula Gillow had askedher to renounce him, till that other day, just before theirmarriage, when she had met him with the rapturous cry: "Here'sour first wedding present! Such a thumping big cheque from Fredand Ursula!"Plenty of sympathizing people were ready, Lansing knew, to tellhim just what had happened in the interval between those twodates; but he had taken care not to ask. He had even affectedan initiation so complete that the friends who burned toenlighten him were discouraged by his so obviously knowing morethan they; and gradually he had worked himself around to theirview, and had taken it for granted that he really did.
　　Now he perceived that he knew nothing at all, and that the"Hullo, old Fred!" with which Susy hailed Gillow's arrival mightbe either the usual tribal welcome--since they were all "old,"and all nicknamed, in their private jargon--or a greeting thatconcealed inscrutable depths of complicity.
　　Susy was visibly glad to see Gillow; but she was glad ofeverything just then, and so glad to show her gladness! Thefact disarmed her husband and made him ashamed of hisuneasiness. "You ought to have thought this all out sooner, orelse you ought to chuck thinking of it at all," was the soundbut ineffectual advice he gave himself on the day after Gillow'sarrival; and immediately set to work to rethink the wholematter.
　　Fred Gillow showed no consciousness of disturbing any one'speace of mind. Day after day he sprawled for hours on the Lidosands, his arms folded under his head, listening to Streffy'snonsense and watching Susy between sleepy lids; but he betrayedno desire to see her alone, or to draw her into talk apart fromthe others. More than ever he seemed content to be thegratified spectator of a costly show got up for his privateentertainment. It was not until he heard her, one morning,grumble a little at the increasing heat and the menace ofmosquitoes, that he said, quite as if they had talked the matterover long before, and finally settled it: "The moor will beready any time after the first of August."Nick fancied that Susy coloured a little, and drew herself upmore defiantly than usual as she sent a pebble skimming acrossthe dying ripples at their feet.
　　"You'll be a lot cooler in Scotland," Fred added, with what, forhim, was an unusual effort at explicitness.
　　"Oh, shall we?" she retorted gaily; and added with an air ofmystery and importance, pivoting about on her high heels:
　　"Nick's got work to do here. It will probably keep us allsummer.""Work? Rot! You'll die of the smells." Gillow staredperplexedly skyward from under his tilted hat-brim; and thenbrought out, as from the depth of a rankling grievance: "Ithought it was all understood.""Why," Nick asked his wife that night, as they re-enteredEllie's cool drawing-room after a late dinner at the Lido, "didGillow think it was understood that we were going to his moor inAugust?" He was conscious of the oddness of speaking of theirfriend by his surname, and reddened at his blunder.
　　Susy had let her lace cloak slide to her feet, and stood beforehim in the faintly-lit room, slim and shimmering-white throughblack transparencies.
　　She raised her eyebrows carelessly. "I told you long ago he'dasked us there for August.""You didn't tell me you'd accepted."She smiled as if he had said something as simple as Fred. "Iaccepted everything--from everybody!"What could he answer? It was the very principle on which theirbargain had been struck. And if he were to say: "Ah, but thisis different, because I'm jealous of Gillow," what light wouldsuch an answer shed on his past? The time for being jealous-ifso antiquated an attitude were on any ground defensible-wouldhave been before his marriage, and before the acceptance of thebounties which had helped to make it possible. He wondered alittle now that in those days such scruples had not troubledhim. His inconsistency irritated him, and increased hisirritation against Gillow. "I suppose he thinks he owns us!" hegrumbled inwardly.
　　He had thrown himself into an armchair, and Susy, advancingacross the shining arabesques of the floor, slid down at hisfeet, pressed her slender length against him, and whispered withlifted face and lips close to his: "We needn't ever go anywhereyou don't want to." For once her submission was sweet, andfolding her close he whispered back through his kiss: "Notthere, then."In her response to his embrace he felt the acquiescence of herwhole happy self in whatever future he decided on, if only itgave them enough of such moments as this; and as they held eachother fast in silence his doubts and distrust began to seem likea silly injustice.
　　"Let us stay here as long as ever Ellie will let us," he said,as if the shadowy walls and shining floors were a magic boundarydrawn about his happiness.
　　She murmured her assent and stood up, stretching her sleepy armabove her shoulders. "How dreadfully late it is .... Will youunhook me? ... Oh, there's a telegram."She picked it up from the table, and tearing it open stared amoment at the message. "It's from Ellie. She's coming to-morrow."She turned to the window and strayed out onto the balcony. Nickfollowed her with enlacing arm. The canal below them lay inmoonless shadow, barred with a few lingering lights. A lastsnatch of gondola-music came from far off, carried upward on asultry gust.
　　"Dear old Ellie. All the same ... I wish all this belonged toyou and me." Susy sighed.
Chapter 8
    IT was not Mrs. Vanderlyn's fault if, after her arrival, herpalace seemed to belong any less to the Lansings.
　　She arrived in a mood of such general benevolence that it wasimpossible for Susy, when they finally found themselves alone,to make her view even her own recent conduct in any but the mostbenevolent light.
　　"I knew you'd be the veriest angel about it all, darling,because I knew you'd understand me-- especially now," shedeclared, her slim hands in Susy's, her big eyes (so likeClarissa's) resplendent with past pleasures and future plans.
　　The expression of her confidence was unexpectedly distasteful toSusy Lansing, who had never lent so cold an ear to such warmavowals. She had always imagined that being happy one's selfmade one--as Mrs. Vanderlyn appeared to assume --more tolerantof the happiness of others, of however doubtful elementscomposed; and she was almost ashamed of responding so languidlyto her friend's outpourings. But she herself had no desire toconfide her bliss to Ellie; and why should not Ellie observe asimilar reticence?
　　"It was all so perfect--you see, dearest, I was meant to behappy," that lady continued, as if the possession of so unusuala characteristic singled her out for special privileges.
　　Susy, with a certain sharpness, responded that she had alwayssupposed we all were.
　　"Oh, no, dearest: not governesses and mothers-in-law andcompanions, and that sort of people. They wouldn't know how ifthey tried. But you and I, darling--""Oh, I don't consider myself in any way exceptional," Susyintervened. She longed to add: "Not in your way, at anyrate--" but a few minutes earlier Mrs. Vanderlyn had told herthat the palace was at her disposal for the rest of the summer,and that she herself was only going to perch there--if they'dlet her!--long enough to gather up her things and start for St.
　　Moritz. The memory of this announcement had the effect ofcurbing Susy's irony, and of making her shift the conversationto the safer if scarcely less absorbing topic of the number ofday and evening dresses required for a season at St. Moritz.
　　As she listened to Mrs. Vanderlyn--no less eloquent on thistheme than on the other--Susy began to measure the gulf betweenher past and present. "This is the life I used to lead; theseare the things I used to live for," she thought, as she stoodbefore the outspread glories of Mrs. Vanderlyn's wardrobe. Notthat she did not still care: she could not look at Ellie'slaces and silks and furs without picturing herself in them, andwondering by what new miracle of management she could giveherself the air of being dressed by the same consummate artists.
　　But these had become minor interests: the past few months hadgiven her a new perspective, and the thing that most puzzled anddisconcerted her about Ellie was the fact that love and fineryand bridge and dining-out were seemingly all on the same planeto her.
　　The inspection of the dresses lasted a long time, and was markedby many fluctuations of mood on the part of Mrs. Vanderlyn, whopassed from comparative hopefulness to despair at the totalinadequacy of her wardrobe. It wouldn't do to go to St. Moritzlooking like a frump, and yet there was no time to get anythingsent from Paris, and, whatever she did, she wasn't going to showherself in any dowdy re-arrangements done at home. But suddenlylight broke on her, and she clasped her hands for joy. "Why,Nelson'll bring them--I'd forgotten all about Nelson! There'llbe just time if I wire to him at once.""Is Nelson going to join you at St. Moritz?" Susy asked,surprised.
　　"Heavens, no! He's coming here to pick up Clarissa and take herto some stuffy cure in Austria with his mother. It's too lucky:
　　there's just time to telegraph him to bring my things. I didn'tmean to wait for him; but it won't delay me more than day ortwo."Susy's heart sank. She was not much afraid of Ellie alone, butEllie and Nelson together formed an incalculable menace. No onecould tell what spark of truth might dash from their collision.
　　Susy felt that she could deal with the two dangers separatelyand successively, but not together and simultaneously.
　　"But, Ellie, why should you wait for Nelson? I'm certain tofind someone here who's going to St. Moritz and will take yourthings if he brings them. It's a pity to risk losing yourrooms."This argument appealed for a moment to Mrs. Vanderlyn. "That'strue; they say all the hotels are jammed. You dear, you'realways so practical!" She clasped Susy to her scented bosom.
　　"And you know, darling, I'm sure you'll be glad to get rid ofme--you and Nick! Oh, don't be hypocritical and say 'Nonsense!'
　　You see, I understand ... I used to think of you so often, youtwo ... during those blessed weeks when we two were alone...."The sudden tears, brimming over Ellie's lovely eyes, andthreatening to make the blue circles below them run into theadjoining carmine, filled Susy with compunction.
　　"Poor thing--oh, poor thing!" she thought; and hearing herselfcalled by Nick, who was waiting to take her out for their usualsunset on the lagoon, she felt a wave of pity for the deludedcreature who would never taste that highest of imaginable joys.
　　"But all the same," Susy reflected, as she hurried down to herhusband, "I'm glad I persuaded her not to wait for Nelson."Some days had elapsed since Susy and Nick had had a sunset tothemselves, and in the interval Susy had once again learned thesuperior quality of the sympathy that held them together. Shenow viewed all the rest of life as no more than a show: a jollyshow which it would have been a thousand pities to miss, butwhich, if the need arose, they could get up and leave at anymoment--provided that they left it together.
　　In the dusk, while their prow slid over inverted palaces, andthrough the scent of hidden gardens, she leaned against him andmurmured, her mind returning to the recent scene with Ellie:
　　"Nick, should you hate me dreadfully if I had no clothes?"Her husband was kindling a cigarette, and the match lit up thegrin with which he answered: "But, my dear, have I ever shownthe slightest symptom--?""Oh, rubbish! When a woman says: 'No clothes,' she means:
　　'Not the right clothes.'"He took a meditative puff. "Ah, you've been going over Ellie'sfinery with her.""Yes: all those trunks and trunks full. And she finds she'sgot nothing for St. Moritz!""Of course," he murmured, drowsy with content, and manifestingbut a languid interest in the subject of Mrs. Vanderlyn'swardrobe.
　　"Only fancy--she very nearly decided to stop over for Nelson'sarrival next week, so that he might bring her two or three moretrunkfuls from Paris. But mercifully I've managed to persuadeher that it would be foolish to wait."Susy felt a hardly perceptible shifting of her husband'slounging body, and was aware, through all her watchfultentacles, of a widening of his half-closed lids.
　　"You 'managed'--?" She fancied he paused on the wordironically. "But why?""Why--what?""Why on earth should you try to prevent Ellie's waiting forNelson, if for once in her life she wants to?"Susy, conscious of reddening suddenly, drew back as though theleap of her tell-tale heart might have penetrated the blueflannel shoulder against which she leaned.
　　"Really, dearest--!" she murmured; but with a sudden doggednesshe renewed his "Why?""Because she's in such a fever to get to St. Moritz--and in sucha funk lest the hotel shouldn't keep her rooms," Susy somewhatbreathlessly produced.
　　"Ah--I see." Nick paused again. "You're a devoted friend,aren't you!""What an odd question! There's hardly anyone I've reason to bemore devoted to than Ellie," his wife answered; and she felt hiscontrite clasp on her hand.
　　"Darling! No; nor I--. Or more grateful to for leaving usalone in this heaven."Dimness had fallen on the waters, and her lifted lips met hisbending ones.
　　Trailing late into dinner that evening, Ellie announced that,after all, she had decided it was safest to wait for Nelson.
　　"I should simply worry myself ill if I weren't sure of gettingmy things," she said, in the tone of tender solicitude withwhich she always discussed her own difficulties. "After all,people who deny themselves everything do get warped and bitter,don't they?" she argued plaintively, her lovely eyes wanderingfrom one to the other of her assembled friends.
　　Strefford remarked gravely that it was the complaint which hadfatally undermined his own health; and in the laugh thatfollowed the party drifted into the great vaulted dining-room.
　　"Oh, I don't mind your laughing at me, Streffy darling," hishostess retorted, pressing his arm against her own; and Susy,receiving the shock of their rapidly exchanged glance, said toherself, with a sharp twinge of apprehension: "Of courseStreffy knows everything; he showed no surprise at finding Ellieaway when he arrived. And if he knows, what's to preventNelson's finding out?" For Strefford, in a mood of mischief,was no more to be trusted than a malicious child.
　　Susy instantly resolved to risk speaking to him, if need be evenbetraying to him the secret of the letters. Only by revealingthe depth of her own danger could she hope to secure hissilence.
　　On the balcony, late in the evening, while the others werelistening indoors to the low modulations of a young composer whohad embroidered his fancies on Browning's "Toccata," Susy foundher chance. Strefford, unsummoned, had followed her out, andstood silently smoking at her side.
　　"You see, Streff--oh, why should you and I make mysteries toeach other?" she suddenly began.
　　"Why, indeed: but do we?"Susy glanced back at the group around the piano. "About Ellie,I mean--and Nelson.""Lord! Ellie and Nelson? You call that a mystery? I should assoon apply the term to one of the million candle-poweradvertisements that adorn your native thoroughfares.""Well, yes. But--" She stopped again. Had she not tacitlypromised Ellie not to speak?
　　"My Susan, what's wrong?" Strefford asked.
　　"I don't know....""Well, I do, then: you're afraid that, if Ellie and Nelson meethere, she'll blurt out something--injudicious.""Oh, she won't!" Susy cried with conviction.
　　"Well, then--who will! I trust that superhuman child not to.
　　And you and I and Nick--""Oh," she gasped, interrupting him, "that's just it. Nickdoesn't know ... doesn't even suspect. And if he did...."Strefford flung away his cigar and turned to scrutinize her. "Idon't see--hanged if I do. What business is it of any of us,after all?"That, of course, was the old view that cloaked connivance in anair of decency. But to Susy it no longer carried conviction,and she hesitated.
　　"If Nick should find out that I know....""Good Lord--doesn't he know that you know? After all, I supposeit's not the first time--"She remained silent.
　　"The first time you've received confidences--from marriedfriends. Does Nick suppose you've lived even to your tender agewithout ... Hang it, what's come over you, child?"What had, indeed, that she could make clear to him? And yetmore than ever she felt the need of having him securely on herside. Once his word was pledged, he was safe: otherwise therewas no limit to his capacity for wilful harmfulness.
　　"Look here, Streff, you and I know that Ellie hasn't been awayfor a cure; and that if poor Clarissa was sworn to secrecy itwas not because it 'worries father' to think that mother needsto take care of her health." She paused, hating herself for theironic note she had tried to sound.
　　"Well--?" he questioned, from the depths of the chair into whichhe had sunk.
　　"Well, Nick doesn't ... doesn't dream of it. If he knew that weowed our summer here to ... to my knowing...."Strefford sat silent: she felt his astonished stare through thedarkness. "Jove!" he said at last, with a low whistle Susy bentover the balustrade, her heart thumping against the stone rail.
　　"What was left of soul, I wonder--?" the young composer's voiceshrilled through the open windows.
　　Strefford sank into another silence, from which he rousedhimself only as Susy turned back toward the lighted threshold.
　　"Well, my dear, we'll see it through between us; you and I-andClarissa," he said with his rasping laugh, rising to follow her.
　　He caught her hand and gave it a short pressure as they re-entered the drawing-room, where Ellie was saying plaintively toFred Gillow: "I can never hear that thing sung without wantingto cry like a baby."
Chapter 9
    NELSON VANDERLYN, still in his travelling clothes, paused on thethreshold of his own dining-room and surveyed the scene withpardonable satisfaction.
　　He was a short round man, with a grizzled head, small facetiouseyes and a large and credulous smile.
　　At the luncheon table sat his wife, between Charlie Streffordand Nick Lansing. Next to Strefford, perched on her high chair,Clarissa throned in infant beauty, while Susy Lansing cut up apeach for her. Through wide orange awnings the sun slanted inupon the white-clad group.
　　"Well--well--well! So I've caught you at it!" cried the happyfather, whose inveterate habit it was to address his wife andfriends as if he had surprised them at an inopportune moment.
　　Stealing up from behind, he lifted his daughter into the air,while a chorus of "Hello, old Nelson," hailed his appearance.
　　It was two or three years since Nick Lansing had seen Mr.
　　Vanderlyn, who was now the London representative of the big NewYork bank of Vanderlyn & Co., and had exchanged his sumptuoushouse in Fifth Avenue for another, more sumptuous still, inMayfair; and the young man looked curiously and attentively athis host.
　　Mr. Vanderlyn had grown older and stouter, but his face stillkept its look of somewhat worn optimism. He embraced his wife,greeted Susy affectionately, and distributed cordial hand-graspsto the two men.
　　"Hullo," he exclaimed, suddenly noticing a pearl and coraltrinket hanging from Clarissa's neck. "Who's been giving mydaughter jewellery, I'd like to know!""Oh, Streffy did--just think, father! Because I said I'd ratherhave it than a book, you know," Clarissa lucidly explained, herarms tight about her father's neck, her beaming eyes onStrefford.
　　Nelson Vanderlyn's own eyes took on the look of shrewdness whichcame into them whenever there was a question of material values.
　　"What, Streffy? Caught you at it, eh? Upon my soul-spoilingthe brat like that! You'd no business to, my dear chap-alovely baroque pearl--" he protested, with the half-apologetictone of the rich man embarrassed by too costly a gift from animpecunious friend.
　　"Oh, hadn't I? Why? Because it's too good for Clarissa, or tooexpensive for me? Of course you daren't imply the first; and asfor me--I've had a windfall, and am blowing it in on theladies."Strefford, Lansing had noticed, always used American slang whenhe was slightly at a loss, and wished to divert attention fromthe main point. But why was he embarrassed, whose attention didhe wish to divert, It was plain that Vanderlyn's protest hadbeen merely formal: like most of the wealthy, he had only thedimmest notion of what money represented to the poor. But itwas unusual for Strefford to give any one a present, andespecially an expensive one: perhaps that was what had fixedVanderlyn's attention.
　　"A windfall?" he gaily repeated.
　　"Oh, a tiny one: I was offered a thumping rent for my littleplace at Como, and dashed over here to squander my millions withthe rest of you," said Strefford imperturbably.
　　Vanderlyn's look immediately became interested and sympathetic.
　　"What--the scene of the honey-moon?" He included Nick and Susyin his friendly smile.
　　"Just so: the reward of virtue. I say, give me a cigar, willyou, old man, I left some awfully good ones at Como, worseluck--and I don't mind telling you that Ellie's no judge oftobacco, and that Nick's too far gone in bliss to care what hesmokes," Strefford grumbled, stretching a hand toward his host'scigar-case.
　　"I do like jewellery best," Clarissa murmured, hugging herfather.
　　Nelson Vanderlyn's first word to his wife had been that he hadbrought her all her toggery; and she had welcomed him withappropriate enthusiasm. In fact, to the lookers-on her joy atseeing him seemed rather too patently in proportion to hersatisfaction at getting her clothes. But no such suspicionappeared to mar Mr. Vanderlyn's happiness in being, for once,and for nearly twenty-four hours, under the same roof with hiswife and child. He did not conceal his regret at havingpromised his mother to join her the next day; and added, with awistful glance at Ellie: "If only I'd known you meant to waitfor me!"But being a man of duty, in domestic as well as businessaffairs, he did not even consider the possibility ofdisappointing the exacting old lady to whom he owed his being.
　　"Mother cares for so few people," he used to say, not without atouch of filial pride in the parental exclusiveness, "that Ihave to be with her rather more than if she were more sociable";and with smiling resignation he gave orders that Clarissa shouldbe ready to start the next evening.
　　"And meanwhile," he concluded, "we'll have all the good timethat's going."The ladies of the party seemed united in the desire to furtherthis resolve; and it was settled that as soon as Mr. Vanderlynhad despatched a hasty luncheon, his wife, Clarissa and Susyshould carry him off for a tea-picnic at Torcello. They did noteven suggest that Strefford or Nick should be of the party, orthat any of the other young men of the group should be summoned;as Susy said, Nelson wanted to go off alone with his harem. AndLansing and Strefford were left to watch the departure of thehappy Pasha ensconced between attentive beauties.
　　"Well--that's what you call being married!" Streffordcommented, waving his battered Panama at Clarissa.
　　"Oh, no, I don't!" Lansing laughed.
　　"He does. But do you know--" Strefford paused and swung abouton his companion--"do you know, when the Rude Awakening comes, Idon't care to be there. I believe there'll be some crockerybroken.""Shouldn't wonder," Lansing answered indifferently. He wanderedaway to his own room, leaving Strefford to philosophize to hispipe.
　　Lansing had always known about poor old Nelson: who hadn't,except poor old Nelson? The case had once seemed amusingbecause so typical; now, it rather irritated Nick that Vanderlynshould be so complete an ass. But he would be off the next day,and so would Ellie, and then, for many enchanted weeks, thepalace would once more be the property of Nick and Susy. Of allthe people who came and went in it, they were the only ones whoappreciated it, or knew how it was meant to be lived in; andthat made it theirs in the only valid sense. In this light itbecame easy to regard the Vanderlyns as mere transientintruders.
　　Having relegated them to this convenient distance, Lansing shuthimself up with his book. He had returned to it with freshenergy after his few weeks of holiday-making, and was determinedto finish it quickly. He did not expect that it would bring inmuch money; but if it were moderately successful it might givehim an opening in the reviews and magazines, and in that case hemeant to abandon archaeology for novels, since it was only as apurveyor of fiction that he could count on earning a living forhimself and Susy.
　　Late in the afternoon he laid down his pen and wandered out ofdoors. He loved the increasing heat of the Venetian summer, thebruised peach-tints of worn house-fronts, the enamelling ofsunlight on dark green canals, the smell of half-decayed fruitsand flowers thickening the languid air. What visions he couldbuild, if he dared, of being tucked away with Susy in the atticof some tumble-down palace, above a jade-green waterway, with aterrace overhanging a scrap of neglected garden--and chequesfrom the publishers dropping in at convenient intervals! Whyshould they not settle in Venice if he pulled it off!
　　He found himself before the church of the Scalzi, and pushingopen the leathern door wandered up the nave under the whirl ofrose-and-lemon angels in Tiepolo's great vault. It was not achurch in which one was likely to run across sight-seers; but hepresently remarked a young lady standing alone near the choir,and assiduously applying her field-glass to the celestialvortex, from which she occasionally glanced down at an openmanual.
　　As Lansing's step sounded on the pavement, the young lady,turning, revealed herself as Miss Hicks.
　　"Ah--you like this too? It's several centuries out of yourline, though, isn't it!" Nick asked as they shook hands.
　　She gazed at him gravely. "Why shouldn't one like things thatare out of one's line?" she answered; and he agreed, with alaugh, that it was often an incentive.
　　She continued to fix her grave eyes on him, and after one or tworemarks about the Tiepolos he perceived that she was feeling herway toward a subject of more personal interest.
　　"I'm glad to see you alone," she said at length, with anabruptness that might have seemed awkward had it not been socompletely unconscious. She turned toward a cluster of strawchairs, and signed to Nick to seat himself beside her.
　　"I seldom do," she added, with the serious smile that made herheavy face almost handsome; and she went on, giving him no timeto protest: "I wanted to speak to you--to explain aboutfather's invitation to go with us to Persia and Turkestan.""To explain?""Yes. You found the letter when you arrived here just afteryour marriage, didn't you? You must have thought it odd, ourasking you just then; but we hadn't heard that you weremarried.""Oh, I guessed as much: it happened very quietly, and I wasremiss about announcing it, even to old friends."Lansing frowned. His thoughts had wandered away to the eveningwhen he had found Mrs. Hicks's letter in the mail awaiting himat Venice. The day was associated in his mind with theridiculous and mortifying episode of the cigars--the expensivecigars that Susy had wanted to carry away from Strefford'svilla. Their brief exchange of views on the subject had leftthe first blur on the perfect surface of his happiness, and hestill felt an uncomfortable heat at the remembrance. For a fewhours the prospect of life with Susy had seemed unendurable; andit was just at that moment that he had found the letter fromMrs. Hicks, with its almost irresistible invitation. If onlyher daughter had known how nearly he had accepted it!
　　"It was a dreadful temptation," he said, smiling.
　　"To go with us? Then why--?""Oh, everything's different now: I've got to stick to mywriting."Miss Hicks still bent on him the same unblinking scrutiny.
　　"Does that mean that you're going to give up your real work?""My real work--archaeology?" He smiled again to hide a twitchof regret. "Why, I'm afraid it hardly produces a living wage;and I've got to think of that." He coloured suddenly, as ifsuspecting that Miss Hicks might consider the avowal an openingfor he hardly knew what ponderous offer of aid. The Hicksmunificence was too uncalculating not to be occasionallyoppressive. But looking at her again he saw that her eyes werefull of tears.
　　"I thought it was your vocation," she said.
　　"So did I. But life comes along, and upsets things.""Oh, I understand. There may be things--worth giving up allother things for.""There are!" cried Nick with beaming emphasis.
　　He was conscious that Miss Hicks's eyes demanded of him evenmore than this sweeping affirmation.
　　"But your novel may fail," she said with her odd harshness.
　　"It may--it probably will," he agreed. "But if one stopped toconsider such possibilities--""Don't you have to, with a wife?""Oh, my dear Coral--how old are you? Not twenty?" hequestioned, laying a brotherly hand on hers.
　　She stared at him a moment, and sprang up clumsily from herchair. "I was never young ... if that's what you mean. It'slucky, isn't it, that my parents gave me such a grand education?
　　Because, you see, art's a wonderful resource." (She pronouncedit RE-source.)He continued to look at her kindly. "You won't need it--or anyother--when you grow young, as you will some day," he assuredher.
　　"Do you mean, when I fall in love? But I am in love--Oh,there's Eldorada and Mr. Beck!" She broke off with a jerk,signalling with her field-glass to the pair who had justappeared at the farther end of the nave. "I told them that ifthey'd meet me here to-day I'd try to make them understandTiepolo. Because, you see, at home we never really haveunderstood Tiepolo; and Mr. Beck and Eldorada are the only onesto realize it. Mr. Buttles simply won't." She turned toLansing and held out her hand. "I am in love," she repeatedearnestly, "and that's the reason why I find art such a REsource."She restored her eye-glasses, opened her manual, and strodeacross the church to the expectant neophytes.
　　Lansing, looking after her, wondered for half a moment whetherMr. Beck were the object of this apparently unrequitedsentiment; then, with a queer start of introspection, abruptlydecided that, no, he certainly was not. But then--but then--.
　　Well, there was no use in following up such conjectures .... Heturned home-ward, wondering if the picnickers had alreadyreached Palazzo Vanderlyn.
　　They got back only in time for a late dinner, full of chaff andlaughter, and apparently still enchanted with each other'ssociety. Nelson Vanderlyn beamed on his wife, sent his daughteroff to bed with a kiss, and leaning back in his armchair beforethe fruit-and-flower-laden table, declared that he'd never spenta jollier day in his life. Susy seemed to come in for a fullshare of his approbation, and Lansing thought that Ellie wasunusually demonstrative to her friend. Strefford, from hishostess's side, glanced across now and then at young Mrs.
　　Lansing, and his glance seemed to Lansing a confidential commenton the Vanderlyn raptures. But then Strefford was always havingprivate jokes with people or about them; and Lansing wasirritated with himself for perpetually suspecting his bestfriends of vague complicities at his expense. "If I'm going tobe jealous of Streffy now--!" he concluded with a grimace ofself-derision.
　　Certainly Susy looked lovely enough to justify the mostirrational pangs. As a girl she had been, for some people'staste, a trifle fine-drawn and sharp-edged; now, to her oldlightness of line was added a shadowy bloom, a sort of star-reflecting depth. Her movements were slower, less angular; hermouth had a needing droop, her lids seemed weighed down by theirlashes; and then suddenly the old spirit would reveal itselfthrough the new languor, like the tartness at the core of asweet fruit. As her husband looked at her across the flowersand lights he laughed inwardly at the nothingness of all thingselse.
　　Vanderlyn and Clarissa left betimes the next morning; and Mrs.
　　Vanderlyn, who was to start for St. Moritz in the afternoon,devoted her last hours to anxious conferences with her maid andSusy. Strefford, with Fred Gillow and the others, had gone fora swim at the Lido, and Lansing seized the opportunity to getback to his book.
　　The quietness of the great echoing place gave him a foretaste ofthe solitude to come. By mid-August all their party would bescattered: the Hickses off on a cruise to Crete and the AEgean,Fred Gillow on the way to his moor, Strefford to stay withfriends in Capri till his annual visit to Northumberland inSeptember. One by one the others would follow, and Lansing andSusy be left alone in the great sun-proof palace, alone underthe star-laden skies, alone with the great orange moons-stilltheirs!--above the bell-tower of San Giorgio. The novel, inthat blessed quiet, would unfold itself as harmoniously as hisdreams.
　　He wrote on, forgetful of the passing hours, till the dooropened and he heard a step behind him. The next moment twohands were clasped over his eyes, and the air was full of Mrs.
　　Vanderlyn's last new scent.
　　"You dear thing--I'm just off, you know," she said. "Susy toldme you were working, and I forbade her to call you down. Sheand Streffy are waiting to take me to the station, and I've runup to say good-bye.""Ellie, dear!" Full of compunction, Lansing pushed aside hiswriting and started up; but she pressed him back into his seat.
　　"No, no! I should never forgive myself if I'd interrupted you.
　　I oughtn't to have come up; Susy didn't want me to. But I hadto tell you, you dear .... I had to thank you..."In her dark travelling dress and hat, so discreetly conspicuous,so negligent and so studied, with a veil masking her paint, andgloves hiding her rings, she looked younger, simpler, morenatural than he had ever seen her. Poor Ellie such a goodfellow, after all!
　　"To thank me? For what? For being so happy here?" he laughed,taking her hands.
　　She looked at him, laughed back, and flung her arms about hisneck.
　　"For helping me to be so happy elsewhere--you and Susy, you twoblessed darlings!" she cried, with a kiss on his cheek.
　　Their eyes met for a second; then her arms slipped slowlydownward, dropping to her sides. Lansing sat before her like astone.
　　"Oh," she gasped, "why do you stare so? Didn't you know ...?"They heard Strefford's shrill voice on the stairs. "Ellie,where the deuce are you? Susy's in the gondola. You'll missthe train!"Lansing stood up and caught Mrs. Vanderlyn by the wrist. "Whatdo you mean? What are you talking about?""Oh, nothing ... But you were both such bricks about theletters .... And when Nelson was here, too .... Nick, don'thurt my wrist so! I must run!"He dropped her hand and stood motionless, staring after her andlistening to the click of her high heels as she fled across theroom and along the echoing corridor.
　　When he turned back to the table he noticed that a small moroccocase had fallen among his papers. In falling it had opened, andbefore him, on the pale velvet lining, lay a scarf-pin set witha perfect pearl. He picked the box up, and was about to hastenafter Mrs. Vanderlyn--it was so like her to shed jewels on herpath!--when he noticed his own initials on the cover.
　　He dropped the box as if it had been a hot coal, and sat for along while gazing at the gold N. L., which seemed to have burntitself into his flesh.
　　At last he roused himself and stood up.
Chapter 10
    WITH a sigh of relief Susy drew the pins from her hat and threwherself down on the lounge.
　　The ordeal she had dreaded was over, and Mr. and Mrs. Vanderlynhad safely gone their several ways. Poor Ellie was not notedfor prudence, and when life smiled on her she was given tobetraying her gratitude too openly; but thanks to Susy'svigilance (and, no doubt, to Strefford's tacit co-operation),the dreaded twenty-four hours were happily over. NelsonVanderlyn had departed without a shadow on his brow, and thoughEllie's, when she came down from bidding Nick good-bye, hadseemed to Susy less serene than usual, she became her normalself as soon as it was discovered that the red morocco bag withher jewel-box was missing. Before it had been discovered in thedepths of the gondola they had reached the station, and therewas just time to thrust her into her "sleeper," from which shewas seen to wave an unperturbed farewell to her friends.
　　"Well, my dear, we've been it through," Strefford remarked witha deep breath as the St. Moritz express rolled away.
　　"Oh," Susy sighed in mute complicity; then, as if to cover herself-betrayal: "Poor darling, she does so like what she likes!""Yes--even if it's a rotten bounder," Strefford agreed.
　　"A rotten bounder? Why, I thought--""That it was still young Davenant? Lord, no--not for the lastsix months. Didn't she tell you--?"Susy felt herself redden. "I didn't ask her--""Ask her? You mean you didn't let her!""I didn't let her. And I don't let you," Susy added sharply, ashe helped her into the gondola.
　　"Oh, all right: I daresay you're right. It simplifies things,"Strefford placidly acquiesced.
　　She made no answer, and in silence they glided homeward.
　　Now, in the quiet of her own room, Susy lay and pondered on thedistance she had travelled during the last year. Strefford hadread her mind with his usual penetration. It was true thatthere had been a time when she would have thought it perfectlynatural that Ellie should tell her everything; that the name ofyoung Davenant's successor should be confided to her as a matterof course. Apparently even Ellie had been obscurely aware ofthe change, for after a first attempt to force her confidenceson Susy she had contented herself with vague expressions ofgratitude, allusive smiles and sighs, and the pretty "surprise"of the sapphire bangle slipped onto her friend's wrist in theact of their farewell embrace.
　　The bangle was extremely handsome. Susy, who had anauctioneer's eye for values, knew to a fraction the worth ofthose deep convex stones alternating with small emeralds andbrilliants. She was glad to own the bracelet, and enchantedwith the effect it produced on her slim wrist; yet, even whileadmiring it, and rejoicing that it was hers, she had alreadytransmuted it into specie, and reckoned just how far it would gotoward the paying of domestic necessities. For whatever came toher now interested her only as something more to be offered upto Nick.
　　The door opened and Nick came in. Dusk had fallen, and shecould not see his face; but something in the jerk of the door-handle roused her ever-wakeful apprehension. She hurried towardhim with outstretched wrist.
　　"Look, dearest--wasn't it too darling of Ellie?"She pressed the button of the lamp that lit her dressing-table,and her husband's face started unfamiliarly out of the twilight.
　　She slipped off the bracelet and held it up to him.
　　"Oh, I can go you one better," he said with a laugh; and pullinga morocco case from his pocket he flung it down among the scent-bottles.
　　Susy opened the case automatically, staring at the pearl becauseshe was afraid to look again at Nick.
　　"Ellie--gave you this?" she asked at length.
　　"Yes. She gave me this." There was a pause. "Would you mindtelling me," Lansing continued in the same dead-level tone,"exactly for what services we've both been so handsomely paid?""The pearl is beautiful," Susy murmured, to gain time, while herhead spun round with unimaginable terrors.
　　"So are your sapphires; though, on closer examination, myservices would appear to have been valued rather higher thanyours. Would you be kind enough to tell me just what theywere?"Susy threw her head back and looked at him. "What on earth areyou talking about, Nick! Why shouldn't Ellie have given usthese things? Do you forget that it's like our giving her apen-wiper or a button-hook? What is it you are trying tosuggest?"It had cost her a considerable effort to hold his eyes while sheput the questions. Something had happened between him andEllie, that was evident-one of those hideous unforeseeableblunders that may cause one's cleverest plans to crumble at astroke; and again Susy shuddered at the frailty of her bliss.
　　But her old training stood her in good stead. There had beenmore than one moment in her past when everything-somebodyelse's everything-had depended on her keeping a cool head and aclear glance. It would have been a wonder if now, when she felther own everything at stake, she had not been able to put up asgood a defence.
　　"What is it?" she repeated impatiently, as Lansing continued toremain silent.
　　"That's what I'm here to ask," he returned, keeping his eyes assteady as she kept hers. "There's no reason on earth, as yousay, why Ellie shouldn't give us presents--as expensive presentsas she likes; and the pearl is a beauty. All I ask is: forwhat specific services were they given? For, allowing for allthe absence of scruple that marks the intercourse of trulycivilized people, you'll probably agree that there are limits;at least up to now there have been limits ....""I really don't know what you mean. I suppose Ellie wanted toshow that she was grateful to us for looking after Clarissa.""But she gave us all this in exchange for that, didn't she?" hesuggested, with a sweep of the hand around the beautiful shadowyroom. "A whole summer of it if we choose."Susy smiled. "Apparently she didn't think that enough.""What a doting mother! It shows the store she sets upon herchild.""Well, don't you set store upon Clarissa?""Clarissa is exquisite; but her mother didn't mention her inoffering me this recompense."Susy lifted her head again. "Whom did she mention?""Vanderlyn," said Lansing.
　　"Vanderlyn? Nelson?""Yes--and some letters ... something about letters .... What isit, my dear, that you and I have been hired to hide fromVanderlyn? Because I should like to know," Nick broke outsavagely, "if we've been adequately paid."Susy was silent: she needed time to reckon up her forces, andstudy her next move; and her brain was in such a whirl of fearthat she could at last only retort: "What is it that Ellie saidto you?"Lansing laughed again. "That's just what you'd like to findout--isn't it?--in order to know the line to take in making yourexplanation."The sneer had an effect that he could not have foreseen, andthat Susy herself had not expected.
　　"Oh, don't--don't let us speak to each other like that!" shecried; and sinking down by the dressing-table she hid her facein her hands.
　　It seemed to her, now, that nothing mattered except that theirlove for each other, their faith in each other, should be savedfrom some unhealable hurt. She was willing to tell Nickeverything--she wanted to tell him everything--if only she couldbe sure of reaching a responsive chord in him. But the scene ofthe cigars came back to her, and benumbed her. If only shecould make him see that nothing was of any account as long asthey continued to love each other!
　　His touch fell compassionately on her shoulder. "Poor child--don't," he said.
　　Their eyes met, but his expression checked the smile breakingthrough her tears. "Don't you see," he continued, "that we'vegot to have this thing out?"She continued to stare at him through a prism of tears. "Ican't--while you stand up like that," she stammered, childishly.
　　She had cowered down again into a corner of the lounge; butLansing did not seat himself at her side. He took a chairfacing her, like a caller on the farther side of a stately tea-tray. "Will that do?" he asked with a stiff smile, as if tohumour her.
　　"Nothing will do--as long as you're not you!""Not me?"She shook her head wearily. "What's the use? You accept thingstheoretically--and then when they happen ....""What things? What has happened!"A sudden impatience mastered her. What did he suppose, afterall--? "But you know all about Ellie. We used to talk abouther often enough in old times," she said.
　　"Ellie and young Davenant?""Young Davenant; or the others ....""Or the others. But what business was it of ours?""Ah, that's just what I think!" she cried, springing up with anexplosion of relief. Lansing stood up also, but there was noanswering light in his face.
　　"We're outside of all that; we've nothing to do with it, havewe?" he pursued.
　　"Nothing whatever.""Then what on earth is the meaning of Ellie's gratitude?
　　Gratitude for what we've done about some letters--and aboutVanderlyn?""Oh, not you," Susy cried, involuntarily.
　　"Not I? Then you?" He came close and took her by the wrist.
　　"Answer me. Have you been mixed up in some dirty business ofEllie's?"There was a pause. She found it impossible to speak, with thatburning grasp on the wrist where the bangle had been. At lengthhe let her go and moved away. "Answer," he repeated.
　　"I've told you it was my business and not yours."He received this in silence; then he questioned: "You've beensending letters for her, I suppose? To whom?""Oh, why do you torment me? Nelson was not supposed to knowthat she'd been away. She left me the letters to post to himonce a week. I found them here the night we arrived .... Itwas the price--for this. Oh, Nick, say it's been worth it-sayat least that it's been worth it!" she implored him.
　　He stood motionless, unresponding. One hand drummed on thecorner of her dressing-table, making the jewelled bangle dance.
　　"How many letters?""I don't know ... four ... five ... What does it matter?""And once a week, for six weeks--?""Yes.""And you took it all as a matter of course?""No: I hated it. But what could I do?""What could you do?""When our being together depended on it? Oh, Nick, how couldyou think I'd give you up?""Give me up?" he echoed.
　　"Well--doesn't our being together depend on--on what we can getout of people? And hasn't there always got to be some give-and-take? Did you ever in your life get anything for nothing?" shecried with sudden exasperation. "You've lived among thesepeople as long as I have; I suppose it's not the first time--""By God, but it is," he exclaimed, flushing. "And that's thedifference--the fundamental difference.""The difference!""Between you and me. I've never in my life done people's dirtywork for them--least of all for favours in return. I supposeyou guessed it, or you wouldn't have hidden this beastlybusiness from me."The blood rose to Susy's temples also. Yes, she had guessed it;instinctively, from the day she had first visited him in hisbare lodgings, she had been aware of his stricter standard. Buthow could she tell him that under his influence her standard hadbecome stricter too, and that it was as much to hide herhumiliation from herself as to escape his anger that she hadheld her tongue?
　　"You knew I wouldn't have stayed here another day if I'd known,"he continued.
　　"Yes: and then where in the world should we have gone?""You mean that--in one way or another--what you call give-and-take is the price of our remaining together?""Well--isn't it," she faltered.
　　"Then we'd better part, hadn't we?"He spoke in a low tone, thoughtfully and deliberately, as ifthis had been the inevitable conclusion to which theirpassionate argument had led.
　　Susy made no answer. For a moment she ceased to be conscious ofthe causes of what had happened; the thing itself seemed to havesmothered her under its ruins.
　　Nick wandered away from the dressing-table and stood gazing outof the window at the darkening canal flecked with lights. Shelooked at his back, and wondered what would happen if she wereto go up to him and fling her arms about him. But even if hertouch could have broken the spell, she was not sure she wouldhave chosen that way of breaking it. Beneath her speechlessanguish there burned the half-conscious sense of having beenunfairly treated. When they had entered into their queercompact, Nick had known as well as she on what compromises andconcessions the life they were to live together must be based.
　　That he should have forgotten it seemed so unbelievable that shewondered, with a new leap of fear, if he were using the wretchedEllie's indiscretion as a means of escape from a tie alreadywearied of. Suddenly she raised her head with a laugh.
　　"After all--you were right when you wanted me to be yourmistress."He turned on her with an astonished stare. "You--my mistress?"Through all her pain she thrilled with pride at the discoverythat such a possibility had long since become unthinkable tohim. But she insisted. "That day at the Fulmers'--have youforgotten? When you said it would be sheer madness for us tomarry."Lansing stood leaning in the embrasure of the window, his eyesfixed on the mosaic volutes of the floor.
　　"I was right enough when I said it would be sheer madness for usto marry," he rejoined at length.
　　She sprang up trembling. "Well, that's easily settled. Ourcompact--""Oh, that compact--" he interrupted her with an impatient laugh.
　　"Aren't you asking me to carry it out now?""Because I said we'd better part?" He paused. "But thecompact--I'd almost forgotten it--was to the effect, wasn't it,that we were to give each other a helping hand if either of ushad a better chance? The thing was absurd, of course; a merejoke; from my point of view, at least. I shall never want anybetter chance ... any other chance ....""Oh, Nick, oh, Nick ... but then ...." She was close to him,his face looming down through her tears; but he put her back.
　　"It would have been easy enough, wouldn't it," he rejoined, "ifwe'd been as detachable as all that? As it is, it's going tohurt horribly. But talking it over won't help. You were rightjust now when you asked how else we were going to live. We'reborn parasites, both, I suppose, or we'd have found out some waylong ago. But I find there are things I might put up with formyself, at a pinch--and should, probably, in time that I can'tlet you put up with for me ... ever .... Those cigars at Como:
　　do you suppose I didn't know it was for me? And this too?
　　Well, it won't do ... it won't do ...."He stopped, as if his courage failed him; and she moaned out:
　　"But your writing--if your book's a success ....""My poor Susy--that's all part of the humbug. We both know thatmy sort of writing will never pay. And what's the alternativeexcept more of the same kind of baseness? And getting more andmore blunted to it? At least, till now, I've minded certainthings; I don't want to go on till I find myself taking them forgranted."She reached out a timid hand. "But you needn't ever, dear ...
　　if you'd only leave it to me ...."He drew back sharply. "That seems simple to you, I suppose?
　　Well, men are different." He walked toward the dressing-tableand glanced at the little enamelled clock which had been one ofher wedding-presents.
　　"Time to dress, isn't it? Shall you mind if I leave you to dinewith Streffy, and whoever else is coming? I'd rather like along tramp, and no more talking just at present except withmyself."He passed her by and walked rapidly out of the room. Susy stoodmotionless, unable to lift a detaining hand or to find a finalword of appeal. On her disordered dressing-table Mrs.
　　Vanderlyn's gifts glittered in the rosy lamp-light.
　　Yes: men were different, as he said.
Chapter 11
    BUT there were necessary accommodations, there always had been;Nick in old times, had been the first to own it .... How theyhad laughed at the Perpendicular People, the people who went byon the other side (since you couldn't be a good Samaritanwithout stooping over and poking into heaps of you didn't knowwhat)! And now Nick had suddenly become perpendicular ....
　　Susy, that evening, at the head of the dinner table, saw--in thebreaks between her scudding thoughts--the nauseatingly familiarfaces of the people she called her friends: Strefford, FredGillow, a giggling fool of a young Breckenridge, of their NewYork group, who had arrived that day, and Prince NeroneAltineri, Ursula's Prince, who, in Ursula's absence at atiresome cure, had, quite simply and naturally, preferred tojoin her husband at Venice. Susy looked from one to the otherof them, as if with newly-opened eyes, and wondered what lifewould be like with no faces but such as theirs to furnishit ....
　　Ah, Nick had become perpendicular! .... After all, most peoplewent through life making a given set of gestures, like dance-steps learned in advance. If your dancing manual told you at agiven time to be perpendicular, you had to be, automatically--and that was Nick!
　　"But what on earth, Susy," Gillow's puzzled voice suddenly cameto her as from immeasurable distances, "Are you going to do inthis beastly stifling hole for the rest of the summer?""Ask Nick, my dear fellow," Strefford answered for her; and:
　　"By the way, where is Nick--if one may ask?" young Breckenridgeinterposed, glancing up to take belated note of his host'sabsence.
　　"Dining out," said Susy glibly. "People turned up: blightingbores that I wouldn't have dared to inflict on you." How easilythe old familiar fibbing came to her !
　　"The kind to whom you say, 'Now mind you look me up'; and thenspend the rest of your life dodging-like our good Hickses,"Strefford amplified.
　　The Hickses--but, of course, Nick was with the Hickses! It wentthrough Susy like a knife, and the dinner she had so lightlyfibbed became a hateful truth. She said to herself feverishly:
　　"I'll call him up there after dinner--and then he will feelsilly"--but only to remember that the Hickses, in theirmediaeval setting, had of course sternly denied themselves atelephone.
　　The fact of Nick's temporary inaccessibility--since she was nowconvinced that he was really at the Hickses'--turned herdistress to a mocking irritation. Ah, that was where he carriedhis principles, his standards, or whatever he called the new setof rules he had suddenly begun to apply to the old game! It wasstupid of her not to have guessed it at once.
　　"Oh, the Hickses--Nick adores them, you know. He's going tomarry Coral next," she laughed out, flashing the joke around thetable with all her practiced flippancy.
　　"Lord!" grasped Gillow, inarticulate: while the Princedisplayed the unsurprised smile which Susy accused him ofpracticing every morning with his Mueller exercises.
　　Suddenly Susy felt Strefford's eyes upon her.
　　"What's the matter with me? Too much rouge?" she asked, passingher arm in his as they left the table.
　　"No: too little. Look at yourself," he answered in a low tone.
　　"Oh, in these cadaverous old looking-glasses-everybody looksfished up from the canal!"She jerked away from him to spin down the long floor of thesala, hands on hips, whistling a rag-time tune. The Prince andyoung Breckenridge caught her up, and she spun back with thelatter, while Gillow-it was believed to be his soleaccomplishment-snapped his fingers in simulation of bones, andshuffled after the couple on stamping feet.
　　Susy sank down on a sofa near the window, fanning herself with afloating scarf, and the men foraged for cigarettes, and rang forthe gondoliers, who came in with trays of cooling drinks.
　　"Well, what next--this ain't all, is it?" Gillow presentlyqueried, from the divan where he lolled half-asleep withdripping brow. Fred Gillow, like Nature, abhorred a void, andit was inconceivable to him that every hour of man's rationalexistence should not furnish a motive for getting up and goingsomewhere else. Young Breckenridge, who took the same view, andthe Prince, who earnestly desired to, reminded the company thatsomebody they knew was giving a dance that night at the Lido.
　　Strefford vetoed the Lido, on the ground that he'd just comeback from there, and proposed that they should go out on footfor a change.
　　"Why not? What fun!" Susy was up in an instant. "Let's paysomebody a surprise visit--I don't know who! Streffy, Prince,can't you think of somebody who'd be particularly annoyed by ourarrival?""Oh, the list's too long. Let's start, and choose our victim onthe way," Strefford suggested.
　　Susy ran to her room for a light cloak, and without changing herhigh-heeled satin slippers went out with the four men. Therewas no moon--thank heaven there was no moon!--but the stars hungover them as close as fruit, and secret fragrances dropped onthem from garden-walls. Susy's heart tightened with memories ofComo.
　　They wandered on, laughing and dawdling, and yielding to thedrifting whims of aimless people. Presently someone proposedtaking a nearer look at the facade of San Giorgio Maggiore, andthey hailed a gondola and were rowed out through the bobbinglanterns and twanging guitar-strings. When they landed again,Gillow, always acutely bored by scenery, and particularlyresentful of midnight aesthetics, suggested a night club near athand, which was said to be jolly. The Prince warmly supportedthis proposal; but on Susy's curt refusal they started theirrambling again, circuitously threading the vague dark lanes andmaking for the Piazza and Florian's ices. Suddenly, at a calle-corner, unfamiliar and yet somehow known to her, Susy paused tostare about her with a laugh.
　　"But the Hickses--surely that's their palace? And the windowsall lit up! They must be giving a party! Oh, do let's go upand surprise them!" The idea struck her as one of the drollestthat she had ever originated, and she wondered that hercompanions should respond so languidly.
　　"I can't see anything very thrilling in surprising the Hickses,"Gillow protested, defrauded of possible excitements; andStrefford added: "It would surprise me more than them if Iwent."But Susy insisted feverishly: "You don't know. It may beawfully exciting! I have an idea that Coral's announcing herengagement--her engagement to Nick! Come, give me a hand,Streff--and you the other, Fred-" she began to hum the firstbars of Donna Anna's entrance in Don Giovanni. "Pity I haven'tgot a black cloak and a mask ....""Oh, your face will do," said Strefford, laying his hand on herarm.
　　She drew back, flushing crimson. Breckenridge and the Princehad sprung on ahead, and Gillow, lumbering after them, wasalready halfway up the stairs.
　　"My face? My face? What's the matter with my face? Do youknow any reason why I shouldn't go to the Hickses to-night?"Susy broke out in sudden wrath.
　　"None whatever; except that if you do it will bore me to death,"Strefford returned, with serenity.
　　"Oh, in that case--!""No; come on. I hear those fools banging on the door already."He caught her by the hand, and they started up the stairway.
　　But on the first landing she paused, twisted her hand out ofhis, and without a word, without a conscious thought, dasheddown the long flight, across the great resounding vestibule andout into the darkness of the calle.
　　Strefford caught up with her, and they stood a moment silent inthe night.
　　"Susy--what the devil's the matter?""The matter? Can't you see? That I'm tired, that I've got asplitting headache--that you bore me to death, one and all ofyou!" She turned and laid a deprecating hand on his arm.
　　"Streffy, old dear, don't mind me: but for God's sake find agondola and send me home.""Alone?""Alone."It was never any concern of Streff's if people wanted to dothings he did not understand, and she knew that she could counton his obedience. They walked on in silence to the next canal,and he picked up a passing gondola and put her in it.
　　"Now go and amuse yourself," she called after him, as the boatshot under the nearest bridge. Anything, anything, to be alone,away from the folly and futility that would be all she had leftif Nick were to drop out of her life ....
　　"But perhaps he has dropped already--dropped for good," shethought as she set her foot on the Vanderlyn threshold.
　　The short summer night was already growing transparent: a newborn breeze stirred the soiled surface of the water and sent itlapping freshly against the old palace doorways. Nearly twoo'clock! Nick had no doubt come back long ago. Susy hurried upthe stairs, reassured by the mere thought of his nearness. Sheknew that when their eyes and their lips met it would beimpossible for anything to keep them apart.
　　The gondolier dozing on the landing roused himself to receiveher, and to proffer two envelopes. The upper one was a telegramfor Strefford: she threw it down again and paused under thelantern hanging from the painted vault, the other envelope inher hand. The address it bore was in Nick's writing. "When didthe signore leave this for me? Has he gone out again?"Gone out again? But the signore had not come in since dinner:
　　of that the gondolier was positive, as he had been on duty allthe evening. A boy had brought the letter--an unknown boy: hehad left it without waiting. It must have been about half anhour after the signora had herself gone out with her guests.
　　Susy, hardly hearing him, fled on to her own room, and there,beside the very lamp which, two months before, had illuminatedEllie Vanderlyn's fatal letter, she opened Nick's.
　　"Don't think me hard on you, dear; but I've got to work thisthing out by myself. The sooner the better-don't you agree? SoI'm taking the express to Milan presently. You'll get a properletter in a day or two. I wish I could think, now, of somethingto say that would show you I'm not a brute--but I can't. N. L. "There was not much of the night left in which to sleep, even hada semblance of sleep been achievable. The letter fell fromSusy's hands, and she crept out onto the balcony and coweredthere, her forehead pressed against the balustrade, the dawnwind stirring in her thin laces. Through her closed eyelids andthe tightly-clenched fingers pressed against them, she felt thepenetration of the growing light, the relentless advance ofanother day--a day without purpose and without meaning--a daywithout Nick. At length she dropped her hands, and staring fromdry lids saw a rim of fire above the roofs across the GrandCanal. She sprang up, ran back into her room, and dragging theheavy curtains shut across the windows, stumbled over in thedarkness to the lounge and fell among its pillows-facedownward--groping, delving for a deeper night ....
　　She started up, stiff and aching, to see a golden wedge of sunon the floor at her feet. She had slept, then--was itpossible?--it must be eight or nine o'clock already! She hadslept--slept like a drunkard--with that letter on the table ather elbow! Ah, now she remembered--she had dreamed that theletter was a dream! But there, inexorably, it lay; and shepicked it up, and slowly, painfully re-read it. Then she toreit into shreds hunted for a match, and kneeling before the emptyhearth, as though she were accomplishing some funeral rite, sheburnt every shred of it to ashes. Nick would thank her for thatsome day!
　　After a bath and a hurried toilet she began to be aware offeeling younger and more hopeful. After all, Nick had merelysaid that he was going away for "a day or two." And the letterwas not cruel: there were tender things in it, showing throughthe curt words. She smiled at herself a little stiffly in theglass, put a dash of red on her colourless lips, and rang forthe maid.
　　"Coffee, Giovanna, please; and will you tell Mr. Strefford thatI should like to see him presently."If Nick really kept to his intention of staying away for a fewdays she must trump up some explanation of his absence; but hermind refused to work, and the only thing she could think of wasto take Strefford into her confidence. She knew that he couldbe trusted in a real difficulty; his impish malice transformeditself into a resourceful ingenuity when his friends requiredit.
　　The maid stood looking at her with a puzzled gaze, and Susysomewhat sharply repeated her order. "But don't wake him onpurpose," she added, foreseeing the probable effect onStrefford's temper.
　　"But, signora, the gentleman is already out.""Already out?" Strefford, who could hardly be routed from hisbed before luncheon-time! "Is it so late?" Susy cried,incredulous.
　　"After nine. And the gentleman took the eight o'clock train forEngland. Gervaso said he had received a telegram. He left wordthat he would write to the signora."The door closed upon the maid, and Susy continued to gaze at herpainted image in the glass, as if she had been trying tooutstare an importunate stranger. There was no one left for herto take counsel of, then--no one but poor Fred Gillow! She madea grimace at the idea.
　　But what on earth could have summoned Strefford back to England?
Chapter 12
    NICK LANSING, in the Milan express, was roused by the same barof sunshine lying across his knees. He yawned, looked withdisgust at his stolidly sleeping neighbours, and wondered why hehad decided to go to Milan, and what on earth he should do whenhe got there. The difficulty about trenchant decisions was thatthe next morning they generally left one facing a void ....
　　When the train drew into the station at Milan, he scrambled out,got some coffee, and having drunk it decided to continue hisjourney to Genoa. The state of being carried passively onwardpostponed action and dulled thought; and after twelve hours offurious mental activity that was exactly what he wanted.
　　He fell into a doze again, waking now and then to haggardintervals of more thinking, and then dropping off to the clankand rattle of the train. Inside his head, in his wakingintervals, the same clanking and grinding of wheels and chainswent on unremittingly. He had done all his lucid thinkingwithin an hour of leaving the Palazzo Vanderlyn the nightbefore; since then, his brain had simply continued to revolveindefatigably about the same old problem. His cup of coffee,instead of clearing his thoughts, had merely accelerated theirpace.
　　At Genoa he wandered about in the hot streets, bought a cheapsuit-case and some underclothes, and then went down to the portin search of a little hotel he remembered there. An hour laterhe was sitting in the coffee-room, smoking and glancing vacantlyover the papers while he waited for dinner, when he became awareof being timidly but intently examined by a small round-facedgentleman with eyeglasses who sat alone at the adjoining table.
　　"Hullo--Buttles!" Lansing exclaimed, recognising with surprisethe recalcitrant secretary who had resisted Miss Hicks'sendeavour to convert him to Tiepolo.
　　Mr. Buttles, blushing to the roots of his scant hair, half roseand bowed ceremoniously.
　　Nick Lansing's first feeling was of annoyance at being disturbedin his solitary broodings; his next, of relief at having topostpone them even to converse with Mr. Buttles.
　　"No idea you were here: is the yacht in harbour?" he asked,remembering that the Ibis must be just about to spread herwings.
　　Mr. Buttles, at salute behind his chair, signed a mute negation:
　　for the moment he seemed too embarrassed to speak.
　　"Ah--you're here as an advance guard? I remember now--I sawMiss Hicks in Venice the day before yesterday," Lansingcontinued, dazed at the thought that hardly forty-eight hourshad passed since his encounter with Coral in the Scalzi.
　　Mr. Buttles, instead of speaking, had tentatively approached histable. "May I take this seat for a moment, Mr. Lansing? Thankyou. No, I am not here as an advance guard--though I believethe Ibis is due some time to-morrow." He cleared his throat,wiped his eyeglasses on a silk handkerchief, replaced them onhis nose, and went on solemnly: "Perhaps, to clear up anypossible misunderstanding, I ought to say that I am no longer inthe employ of Mr. Hicks."Lansing glanced at him sympathetically. It was clear that hesuffered horribly in imparting this information, though hiscompact face did not lend itself to any dramatic display ofemotion.
　　"Really," Nick smiled, and then ventured: "I hope it's notowing to conscientious objections to Tiepolo?"Mr. Buttles's blush became a smouldering agony. "Ah, Miss Hicksmentioned to you ... told you ...? No, Mr. Lansing. I amprincipled against the effete art of Tiepolo, and of all hiscontemporaries, I confess; but if Miss Hicks chooses tosurrender herself momentarily to the unwholesome spell of theItalian decadence it is not for me to protest or to criticize.
　　Her intellectual and aesthetic range so far exceeds my humblecapacity that it would be ridiculous, unbecoming ...."He broke off, and once more wiped a faint moisture from hiseyeglasses. It was evident that he was suffering from adistress which he longed and yet dreaded to communicate. ButNick made no farther effort to bridge the gulf of his ownpreoccupations; and Mr. Buttles, after an expectant pause, wenton: "If you see me here to-day it is only because, after asomewhat abrupt departure, I find myself unable to take leave ofour friends without a last look at the Ibis--the scene of somany stimulating hours. But I must beg you," he addedearnestly, "should you see Miss Hicks--or any other member ofthe party--to make no allusion to my presence in Genoa. Iwish," said Mr. Buttles with simplicity, "to preserve thestrictest incognito."Lansing glanced at him kindly. "Oh, but--isn't that a littleunfriendly?""No other course is possible, Mr. Lansing," said the ex-secretary, "and I commit myself to your discretion. The truthis, if I am here it is not to look once more at the Ibis, but atMiss Hicks: once only. You will understand me, and appreciatewhat I am suffering."He bowed again, and trotted away on his small, tightly-bootedfeet; pausing on the threshold to say: "From the first it washopeless," before he disappeared through the glass doors.
　　A gleam of commiseration flashed through Nick's mind: there wassomething quaintly poignant in the sight of the brisk andefficient Mr. Buttles reduced to a limp image of unrequitedpassion. And what a painful surprise to the Hickses to be thussuddenly deprived of the secretary who possessed "the foreignlanguages"! Mr. Beck kept the accounts and settled with thehotel-keepers; but it was Mr. Buttles's loftier task toentertain in their own tongues the unknown geniuses who flockedabout the Hickses, and Nick could imagine how disconcerting hisdeparture must be on the eve of their Grecian cruise which Mrs.
　　Hicks would certainly call an Odyssey.
　　The next moment the vision of Coral's hopeless suitor had faded,and Nick was once more spinning around on the wheel of his ownwoes. The night before, when he had sent his note to Susy, froma little restaurant close to Palazzo Vanderlyn that they oftenpatronized, he had done so with the firm intention of going awayfor a day or two in order to collect his wits and think over thesituation. But after his letter had been entrusted to thelandlord's little son, who was a particular friend of Susy's,Nick had decided to await the lad's return. The messenger hadnot been bidden to ask for an answer; but Nick, knowing thefriendly and inquisitive Italian mind, was almost sure that theboy, in the hope of catching a glimpse of Susy, would lingerabout while the letter was carried up. And he pictured the maidknocking at his wife's darkened room, and Susy dashing somepowder on her tear-stained face before she turned on the light--poor foolish child!
　　The boy had returned rather sooner than Nick expected, and hehad brought no answer, but merely the statement that thesignora was out: that everybody was out.
　　"Everybody?""The signora and the four gentlemen who were dining at thepalace. They all went out together on foot soon after dinner.
　　There was no one to whom I could give the note but the gondolieron the landing, for the signora had said she would be very late,and had sent the maid to bed; and the maid had, of course, goneout immediately with her innamorato.""Ah--" said Nick, slipping his reward into the boy's hand, andwalking out of the restaurant.
　　Susy had gone out--gone out with their usual band, as she didevery night in these sultry summer weeks, gone out after hertalk with Nick, as if nothing had happened, as if his wholeworld and hers had not crashed in ruins at their feet. Ah, poorSusy! After all, she had merely obeyed the instinct of selfpreservation, the old hard habit of keeping up, going ahead andhiding her troubles; unless indeed the habit had alreadyengendered indifference, and it had become as easy for her asfor most of her friends to pass from drama to dancing, fromsorrow to the cinema. What of soul was left, he wondered--?
　　His train did not start till midnight, and after leaving therestaurant Nick tramped the sultry by-ways till his tired legsbrought him to a standstill under the vine-covered pergola of agondolier's wine-shop at a landing close to the Piazzetta.
　　There he could absorb cooling drinks until it was time to go tothe station.
　　It was after eleven, and he was beginning to look about for aboat, when a black prow pushed up to the steps, and with muchchaff and laughter a party of young people in evening dressjumped out. Nick, from under the darkness of the vine, saw thatthere was only one lady among them, and it did not need the lampabove the landing to reveal her identity. Susy, bareheaded andlaughing, a light scarf slipping from her bare shoulders, acigarette between her fingers, took Strefford's arm and turnedin the direction of Florian's, with Gillow, the Prince and youngBreckenridge in her wake ....
　　Nick had relived this rapid scene hundreds of times during hishours in the train and his aimless trampings through the streetsof Genoa. In that squirrel-wheel of a world of his and Susy'syou had to keep going or drop out--and Susy, it was evident, hadchosen to keep going. Under the lamp-flare on the landing hehad had a good look at her face, and had seen that the mask ofpaint and powder was carefully enough adjusted to hide anyravages the scene between them might have left. He even fanciedthat she had dropped a little atropine into her eyes ....
　　There was no time to spare if he meant to catch the midnighttrain, and no gondola in sight but that which his wife had justleft. He sprang into it, and bade the gondolier carry him tothe station. The cushions, as he leaned back, gave out a breathof her scent; and in the glare of electric light at the stationhe saw at his feet a rose which had fallen from her dress. Heground his heel into it as he got out.
　　There it was, then; that was the last picture he was to have ofher. For he knew now that he was not going back; at least notto take up their life together. He supposed he should have tosee her once, to talk things over, settle something for theirfuture. He had been sincere in saying that he bore her no ill-will; only he could never go back into that slough again. If hedid, he knew he would inevitably be drawn under, slippingdownward from concession to concession ....
　　The noises of a hot summer night in the port of Genoa would havekept the most care-free from slumber; but though Nick lay awakehe did not notice them, for the tumult in his brain was moredeafening. Dawn brought a negative relief, and out of sheerweariness he dropped into a heavy sleep. When he woke it wasnearly noon, and from his window he saw the well-known outlineof the Ibis standing up dark against the glitter of the harbour.
　　He had no fear of meeting her owners, who had doubtless longsince landed and betaken themselves to cooler and morefashionable regions: oddly enough, the fact seemed toaccentuate his loneliness, his sense of having no one on earthto turn to. He dressed, and wandered out disconsolately to pickup a cup of coffee in some shady corner.
　　As he drank his coffee his thoughts gradually cleared. Itbecame obvious to him that he had behaved like a madman or apetulant child--he preferred to think it was like a madman. Ifhe and Susy were to separate there was no reason why it shouldnot be done decently and quietly, as such transactions werehabitually managed among people of their kind. It seemedgrotesque to introduce melodrama into their little world ofunruffled Sybarites, and he felt inclined, now, to smile at theincongruity of his gesture .... But suddenly his eyes filledwith tears. The future without Susy was unbearable,inconceivable. Why, after all, should they separate? At thequestion, her soft face seemed close to his, and that slightlift of the upper lip that made her smile so exquisite. Well-he would go back. But not with any presence of going to talkthings over, come to an agreement, wind up their joint life likea business association. No--if he went back he would go withoutconditions, for good, forever ....
　　Only, what about the future? What about the not far-distant daywhen the wedding cheques would have been spent, and Granny'spearls sold, and nothing left except unconcealed andunconditional dependence on rich friends, the role of theacknowledged hangers-on? Was there no other possible solution,no new way of ordering their lives? No--there was none: hecould not picture Susy out of her setting of luxury and leisure,could not picture either of them living such a life as the NatFulmers, for instance! He remembered the shabby untidy bungalowin New Hampshire, the slatternly servants, uneatable food andubiquitous children. How could he ask Susy to share such a lifewith him? If he did, she would probably have the sense torefuse. Their alliance had been based on a moment's midsummermadness; now the score must be paid ....
　　He decided to write. If they were to part he could not trusthimself to see her. He called a waiter, asked for pen andpaper, and pushed aside a pile of unread newspapers on thecorner of the table where his coffee had been served. As he didso, his eye lit on a Daily Mail of two days before. As apretext for postponing his letter, he took up the paper andglanced down the first page. He read:
　　"Tragic Yachting Accident in the Solent. The Earl of Altringhamand his son Viscount d'Amblay drowned in midnight collision.
　　Both bodies recovered."He read on. He grasped the fact that the disaster had happenedthe night before he had left Venice and that, as the result of afog in the Solent, their old friend Strefford was now Earl ofAltringham, and possessor of one of the largest private fortunesin England. It was vertiginous to think of their oldimpecunious Streff as the hero of such an adventure. And whatirony in that double turn of the wheel which, in one day, hadplunged him, Nick Lansing, into nethermost misery, while ittossed the other to the stars!
　　With an intenser precision he saw again Susy's descent from thegondola at the calle steps, the sound of her laughter and ofStrefford's chaff, the way she had caught his arm and clung toit, sweeping the other men on in her train. Strefford--Susy andStrefford! ... More than once, Nick had noticed the softerinflections of his friend's voice when he spoke to Susy, thebrooding look in his lazy eyes when they rested on her. In thesecurity of his wedded bliss Nick had made light of those signs.
　　The only real jealousy he had felt had been of Fred Gillow,because of his unlimited power to satisfy a woman's whims. YetNick knew that such material advantages would never againsuffice for Susy. With Strefford it was different. She haddelighted in his society while he was notoriously ineligible;might not she find him irresistible now?
　　The forgotten terms of their bridal compact came back to Nick:
　　the absurd agreement on which he and Susy had solemnly pledgedtheir faith. But was it so absurd, after all? It had beenSusy's suggestion (not his, thank God!); and perhaps in makingit she had been more serious than he imagined. Perhaps, even iftheir rupture had not occurred, Strefford's sudden honours mighthave caused her to ask for her freedom ....
　　Money, luxury, fashion, pleasure: those were the fourcornerstones of her existence. He had always known it--sheherself had always acknowledged it, even in their last dreadfultalk together; and once he had gloried in her frankness. Howcould he ever have imagined that, to have her fill of thesethings, she would not in time stoop lower than she had yetstooped? Perhaps in giving her up to Strefford he might besaving her. At any rate, the taste of the past was now sobitter to him that he was moved to thank whatever gods therewere for pushing that mortuary paragraph under his eye ....
　　"Susy, dear [he wrote], the fates seem to have taken our futurein hand, and spared us the trouble of unravelling it. If I havesometimes been selfish enough to forget the conditions on whichyou agreed to marry me, they have come back to me during thesetwo days of solitude. You've given me the best a man can have,and nothing else will ever be worth much to me. But since Ihaven't the ability to provide you with what you want, Irecognize that I've no right to stand in your way. We must oweno more Venetian palaces to underhand services. I see by thenewspapers that Streff can now give you as many palaces as youwant. Let him have the chance--I fancy he'll jump at it, andhe's the best man in sight. I wish I were in his shoes.
　　"I'll write again in a day or two, when I've collected my wits,and can give you an address. NICK."He added a line on the subject of their modest funds, put theletter into an envelope, and addressed it to Mrs. NicholasLansing. As he did so, he reflected that it was the first timehe had ever written his wife's married name.
　　"Well--by God, no other woman shall have it after her," hevowed, as he groped in his pocketbook for a stamp.
　　He stood up with a stretch of weariness--the heat was stifling!
　　--and put the letter in his pocket.
　　"I'll post it myself, it's safer," he thought; "and then what inthe name of goodness shall I do next, I wonder?" He jammed hishat down on his head and walked out into the sun-blaze.
　　As he was turning away from the square by the general PostOffice, a white parasol waved from a passing cab, and CoralHicks leaned forward with outstretched hand. "I knew I'd findyou," she triumphed. "I've been driving up and down in thisbroiling sun for hours, shopping and watching for you at thesame time."He stared at her blankly, too bewildered even to wonder how sheknew he was in Genoa; and she continued, with the kind of shyimperiousness that always made him feel, in her presence, like amember of an orchestra under a masterful baton; "Now please getright into this carriage, and don't keep me roasting hereanother minute." To the cabdriver she called out: Al porto."Nick Lansing sank down beside her. As he did so he noticed aheap of bundles at her feet, and felt that he had simply addedone more to the number. He supposed that she was taking herspoils to the Ibis, and that he would be carried up to the deck-house to be displayed with the others. Well, it would all helpto pass the day--and by night he would have reached some kind ofa decision about his future.
　　On the third day after Nick's departure the post brought to thePalazzo Vanderlyn three letters for Mrs. Lansing.
　　The first to arrive was a word from Strefford, scribbled in thetrain and posted at Turin. In it he briefly said that he hadbeen called home by the dreadful accident of which Susy hadprobably read in the daily papers. He added that he would writeagain from England, and then--in a blotted postscript--: "Iwanted uncommonly badly to see you for good-bye, but the hourwas impossible. Regards to Nick. Do write me just a word toAltringham."The other two letters, which came together in the afternoon,were both from Genoa. Susy scanned the addresses and fell uponthe one in her husband's writing. Her hand trembled so muchthat for a moment she could not open the envelope. When she haddone so, she devoured the letter in a flash, and then sat andbrooded over the outspread page as it lay on her knee. It mightmean so many things--she could read into it so many harrowingalternatives of indifference and despair, of irony andtenderness! Was he suffering tortures when he wrote it, orseeking only to inflict them upon her? Or did the wordsrepresent his actual feelings, no more and no less, and did hereally intend her to understand that he considered it his dutyto abide by the letter of their preposterous compact? He hadleft her in wrath and indignation, yet, as a closer scrutinyrevealed, there was not a word of reproach in his brief lines.
　　Perhaps that was why, in the last issue, they seemed so cold toher .... She shivered and turned to the other envelope.
　　The large stilted characters, though half-familiar, called up nodefinite image. She opened the envelope and discovered a post-card of the Ibis, canvas spread, bounding over a rippled sea.
　　On the back was written:
　　"So awfully dear of you to lend us Mr. Lansing for a littlecruise. You may count on our taking the best of care of him.
　　CORAL"
Chapter 13
    WHEN Violet Melrose had said to Susy Branch, the winter beforein New York: "But why on earth don't you and Nick go to mylittle place at Versailles for the honeymoon? I'm off to China,and you could have it to yourselves all summer," the offer hadbeen tempting enough to make the lovers waver.
　　It was such an artless ingenuous little house, so full of thedemoralizing simplicity of great wealth, that it seemed to Susyjust the kind of place in which to take the first steps inrenunciation. But Nick had objected that Paris, at that time ofyear, would be swarming with acquaintances who would hunt themdown at all hours; and Susy's own experience had led her toremark that there was nothing the very rich enjoyed more thantaking pot-luck with the very poor. They therefore gaveStrefford's villa the preference, with an inward proviso (onSusy's part) that Violet's house might very conveniently servetheir purpose at another season.
　　These thoughts were in her mind as she drove up to Mrs.
　　Melrose's door on a rainy afternoon late in August, her boxespiled high on the roof of the cab she had taken at the station.
　　She had travelled straight through from Venice, stopping inMilan just long enough to pick up a reply to the telegram shehad despatched to the perfect housekeeper whose permanentpresence enabled Mrs. Melrose to say: "Oh, when I'm sick ofeverything I just rush off without warning to my little shantyat Versailles, and live there all alone on scrambled eggs."The perfect house-keeper had replied to Susy's enquiry: "Amsure Mrs. Melrose most happy"; and Susy, without furtherthought, had jumped into a Versailles train, and now stood inthe thin rain before the sphinx-guarded threshold of thepavilion.
　　The revolving year had brought around the season at which Mrs.
　　Melrose's house might be convenient: no visitors were to befeared at Versailles at the end of August, and though Susy'sreasons for seeking solitude were so remote from those she hadonce prefigured, they were none the less cogent. To be alone--alone! After those first exposed days when, in the persistentpresence of Fred Gillow and his satellites, and in the mockingradiance of late summer on the lagoons, she had fumed and turnedabout in her agony like a trapped animal in a cramping cage, tobe alone had seemed the only respite, the one craving: to bealone somewhere in a setting as unlike as possible to thesensual splendours of Venice, under skies as unlike its azureroof. If she could have chosen she would have crawled away intoa dingy inn in a rainy northern town, where she had never beenand no one knew her. Failing that unobtainable luxury, here shewas on the threshold of an empty house, in a deserted place,under lowering skies. She had shaken off Fred Gillow, sulkilydeparting for his moor (where she had half-promised to join himin September); the Prince, young Breckenridge, and the fewremaining survivors of the Venetian group, had dispersed in thedirection of the Engadine or Biarritz; and now she could atleast collect her wits, take stock of herself, and prepare thecountenance with which she was to face the next stage in hercareer. Thank God it was raining at Versailles!
　　The door opened, she heard voices in the drawing-room, and aslender languishing figure appeared on the threshold.
　　"Darling!" Violet Melrose cried in an embrace, drawing her intothe dusky perfumed room.
　　"But I thought you were in China!" Susy stammered.
　　"In China ... in China," Mrs. Melrose stared with dreamy eyes,and Susy remembered her drifting disorganised life, a life moreplanless, more inexplicable than that of any of the otherephemeral beings blown about upon the same winds of pleasure.
　　"Well, Madam, I thought so myself till I got a wire from Mrs.
　　Melrose last evening," remarked the perfect house-keeper,following with Susy's handbag.
　　Mrs. Melrose clutched her cavernous temples in her attenuatedhands. "Of course, of course! I had meant to go to China--no,India .... But I've discovered a genius ... and Genius, youknow ...." Unable to complete her thought, she sank down upon apillowy divan, stretched out an arm, cried: "Fulmer! Fulmer!"and, while Susy Lansing stood in the middle of the room withwidening eyes, a man emerged from the more deeply cushioned andscented twilight of some inner apartment, and she saw withsurprise Nat Fulmer, the good Nat Fulmer of the New Hampshirebungalow and the ubiquitous progeny, standing before her inlordly ease, his hands in his pockets, a cigarette between hislips, his feet solidly planted in the insidious depths of one ofViolet Melrose's white leopard skins.
　　"Susy!" he shouted with open arms; and Mrs. Melrose murmured:
　　"You didn't know, then? You hadn't heard of his masterpieces?"In spite of herself, Susy burst into a laugh. "Is Nat yourgenius?"Mrs. Melrose looked at her reproachfully.
　　Fulmer laughed. "No; I'm Grace's. But Mrs. Melrose has beenour Providence, and ....""Providence?" his hostess interrupted. "Don't talk as if youwere at a prayer-meeting! He had an exhibition in New York ...
　　it was the most fabulous success. He's come abroad to makestudies for the decoration of my music-room in New York. UrsulaGillow has given him her garden-house at Roslyn to do. And Mrs.
　　Bockheimer's ball-room--oh, Fulmer, where are the cartoons?"She sprang up, tossed about some fashion-papers heaped on alacquer table, and sank back exhausted by the effort. "I'd gotas far as Brindisi. I've travelled day and night to be here tomeet him," she declared. "But, you darling," and she held out acaressing hand to Susy, "I'm forgetting to ask if you've hadtea?"An hour later, over the tea-table, Susy already felt herselfmysteriously reabsorbed into what had so long been her nativeelement. Ellie Vanderlyn had brought a breath of it to Venice;but Susy was then nourished on another air, the air of Nick'spresence and personality; now that she was abandoned, left againto her own devices, she felt herself suddenly at the mercy ofthe influences from which she thought she had escaped.
　　In the queer social whirligig from which she had so lately fled,it seemed natural enough that a shake of the box should havetossed Nat Fulmer into celebrity, and sent Violet Melrosechasing back from the ends of the earth to bask in his success.
　　Susy knew that Mrs. Melrose belonged to the class of moralparasites; for in that strange world the parts were sometimesreversed, and the wealthy preyed upon the pauper. Whereverthere was a reputation to batten on, there poor Violet appeared,a harmless vampire in pearls who sought only to feed on thenotoriety which all her millions could not create for her. Anyone less versed than Susy in the shallow mysteries of her littleworld would have seen in Violet Melrose a baleful enchantress,in Nat Fulmer her helpless victim. Susy knew better. Violet,poor Violet, was not even that. The insignificant EllieVanderlyn, with her brief trivial passions, her artless mixtureof amorous and social interests, was a woman with a purpose, acreature who fulfilled herself; but Violet was only a driftinginterrogation.
　　And what of Fulmer? Mustering with new eyes his short sturdily-built figure, his nondescript bearded face, and the eyes thatdreamed and wandered, and then suddenly sank into you likeclaws, Susy seemed to have found the key to all his years ofdogged toil, his indifference to neglect, indifference topoverty, indifference to the needs of his growing family ....
　　Yes: for the first time she saw that he looked commonplaceenough to be a genius--was a genius, perhaps, even though it wasViolet Melrose who affirmed it! Susy looked steadily at Fulmer,their eyes met, and he smiled at her faintly through his beard.
　　"Yes, I did discover him--I did," Mrs. Melrose was insisting,from the depths of the black velvet divan in which she lay sunklike a wan Nereid in a midnight sea. "You mustn't believe aword that Ursula Gillow tells you about having pounced on his'Spring Snow Storm' in a dark corner of the American Artists'
　　exhibition--skied, if you please! They skied him less than ayear ago! And naturally Ursula never in her life looked higherthan the first line at a picture-show. And now she actuallypretends ... oh, for pity's sake don't say it doesn't matter,Fulmer! Your saying that just encourages her, and makes peoplethink she did. When, in reality, any one who saw me at theexhibition on varnishing-day .... Who? Well, EddyBreckenridge, for instance. He was in Egypt, you say? Perhapshe was! As if one could remember the people about one, whensuddenly one comes upon a great work of art, as St. Paul did--didn't he?--and the scales fell from his eyes. Well ... that'sexactly what happened to me that day ... and Ursula, everybodyknows, was down at Roslyn at the time, and didn't come up forthe opening of the exhibition at all. And Fulmer sits there andlaughs, and says it doesn't matter, and that he'll paint anotherpicture any day for me to discover!"Susy had rung the door-bell with a hand trembling witheagerness--eagerness to be alone, to be quiet, to stare hersituation in the face, and collect herself before she came outagain among her kind. She had stood on the door-step, coweringamong her bags, counting the instants till a step sounded andthe door-knob turned, letting her in from the searching glare ofthe outer world .... And now she had sat for an hour inViolet's drawing-room, in the very house where her honey-moonmight have been spent; and no one had asked her where she hadcome from, or why she was alone, or what was the key to thetragedy written on her shrinking face ....
　　That was the way of the world they lived in. Nobody questioned,nobody wondered any more-because nobody had time to remember.
　　The old risk of prying curiosity, of malicious gossip, wasvirtually over: one was left with one's drama, one's disaster,on one's hands, because there was nobody to stop and notice thelittle shrouded object one was carrying. As Susy watched thetwo people before her, each so frankly unaffected by herpresence, Violet Melrose so engrossed in her feverish pursuit ofnotoriety, Fulmer so plunged in the golden sea of his success,she felt like a ghost making inaudible and imperceptible appealsto the grosser senses of the living.
　　"If I wanted to be alone," she thought, "I'm alone enough, inall conscience." There was a deathly chill in such security.
　　She turned to Fulmer.
　　"And Grace?"He beamed back without sign of embarrassment. "Oh, she's here,naturally--we're in Paris, kids and all. In a pension, where wecan polish up the lingo. But I hardly ever lay eyes on her,because she's as deep in music as I am in paint; it was as big achance for her as for me, you see, and she's making the most ofit, fiddling and listening to the fiddlers. Well, it's aconsiderable change from New Hampshire." He looked at herdreamily, as if making an intense effort to detach himself fromhis dream, and situate her in the fading past. "Remember thebungalow? And Nick--ah, how's Nick?" he brought outtriumphantly.
　　"Oh, yes--darling Nick?" Mrs. Melrose chimed in; and Susy, herhead erect, her cheeks aflame, declared with resonance: "Mostawfully well--splendidly!""He's not here, though?" from Fulmer.
　　"No. He's off travelling--cruising."Mrs. Melrose's attention was faintly roused. "With anybodyinteresting?""No; you wouldn't know them. People we met ...." She did nothave to continue, for her hostess's gaze had again strayed.
　　"And you've come for your clothes, I suppose, darling? Don'tlisten to people who say that skirts are to be wider. I'vediscovered a new woman--a Genius--and she absolutely swathesyou.... Her name's my secret; but we'll go to her together."Susy rose from her engulphing armchair. "Do you mind if I go upto my room? I'm rather tired--coming straight through.""Of course, dear. I think there are some people coming todinner ... Mrs. Match will tell you. She has such a memory ....
　　Fulmer, where on earth are those cartoons of the music-room?"Their voices pursued Susy upstairs, as, in Mrs. Match'sperpendicular wake, she mounted to the white-panelled room withits gay linen hangings and the low bed heaped with morecushions.
　　"If we'd come here," she thought, "everything might have beendifferent." And she shuddered at the sumptuous memories of thePalazzo Vanderlyn, and the great painted bedroom where she hadmet her doom.
　　Mrs. Match, hoping she would find everything, and mentioningthat dinner was not till nine, shut her softly in among herterrors.
　　"Find everything?" Susy echoed the phrase. Oh, yes, she wouldalways find everything: every time the door shut on her now,and the sound of voices ceased, her memories would be therewaiting for her, every one of them, waiting quietly, patiently,obstinately, like poor people in a doctor's office, the peoplewho are always last to be attended to, but whom nothing willdiscourage or drive away, people to whom time is nothing,fatigue nothing, hunger nothing, other engagements nothing: whojust wait .... Thank heaven, after all, that she had not foundthe house empty, if, whenever she returned to her room, she wasto meet her memories there!
　　It was just a week since Nick had left her. During that week,crammed with people, questions, packing, explaining, evading,she had believed that in solitude lay her salvation. Now sheunderstood that there was nothing she was so unprepared for, sounfitted for. When, in all her life, had she ever been alone?
　　And how was she to bear it now, with all these ravening memoriesbesetting her!
　　Dinner not till nine? What on earth was she to do till nineo'clock? She knelt before her boxes, and feverishly began tounpack.
　　Gradually, imperceptibly, the subtle influences of her old lifewere stealing into her. As she pulled out her tossed andcrumpled dresses she remembered Violet's emphatic warning:
　　"Don't believe the people who tell you that skirts are going tobe wider." Were hers, perhaps, too wide as it was? She lookedat her limp raiment, piling itself up on bed and sofa, andunderstood that, according to Violet's standards, and that ofall her set, those dresses, which Nick had thought so originaland exquisite, were already commonplace and dowdy, fit only tobe passed on to poor relations or given to one's maid. And Susywould have to go on wearing them till they fell to bits-orelse .... Well, or else begin the old life again in some newform ....
　　She laughed aloud at the turn of her thoughts. Dresses? Howlittle they had mattered a few short weeks ago! And now,perhaps, they would again be one of the foremost considerationsin her life. How could it be otherwise, if she were to returnagain to her old dependence on Ellie Vanderlyn, Ursula Gillow,Violet Melrose? And beyond that, only the Bockheimers and theirkind awaited her ....
　　A knock on the door--what a relief! It was Mrs. Match again,with a telegram. To whom had Susy given her new address? Witha throbbing heart she tore open the envelope and read:
　　"Shall be in Paris Friday for twenty-four hours where can I seeyou write Nouveau Luxe."Ah, yes--she remembered now: she had written to Strefford! Andthis was his answer: he was coming. She dropped into a chair,and tried to think. What on earth had she said in her letter?
　　It had been mainly, of course, one of condolence; but now sheremembered having added, in a precipitate postscript: "I can'tgive your message to Nick, for he's gone off with the Hickses-Idon't know where, or for how long. It's all right, of course:
　　it was in our bargain."She had not meant to put in that last phrase; but as she sealedher letter to Strefford her eye had fallen on Nick's missive,which lay beside it. Nothing in her husband's brief lines hadembittered her as much as the allusion to Strefford. It seemedto imply that Nick's own plans were made, that his own futurewas secure, and that he could therefore freely and handsomelytake thought for hers, and give her a pointer in the rightdirection. Sudden rage had possessed her at the thought: whereshe had at first read jealousy she now saw only a coldprovidence, and in a blur of tears she had scrawled herpostscript to Strefford. She remembered that she had not evenasked him to keep her secret. Well--after all, what would itmatter if people should already know that Nick had left her?
　　Their parting could not long remain a mystery, and the fact thatit was known might help her to keep up a presence ofindifference.
　　"It was in the bargain--in the bargain," rang through her brainas she re-read Strefford's telegram. She understood that he hadsnatched the time for this hasty trip solely in the hope ofseeing her, and her eyes filled. The more bitterly she thoughtof Nick the more this proof of Strefford's friendship moved her.
　　The clock, to her relief, reminded her that it was time to dressfor dinner. She would go down presently, chat with Violet andFulmer, and with Violet's other guests, who would probably beodd and amusing, and too much out of her world to embarrass herby awkward questions. She would sit at a softly-lit table,breathe delicate scents, eat exquisite food (trust Mrs. Match!),and be gradually drawn again under the spell of her oldassociations. Anything, anything but to be alone ....
　　She dressed with even more than her habitual care, reddened herlips attentively, brushed the faintest bloom of pink over herdrawn cheeks, and went down--to meet Mrs. Match coming up with atray.
　　"Oh, Madam, I thought you were too tired .... I was bringing itup to you myself--just a little morsel of chicken."Susy, glancing past her, saw, through the open door, that thelamps were not lit in the drawing-room.
　　"Oh, no, I'm not tired, thank you. I thought Mrs. Melroseexpected friends at dinner!""Friends at dinner-to-night?" Mrs. Match heaved a despairingsigh. Sometimes, the sigh seemed to say, her mistress put toogreat a strain upon her. "Why, Mrs. Melrose and Mr. Fulmer wereengaged to dine in Paris. They left an hour ago. Mrs. Melrosetold me she'd told you," the house-keeper wailed.
　　Susy kept her little fixed smile. "I must have misunderstood.
　　In that case ... well, yes, if it's no trouble, I believe I willhave my tray upstairs. "Slowly she turned, and followed the housekeeper up into thedread solitude she had just left.
Chapter 14
    THE next day a lot of people turned up unannounced for luncheon.
　　They were not of the far-fetched and the exotic, in whom Mrs.
　　Melrose now specialized, but merely commonplace fashionablepeople belonging to Susy's own group, people familiar with theamusing romance of her penniless marriage, and to whom she hadto explain (though none of them really listened to theexplanation) that Nick was not with her just now but had goneoff cruising ... cruising in the AEgean with friends ... gettingup material for his book (this detail had occurred to her in thenight).
　　It was the kind of encounter she had most dreaded; but itproved, after all, easy enough to go through compared with thoseendless hours of turning to and fro, the night before, in thecage of her lonely room. Anything, anything, but to bealone ....
　　Gradually, from the force of habit, she found herself actuallyin tune with the talk of the luncheon table, interested in thereferences to absent friends, the light allusions to last year'sloves and quarrels, scandals and absurdities. The women, intheir pale summer dresses, were so graceful, indolent and sureof themselves, the men so easy and good-humoured! Perhaps,after all, Susy reflected, it was the world she was meant for,since the other, the brief Paradise of her dreams, had alreadyshut its golden doors upon her. And then, as they sat on theterrace after luncheon, looking across at the yellow tree-topsof the park, one of the women said something--made just anallusion--that Susy would have let pass unnoticed in the olddays, but that now filled her with a sudden deep disgust ....
　　She stood up and wandered away, away from them all through thefading garden.
　　Two days later Susy and Strefford sat on the terrace of theTuileries above the Seine. She had asked him to meet her there,with the desire to avoid the crowded halls and drawing-room ofthe Nouveau Luxe where, even at that supposedly "dead" season,people one knew were always drifting to and fro; and they sat ona bench in the pale sunlight, the discoloured leaves heaped attheir feet, and no one to share their solitude but a lameworking-man and a haggard woman who were lunching togethermournfully at the other end of the majestic vista.
　　Strefford, in his new mourning, looked unnaturally prosperousand well-valeted; but his ugly untidy features remained asundisciplined, his smile as whimsical, as of old. He had beenon cool though friendly terms with the pompous uncle and thepoor sickly cousin whose joint disappearance had so abruptlytransformed his future; and it was his way to understate hisfeelings rather than to pretend more than he felt.
　　Nevertheless, beneath his habitual bantering tone Susy discerneda change. The disaster had shocked him profoundly; already, inhis brief sojourn among his people and among the greatpossessions so tragically acquired, old instincts had awakened,forgotten associations had spoken in him. Susy listened to himwistfully, silenced by her imaginative perception of thedistance that these things had put between them.
　　"It was horrible ... seeing them both there together, laid outin that hideous Pugin chapel at Altringham ... the poor boyespecially. I suppose that's really what's cutting me up now,"he murmured, almost apologetically.
　　"Oh, it's more than that--more than you know," she insisted; buthe jerked back: "Now, my dear, don't be edifying, please," andfumbled for a cigarette in the pocket which was alreadybeginning to bulge with his miscellaneous properties.
　　"And now about you--for that's what I came for," he continued,turning to her with one of his sudden movements. "I couldn'tmake head or tail of your letter."She paused a moment to steady her voice. "Couldn't you? Isuppose you'd forgotten my bargain with Nick. He hadn't-andhe's asked me to fulfil it."Strefford stared. "What--that nonsense about your setting eachother free if either of you had the chance to make a goodmatch?"She signed "Yes.""And he's actually asked you--?""Well: practically. He's gone off with the Hickses. Beforegoing he wrote me that we'd better both consider ourselves free.
　　And Coral sent me a postcard to say that she would take the bestof care of him."Strefford mused, his eyes upon his cigarette. "But what thedeuce led up to all this? It can't have happened like that, outof a clear sky."Susy flushed, hesitated, looked away. She had meant to tellStrefford the whole story; it had been one of her chief reasonsfor wishing to see him again, and half-unconsciously, perhaps,she had hoped, in his laxer atmosphere, to recover something ofher shattered self-esteem. But now she suddenly felt theimpossibility of confessing to anyone the depths to which Nick'swife had stooped. She fancied that her companion guessed thenature of her hesitation.
　　"Don't tell me anything you don't want to, you know, my dear.""No; I do want to; only it's difficult. You see--we had so verylittle money ....""Yes?""And Nick--who was thinking of his book, and of all sorts of bigthings, fine things--didn't realise ... left it all to me ... tomanage ...."She stumbled over the word, remembering how Nick had alwayswinced at it. But Strefford did not seem to notice her, and shehurried on, unfolding in short awkward sentences the avowal oftheir pecuniary difficulties, and of Nick's inability tounderstand that, to keep on with the kind of life they wereleading, one had to put up with things ... accept favours ....
　　"Borrow money, you mean?""Well--yes; and all the rest." No--decidedly she could notreveal to Strefford the episode of Ellie's letters. "Nicksuddenly felt, I suppose, that he couldn't stand it," shecontinued; "and instead of asking me to try--to try to livedifferently, go off somewhere with him and live, like work-people, in two rooms, without a servant, as I was ready to do;well, instead he wrote me that it had all been a mistake fromthe beginning, that we couldn't keep it up, and had betterrecognize the fact; and he went off on the Hickses' yacht. Thelast evening that you were in Venice--the day he didn't comeback to dinner--he had gone off to Genoa to meet them. Isuppose he intends to marry Coral."Strefford received this in silence. "Well--it was your bargain,wasn't it?" he said at length.
　　"Yes; but--""Exactly: I always told you so. You weren't ready to have himgo yet--that's all."She flushed to the forehead. "Oh, Streff--is it really all?""A question of time? If you doubt it, I'd like to see you try,for a while, in those two rooms without a servant; and then letme hear from you. Why, my dear, it's only a question of time ina palace, with a steam yacht lying off the door-step, and aflock of motors in the garage; look around you and see. And didyou ever imagine that you and Nick, of all people, were going toescape the common doom, and survive like Mr. and Mrs. Tithonus,while all about you the eternal passions were crumbling topieces, and your native Divorce-states piling up theirrevenues?"She sat with bent head, the weight of the long years to comepressing like a leaden load on her shoulders.
　　"But I'm so young ... life's so long. What does last, then?""Ah, you're too young to believe me, if I were to tell you;though you're intelligent enough to understand.""What does, then?""Why, the hold of the things we all think we could do without.
　　Habits--they outstand the Pyramids. Comforts, luxuries, theatmosphere of ease ... above all, the power to get away fromdulness and monotony, from constraints and uglinesses. Youchose that power, instinctively, before you were even grown up;and so did Nick. And the only difference between you is thathe's had the sense to see sooner than you that those are thethings that last, the prime necessities.""I don't believe it!""Of course you don't: at your age one doesn't reason one'smaterialism. And besides you're mortally hurt that Nick hasfound out sooner than you, and hasn't disguised his discoveryunder any hypocritical phrases.""But surely there are people--""Yes--saints and geniuses and heroes: all the fanatics! Towhich of their categories do you suppose we soft people belong?
　　And the heroes and the geniuses--haven't they their enormousfrailties and their giant appetites? And how should we escapebeing the victims of our little ones?"She sat for a while without speaking. "But, Streff, how can yousay such things, when I know you care: care for me, forinstance!""Care?" He put his hand on hers. "But, my dear, it's just thefugitiveness of mortal caring that makes it so exquisite! It'sbecause we know we can't hold fast to it, or to each other, orto anything ....""Yes ... yes ... but hush, please! Oh, don't say it!" Shestood up, the tears in her throat, and he rose also.
　　"Come along, then; where do we lunch?" he said with a smile,slipping his hand through her arm.
　　"Oh, I don't know. Nowhere. I think I'm going back toVersailles.""Because I've disgusted you so deeply? Just my luck--when Icame over to ask you to marry me!"She laughed, but he had become suddenly grave. "Upon my soul, Idid.""Dear Streff! As if--now--""Oh, not now--I know. I'm aware that even with your accelerateddivorce methods--""It's not that. I told you it was no use, Streff--I told youlong ago, in Venice."He shrugged ironically. "It's not Streff who's asking you now.
　　Streff was not a marrying man: he was only trifling with you.
　　The present offer comes from an elderly peer of independentmeans. Think it over, my dear: as many days out as you like, andfive footmen kept. There's not the least hurry, of course; butI rather think Nick himself would advise it."She flushed to the temples, remembering that Nick had; and theremembrance made Strefford's sneering philosophy seem lessunbearable. Why should she not lunch with him, after all? Inthe first days of his mourning he had come to Paris expressly tosee her, and to offer her one of the oldest names and one of thegreatest fortunes in England. She thought of Ursula Gillow,Ellie Vanderlyn, Violet Melrose, of their condescendingkindnesses, their last year's dresses, their Christmas cheques,and all the careless bounties that were so easy to bestow and sohard to accept. "I should rather enjoy paying them back,"something in her maliciously murmured.
　　She did not mean to marry Strefford--she had not even got as faras contemplating the possibility of a divorce but it wasundeniable that this sudden prospect of wealth and freedom waslike fresh air in her lungs. She laughed again, but now withoutbitterness.
　　"Very good, then; we'll lunch together. But it's Streff I wantto lunch with to-day.""Ah, well," her companion agreed, "I rather think that for atete-a-tete he's better company."During their repast in a little restaurant over the Seine, whereshe insisted on the cheapest dishes because she was lunchingwith "Streff," he became again his old whimsical companionableself. Once or twice she tried to turn the talk to his alteredfuture, and the obligations and interests that lay before him;but he shrugged away from the subject, questioning her insteadabout the motley company at Violet Melrose's, and fitting adroll or malicious anecdote to each of the people she named.
　　It was not till they had finished their coffee, and she wasglancing at her watch with a vague notion of taking the nexttrain, that he asked abruptly: "But what are you going to do?
　　You can't stay forever at Violet's.""Oh, no!" she cried with a shiver.
　　"Well, then--you've got some plan, I suppose?""Have I?" she wondered, jerked back into grim reality from thesoothing interlude of their hour together.
　　"You can't drift indefinitely, can you? Unless you mean to goback to the old sort of life once for all."She reddened and her eyes filled. "I can't do that, Streff--Iknow I can't!""Then what--?"She hesitated, and brought out with lowered head: "Nick said hewould write again--in a few days. I must wait--""Oh, naturally. Don't do anything in a hurry." Strefford alsoglanced at his watch. "Garcon, l'addition! I'm taking thetrain back to-night, and I've a lot of things left to do. Butlook here, my dear--when you come to a decision one way or theother let me know, will you? Oh, I don't mean in the matterI've most at heart; we'll consider that closed for the present.
　　But at least I can be of use in other ways--hang it, you know, Ican even lend you money. There's a new sensation for our jadedpalates!""Oh, Streff ... Streff!" she could only falter; and he pressedon gaily: "Try it, now do try it--I assure you there'll be nointerest to pay, and no conditions attached. And promise to letme know when you've decided anything. "She looked into his humorously puckered eyes, answering. Theirfriendly smile with hers.
　　"I promise!" she said.
Chapter 15
    THAT hour with Strefford had altered her whole perspective.
　　Instead of possible dependence, an enforced return to the oldlife of connivances and concessions, she saw before her--whenever she chose to take them--freedom, power and dignity.
　　Dignity! It was odd what weight that word had come to have forher. She had dimly felt its significance, felt the need of itspresence in her inmost soul, even in the young thoughtless dayswhen she had seemed to sacrifice so little to the austeredivinities. And since she had been Nick Lansing's wife she hadconsciously acknowledged it, had suffered and agonized when shefell beneath its standard. Yes: to marry Strefford would giveher that sense of self-respect which, in such a world as theirs,only wealth and position could ensure. If she had not themental or moral training to attain independence in any otherway, was she to blame for seeking it on such terms?
　　Of course there was always the chance that Nick would come back,would find life without her as intolerable as she was finding itwithout him. If that happened--ah, if that happened! Then shewould cease to strain her eyes into the future, would seize uponthe present moment and plunge into it to the very bottom ofoblivion. Nothing on earth would matter then--money or freedomor pride, or her precious moral dignity, if only she were inNick's arms again!
　　But there was Nick's icy letter, there was Coral Hicks'sinsolent post-card, to show how little chance there was of sucha solution. Susy understood that, even before the discovery ofher transaction with Ellie Vanderlyn, Nick had secretly wearied,if not of his wife, at least of the life that their marriagecompelled him to lead. His passion was not strong enough-hadnever been strong enough--to outweigh his prejudices, scruples,principles, or whatever one chose to call them. Susy's dignitymight go up like tinder in the blaze of her love; but his wasmade of a less combustible substance. She had felt, in theirlast talk together, that she had forever destroyed the innerharmony between them.
　　Well--there it was, and the fault was doubtless neither hers norhis, but that of the world they had grown up in, of their ownmoral contempt for it and physical dependence on it, of hishalf-talents and her half-principles, of the something in themboth that was not stout enough to resist nor yet pliant enoughto yield. She stared at the fact on the journey back toVersailles, and all that sleepless night in her room; and thenext morning, when the housemaid came in with her breakfasttray, she felt the factitious energy that comes from havingdecided, however half-heartedly, on a definite course.
　　She had said to herself: "If there's no letter from Nick thistime next week I'll write to Streff--" and the week had passed,and there was no letter.
　　It was now three weeks since he had left her, and she had had noword but his note from Genoa. She had concluded that,foreseeing the probability of her leaving Venice, he would writeto her in care of their Paris bank. But though she hadimmediately notified the bank of her change of address nocommunication from Nick had reached her; and she smiled with atouch of bitterness at the difficulty he was doubtless findingin the composition of the promised letter. Her own scrap-basket, for the first days, had been heaped with the fragmentsof the letters she had begun; and she told herself that, sincethey both found it so hard to write, it was probably becausethey had nothing left to say to each other.
　　Meanwhile the days at Mrs. Melrose's drifted by as they had beenwont to drift when, under the roofs of the rich, Susy Branch hadmarked time between one episode and the next of her precariousexistence. Her experience of such sojourns was varied enough tomake her acutely conscious of their effect on her temporaryhosts; and in the present case she knew that Violet was hardlyaware of her presence. But if no more than tolerated she was atleast not felt to be an inconvenience; when your hostess forgotabout you it proved that at least you were not in her way.
　　Violet, as usual, was perpetually on the wing, for her profoundindolence expressed itself in a disordered activity. Nat Fulmerhad returned to Paris; but Susy guessed that his benefactresswas still constantly in his company, and that when Mrs. Melrosewas whirled away in her noiseless motor it was generally towardthe scene of some new encounter between Fulmer and the arts. Onthese occasions she sometimes offered to carry Susy to Paris,and they devoted several long and hectic mornings to the dress-makers, where Susy felt herself gradually succumbing to thefamiliar spell of heaped-up finery. It seemed impossible, asfurs and laces and brocades were tossed aside, brought back, andat last carelessly selected from, that anything but the whim ofthe moment need count in deciding whether one should take all ornone, or that any woman could be worth looking at who did notpossess the means to make her choice regardless of cost.
　　Once alone, and in the street again, the evil fumes wouldevaporate, and daylight re-enter Susy's soul; yet she felt thatthe old poison was slowly insinuating itself into her system.
　　To dispel it she decided one day to look up Grace Fulmer. Shewas curious to know how the happy-go-lucky companion of Fulmer'sevil days was bearing the weight of his prosperity, and shevaguely felt that it would be refreshing to see some one who hadnever been afraid of poverty.
　　The airless pension sitting-room, where she waited while areluctant maid-servant screamed about the house for Mrs. Fulmer,did not have the hoped-for effect. It was one thing for Graceto put up with such quarters when she shared them with Fulmer;but to live there while he basked in the lingering radiance ofVersailles, or rolled from chateau to picture gallery in Mrs.
　　Melrose's motor, showed a courage that Susy felt unable toemulate.
　　"My dear! I knew you'd look me up," Grace's joyous voice randown the stairway; and in another moment she was clasping Susyto her tumbled person.
　　"Nat couldn't remember if he'd given you our address, though hepromised me he would, the last time he was here." She held Susyat arms' length, beaming upon her with blinking short-sightedeyes: the same old dishevelled Grace, so careless of herneglected beauty and her squandered youth, so amused and absent-minded and improvident, that the boisterous air of the NewHampshire bungalow seemed to enter with her into the little air-tight salon.
　　While she poured out the tale of Nat's sudden celebrity, and itsunexpected consequences, Susy marvelled and dreamed. Was thesecret of his triumph perhaps due to those long hard unrewardedyears, the steadfast scorn of popularity, the indifference toevery kind of material ease in which his wife had so gailyabetted him? Had it been bought at the cost of her ownfreshness and her own talent, of the children's "advantages," ofeverything except the closeness of the tie between husband andwife? Well--it was worth the price, no doubt; but what if, nowthat honours and prosperity had come, the tie were snapped, andGrace were left alone among the ruins?
　　There was nothing in her tone or words to suggest such apossibility. Susy noticed that her ill-assorted raiment wascostlier in quality and more professional in cut than the home-made garments which had draped her growing bulk at the bungalow:
　　it was clear that she was trying to dress up to Nat's newsituation. But, above all, she was rejoicing in it, filling herhungry lungs with the strong air of his success. It hadevidently not occurred to her as yet that those who consent toshare the bread of adversity may want the whole cake ofprosperity for themselves.
　　"My dear, it's too wonderful! He's told me to take as manyconcert and opera tickets as I like; he lets me take all thechildren with me. The big concerts don't begin till later; butof course the Opera is always going. And there are littlethings--there's music in Paris at all seasons. And later it'sjust possible we may get to Munich for a week--oh, Susy!" Herhands clasped, her eyes brimming, she drank the new wine of lifealmost sacramentally.
　　"Do you remember, Susy, when you and Nick came to stay at thebungalow? Nat said you'd be horrified by our primitiveness-butI knew better! And I was right, wasn't I? Seeing us so happymade you and Nick decide to follow our example, didn't it?" Sheglowed with the remembrance. "And now, what are your plans? IsNick's book nearly done? I suppose you'll have to live veryeconomically till he finds a publisher. And the baby, darling-when is that to be? If you're coming home soon I could let youhave a lot of the children's little old things.""You're always so dear, Grace. But we haven't any special plansas yet--not even for a baby. And I wish you'd tell me all ofyours instead."Mrs. Fulmer asked nothing better: Susy perceived that, so far,the greater part of her European experience had consisted intalking about what it was to be. "Well, you see, Nat is sotaken up all day with sight-seeing and galleries and meetingimportant people that he hasn't had time to go about with us;and as so few theatres are open, and there's so little music,I've taken the opportunity to catch up with my mending. Juniehelps me with it now--she's our eldest, you remember? She'sgrown into a big girl since you saw her. And later, perhaps,we're to travel. And the most wonderful thing of all--next toNat's recognition, I mean--is not having to contrive and skimp,and give up something every single minute. Just think--Nat haseven made special arrangements here in the pension, so that thechildren all have second helpings to everything. And when I goup to bed I can think of my music, instead of lying awakecalculating and wondering how I can make things come out at theend of the month. Oh, Susy, that's simply heaven!"Susy's heart contracted. She had come to her friend to betaught again the lesson of indifference to material things, andinstead she was hearing from Grace Fulmer's lips the long-repressed avowal of their tyranny. After all, that battle withpoverty on the New Hampshire hillside had not been the easysmiling business that Grace and Nat had made it appear. And yet... and yet ....
　　Susy stood up abruptly, and straightened the expensive hat whichhung irresponsibly over Grace's left ear.
　　"What's wrong with it? Junie helped me choose it, and shegenerally knows," Mrs. Fulmer wailed with helpless hands.
　　"It's the way you wear it, dearest--and the bow is rather top-heavy. Let me have it a minute, please." Susy lifted the hatfrom her friend's head and began to manipulate its trimming.
　　"This is the way Maria Guy or Suzanne would do it .... And nowgo on about Nat ...."She listened musingly while Grace poured forth the tale of herhusband's triumph, of the notices in the papers, the demand forhis work, the fine ladies' battles over their priority indiscovering him, and the multiplied orders that had resultedfrom their rivalry.
　　"Of course they're simply furious with each other-Mrs. Melroseand Mrs. Gillow especially--because each one pretends to havebeen the first to notice his 'Spring Snow-Storm,' and in realityit wasn't either of them, but only poor Bill Haslett, an art-critic we've known for years, who chanced on the picture, andrushed off to tell a dealer who was looking for a new painter topush." Grace suddenly raised her soft myopic eyes to Susy'sface. "But, do you know, the funny thing is that I believe Natis beginning to forget this, and to believe that it was Mrs.
　　Melrose who stopped short in front of his picture on the openingday, and screamed out: 'This is genius!' It seems funny heshould care so much, when I've always known he had genius-andhe has known it too. But they're all so kind to him; and Mrs.
　　Melrose especially. And I suppose it makes a thing sound new tohear it said in a new voice."Susy looked at her meditatively. "And how should you feel ifNat liked too much to hear Mrs. Melrose say it? Too much, Imean, to care any longer what you felt or thought?"Her friend's worn face flushed quickly, and then paled: Susyalmost repented the question. But Mrs. Fulmer met it with atranquil dignity. "You haven't been married long enough, dear,to understand ... how people like Nat and me feel about suchthings ... or how trifling they seem, in the balance ... thebalance of one's memories."Susy stood up again, and flung her arms about her friend. "Oh,Grace," she laughed with wet eyes, "how can you be as wise asthat, and yet not have sense enough to buy a decent hat?" Shegave Mrs. Fulmer a quick embrace and hurried away. She hadlearned her lesson after all; but it was not exactly the one shehad come to seek.
　　The week she had allowed herself had passed, and still there wasno word from Nick. She allowed herself yet another day, andthat too went by without a letter. She then decided on a stepfrom which her pride had hitherto recoiled; she would call atthe bank and ask for Nick's address. She called, embarrassedand hesitating; and was told, after enquiries in the post-officedepartment, that Mr. Nicholas Lansing had given no address sincethat of the Palazzo Vanderlyn, three months previously. Shewent back to Versailles that afternoon with the definiteintention of writing to Strefford unless the next morning's postbrought a letter.
　　The next morning brought nothing from Nick, but a scribbledmessage from Mrs. Melrose: would Susy, as soon as possible,come into her room for a word, Susy jumped up, hurried throughher bath, and knocked at her hostess's door. In the immense lowbed that faced the rich umbrage of the park Mrs. Melrose laysmoking cigarettes and glancing over her letters. She looked upwith her vague smile, and said dreamily: "Susy darling, haveyou any particular plans--for the next few months, I mean?"Susy coloured: she knew the intonation of old, and fancied sheunderstood what it implied.
　　"Plans, dearest? Any number ... I'm tearing myself away the dayafter to-morrow ... to the Gillows' moor, very probably," shehastened to announce.
　　Instead of the relief she had expected to read on Mrs. Melrose'sdramatic countenance she discovered there the blankestdisappointment.
　　"Oh, really? That's too bad. Is it absolutely settled--?""As far as I'm concerned," said Susy crisply.
　　The other sighed. "I'm too sorry. You see, dear, I'd meant toask you to stay on here quietly and look after the Fulmerchildren. Fulmer and I are going to Spain next week--I want tobe with him when he makes his studies, receives his firstimpressions; such a marvellous experience, to be there when heand Velasquez meet!" She broke off, lost in prospectiveecstasy. "And, you see, as Grace Fulmer insists on coming withus--""Ah, I see.""Well, there are the five children--such a problem," sighed thebenefactress. "If you were at a loose end, you know, dear,while Nick's away with his friends, I could really make it worthyour while ....""So awfully good of you, Violet; only I'm not, as it happens."Oh the relief of being able to say that, gaily, firmly and eventruthfully! Take charge of the Fulmer children, indeed! Susyremembered how Nick and she had fled from them that autumnafternoon in New Hampshire. The offer gave her a salutaryglimpse of the way in which, as the years passed, and she losther freshness and novelty, she would more and more be used as aconvenience, a stop-gap, writer of notes, runner of errands,nursery governess or companion. She called to mind severalelderly women of her acquaintance, pensioners of her own group,who still wore its livery, struck its attitudes and chatteredits jargon, but had long since been ruthlessly relegated tothese slave-ant offices. Never in the world would she jointheir numbers.
　　Mrs. Melrose's face fell, and she looked at Susy with theplaintive bewilderment of the wielder of millions to whomeverything that cannot be bought is imperceptible.
　　"But I can't see why you can't change your plans," she murmuredwith a soft persistency.
　　"Ah, well, you know"--Susy paused on a slow inward smile--"they're not mine only, as it happens."Mrs. Melrose's brow clouded. The unforeseen complication ofMrs. Fulmer's presence on the journey had evidently tried hernerves, and this new obstacle to her arrangements shook herfaith in the divine order of things.
　　"Your plans are not yours only? But surely you won't let UrsulaGillow dictate to you? ... There's my jade pendant; the one yousaid you liked the other day .... The Fulmers won't go with me,you understand, unless they're satisfied about the children; thewhole plan will fall through. Susy darling, you were always toounselfish; I hate to see you sacrificed to Ursula."Susy's smile lingered. Time was when she might have been gladto add the jade pendant to the collection already enriched byEllie Vanderlyn's sapphires; more recently, she would haveresented the offer as an insult to her newly-found principles.
　　But already the mere fact that she might henceforth, if shechose, be utterly out of reach of such bribes, enabled her tolook down on them with tolerance. Oh, the blessed moral freedomthat wealth conferred! She recalled Mrs. Fulmer'suncontrollable cry: "The most wonderful thing of all is nothaving to contrive and skimp, and give up something every singleminute!" Yes; it was only on such terms that one could callone's soul one's own. The sense of it gave Susy the grace toanswer amicably: "If I could possibly help you out, Violet, Ishouldn't want a present to persuade me. And, as you say,there's no reason why I should sacrifice myself to Ursula--or toanybody else. Only, as it happens"--she paused and took theplunge--"I'm going to England because I've promised to see afriend." That night she wrote to Strefford.
Chapter 16
    STRETCHED out under an awning on the deck of the Ibis, NickLansing looked up for a moment at the vanishing cliffs of Maltaand then plunged again into his book.
　　He had had nearly three weeks of drug-taking on the Ibis. Thedrugs he had absorbed were of two kinds: visions of fleeinglandscapes, looming up from the blue sea to vanish into itagain, and visions of study absorbed from the volumes piled upday and night at his elbow. For the first time in months he wasin reach of a real library, just the kind of scholarly yetmiscellaneous library, that his restless and impatient spiritcraved. He was aware that the books he read, like the fugitivescenes on which he gazed, were merely a form of anesthetic: heswallowed them with the careless greed of the sufferer who seeksonly to still pain and deaden memory. But they were beginningto produce in him a moral languor that was not disagreeable,that, indeed, compared with the fierce pain of the first days,was almost pleasurable. It was exactly the kind of drug that heneeded.
　　There is probably no point on which the average man has moredefinite views than on the uselessness of writing a letter thatis hard to write. In the line he had sent to Susy from GenoaNick had told her that she would hear from him again in a fewdays; but when the few days had passed, and he began to considersetting himself to the task, he found fifty reasons forpostponing it.
　　Had there been any practical questions to write about it wouldhave been different; he could not have borne for twenty-fourhours the idea that she was in uncertainty as to money. Butthat had all been settled long ago. From the first she had hadthe administering of their modest fortune. On their marriageNick's own meagre income, paid in, none too regularly, by theagent who had managed for years the dwindling family properties,had been transferred to her: it was the only wedding present hecould make. And the wedding cheques had of course all beendeposited in her name. There were therefore no "business"reasons for communicating with her; and when it came to reasonsof another order the mere thought of them benumbed him.
　　For the first few days he reproached himself for his inertia;then he began to seek reasons for justifying it. After all, forboth their sakes a waiting policy might be the wisest he couldpursue. He had left Susy because he could not tolerate theconditions on which he had discovered their life together to bebased; and he had told her so. What more was there to say?
　　Nothing was changed in their respective situations; if they cametogether it could be only to resume the same life; and that, asthe days went by, seemed to him more and more impossible. Hehad not yet reached the point of facing a definite separation;but whenever his thoughts travelled back over their past life herecoiled from any attempt to return to it. As long as thisstate of mind continued there seemed nothing to add to theletter he had already written, except indeed the statement thathe was cruising with the Hickses. And he saw no pressing reasonfor communicating that.
　　To the Hickses he had given no hint of his situation. WhenCoral Hicks, a fortnight earlier, had picked him up in thebroiling streets of Genoa, and carried him off to the Ibis, hehad thought only of a cool dinner and perhaps a moonlight sail.
　　Then, in reply to their friendly urging, he had confessed thathe had not been well--had indeed gone off hurriedly for a fewdays' change of air--and that left him without defence againstthe immediate proposal that he should take his change of air onthe Ibis. They were just off to Corsica and Sardinia, and fromthere to Sicily: he could rejoin the railway at Naples, and beback at Venice in ten days.
　　Ten days of respite--the temptation was irresistible. And hereally liked the kind uncomplicated Hickses. A wholesomehonesty and simplicity breathed through all their opulence, asif the rich trappings of their present life still exhaled thefragrance of their native prairies. The mere fact of being withsuch people was like a purifying bath. When the yacht touchedat Naples he agreed since they were so awfully kind--to go on toSicily. And when the chief steward, going ashore at Naples forthe last time before they got up steam, said: "Any letters forthe post, sir?" he answered, as he had answered at each previoushalt: "No, thank you: none."Now they were heading for Rhodes and Crete--Crete, where he hadnever been, where he had so often longed to go. In spite of thelateness of the season the weather was still miraculously fine:
　　the short waves danced ahead under a sky without a cloud, andthe strong bows of the Ibis hardly swayed as she flew forwardover the flying crests.
　　Only his hosts and their daughter were on the yacht-of coursewith Eldorada Tooker and Mr. Beck in attendance. An eminentarchaeologist, who was to have joined them at Naples, hadtelegraphed an excuse at the last moment; and Nick noticed that,while Mrs. Hicks was perpetually apologizing for the great man'sabsence, Coral merely smiled and said nothing.
　　As a matter of fact, Mr. and Mrs. Hicks were never as pleasantas when one had them to one's self. In company, Mr. Hicks ranthe risk of appearing over-hospitable, and Mrs. Hicks confuseddates and names in the desire to embrace all culture in herconversation. But alone with Nick, their old travelling-companion, they shone out in their native simplicity, and Mr.
　　Hicks talked soundly of investments, and Mrs. Hicks recalled herearly married days in Apex City, when, on being brought home toher new house in Aeschylus Avenue, her first thought had been:
　　"How on earth shall I get all those windows washed?"The loss of Mr. Buttles had been as serious to them as Nick hadsupposed: Mr. Beck could never hope to replace him. Apart fromhis mysterious gift of languages, and his almost superhumanfaculty for knowing how to address letters to eminent people,and in what terms to conclude them, he had a smattering ofarchaeology and general culture on which Mrs. Hicks had learnedto depend--her own memory being, alas, so inadequate to therange of her interests.
　　Her daughter might perhaps have helped her; but it was not MissHicks's way to mother her parents. She was exceedingly kind tothem, but left them, as it were, to bring themselves up as bestthey could, while she pursued her own course of self-development. A sombre zeal for knowledge filled the mind ofthis strange girl: she appeared interested only in freshopportunities of adding to her store of facts. They wereilluminated by little imagination and less poetry; but,carefully catalogued and neatly sorted in her large cool brain,they were always as accessible as the volumes in an up-to-datepublic library.
　　To Nick there was something reposeful in this lucid intellectualcuriosity. He wanted above all things to get away fromsentiment, from seduction, from the moods and impulses andflashing contradictions that were Susy. Susy was not a greatreader: her store of facts was small, and she had grown upamong people who dreaded ideas as much as if they had been acontagious disease. But, in the early days especially, whenNick had put a book in her hand, or read a poem to her, herswift intelligence had instantly shed a new light on thesubject, and, penetrating to its depths, had extracted from themwhatever belonged to her. What a pity that this exquisiteinsight, this intuitive discrimination, should for the most parthave been spent upon reading the thoughts of vulgar people, andextracting a profit from them--should have been wasted, sinceher childhood, on all the hideous intricacies of "managing"!
　　And visible beauty--how she cared for that too! He had notguessed it, or rather he had not been sure of it, till the daywhen, on their way through Paris, he had taken her to theLouvre, and they had stood before the little Crucifixion ofMantegna. He had not been looking at the picture, or watchingto see what impression it produced on Susy. His own momentarymood was for Correggio and Fragonard, the laughter of the MusicLesson and the bold pagan joys of the Antiope; and then he hadmissed her from his side, and when he came to where she stood,forgetting him, forgetting everything, had seen the glare ofthat tragic sky in her face, her trembling lip, the tears on herlashes. That was Susy ....
　　Closing his book he stole a glance at Coral Hicks's profile,thrown back against the cushions of the deck-chair at his side.
　　There was something harsh and bracing in her blunt primitivebuild, in the projection of the black eyebrows that nearly metover her thick straight nose, and the faint barely visible blackdown on her upper lip. Some miracle of will-power, combinedwith all the artifices that wealth can buy, had turned the fatsallow girl he remembered into this commanding young woman,almost handsome at times indisputably handsome--in her bigauthoritative way. Watching the arrogant lines of her profileagainst the blue sea, he remembered, with a thrill that wassweet to his vanity, how twice--under the dome of the Scalzi andin the streets of Genoa--he had seen those same lines soften athis approach, turn womanly, pleading and almost humble. Thatwas Coral ....
　　Suddenly she said, without turning toward him: "You've had noletters since you've been on board."He looked at her, surprised. "No--thank the Lord!" he laughed.
　　"And you haven't written one either," she continued in her hardstatistical tone.
　　"No," he again agreed, with the same laugh.
　　"That means that you really are free--""Free?"He saw the cheek nearest him redden. "Really off on a holiday,I mean; not tied down." After a pause he rejoined: "No, I'mnot particularly tied down.""And your book?""Oh, my book--" He stopped and considered. He had thrust ThePageant of Alexander into his handbag on the night of his Bightfrom Venice; but since then he had never looked at it. Too manymemories and illusions were pressed between its pages; and heknew just at what page he had felt Ellie Vanderlyn bending overhim from behind, caught a whiff of her scent, and heard herbreathless "I had to thank you!""My book's hung up," he said impatiently, annoyed with MissHicks's lack of tact. There was a girl who never put outfeelers ....
　　"Yes; I thought it was," she went on quietly, and he gave her astartled glance. What the devil else did she think, hewondered? He had never supposed her capable of getting farenough out of her own thick carapace of self-sufficiency topenetrate into any one else's feelings.
　　"The truth is," he continued, embarrassed, "I suppose I dug awayat it rather too continuously; that's probably why I felt theneed of a change. You see I'm only a beginner."She still continued her relentless questioning. "But later--you'll go on with it, of course?""Oh, I don't know." He paused, glanced down the glitteringdeck, and then out across the glittering water. "I've beendreaming dreams, you see. I rather think I shall have to dropthe book altogether, and try to look out for a job that willpay. To indulge in my kind of literature one must first have anassured income."He was instantly annoyed with himself for having spoken.
　　Hitherto in his relations with the Hickses he had carefullyavoided the least allusion that might make him feel the heavyhand of their beneficence. But the idle procrastinating weekshad weakened him and he had yielded to the need of putting intowords his vague intentions. To do so would perhaps help to makethem more definite.
　　To his relief Miss Hicks made no immediate reply; and when shespoke it was in a softer voice and with an unwonted hesitation.
　　"It seems a shame that with gifts like yours you shouldn't findsome kind of employment that would leave you leisure enough todo your real work ...."He shrugged ironically. "Yes--there are a goodish number of ushunting for that particular kind of employment."Her tone became more business-like. "I know it's hard tofind--almost impossible. But would you take it, I wonder, if itwere offered to you--?"She turned her head slightly, and their eyes met. For aninstant blank terror loomed upon him; but before he had time toface it she continued, in the same untroubled voice: "Mr.
　　Buttles's place, I mean. My parents must absolutely have someone they can count on. You know what an easy place it is ....
　　I think you would find the salary satisfactory."Nick drew a deep breath of relief. For a moment her eyes hadlooked as they had in the Scalzi--and he liked the girl too muchnot to shrink from reawakening that look. But Mr. Buttles'splace: why not?
　　"Poor Buttles!" he murmured, to gain time.
　　"Oh," she said, "you won't find the same reasons as he did forthrowing up the job. He was the martyr of his artisticconvictions."He glanced at her sideways, wondering. After all she did notknow of his meeting with Mr. Buttles in Genoa, nor of thelatter's confidences; perhaps she did not even know of Mr.
　　Buttles's hopeless passion. At any rate her face remained calm.
　　"Why not consider it--at least just for a few months? Tillafter our expedition to Mesopotamia?" she pressed on, a littlebreathlessly.
　　"You're awfully kind: but I don't know--"She stood up with one of her abrupt movements. "You needn't,all at once. Take time think it over. Father wanted me to askyou," she appended.
　　He felt the inadequacy of his response. "It tempts me awfully,of course. But I must wait, at any rate--wait for letters. Thefact is I shall have to wire from Rhodes to have them sent. Ihad chucked everything, even letters, for a few weeks.""Ah, you are tired," she murmured, giving him a last downwardglance as she turned away.
　　>From Rhodes Nick Lansing telegraphed to his Paris bank to sendhis letters to Candia; but when the Ibis reached Candia, and themail was brought on board, the thick envelope handed to himcontained no letter from Susy.
　　Why should it, since he had not yet written to her?
　　He had not written, no: but in sending his address to the bankhe knew he had given her the opportunity of reaching him if shewished to. And she had made no sign.
　　Late that afternoon, when they returned to the yacht from theirfirst expedition, a packet of newspapers lay on the deck-housetable. Nick picked up one of the London journals, and his eyeran absently down the list of social events.
　　He read:
　　"Among the visitors expected next week at Ruan Castle (let forthe season to Mr. Frederick J. Gillow of New York) are PrinceAltineri of Rome, the Earl of Altringham and Mrs. NicholasLansing, who arrived in London last week from Paris. "Nick threwdown the paper. It was just a month since he had left thePalazzo Vanderlyn and flung himself into the night express forMilan. A whole month--and Susy had not written. Only a month--and Susy and Strefford were already together!
Chapter 17
    SUSY had decided to wait for Strefford in London.
　　The new Lord Altringham was with his family in the north, andthough she found a telegram on arriving, saying that he wouldjoin her in town the following week, she had still an intervalof several days to fill.
　　London was a desert; the rain fell without ceasing, and alone inthe shabby family hotel which, even out of season, was the bestshe could afford, she sat at last face to face with herself.
　　>From the moment when Violet Melrose had failed to carry out herplan for the Fulmer children her interest in Susy had visiblywaned. Often before, in the old days, Susy Branch had felt thesame abrupt change of temperature in the manner of the hostessof the moment; and often--how often--had yielded, and performedthe required service, rather than risk the consequences ofestrangement. To that, at least, thank heaven, she need neverstoop again.
　　But as she hurriedly packed her trunks at Versailles, scrapedtogether an adequate tip for Mrs. Match, and bade good-bye toViolet (grown suddenly fond and demonstrative as she saw hervisitor safely headed for the station)--as Susy went through theold familiar mummery of the enforced leave-taking, there rose inher so deep a disgust for the life of makeshifts andaccommodations, that if at that moment Nick had reappeared andheld out his arms to her, she was not sure she would have hadthe courage to return to them.
　　In her London solitude the thirst for independence grew fiercer.
　　Independence with ease, of course. Oh, her hateful useless loveof beauty ... the curse it had always been to her, the blessingit might have been if only she had had the material means togratify and to express it! And instead, it only gave her amorbid loathing of that hideous hotel bedroom drowned in yellowrain-light, of the smell of soot and cabbage through the window,the blistered wall-paper, the dusty wax bouquets under glassglobes, and the electric lighting so contrived that as youturned on the feeble globe hanging from the middle of theceiling the feebler one beside the bed went out!
　　What a sham world she and Nick had lived in during their fewmonths together! What right had either of them to thoseexquisite settings of the life of leisure: the long white househidden in camellias and cypresses above the lake, or the greatrooms on the Giudecca with the shimmer of the canal alwaysplaying over their frescoed ceilings! Yet she had come toimagine that these places really belonged to them, that theywould always go on living, fondly and irreproachably, in theframe of other people's wealth .... That, again, was the curseof her love of beauty, the way she always took to it as if itbelonged to her!
　　Well, the awakening was bound to come, and it was perhaps betterthat it should have come so soon. At any rate there was no usein letting her thoughts wander back to that shattered fool'sparadise of theirs. Only, as she sat there and reckoned up thedays till Strefford arrived, what else in the world was there tothink of?
　　Her future and his?
　　But she knew that future by heart already! She had not spenther life among the rich and fashionable without having learnedevery detail of the trappings of a rich and fashionablemarriage. She had calculated long ago just how many dinner-dresses, how many tea-gowns and how much lacy lingerie would goto make up the outfit of the future Countess of Altringham. Shehad even decided to which dressmaker she would go for herchinchilla cloak-for she meant to have one, and down to herfeet, and softer and more voluminous and more extravagantlysumptuous than Violet's or Ursula's ... not to speak of silverfoxes and sables ... nor yet of the Altringham jewels.
　　She knew all this by heart; had always known it. It allbelonged to the make-up of the life of elegance: there wasnothing new about it. What had been new to her was just thatshort interval with Nick--a life unreal indeed in its setting,but so real in its essentials: the one reality she had everknown. As she looked back on it she saw how much it had givenher besides the golden flush of her happiness, the suddenflowering of sensuous joy in heart and body. Yes--there hadbeen the flowering too, in pain like birth-pangs, of somethinggraver, stronger, fuller of future power, something she hadhardly heeded in her first light rapture, but that always cameback and possessed her stilled soul when the rapture sank: thedeep disquieting sense of something that Nick and love hadtaught her, but that reached out even beyond love and beyondNick.
　　Her nerves were racked by the ceaseless swish, swish of the rainon the dirty panes and the smell of cabbage and coal that camein under the door when she shut the window. This nauseatingforetaste of the luncheon she must presently go down to was morethan she could bear. It brought with it a vision of the dankcoffee-room below, the sooty Smyrna rug, the rain on the sky-light, the listless waitresses handing about food that tasted asif it had been rained on too. There was really no reason whyshe should let such material miseries add to her depression ....
　　She sprang up, put on her hat and jacket, and calling for a taxidrove to the London branch of the Nouveau Luxe hotel. It wasjust one o'clock and she was sure to pick up a luncheon, forthough London was empty that great establishment was not. Itnever was. Along those sultry velvet-carpeted halls, in thatgreat flowered and scented dining-room, there was always a come-and-go of rich aimless people, the busy people who, havingnothing to do, perpetually pursue their inexorable task from oneend of the earth to the other.
　　Oh, the monotony of those faces--the faces one always knew,whether one knew the people they belonged to or not! A freshdisgust seized her at the sight of them: she wavered, and thenturned and fled. But on the threshold a still more familiarfigure met her: that of a lady in exaggerated pearls andsables, descending from an exaggerated motor, like the motors inmagazine advertisements, the huge arks in which jewelledbeauties and slender youths pause to gaze at snowpeaks from anAlpine summit.
　　It was Ursula Gillow--dear old Ursula, on her way to Scotland--and she and Susy fell on each other's necks. It appeared thatUrsula, detained till the next evening by a dress-maker's delay,was also out of a job and killing time, and the two were soonsmiling at each other over the exquisite preliminaries of aluncheon which the head-waiter had authoritatively asked Mrs.
　　Gillow to "leave to him, as usual."Ursula was in a good humour. It did not often happen; but whenit did her benevolence knew no bounds.
　　Like Mrs. Melrose, like all her tribe in fact, she was too muchabsorbed in her own affairs to give more than a passing thoughtto any one else's; but she was delighted at the meeting withSusy, as her wandering kind always were when they ran acrossfellow-wanderers, unless the meeting happened to interfere withchoicer pleasures. Not to be alone was the urgent thing; andUrsula, who had been forty-eight hours alone in London, at onceexacted from her friend a promise that they should spend therest of the day together. But once the bargain struck her mindturned again to her own affairs, and she poured out herconfidences to Susy over a succession of dishes that manifestedthe head-waiter's understanding of the case.
　　Ursula's confidences were always the same, though they wereusually about a different person. She demolished and rebuilther sentimental life with the same frequency and impetuosity asthat with which she changed her dress-makers, did over herdrawing-rooms, ordered new motors, altered the mounting of herjewels, and generally renewed the setting of her life. Susyknew in advance what the tale would be; but to listen to it overperfect coffee, an amber-scented cigarette at her lips, waspleasanter than consuming cold mutton alone in a mouldy coffee-room. The contrast was so soothing that she even began to takea languid interest in her friend's narrative.
　　After luncheon they got into the motor together and began asystematic round of the West End shops: furriers, jewellers anddealers in old furniture. Nothing could be more unlike VioletMelrose's long hesitating sessions before the things she thoughtshe wanted till the moment came to decide. Ursula pounced onsilver foxes and old lacquer as promptly and decisively as onthe objects of her surplus sentimentality: she knew at oncewhat she wanted, and valued it more after it was hers.
　　"And now--I wonder if you couldn't help me choose a grandpiano?" she suggested, as the last antiquarian bowed them out.
　　"A piano?""Yes: for Ruan. I'm sending one down for Grace Fulmer. She'scoming to stay ... did I tell you? I want people to hear her.
　　I want her to get engagements in London. My dear, she's aGenius.""A Genius--Grace!" Susy gasped. "I thought it was Nat ....""Nat--Nat Fulmer? Ursula laughed derisively. "Ah, of course--you've been staying with that silly Violet! The poor thing isoff her head about Nat--it's really pitiful. Of course he hastalent: I saw that long before Violet had ever heard of him.
　　Why, on the opening day of the American Artists' exhibition,last winter, I stopped short before his 'Spring Snow-Storm'
　　(which nobody else had noticed till that moment), and said tothe Prince, who was with me: 'The man has talent.' Butgenius--why, it's his wife who has genius! Have you never heardGrace play the violin? Poor Violet, as usual, is off on thewrong tack. I've given Fulmer my garden-house to do--no doubtViolet told you--because I wanted to help him. But Grace is mydiscovery, and I'm determined to make her known, and to haveevery one understand that she is the genius of the two. I'vetold her she simply must come to Ruan, and bring the bestaccompanyist she can find. You know poor Nerone is dreadfullybored by sport, though of course he goes out with the guns. Andif one didn't have a little art in the evening .... Oh, Susy,do you mean to tell me you don't know how to choose a piano? Ithought you were so fond of music!""I am fond of it; but without knowing anything about it--in theway we're all of us fond of the worthwhile things in our stupidset," she added to herself--since it was obviously useless toimpart such reflections to Ursula.
　　"But are you sure Grace is coming?" she questioned aloud.
　　"Quite sure. Why shouldn't she? I wired to her yesterday. I'mgiving her a thousand dollars and all her expenses."It was not till they were having tea in a Piccadilly tea-roomthat Mrs. Gillow began to manifest some interest in hercompanion's plans. The thought of losing Susy became suddenlyintolerable to her. The Prince, who did not see why he shouldbe expected to linger in London out of season, was already atRuan, and Ursula could not face the evening and the whole of thenext day by herself.
　　"But what are you doing in town, darling, I don't remember ifI've asked you," she said, resting her firm elbows on the tea-table while she took a light from Susy's cigarette.
　　Susy hesitated. She had foreseen that the time must soon comewhen she should have to give some account of herself; and whyshould she not begin by telling Ursula?
　　But telling her what?
　　Her silence appeared to strike Mrs. Gillow as a reproach, andshe continued with compunction: "And Nick? Nick's with you?
　　How is he, I thought you and he still were in Venice with EllieVanderlyn.""We were, for a few weeks." She steadied her voice. "It wasdelightful. But now we're both on our own again--for a while."Mrs. Gillow scrutinized her more searchingly. "Oh, you're alonehere, then; quite alone?""Yes: Nick's cruising with some friends in the Mediterranean."Ursula's shallow gaze deepened singularly. "But, Susy darling,then if you're alone--and out of a job, just for the moment?"Susy smiled. "Well, I'm not sure.""Oh, but if you are, darling, and you would come to Ruan! Iknow Fred asked you didn't he? And he told me that both you andNick had refused. He was awfully huffed at your not coming; butI suppose that was because Nick had other plans. We couldn'thave him now, because there's no room for another gun; but sincehe's not here, and you're free, why you know, dearest, don'tyou, how we'd love to have you? Fred would be too glad--toooutrageously glad--but you don't much mind Fred's love-making,do you? And you'd be such a help to me--if that's any argument!
　　With that big house full of men, and people flocking over everynight to dine, and Fred caring only for sport, and Nerone simplyloathing it and ridiculing it, and not a minute to myself to tryto keep him in a good humour .... Oh, Susy darling, don't sayno, but let me telephone at once for a place in the train tomorrow night!"Susy leaned back, letting the ash lengthen on her cigarette.
　　How familiar, how hatefully familiar, was that old appeal!
　　Ursula felt the pressing need of someone to flirt with Fred fora few weeks ... and here was the very person she needed. Susyshivered at the thought. She had never really meant to go toRuan. She had simply used the moor as a pretext when VioletMelrose had gently put her out of doors. Rather than do whatUrsula asked she would borrow a few hundred pounds of Strefford,as he had suggested, and then look about for some temporaryoccupation until--Until she became Lady Altringham? Well, perhaps. At any rate,she was not going back to slave for Ursula.
　　She shook her head with a faint smile. "I'm so sorry, Ursula:
　　of course I want awfully to oblige you--"Mrs. Gillow's gaze grew reproachful. "I should have supposedyou would," she murmured. Susy, meeting her eyes, looked intothem down a long vista of favours bestowed, and perceived thatUrsula was not the woman to forget on which side the obligationlay between them.
　　Susy hesitated: she remembered the weeks of ecstasy she hadowed to the Gillows' wedding cheque, and it hurt her to appearungrateful.
　　"If I could, Ursula ... but really ... I'm not free at themoment." She paused, and then took an abrupt decision. "Thefact is, I'm waiting here to see Strefford.""Strefford' Lord Altringham?" Ursula stared. "Ah, yes-Iremember. You and he used to be great friends, didn't you?"Her roving attention deepened .... But if Susy were waiting tosee Lord Altringham--one of the richest men in England!
　　Suddenly Ursula opened her gold-meshed bag and snatched aminiature diary from it.
　　"But wait a moment--yes, it is next week! I knew it was nextweek he's coming to Ruan! But, you darling, that makeseverything all right. You'll send him a wire at once, and comewith me tomorrow, and meet him there instead of in this nastysloppy desert .... Oh, Susy, if you knew how hard life is forme in Scotland between the Prince and Fred you couldn't possiblysay no!"Susy still wavered; but, after all, if Strefford were reallybound for Ruan, why not see him there, agreeably and at leisure,instead of spending a dreary day with him in roaming the wetLondon streets, or screaming at him through the rattle of arestaurant orchestra? She knew he would not be likely topostpone his visit to Ruan in order to linger in London withher: such concessions had never been his way, and were lessthan ever likely to be, now that he could do so thoroughly andcompletely as he pleased.
　　For the first time she fully understood how different hisdestiny had become. Now of course all his days and hours weremapped out in advance: invitations assailed him, opportunitiespressed on him, he had only to choose .... And the women! Shehad never before thought of the women. All the girls in Englandwould be wanting to marry him, not to mention her ownenterprising compatriots. And there were the married women, whowere even more to be feared. Streff might, for the time, escapemarriage; though she could guess the power of persuasion, familypressure, all the converging traditional influences he had sooften ridiculed, yet, as she knew, had never completely thrownoff .... Yes, those quiet invisible women at Altringham-hisuncle's widow, his mother, the spinster sisters--it was notimpossible that, with tact and patience--and the stupidest womencould be tactful and patient on such occasions--they mighteventually persuade him that it was his duty, they might putjust the right young loveliness in his way .... But meanwhile,now, at once, there were the married women. Ah, they wouldn'twait, they were doubtless laying their traps already! Susyshivered at the thought. She knew too much about the way thetrick was done, had followed, too often, all the sinuosities ofsuch approaches. Not that they were very sinuous nowadays:
　　more often there was just a swoop and a pounce when the timecame; but she knew all the arts and the wiles that led up to it.
　　She knew them, oh, how she knew them--though with Streff, thankheaven, she had never been called upon to exercise them! Hislove was there for the asking: would she not be a fool torefuse it?
　　Perhaps; though on that point her mind still wavered. But atany rate she saw that, decidedly, it would be better to yield toUrsula's pressure; better to meet him at Ruan, in a congenialsetting, where she would have time to get her bearings, observewhat dangers threatened him, and make up her mind whether, afterall, it was to be her mission to save him from the other women.
　　"Well, if you like, then, Ursula ....""Oh, you angel, you! I'm so glad! We'll go to the nearest postoffice, and send off the wire ourselves."As they got into the motor Mrs. Gillow seized Susy's arm with apleading pressure. "And you will let Fred make love to you alittle, won't you, darling?"
Chapter 18
    "BUT I can't think," said Ellie Vanderlyn earnestly, "why youdon't announce your engagement before waiting for your divorce.
　　People are beginning to do it, I assure you--it's so muchsafer!"Mrs. Vanderlyn, on the way back from St. Moritz to England, hadpaused in Paris to renew the depleted wardrobe which, only twomonths earlier, had filled so many trunks to bursting. Otherladies, flocking there from all points of the globe for the samepurpose, disputed with her the Louis XVI suites of the NouveauLuxe, the pink-candled tables in the restaurant, the hours fortrying-on at the dressmakers'; and just because they were somany, and all feverishly fighting to get the same things at thesame time, they were all excited, happy and at ease. It was themost momentous period of the year: the height of the "dressmakers' season."Mrs. Vanderlyn had run across Susy Lansing at one of the Rue dela Paix openings, where rows of ladies wan with heat and emotionsat for hours in rapt attention while spectral apparitions inincredible raiment tottered endlessly past them on aching feet.
　　Distracted from the regal splendours of a chinchilla cloak bythe sense that another lady was also examining it, Mrs.
　　Vanderlyn turned in surprise at sight of Susy, whose head wascritically bent above the fur.
　　"Susy! I'd no idea you were here! I saw in the papers that youwere with the Gillows." The customary embraces followed; thenMrs. Vanderlyn, her eyes pursuing the matchless cloak as itdisappeared down a vista of receding mannequins, interrogatedsharply: "Are you shopping for Ursula? If you mean to orderthat cloak for her I'd rather know."Susy smiled, and paused a moment before answering. During thepause she took in all the exquisite details of Ellie Vanderlyn'sperpetually youthful person, from the plumed crown of her headto the perfect arch of her patent-leather shoes. At last shesaid quietly: "No--to-day I'm shopping for myself.""Yourself? Yourself?" Mrs. Vanderlyn echoed with a stare ofincredulity.
　　"Yes; just for a change," Susy serenely acknowledged.
　　"But the cloak--I meant the chinchilla cloak ... the one withthe ermine lining ....""Yes; it is awfully good, isn't it? But I mean to lookelsewhere before I decide."Ah, how often she had heard her friends use that phrase; and howamusing it was, now, to see Ellie's amazement as she heard ittossed off in her own tone of contemptuous satiety! Susy wasbecoming more and more dependent on such diversions; withoutthem her days, crowded as they were, would nevertheless havedragged by heavily. But it still amused her to go to the bigdressmakers', watch the mannequins sweep by, and be seen by herfriends superciliously examining all the most expensive dressesin the procession. She knew the rumour was abroad that she andNick were to be divorced, and that Lord Altringham was "devoted"to her. She neither confirmed nor denied the report: she justlet herself be luxuriously carried forward on its easy tide.
　　But although it was now three months since Nick had left thePalazzo Vanderlyn she had not yet written to him-nor he to her.
　　Meanwhile, in spite of all that she packed into them, the dayspassed more and more slowly, and the excitements she had countedon no longer excited her. Strefford was hers: she knew that hewould marry her as soon as she was free. They had been togetherat Ruan for ten days, and after that she had motored south withhim, stopping on the way to see Altringham, from which, at themoment, his mourning relatives were absent.
　　At Altringham they had parted; and after one or two more visitsin England she had come back to Paris, where he was now about tojoin her. After her few hours at Altringham she had understoodthat he would wait for her as long as was necessary: the fearof the "other women" had ceased to trouble her. But, perhapsfor that very reason, the future seemed less exciting than shehad expected. Sometimes she thought it was the sight of thatgreat house which had overwhelmed her: it was too vast, toovenerable, too like a huge monument built of ancient territorialtraditions and obligations. Perhaps it had been lived in fortoo long by too many serious-minded and conscientious women:
　　somehow she could not picture it invaded by bridge and debts andadultery. And yet that was what would have to be, of course ...
　　she could hardly picture either Strefford or herself continuingthere the life of heavy county responsibilities, dull parties,laborious duties, weekly church-going, and presiding over localcommittees .... What a pity they couldn't sell it and have alittle house on the Thames!
　　Nevertheless she was not sorry to let it be known thatAltringham was hers when she chose to take it. At times shewondered whether Nick knew ... whether rumours had reached him.
　　If they had, he had only his own letter to thank for it. He hadtold her what course to pursue; and she was pursuing it.
　　For a moment the meeting with Ellie Vanderlyn had been a shockto her; she had hoped never to see Ellie again. But now thatthey were actually face to face Susy perceived how dulled hersensibilities were. In a few moments she had grown used toEllie, as she was growing used to everybody and to everything inthe old life she had returned to. What was the use of makingsuch a fuss about things? She and Mrs. Vanderlyn left thedress-maker's together, and after an absorbing session at a newmilliner's were now taking tea in Ellie's drawing-room at theNouveau Luxe.
　　Ellie, with her spoiled child's persistency, had come back tothe question of the chinchilla cloak. It was the only one shehad seen that she fancied in the very least, and as she hadn't adecent fur garment left to her name she was naturally insomewhat of a hurry ... but, of course, if Susy had beenchoosing that model for a friend ....
　　Susy, leaning back against her cushions, examined through half-closed lids Mrs. Vanderlyn's small delicately-restoredcountenance, which wore the same expression of childisheagerness as when she discoursed of the young Davenant of themoment. Once again Susy remarked that, in Ellie's agitatedexistence, every interest appeared to be on exactly the sameplane.
　　"The poor shivering dear," she answered laughing, "of course itshall have its nice warm winter cloak, and I'll choose anotherone instead.""Oh, you darling, you! If you would! Of course, whoever youwere ordering it for need never know ....""Ah, you can't comfort yourself with that, I'm afraid. I'vealready told you that I was ordering it for myself." Susypaused to savour to the full Ellie's look of blank bewilderment;then her amusement was checked by an indefinable change in herfriend's expression.
　　"Oh, dearest--seriously? I didn't know there was someone ...."Susy flushed to the forehead. A horror of humiliationoverwhelmed her. That Ellie should dare to think that of her--that anyone should dare to!
　　"Someone buying chinchilla cloaks for me? Thanks!" she flaredout. "I suppose I ought to be glad that the idea didn'timmediately occur to you. At least there was a decent intervalof doubt ...." She stood up, laughing again, and began towander about the room. In the mirror above the mantel shecaught sight of her flushed angry face, and of Mrs. Vanderlyn'sdisconcerted stare. She turned toward her friend.
　　"I suppose everybody else will think it if you do; so perhapsI'd better explain." She paused, and drew a quick breath.
　　"Nick and I mean to part--have parted, in fact. He's decidedthat the whole thing was a mistake. He will probably; marryagain soon--and so shall I."She flung the avowal out breathlessly, in her nervous dread ofletting Ellie Vanderlyn think for an instant longer that anyother explanation was conceivable. She had not meant to be soexplicit; but once the words were spoken she was not altogethersorry. Of course people would soon begin to wonder why she wasagain straying about the world alone; and since it was by Nick'schoice, why should she not say so? Remembering the burninganguish of those last hours in Venice she asked herself whatpossible consideration she owed to the man who had so humbledher.
　　Ellie Vanderlyn glanced at her in astonishment. "You? You andNick--are going to part?" A light appeared to dawn on her.
　　"Ah--then that's why he sent me back my pin, I suppose?""Your pin?" Susy wondered, not at once remembering.
　　"The poor little scarf-pin I gave him before I left Venice. Hesent it back almost at once, with the oddest note--just: 'Ihaven't earned it, really.' I couldn't think why he didn't carefor the pin. But, now I suppose it was because you and he hadquarrelled; though really, even so, I can't see why he shouldbear me a grudge ...."Susy's quick blood surged up. Nick had sent back the pin-thefatal pin! And she, Susy, had kept the bracelet--locked it upout of sight, shrunk away from the little packet whenever herhand touched it in packing or unpacking--but never thought ofreturning it, no, not once! Which of the two, she wondered, hadbeen right? Was it not an indirect slight to her that Nickshould fling back the gift to poor uncomprehending Ellie? Orwas it not rather another proof of his finer moralsensitiveness! ... And how could one tell, in their bewilderingworld, "It was not because we've quarrelled; we haven'tquarrelled," she said slowly, moved by the sudden desire todefend her privacy and Nick's, to screen from every eye theirlast bitter hour together. "We've simply decided that ourexperiment was impossible-for two paupers.""Ah, well--of course we all felt that at the time. And nowsomebody else wants to marry you! And it's your trousseau youwere choosing that cloak for?" Ellie cried in incredulousrapture; then she flung her arms about Susy's shrinkingshoulders. "You lucky lucky girl! You clever clever darling!
　　But who on earth can he be?"And it was then that Susy, for the first time, had pronouncedthe name of Lord Altringham.
　　"Streff--Streff? Our dear old Streff, You mean to say he wantsto marry you?" As the news took possession of her mind Elliebecame dithyrambic. "But, my dearest, what a miracle of luck!
　　Of course I always knew he was awfully gone on you: FredDavenant used to say so, I remember ... and even Nelson, who'sso stupid about such things, noticed it in Venice .... But thenit was so different. No one could possibly have thought ofmarrying him then; whereas now of course every woman is tryingfor him. Oh, Susy, whatever you do, don't miss your chance!
　　You can't conceive of the wicked plotting and intriguing therewill be to get him--on all sides, and even where one leastsuspects it. You don't know what horrors women will do-andeven girls!" A shudder ran through her at the thought, and shecaught Susy's wrists in vehement fingers. "But I can't think,my dear, why you don't announce your engagement at once. Peopleare beginning to do it, I assure you--it's so much safer!"Susy looked at her, wondering. Not a word of sympathy for theruin of her brief bliss, not even a gleam of curiosity as to itscause! No doubt Ellie Vanderlyn, like all Susy's other friends,had long since "discounted" the brevity of her dream, andperhaps planned a sequel to it before she herself had seen theglory fading. She and Nick had spent the greater part of theirfew weeks together under Ellie Vanderlyn's roof; but to Ellie,obviously, the fact meant no more than her own escapade, at thesame moment, with young Davenant's supplanter--the "bounder"whom Strefford had never named. Her one thought for her friendwas that Susy should at last secure her prize--her incredibleprize. And therein at any rate Ellie showed the kind of colddisinterestedness that raised her above the smiling perfidy ofthe majority of her kind. At least her advice was sincere; andperhaps it was wise. Why should Susy not let every one knowthat she meant to marry Strefford as soon as the "formalities"were fulfilled?
　　She did not immediately answer Mrs. Vanderlyn's question; andthe latter, repeating it, added impatiently: "I don'tunderstand you; if Nick agrees-""Oh, he agrees," said Susy.
　　"Then what more do you want! Oh, Susy, if you'd only follow myexample!""Your example?" Susy paused, weighed the word, was struck bysomething embarrassed, arch yet half-apologetic in her friend'sexpression. "Your example?" she repeated. "Why, Ellie, what onearth do you mean? Not that you're going to part from poorNelson?"Mrs. Vanderlyn met her reproachful gaze with a crystallineglance. "I don't want to, heaven knows--poor dear Nelson! Iassure you I simply hate it. He's always such an angel toClarissa ... and then we're used to each other. But what in theworld am I to do? Algie's so rich, so appallingly rich, that Ihave to be perpetually on the watch to keep other women awayfrom him--and it's too exhausting ....""Algie?"Mrs. Vanderlyn's lovely eyebrows rose. "Algie: AlgieBockheimer. Didn't you know, I think he said you've dined withhis parents. Nobody else in the world is as rich as theBockheimers; and Algie's their only child. Yes, it was withhim ... with him I was so dreadfully happy last spring ... andnow I'm in mortal terror of losing him. And I do assure youthere's no other way of keeping them, when they're as hideouslyrich as that!"Susy rose to her feet. A little shudder ran over her. Sheremembered, now, having seen Algie Bockheimer at one of hisparents' first entertainments, in their newly-inaugurated marblehalls in Fifth Avenue. She recalled his too faultless clothesand his small glossy furtive countenance. She looked at EllieVanderlyn with sudden scorn.
　　"I think you're abominable," she exclaimed.
　　The other's perfect little face collapsed. "A-bo-minable?
　　A-bo-mi-nable? Susy!""Yes ... with Nelson ... and Clarissa ... and your pasttogether ... and all the money you can possibly want ... andthat man! Abominable."Ellie stood up trembling: she was not used to scenes, and theydisarranged her thoughts as much as her complexion.
　　"You're very cruel, Susy--so cruel and dreadful that I hardlyknow how to answer you," she stammered. "But you simply don'tknow what you're talking about. As if anybody ever had all themoney they wanted!" She wiped her dark-rimmed eyes with acautious handkerchief, glanced at herself in the mirror, andadded magnanimously: "But I shall try to forget what you'vesaid."
Chapter 19
    JUST such a revolt as she had felt as a girl, such a disgustedrecoil from the standards and ideals of everybody about her ashad flung her into her mad marriage with Nick, now flamed inSusy Lansing's bosom.
　　How could she ever go back into that world again? How echo itsappraisals of life and bow down to its judgments? Alas, it wasonly by marrying according to its standards that she couldescape such subjection. Perhaps the same thought had actuatedNick: perhaps he had understood sooner than she that to attainmoral freedom they must both be above material cares.
　　Perhaps ...
　　Her talk with Ellie Vanderlyn had left Susy so oppressed andhumiliated that she almost shrank from her meeting withAltringham the next day. She knew that he was coming to Parisfor his final answer; he would wait as long as was necessary ifonly she would consent to take immediate steps for a divorce.
　　She was staying at a modest hotel in the Faubourg St. Germain,and had once more refused his suggestion that they should lunchat the Nouveau Luxe, or at some fashionable restaurant of theBoulevards. As before, she insisted on going to an out-of-the-way place near the Luxembourg, where the prices were moderateenough for her own purse.
　　"I can't understand," Strefford objected, as they turned fromher hotel door toward this obscure retreat, "why you insist ongiving me bad food, and depriving me of the satisfaction ofbeing seen with you. Why must we be so dreadfully clandestine?
　　Don't people know by this time that we're to be married?"Susy winced a little: she wondered if the word would alwayssound so unnatural on his lips.
　　"No," she said, with a laugh, "they simply think, for thepresent, that you're giving me pearls and chinchilla cloaks."He wrinkled his brows good-humouredly. "Well, so I would, withjoy--at this particular minute. Don't you think perhaps you'dbetter take advantage of it? I don't wish to insist--but Iforesee that I'm much too rich not to become stingy."She gave a slight shrug. "At present there's nothing I loathemore than pearls and chinchilla, or anything else in the worldthat's expensive and enviable ...."Suddenly she broke off, colouring with the consciousness thatshe had said exactly the kind of thing that all the women whowere trying for him (except the very cleverest) would be sure tosay; and that he would certainly suspect her of attempting theconventional comedy of disinterestedness, than which nothing wasless likely to deceive or to flatter him.
　　His twinkling eyes played curiously over her face, and she wenton, meeting them with a smile: "But don't imagine, all thesame, that if I should ... decide ... it would be altogether foryour beaux yeux ...."He laughed, she thought, rather drily. "No," he said, "I don'tsuppose that's ever likely to happen to me again.""Oh, Streff--" she faltered with compunction. It was odd-onceupon a time she had known exactly what to say to the man of themoment, whoever he was, and whatever kind of talk he required;she had even, in the difficult days before her marriage, reeledoff glibly enough the sort of lime-light sentimentality thatplunged poor Fred Gillow into such speechless beatitude. Butsince then she had spoken the language of real love, looked withits eyes, embraced with its hands; and now the other trumperyart had failed her, and she was conscious of bungling andgroping like a beginner under Strefford's ironic scrutiny.
　　They had reached their obscure destination and he opened thedoor and glanced in.
　　"It's jammed--not a table. And stifling! Where shall we go?
　　Perhaps they could give us a room to ourselves--" he suggested.
　　She assented, and they were led up a cork-screw staircase to asquat-ceilinged closet lit by the arched top of a high window,the lower panes of which served for the floor below. Streffordopened the window, and Susy, throwing her cloak on the divan,leaned on the balcony while he ordered luncheon.
　　On the whole she was glad they were to be alone. Just becauseshe felt so sure of Strefford it seemed ungenerous to keep himlonger in suspense. The moment had come when they must have adecisive talk, and in the crowded rooms below it would have beenimpossible.
　　Strefford, when the waiter had brought the first course and leftthem to themselves, made no effort to revert to personalmatters. He turned instead to the topic always most congenialto him: the humours and ironies of the human comedy, aspresented by his own particular group. His malicious commentaryon life had always amused Susy because of the shrewd flashes ofphilosophy he shed on the social antics they had so oftenwatched together. He was in fact the one person she knew(excepting Nick) who was in the show and yet outside of it; andshe was surprised, as the talk proceeded, to find herself solittle interested in his scraps of gossip, and so little amusedby his comments on them.
　　With an inward shrug of discouragement she said to herself thatprobably nothing would ever really amuse her again; then, as shelistened, she began to understand that her disappointment arosefrom the fact that Strefford, in reality, could not live withoutthese people whom he saw through and satirized, and that therather commonplace scandals he narrated interested him as muchas his own racy considerations on them; and she was filled withterror at the thought that the inmost core of the richly-decorated life of the Countess of Altringham would be just aspoor and low-ceilinged a place as the little room in which heand she now sat, elbow to elbow yet so unapproachably apart.
　　If Strefford could not live without these people, neither couldshe and Nick; but for reasons how different! And if hisopportunities had been theirs, what a world they would havecreated for themselves! Such imaginings were vain, and sheshrank back from them into the present. After all, as LadyAltringham she would have the power to create that world whichshe and Nick had dreamed ... only she must create it alone.
　　Well, that was probably the law of things. All human happinesswas thus conditioned and circumscribed, and hers, no doubt, mustalways be of the lonely kind, since material things did notsuffice for it, even though it depended on them as GraceFulmer's, for instance, never had. Yet even Grace Fulmer hadsuccumbed to Ursula's offer, and had arrived at Ruan the daybefore Susy left, instead of going to Spain with her husband andViolet Melrose. But then Grace was making the sacrifice for herchildren, and somehow one had the feeling that in giving up herliberty she was not surrendering a tittle of herself. All thedifference was there ....
　　"How I do bore you!" Susy heard Strefford exclaim. She becameaware that she had not been listening: stray echoes of names ofplaces and people--Violet Melrose, Ursula, Prince Altineri,others of their group and persuasion--had vainly knocked at herbarricaded brain; what had he been telling her about them? Sheturned to him and their eyes met; his were full of a melancholyirony.
　　"Susy, old girl, what's wrong?"She pulled herself together. "I was thinking, Streff, justnow--when I said I hated the very sound of pearls andchinchilla--how impossible it was that you should believe me; infact, what a blunder I'd made in saying it."He smiled. "Because it was what so many other women might belikely to say so awfully unoriginal, in fact?"She laughed for sheer joy at his insight. "It's going to beeasier than I imagined," she thought. Aloud she rejoined: "Oh,Streff--how you're always going to find me out! Where on earthshall I ever hide from you?""Where?" He echoed her laugh, laying his hand lightly on hers.
　　"In my heart, I'm afraid."In spite of the laugh his accent shook her: something about ittook all the mockery from his retort, checked on her lips the:
　　"What? A valentine!" and made her suddenly feel that, if hewere afraid, so was she. Yet she was touched also, and wonderedhalf exultingly if any other woman had ever caught thatparticular deep inflexion of his shrill voice. She had neverliked him as much as at that moment; and she said to herself,with an odd sense of detachment, as if she had been ratherbreathlessly observing the vacillations of someone whom shelonged to persuade but dared not: "Now--NOW, if he speaks, Ishall say yes!"He did not speak; but abruptly, and as startlingly to her as ifshe had just dropped from a sphere whose inhabitants had othermethods of expressing their sympathy, he slipped his arm aroundher and bent his keen ugly melting face to hers ....
　　It was the lightest touch--in an instant she was free again.
　　But something within her gasped and resisted long after his armand his lips were gone, and he was proceeding, with a too-studied ease, to light a cigarette and sweeten his coffee.
　　He had kissed her .... Well, naturally: why not? It was notthe first time she had been kissed. It was true that one didn'thabitually associate Streff with such demonstrations; but shehad not that excuse for surprise, for even in Venice she hadbegun to notice that he looked at her differently, and avoidedher hand when he used to seek it.
　　No--she ought not to have been surprised; nor ought a kiss tohave been so disturbing. Such incidents had punctuated thecareer of Susy Branch: there had been, in particular, in far-off discarded times, Fred Gillow's large but artless embraces.
　　Well--nothing of that kind had seemed of any more account thanthe click of a leaf in a woodland walk. It had all been merelyepidermal, ephemeral, part of the trivial accepted "business" ofthe social comedy. But this kiss of Strefford's was what Nick'shad been, under the New Hampshire pines, on the day that haddecided their fate. It was a kiss with a future in it: like aring slipped upon her soul. And now, in the dreadful pause thatfollowed--while Strefford fidgeted with his cigarette-case andrattled the spoon in his cup, Susy remembered what she had seenthrough the circle of Nick's kiss: that blue illimitabledistance which was at once the landscape at their feet and thefuture in their souls ....
　　Perhaps that was what Strefford's sharply narrowed eyes wereseeing now, that same illimitable distance that she had lostforever--perhaps he was saying to himself, as she had said toherself when her lips left Nick's: "Each time we kiss we shallsee it all again ...." Whereas all she herself had felt was thegasping recoil from Strefford's touch, and an intenser vision ofthe sordid room in which he and she sat, and of their twoselves, more distant from each other than if their embrace hadbeen a sudden thrusting apart ....
　　The moment prolonged itself, and they sat numb. How long had itlasted? How long ago was it that she had thought: "It's goingto be easier than I imagined"? Suddenly she felt Strefford'squeer smile upon her, and saw in his eyes a look, not ofreproach or disappointment, but of deep and anxiouscomprehension. Instead of being angry or hurt, he had seen, hehad understood, he was sorry for her!
　　Impulsively she slipped her hand into his, and they sat silentfor another moment. Then he stood up and took her cloak fromthe divan. "Shall we go now! I've got cards for the privateview of the Reynolds exhibition at the Petit Palais. There aresome portraits from Altringham. It might amuse you."In the taxi she had time, through their light rattle of talk, toreadjust herself and drop back into her usual feeling offriendly ease with him. He had been extraordinarilyconsiderate, for anyone who always so undisguisedly sought hisown satisfaction above all things; and if his consideratenesswere just an indirect way of seeking that satisfaction now,well, that proved how much he cared for her, how necessary tohis happiness she had become. The sense of power was undeniablypleasant; pleasanter still was the feeling that someone reallyneeded her, that the happiness of the man at her side dependedon her yes or no. She abandoned herself to the feeling,forgetting the abysmal interval of his caress, or at leastsaying to herself that in time she would forget it, that reallythere was nothing to make a fuss about in being kissed by anyoneshe liked as much as Streff ....
　　She had guessed at once why he was taking her to see theReynoldses. Fashionable and artistic Paris had recentlydiscovered English eighteenth century art. The principalcollections of England had yielded up their best examples of thegreat portrait painter's work, and the private view at the PetitPalais was to be the social event of the afternoon. Everybody--Strefford's everybody and Susy's--was sure to be there; andthese, as she knew, were the occasions that revived Strefford'sintermittent interest in art. He really liked picture shows asmuch as the races, if one could be sure of seeing as many peoplethere. With Nick how different it would have been! Nick hatedopenings and varnishing days, and worldly aesthetics in general;he would have waited till the tide of fashion had ebbed, andslipped off with Susy to see the pictures some morning when theywere sure to have the place to themselves.
　　But Susy divined that there was another reason for Strefford'ssuggestion. She had never yet shown herself with him publicly,among their own group of people: now he had determined that sheshould do so, and she knew why. She had humbled his pride; hehad understood, and forgiven her. But she still continued totreat him as she had always treated the Strefford of old,Charlie Strefford, dear old negligible impecunious Streff; andhe wanted to show her, ever so casually and adroitly, that theman who had asked her to marry him was no longer Strefford, butLord Altringham.
　　At the very threshold, his Ambassador's greeting marked thedifference: it was followed, wherever they turned, byejaculations of welcome from the rulers of the world they movedin. Everybody rich enough or titled enough, or clever enough orstupid enough, to have forced a way into the social citadel, wasthere, waving and flag-flying from the battlements; and to allof them Lord Altringham had become a marked figure. Duringtheir slow progress through the dense mass of important peoplewho made the approach to the pictures so well worth fightingfor, he never left Susy's side, or failed to make her feelherself a part of his triumphal advance. She heard her namementioned: "Lansing--a Mrs. Lansing--an American ... SusyLansing? Yes, of course .... You remember her? At Newport, AtSt. Moritz? Exactly.... Divorced already? They say so ...
　　Susy darling! I'd no idea you were here ... and LordAltringham! You've forgotten me, I know, Lord Altringham ....
　　Yes, last year, in Cairo ... or at Newport ... or in Scotland... Susy, dearest, when will you bring Lord Altringham to dine?
　　Any night that you and he are free I'll arrange to be ....""You and he": they were "you and he" already!
　　"Ah, there's one of them--of my great-grandmothers," Streffordexplained, giving a last push that drew him and Susy to thefront rank, before a tall isolated portrait which, by sheermajesty of presentment, sat in its great carved golden frame ason a throne above the other pictures.
　　Susy read on the scroll beneath it: "The Hon'ble Diana Lefanu,fifteenth Countess of Altringham"--and heard Strefford say: "Doyou remember? It hangs where you noticed the empty space abovethe mantel-piece, in the Vandyke room. They say Reynoldsstipulated that it should be put with the Vandykes."She had never before heard him speak of his possessions, whetherancestral or merely material, in just that full and satisfiedtone of voice: the rich man's voice. She saw that he wasalready feeling the influence of his surroundings, that he wasglad the portrait of a Countess of Altringham should occupy thecentral place in the principal room of the exhibition, that thecrowd about it should be denser there than before any of theother pictures, and that he should be standing there with Susy,letting her feel, and letting all the people about them guess,that the day she chose she could wear the same name as hispictured ancestress.
　　On the way back to her hotel, Strefford made no farther allusionto their future; they chatted like old comrades in theirrespective corners of the taxi. But as the carriage stopped ather door he said: "I must go back to England the day after to-morrow, worse luck! Why not dine with me to-night at theNouveau Luxe? I've got to have the Ambassador and Lady Ascot,with their youngest girl and my old Dunes aunt, the DowagerDuchess, who's over here hiding from her creditors; but I'll tryto get two or three amusing men to leaven the lump. We might goon to a boite afterward, if you're bored. Unless the dancingamuses you more ...."She understood that he had decided to hasten his departurerather than linger on in uncertainty; she also remembered havingheard the Ascots' youngest daughter, Lady Joan Senechal, spokenof as one of the prettiest girls of the season; and she recalledthe almost exaggerated warmth of the Ambassador's greeting atthe private view.
　　"Of course I'll come, Streff dear!" she cried, with an effort atgaiety that sounded successful to her own strained ears, andreflected itself in the sudden lighting up of his face.
　　She waved a good-bye from the step, saying to herself, as shelooked after him: "He'll drive me home to-night, and I shallsay 'yes'; and then he'll kiss me again. But the next time itwon't be nearly as disagreeable."She turned into the hotel, glanced automatically at the emptypigeon-hole for letters under her key-hook, and mounted thestairs following the same train of images. "Yes, I shall say'yes' to-night," she repeated firmly, her hand on the door ofher room. "That is, unless, they've brought up a letter ...."She never re-entered the hotel without imagining that the lettershe had not found below had already been brought up.
　　Opening the door, she turned on the light and sprang to thetable on which her correspondence sometimes awaited her.
　　There was no letter; but the morning papers, still unread, layat hand, and glancing listlessly down the column whichchronicles the doings of society, she read:
　　"After an extended cruise in the AEgean and the Black Sea ontheir steam-yacht Ibis, Mr. and Mrs. Mortimer Hicks and theirdaughter are established at the Nouveau Luxe in Rome. They havelately had the honour of entertaining at dinner the ReigningPrince of Teutoburger-Waldhain and his mother the PrincessDowager, with their suite. Among those invited to meet theirSerene Highnesses were the French and Spanish Ambassadors, theDuchesse de Vichy, Prince and Princess Bagnidilucca, LadyPenelope Pantiles--" Susy's eye flew impatiently on over thelong list of titles--"and Mr. Nicholas Lansing of New York, whohas been cruising with Mr. and Mrs. Hicks on the Ibis for thelast few months."
Chapter 20
    THE Mortimer Hickses were in Rome; not, as they would in formertimes have been, in one of the antiquated hostelries of thePiazza di Spagna or the Porta del Popolo, where of old they hadso gaily defied fever and nourished themselves on local colour;but spread out, with all the ostentation of philistinemillionaires, under the piano nobile ceilings of one of thehigh-perched "Palaces," where, as Mrs. Hicks shamelesslydeclared, they could "rely on the plumbing," and "have theprivilege of over-looking the Queen Mother's Gardens."It was that speech, uttered with beaming aplomb at a dinner-table surrounded by the cosmopolitan nobility of the EternalCity, that had suddenly revealed to Lansing the profound changein the Hicks point of view.
　　As he looked back over the four months since he had sounexpectedly joined the Ibis at Genoa, he saw that the change,at first insidious and unperceived, dated from the ill-fated daywhen the Hickses had run across a Reigning Prince on histravels.
　　Hitherto they had been proof against such perils: both Mr. andMrs. Hicks had often declared that the aristocracy of theintellect was the only one which attracted them. But in thiscase the Prince possessed an intellect, in addition to his fewsquare miles of territory, and to one of the most beautifulField Marshal's uniforms that had ever encased a royal warrior.
　　The Prince was not a warrior, however; he was stooping, pacificand spectacled, and his possession of the uniform had beenrevealed to Mrs. Hicks only by the gift of a full-lengthphotograph in a Bond Street frame, with Anastasius writtenslantingly across its legs. The Prince--and herein lay theHickses' undoing--the Prince was an archaeologist: an earnestanxious enquiring and scrupulous archaeologist. Delicate health(so his suite hinted) banished him for a part of each year fromhis cold and foggy principality; and in the company of hismother, the active and enthusiastic Dowager Princess, hewandered from one Mediterranean shore to another, now assistingat the exhumation of Ptolemaic mummies, now at the excavation ofDelphic temples or of North African basilicas. The beginning ofwinter usually brought the Prince and his mother to Rome orNice, unless indeed they were summoned by family duties toBerlin, Vienna or Madrid; for an extended connection with theprincipal royal houses of Europe compelled them, as the PrincessMother said, to be always burying or marrying a cousin. Atother moments they were seldom seen in the glacial atmosphere ofcourts, preferring to royal palaces those of the other, and moremodern type, in one of which the Hickses were now lodged.
　　Yes: the Prince and his mother (they gaily avowed it) revelledin Palace Hotels; and, being unable to afford the luxury ofinhabiting them, they liked, as often as possible, to be invitedto dine there by their friends--"or even to tea, my dear," thePrincess laughingly avowed, "for I'm so awfully fond of butteredscones; and Anastasius gives me so little to eat in the desert."The encounter with these ambulant Highnesses had been fatal--Lansing now perceived it--to Mrs. Hicks's principles. She hadknown a great many archaeologists, but never one as agreeable asthe Prince, and above all never one who had left a throne tocamp in the desert and delve in Libyan tombs. And it seemed toher infinitely pathetic that these two gifted beings, whogrumbled when they had to go to "marry a cousin" at the Palaceof St. James or of Madrid, and hastened back breathlessly to thefar-off point where, metaphorically speaking, pick-axe and spadehad dropped from their royal hands--that these heirs of the agesshould be unable to offer themselves the comforts of up-to-datehotel life, and should enjoy themselves "like babies" when theywere invited to the other kind of "Palace," to feast on butteredscones and watch the tango.
　　She simply could not bear the thought of their privations; andneither, after a time, could Mr. Hicks, who found the Princemore democratic than anyone he had ever known at Apex City, andwas immensely interested by the fact that their spectacles camefrom the same optician.
　　But it was, above all, the artistic tendencies of the Prince andhis mother which had conquered the Hickses. There wasfascination in the thought that, among the rabble of vulgaruneducated royalties who overran Europe from Biarritz to theEngadine, gambling, tangoing, and sponging on no less vulgarplebeians, they, the unobtrusive and self-respecting Hickses,should have had the luck to meet this cultivated pair, whojoined them in gentle ridicule of their own frivolous kinsfolk,and whose tastes were exactly those of the eccentric, unreliableand sometimes money-borrowing persons who had hithertorepresented the higher life to the Hickses.
　　Now at last Mrs. Hicks saw the possibility of being at onceartistic and luxurious, of surrendering herself to the joys ofmodern plumbing and yet keeping the talk on the highest level.
　　"If the poor dear Princess wants to dine at the Nouveau Luxe whyshouldn't we give her that pleasure?" Mrs. Hicks smilinglyenquired; "and as for enjoying her buttered scones like a baby,as she says, I think it's the sweetest thing about her."Coral Hicks did not join in this chorus; but she accepted, withher curious air of impartiality, the change in her parents'
　　manner of life, and for the first time (as Nick observed)occupied herself with her mother's toilet, with the result thatMrs. Hicks's outline became firmer, her garments soberer in hueand finer in material; so that, should anyone chance to detectthe daughter's likeness to her mother, the result was lesslikely to be disturbing.
　　Such precautions were the more needful--Lansing could not butnote because of the different standards of the society in whichthe Hickses now moved. For it was a curious fact that admissionto the intimacy of the Prince and his mother-- who continuallydeclared themselves to be the pariahs, the outlaws, theBohemians among crowned heads nevertheless involved not onlyliving in Palace Hotels but mixing with those who frequentedthem. The Prince's aide-de-camp--an agreeable young man of easymanners--had smilingly hinted that their Serene Highnesses,though so thoroughly democratic and unceremonious, were yetaccustomed to inspecting in advance the names of the personswhom their hosts wished to invite with them; and Lansing noticedthat Mrs. Hicks's lists, having been "submitted," usually cameback lengthened by the addition of numerous wealthy and titledguests. Their Highnesses never struck out a name; they welcomedwith enthusiasm and curiosity the Hickses' oddest and mostinexplicable friends, at most putting off some of them to alater day on the plea that it would be "cosier" to meet them ona more private occasion; but they invariably added to the listany friends of their own, with the gracious hint that theywished these latter (though socially so well-provided for) tohave the "immense privilege" of knowing the Hickses. And thusit happened that when October gales necessitated laying up theIbis, the Hickses, finding again in Rome the august travellersfrom whom they had parted the previous month in Athens, alsofound their visiting-list enlarged by all that the capitalcontained of fashion.
　　It was true enough, as Lansing had not failed to note, that thePrincess Mother adored prehistoric art, and Russian music, andthe paintings of Gauguin and Matisse; but she also, and with abeaming unconsciousness of perspective, adored large pearls andpowerful motors, caravan tea and modern plumbing, perfumedcigarettes and society scandals; and her son, while apparentlyless sensible to these forms of luxury, adored his mother, andwas charmed to gratify her inclinations without cost tohimself--"Since poor Mamma," as he observed, "is so courageouswhen we are roughing it in the desert."The smiling aide-de-camp, who explained these things to Lansing,added with an intenser smile that the Prince and his mother wereunder obligations, either social or cousinly, to most of thetitled persons whom they begged Mrs. Hicks to invite; "and itseems to their Serene Highnesses," he added, "the mostflattering return they can make for the hospitality of theirfriends to give them such an intellectual opportunity."The dinner-table at which their Highnesses' friends were seatedon the evening in question represented, numerically, one of thegreatest intellectual opportunities yet afforded them. Thirtyguests were grouped about the flower-wreathed board, from whichEldorada and Mr. Beck had been excluded on the plea that thePrincess Mother liked cosy parties and begged her hosts thatthere should never be more than thirty at table. Such, atleast, was the reason given by Mrs. Hicks to her faithfulfollowers; but Lansing had observed that, of late, the sameskilled hand which had refashioned the Hickses' social circleusually managed to exclude from it the timid presences of thetwo secretaries. Their banishment was the more displeasing toLansing from the fact that, for the last three months, he hadfilled Mr. Buttles's place, and was himself their salariedcompanion. But since he had accepted the post, his obvious dutywas to fill it in accordance with his employers' requirements;and it was clear even to Eldorada and Mr. Beck that he had, asEldorada ungrudgingly said, "Something of Mr. Buttles'smarvellous social gifts. "During the cruise his task had not been distasteful to him. Hewas glad of any definite duties, however trivial, he felt moreindependent as the Hickses' secretary than as their pamperedguest, and the large cheque which Mr. Hicks handed over to himon the first of each month refreshed his languishing sense ofself-respect.
　　He considered himself absurdly over-paid, but that was theHickses' affair; and he saw nothing humiliating in being in theemploy of people he liked and respected. But from the moment ofthe ill-fated encounter with the wandering Princes, his positionhad changed as much as that of his employers. He was no longer,to Mr. and Mrs. Hicks, a useful and estimable assistant, on thesame level as Eldorada and Mr. Beck; he had become a socialasset of unsuspected value, equalling Mr. Buttles in hiscapacity for dealing with the mysteries of foreign etiquette,and surpassing him in the art of personal attraction. NickLansing, the Hickses found, already knew most of the PrincessMother's rich and aristocratic friends. Many of them hailed himwith enthusiastic "Old Nicks", and he was almost as familiar asHis Highness's own aide-de-camp with all those secretramifications of love and hate that made dinner-giving so muchmore of a science in Rome than at Apex City.
　　Mrs. Hicks, at first, had hopelessly lost her way in thislabyrinth of subterranean scandals, rivalries and jealousies;and finding Lansing's hand within reach she clung to it withpathetic tenacity. But if the young man's value had risen inthe eyes of his employers it had deteriorated in his own. Hewas condemned to play a part he had not bargained for, and itseemed to him more degrading when paid in bank-notes than if hisretribution had consisted merely in good dinners and luxuriouslodgings. The first time the smiling aide-de-camp had caughthis eye over a verbal slip of Mrs. Hicks's, Nick had flushed tothe forehead and gone to bed swearing that he would chuck hisjob the next day.
　　Two months had passed since then, and he was still the paidsecretary. He had contrived to let the aide-de-camp feel thathe was too deficient in humour to be worth exchanging glanceswith; but even this had not restored his self-respect, and onthe evening in question, as he looked about the long table, hesaid to himself for the hundredth time that he would give up hisposition on the morrow.
　　Only--what was the alternative? The alternative, apparently,was Coral Hicks. He glanced down the line of diners, beginningwith the tall lean countenance of the Princess Mother, with itssmall inquisitive eyes perched as high as attic windows under afrizzled thatch of hair and a pediment of uncleaned diamonds;passed on to the vacuous and overfed or fashionably haggardmasks of the ladies next in rank; and finally caught, betweenbranching orchids, a distant glimpse of Miss Hicks.
　　In contrast with the others, he thought, she looked surprisinglynoble. Her large grave features made her appear like an oldmonument in a street of Palace Hotels; and he marvelled at themysterious law which had brought this archaic face out of ApexCity, and given to the oldest society of Europe a look of suchmixed modernity.
　　Lansing perceived that the aide-de-camp, who was his neighbour,was also looking at Miss Hicks. His expression was serious, andeven thoughtful; but as his eyes met Lansing's he readjusted hisofficial smile.
　　"I was admiring our hostess's daughter. Her absence of jewelsis--er--an inspiration," he remarked in the confidential tonewhich Lansing had come to dread.
　　"Oh, Miss Hicks is full of inspirations," he returned curtly,and the aide-de-camp bowed with an admiring air, as ifinspirations were rarer than pearls, as in his milieu theyundoubtedly were. "She is the equal of any situation, I amsure," he replied; and then abandoned the subject with one ofhis automatic transitions.
　　After dinner, in the embrasure of a drawing-room window, hesurprised Nick by returning to the same topic, and this timewithout thinking it needful to readjust his smile. His faceremained serious, though his manner was studiously informal.
　　"I was admiring, at dinner, Miss Hicks's invariable sense ofappropriateness. It must permit her friends to foresee for heralmost any future, however exalted."Lansing hesitated, and controlled his annoyance. Decidedly hewanted to know what was in his companion's mind.
　　"What do you mean by exalted?" he asked, with a smile of faintamusement.
　　"Well--equal to her marvellous capacity for shining in thepublic eye."Lansing still smiled. "The question is, I suppose, whether herdesire to shine equals her capacity."The aide-de-camp stared. "You mean, she's not ambitious?""On the contrary; I believe her to be immeasurably ambitious.""Immeasurably?" The aide-de-camp seemed to try to measure it.
　　"But not, surely, beyond--" "beyond what we can offer," his eyescompleted the sentence; and it was Lansing's turn to stare. Theaide-de-camp faced the stare. "Yes," his eyes concluded in aflash, while his lips let fall: "The Princess Mother admiresher immensely." But at that moment a wave of Mrs. Hicks's fandrew them hurriedly from their embrasure.
　　"Professor Darchivio had promised to explain to us thedifference between the Sassanian and Byzantine motives inCarolingian art; but the Manager has sent up word that the twonew Creole dancers from Paris have arrived, and her SereneHighness wants to pop down to the ball-room and take a peep atthem .... She's sure the Professor will understand ....""And accompany us, of course," the Princess irresistibly added.
　　Lansing's brief colloquy in the Nouveau Luxe window had liftedthe scales from his eyes. Innumerable dim corners of memory hadbeen flooded with light by that one quick glance of the aide-de-camp's: things he had heard, hints he had let pass, smiles,insinuations, cordialities, rumours of the improbability of thePrince's founding a family, suggestions as to the urgent need ofreplenishing the Teutoburger treasury ....
　　Miss Hicks, perforce, had accompanied her parents and theirprincely guests to the ballroom; but as she did not dance, andtook little interest in the sight of others so engaged, sheremained aloof from the party, absorbed in an archaeologicaldiscussion with the baffled but smiling savant who was to haveenlightened the party on the difference between Sassanian andByzantine ornament.
　　Lansing, also aloof, had picked out a post from which he couldobserve the girl: she wore a new look to him since he had seenher as the centre of all these scattered threads of intrigue.
　　Yes; decidedly she was growing handsomer; or else she hadlearned how to set off her massive lines instead of trying todisguise them. As she held up her long eye-glass to glanceabsently at the dancers he was struck by the large beauty of herarm and the careless assurance of the gesture. There wasnothing nervous or fussy about Coral Hicks; and he was notsurprised that, plastically at least, the Princess Mother haddiscerned her possibilities.
　　Nick Lansing, all that night, sat up and stared at his future.
　　He knew enough of the society into which the Hickses had driftedto guess that, within a very short time, the hint of thePrince's aide-de-camp would reappear in the form of a directproposal. Lansing himself would probably--as the one person inthe Hicks entourage with whom one could intelligibly commune-beentrusted with the next step in the negotiations: he would beasked, as the aide-de-camp would have said, "to feel theground." It was clearly part of the state policy of Teutoburgto offer Miss Hicks, with the hand of its sovereign, anopportunity to replenish its treasury.
　　What would the girl do? Lansing could not guess; yet he dimlyfelt that her attitude would depend in a great degree upon hisown. And he knew no more what his own was going to be than onthe night, four months earlier, when he had flung out of hiswife's room in Venice to take the midnight express for Genoa.
　　The whole of his past, and above all the tendency, on which hehad once prided himself, to live in the present and takewhatever chances it offered, now made it harder for him to act.
　　He began to see that he had never, even in the closest relationsof life, looked ahead of his immediate satisfaction. He hadthought it rather fine to be able to give himself so intenselyto the fullness of each moment instead of hurrying past it inpursuit of something more, or something else, in the manner ofthe over-scrupulous or the under-imaginative, whom he had alwaysgrouped together and equally pitied. It was not till he hadlinked his life with Susy's that he had begun to feel itreaching forward into a future he longed to make sure of, tofasten upon and shape to his own wants and purposes, till, by animperceptible substitution, that future had become his realpresent, his all-absorbing moment of time.
　　Now the moment was shattered, and the power to rebuild it failedhim. He had never before thought about putting together brokenbits: he felt like a man whose house has been wrecked by anearthquake, and who, for lack of skilled labour, is called uponfor the first time to wield a trowel and carry bricks. Hesimply did not know how.
　　Will-power, he saw, was not a thing one could suddenly decreeoneself to possess. It must be built up imperceptibly andlaboriously out of a succession of small efforts to meetdefinite objects, out of the facing of daily difficultiesinstead of cleverly eluding them, or shifting their burden onothers. The making of the substance called character was aprocess about as slow and arduous as the building of thePyramids; and the thing itself, like those awful edifices, wasmainly useful to lodge one's descendants in, after they too weredust. Yet the Pyramid-instinct was the one which had made theworld, made man, and caused his fugitive joys to linger likefading frescoes on imperishable walls ....
Chapter 21
    ON the drive back from her dinner at the Nouveau Luxe, eventshad followed the course foreseen by Susy.
　　She had promised Strefford to seek legal advice about herdivorce, and he had kissed her; and the promise had been easierto make than she had expected, the kiss less difficult toreceive.
　　She had gone to the dinner a-quiver with the mortification oflearning that her husband was still with the Hickses. Morallysure of it though she had been, the discovery was a shock, andshe measured for the first time the abyss between fearing andknowing. No wonder he had not written--the modern husband didnot have to: he had only to leave it to time and the newspapersto make known his intentions. Susy could imagine Nick's sayingto himself, as he sometimes used to say when she reminded him ofan unanswered letter: "But there are lots of ways of answeringa letter--and writing doesn't happen to be mine."Well--he had done it in his way, and she was answered. For aminute, as she laid aside the paper, darkness submerged her, andshe felt herself dropping down into the bottomless anguish ofher dreadful vigil in the Palazzo Vanderlyn. But she was wearyof anguish: her healthy body and nerves instinctively rejectedit. The wave was spent, and she felt herself irresistiblystruggling back to light and life and youth. He didn't wanther! Well, she would try not to want him! There lay all theold expedients at her hand--the rouge for her white lips, theatropine for her blurred eyes, the new dress on her bed, thethought of Strefford and his guests awaiting her, and of theconclusions that the diners of the Nouveau Luxe would draw fromseeing them together. Thank heaven no one would say: "Poor oldSusy--did you know Nick had chucked her?" They would all say:
　　"Poor old Nick! Yes, I daresay she was sorry to chuck him; butAltringham's mad to marry her, and what could she do? "And once again events had followed the course she had foreseen.
　　Seeing her at Lord Altringham's table, with the Ascots and theold Duchess of Dunes, the interested spectators could not butregard the dinner as confirming the rumour of her marriage. AsEllie said, people didn't wait nowadays to announce their"engagements" till the tiresome divorce proceedings were over.
　　Ellie herself, prodigally pearled and ermined, had floated inlate with Algie Bockheimer in her wake, and sat, in conspicuoustete-a-tete, nodding and signalling her sympathy to Susy.
　　Approval beamed from every eye: it was awfully exciting, theyall seemed to say, seeing Susy Lansing pull it off! As theparty, after dinner, drifted from the restaurant back into thehall, she caught, in the smiles and hand-pressures crowdingabout her, the scarcely-repressed hint of officialcongratulations; and Violet Melrose, seated in a corner withFulmer, drew her down with a wan jade-circled arm, to whispertenderly: "It's most awfully clever of you, darling, not to bewearing any jewels."In all the women's eyes she read the reflected lustre of thejewels she could wear when she chose: it was as though theirglitter reached her from the far-off bank where they lay sealedup in the Altringham strong-box. What a fool she had been tothink that Strefford would ever believe she didn't care forthem!
　　The Ambassadress, a blank perpendicular person, had been a shadeless affable than Susy could have wished; but then there wasLady Joan--and the girl was handsome, alarmingly handsome toaccount for that: probably every one in the room had guessedit. And the old Duchess of Dunes was delightful. She lookedrather like Strefford in a wig and false pearls (Susy was surethey were as false as her teeth); and her cordiality was sodemonstrative that the future bride found it more difficult toaccount for than Lady Ascot's coldness, till she heard the oldlady, as they passed into the hall, breathe in a hissing whisperto her nephew: "Streff, dearest, when you have a minute's time,and can drop in at my wretched little pension, I know you canexplain in two words what I ought to do to pacify those awfulmoney-lenders .... And you'll bring your exquisite American tosee me, won't you! ... No, Joan Senechal's too fair for mytaste .... Insipid...""Yes: the taste of it all was again sweet on her lips. A fewdays later she began to wonder how the thought of Strefford'sendearments could have been so alarming. To be sure he was notlavish of them; but when he did touch her, even when he kissedher, it no longer seemed to matter. An almost complete absenceof sensation had mercifully succeeded to the first wild flurryof her nerves.
　　And so it would be, no doubt, with everything else in her newlife. If it failed to provoke any acute reactions, whether ofpain or pleasure, the very absence of sensation would make forpeace. And in the meanwhile she was tasting what, she had begunto suspect, was the maximum of bliss to most of the women sheknew: days packed with engagements, the exhilaration offashionable crowds, the thrill of snapping up a jewel or abibelot or a new "model" that one's best friend wanted, or ofbeing invited to some private show, or some exclusiveentertainment, that one's best friend couldn't get to. Therewas nothing, now, that she couldn't buy, nowhere that shecouldn't go: she had only to choose and to triumph. And for awhile the surface-excitement of her life gave her the illusionof enjoyment.
　　Strefford, as she had expected, had postponed his return toEngland, and they had now been for nearly three weeks togetherin their new, and virtually avowed, relation. She had fanciedthat, after all, the easiest part of it would be just the beingwith Strefford--the falling back on their old tried friendshipto efface the sense of strangeness. But, though she had so soongrown used to his caresses, he himself remained curiouslyunfamiliar: she was hardly sure, at times, that it was the oldStrefford she was talking to. It was not that his point of viewhad changed, but that new things occupied and absorbed him. Inall the small sides of his great situation he took an almostchildish satisfaction; and though he still laughed at both itsprivileges and its obligations, it was now with a jealouslaughter.
　　It amused him inexhaustibly, for instance, to be made up to byall the people who had always disapproved of him, and to uniteat the same table persons who had to dissemble their annoyanceat being invited together lest they should not be invited atall. Equally exhilarating was the capricious favouring of thedull and dowdy on occasions when the brilliant and disreputableexpected his notice. It enchanted him, for example, to ask theold Duchess of Dunes and Violet Melrose to dine with the Vicarof Altringham, on his way to Switzerland for a month's holiday,and to watch the face of the Vicar's wife while the Duchessnarrated her last difficulties with book-makers and money-lenders, and Violet proclaimed the rights of Love and Genius toall that had once been supposed to belong exclusively toRespectability and Dulness.
　　Susy had to confess that her own amusements were hardly of ahigher order; but then she put up with them for lack of better,whereas Strefford, who might have had what he pleased, wascompletely satisfied with such triumphs.
　　Somehow, in spite of his honours and his opportunities, heseemed to have shrunk. The old Strefford had certainly been alarger person, and she wondered if material prosperity werealways a beginning of ossification. Strefford had been muchmore fun when he lived by his wits. Sometimes, now, when hetried to talk of politics, or assert himself on some question ofpublic interest, she was startled by his limitations. Formerly,when he was not sure of his ground, it had been his way to turnthe difficulty by glib nonsense or easy irony; now he wasactually dull, at times almost pompous. She noticed too, forthe first time, that he did not always hear clearly when severalpeople were talking at once, or when he was at the theatre; andhe developed a habit of saying over and over again: "Does so-and-so speak indistinctly? Or am I getting deaf, I wonder?"which wore on her nerves by its suggestion of a correspondingmental infirmity.
　　These thoughts did not always trouble her. The current of idleactivity on which they were both gliding was her native elementas well as his; and never had its tide been as swift, its wavesas buoyant. In his relation to her, too, he was full of tactand consideration. She saw that he still remembered theirfrightened exchange of glances after their first kiss; and thesense of this little hidden spring of imagination in him wassometimes enough for her thirst.
　　She had always had a rather masculine punctuality in keeping herword, and after she had promised Strefford to take steps towarda divorce she had promptly set about doing it. A suddenreluctance prevented her asking the advice of friends like EllieVanderlyn, whom she knew to be in the thick of the samenegotiations, and all she could think of was to consult a youngAmerican lawyer practicing in Paris, with whom she felt shecould talk the more easily because he was not from New York, andprobably unacquainted with her history.
　　She was so ignorant of the procedure in such matters that shewas surprised and relieved at his asking few personal questions;but it was a shock to learn that a divorce could not beobtained, either in New York or Paris, merely on the ground ofdesertion or incompatibility.
　　"I thought nowadays ... if people preferred to live apart ... itcould always be managed," she stammered, wondering at her ownignorance, after the many conjugal ruptures she had assisted at.
　　The young lawyer smiled, and coloured slightly. His lovelyclient evidently intimidated him by her grace, and still more byher inexperience.
　　"It can be--generally," he admitted; "and especially so if ...
　　as I gather is the case ... your husband is equallyanxious ....""Oh, quite!" she exclaimed, suddenly humiliated by having toadmit it.
　　"Well, then--may I suggest that, to bring matters to a point,the best way would be for you to write to him?"She recoiled slightly. It had never occurred to her that thelawyers would not "manage it" without her intervention.
　　"Write to him ... but what about?""Well, expressing your wish ... to recover your freedom ....
　　The rest, I assume," said the young lawyer, "may be left to Mr.
　　Lansing."She did not know exactly what he meant, and was too muchperturbed by the idea of having to communicate with Nick tofollow any other train of thought. How could she write such aletter? And yet how could she confess to the lawyer that shehad not the courage to do so? He would, of course, tell her togo home and be reconciled. She hesitated perplexedly.
　　"Wouldn't it be better," she suggested, "if the letter were tocome from--from your office?"He considered this politely. "On the whole: no. If, as I takeit, an amicable arrangement is necessary--to secure therequisite evidence then a line from you, suggesting aninterview, seems to me more advisable.""An interview? Is an interview necessary?" She was ashamed toshow her agitation to this cautiously smiling young man, whomust wonder at her childish lack of understanding; but the breakin her voice was uncontrollable.
　　"Oh, please write to him--I can't! And I can't see him! Oh,can't you arrange it for me?" she pleaded.
　　She saw now that her idea of a divorce had been that it wassomething one went out--or sent out--to buy in a shop:
　　something concrete and portable, that Strefford's money couldpay for, and that it required no personal participation toobtain. What a fool the lawyer must think her! Stiffeningherself, she rose from her seat.
　　"My husband and I don't wish to see each other again .... I'msure it would be useless ... and very painful.""You are the best judge, of course. But in any case, a letterfrom you, a friendly letter, seems wiser ... considering theapparent lack of evidence ....""Very well, then; I'll write," she agreed, and hurried away,scarcely hearing his parting injunction that she should take acopy of her letter.
　　That night she wrote. At the last moment it might have beenimpossible, if at the theatre little Breckenridge had not bobbedinto her box. He was just back from Rome, where he had dinedwith the Hickses ("a bang-up show--they're really lances-youwouldn't know them!"), and had met there Lansing, whom hereported as intending to marry Coral "as soon as things weresettled". "You were dead right, weren't you, Susy," hesnickered, "that night in Venice last summer, when we allthought you were joking about their engagement? Pity now youchucked our surprise visit to the Hickses, and sent Streff up todrag us back just as we were breaking in! You remember?"He flung off the "Streff" airily, in the old way, but with atentative side-glance at his host; and Lord Altringham, leaningtoward Susy, said coldly: "Was Breckenridge speaking about me?
　　I didn't catch what he said. Does he speak indistinctly--or amI getting deaf, I wonder?"After that it seemed comparatively easy, when Strefford haddropped her at her hotel, to go upstairs and write. She dashedoff the date and her address, and then stopped; but suddenly sheremembered Breckenridge's snicker, and the words rushed fromher. "Nick dear, it was July when you left Venice, and I havehad no word from you since the note in which you said you hadgone for a few days, and that I should hear soon again.
　　"You haven't written yet, and it is five months since you leftme. That means, I suppose, that you want to take back yourfreedom and give me mine. Wouldn't it be kinder, in that case,to tell me so? It is worse than anything to go on as we arenow. I don't know how to put these things but since you seemunwilling to write to me perhaps you would prefer to send youranswer to Mr. Frederic Spearman, the American lawyer here. Hisaddress is 100, Boulevard Haussmann. I hope--"She broke off on the last word. Hope? What did she hope,either for him or for herself? Wishes for his welfare wouldsound like a mockery--and she would rather her letter shouldseem bitter than unfeeling. Above all, she wanted to get itdone. To have to re-write even those few lines would betorture. So she left "I hope," and simply added: "to hearbefore long what you have decided."She read it over, and shivered. Not one word of the past-notone allusion to that mysterious interweaving of their liveswhich had enclosed them one in the other like the flower in itssheath! What place had such memories in such a letter? She hadthe feeling that she wanted to hide that other Nick away in herown bosom, and with him the other Susy, the Susy he had onceimagined her to be .... Neither of them seemed concerned withthe present business.
　　The letter done, she stared at the sealed envelope till itspresence in the room became intolerable, and she understood thatshe must either tear it up or post it immediately. She wentdown to the hall of the sleeping hotel, and bribed the night-porter to carry the letter to the nearest post office, though heobjected that, at that hour, no time would be gained. "I wantit out of the house," she insisted: and waited sternly by thedesk, in her dressing-gown, till he had performed the errand.
　　As she re-entered her room, the disordered writing-table struckher; and she remembered the lawyer's injunction to take a copyof her letter. A copy to be filed away with the documents in"Lansing versus Lansing!" She burst out laughing at the idea.
　　What were lawyers made of, she wondered? Didn't the man guess,by the mere look in her eyes and the sound of her voice, thatshe would never, as long as she lived, forget a word of thatletter--that night after night she would lie down, as she waslying down to-night, to stare wide-eyed for hours into thedarkness, while a voice in her brain monotonously hammered out:
　　"Nick dear, it was July when you left me ..." and so on, wordafter word, down to the last fatal syllable?
Chapter 22
    STREFFORD was leaving for England.
　　Once assured that Susy had taken the first step toward freeingherself, he frankly regarded her as his affianced wife, andcould see no reason for further mystery. She understood hisimpatience to have their plans settled; it would protect himfrom the formidable menace of the marriageable, and causepeople, as he said, to stop meddling. Now that the novelty ofhis situation was wearing off, his natural indolence reasserteditself, and there was nothing he dreaded more than having to beon his guard against the innumerable plans that his well-wisherswere perpetually making for him. Sometimes Susy fancied he wasmarrying her because to do so was to follow the line of leastresistance.
　　"To marry me is the easiest way of not marrying all the others,"she laughed, as he stood before her one day in a quiet alley ofthe Bois de Boulogne, insisting on the settlement of variouspreliminaries. "I believe I'm only a protection to you."An odd gleam passed behind his eyes, and she instantly guessedthat he was thinking: "And what else am I to you?"She changed colour, and he rejoined, laughing also: "Well,you're that at any rate, thank the Lord!"She pondered, and then questioned: "But in the interval-howare you going to defend yourself for another year?""Ah, you've got to see to that; you've got to take a littlehouse in London. You've got to look after me, you know."It was on the tip of her tongue to flash back: "Oh, if that'sall you care--!" But caring was exactly the factor she wanted,as much as possible, to keep out of their talk and theirthoughts. She could not ask him how much he cared withoutlaying herself open to the same question; and that way terrorlay. As a matter of fact, though Strefford was not an ardentwooer--perhaps from tact, perhaps from temperament, perhapsmerely from the long habit of belittling and disintegratingevery sentiment and every conviction--yet she knew he did carefor her as much as he was capable of caring for anyone. If theelement of habit entered largely into the feeling--if he likedher, above all, because he was used to her, knew her views, herindulgences, her allowances, knew he was never likely to bebored, and almost certain to be amused, by her; why, suchingredients though not of the fieriest, were perhaps those mostlikely to keep his feeling for her at a pleasant temperature.
　　She had had a taste of the tropics, and wanted more equableweather; but the idea of having to fan his flame gently for ayear was unspeakably depressing to her. Yet all this wasprecisely what she could not say. The long period of probation,during which, as she knew, she would have to amuse him, to guardhim, to hold him, and to keep off the other women, was anecessary part of their situation. She was sure that, as littleBreckenridge would have said, she could "pull it off"; but shedid not want to think about it. What she would have preferredwould have been to go away--no matter where and not seeStrefford again till they were married. But she dared not tellhim that either.
　　"A little house in London--?" She wondered.
　　"Well, I suppose you've got to have some sort of a roof overyour head.""I suppose so."He sat down beside her. "If you like me well enough to live atAltringham some day, won't you, in the meantime, let me provideyou with a smaller and more convenient establishment?"Still she hesitated. The alternative, she knew, would be tolive on Ursula Gillow, Violet Melrose, or some other of her richfriends, any one of whom would be ready to lavish the largesthospitality on the prospective Lady Altringham. Such anarrangement, in the long run, would be no less humiliating toher pride, no less destructive to her independence, thanAltringham's little establishment. But she temporized. "Ishall go over to London in December, and stay for a while withvarious people--then we can look about.""All right; as you like." He obviously considered herhesitation ridiculous, but was too full of satisfaction at herhaving started divorce proceedings to be chilled by her reply.
　　"And now, look here, my dear; couldn't I give you some sort of aring?""A ring?" She flushed at the suggestion. "What's the use,Streff, dear? With all those jewels locked away in London--""Oh, I daresay you'll think them old-fashioned. And, hang it,why shouldn't I give you something new, I ran across Ellie andBockheimer yesterday, in the rue de la Paix, picking outsapphires. Do you like sapphires, or emeralds? Or just adiamond? I've seen a thumping one .... I'd like you to haveit."Ellie and Bockheimer! How she hated the conjunction of thenames! Their case always seemed to her like a caricature of herown, and she felt an unreasoning resentment against Ellie forhaving selected the same season for her unmating and re-mating.
　　"I wish you wouldn't speak of them, Streff ... as if they werelike us! I can hardly bear to sit in the same room with EllieVanderlyn.""Hullo? What's wrong? You mean because of her giving upClarissa?""Not that only .... You don't know .... I can't tell you ...."She shivered at the memory, and rose restlessly from the benchwhere they had been sitting.
　　Strefford gave his careless shrug. "Well, my dear, you canhardly expect me to agree, for after all it was to Ellie I owedthe luck of being so long alone with you in Venice. If she andAlgie hadn't prolonged their honeymoon at the villa--"He stopped abruptly, and looked at Susy. She was conscious thatevery drop of blood had left her face. She felt it ebbing awayfrom her heart, flowing out of her as if from all her severedarteries, till it seemed as though nothing were left of life inher but one point of irreducible pain.
　　"Ellie--at your villa? What do you mean? Was it Ellie andBockheimer who--?"Strefford still stared. "You mean to say you didn't know?""Who came after Nick and me...?" she insisted.
　　"Why, do you suppose I'd have turned you out otherwise? Thatbeastly Bockheimer simply smothered me with gold. Ah, well,there's one good thing: I shall never have to let the villaagain! I rather like the little place myself, and I daresayonce in a while we might go there for a day or two .... Susy,what's the matter?" he exclaimed.
　　She returned his stare, but without seeing him. Everything swamand danced before her eyes.
　　"Then she was there while I was posting all those letters forher--?""Letters--what letters? What makes you look so frightfullyupset?"She pursued her thought as if he had not spoken. "She and AlgieBockheimer arrived there the very day that Nick and I left?""I suppose so. I thought she'd told you. Ellie always tellseverybody everything.""She would have told me, I daresay--but I wouldn't let her.""Well, my dear, that was hardly my fault, was it? Though Ireally don't see--"But Susy, still blind to everything but the dance of dizzysparks before her eyes, pressed on as if she had not heard him.
　　"It was their motor, then, that took us to Milan! It was AlgieBockheimer's motor!" She did not know why, but this seemed toher the most humiliating incident in the whole hateful business.
　　She remembered Nick's reluctance to use the motor-sheremembered his look when she had boasted of her "managing." Thenausea mounted to her throat.
　　Strefford burst out laughing. "I say--you borrowed their motor?
　　And you didn't know whose it was?""How could I know? I persuaded the chauffeur ... for a littletip .... It was to save our railway fares to Milan ... extraluggage costs so frightfully in Italy ....""Good old Susy! Well done! I can see you doing it--""Oh, how horrible--how horrible!" she groaned.
　　"Horrible? What's horrible?""Why, your not seeing ... not feeling ..." she beganimpetuously; and then stopped. How could she explain to himthat what revolted her was not so much the fact of his havinggiven the little house, as soon as she and Nick had left it, tothose two people of all others--though the vision of them in thesweet secret house, and under the plane-trees of the terrace,drew such a trail of slime across her golden hours? No, it wasnot that from which she most recoiled, but from the fact thatStrefford, living in luxury in Nelson Vanderlyn's house, shouldat the same time have secretly abetted Ellie Vanderlyn's love-affairs, and allowed her--for a handsome price--to shelter themunder his own roof. The reproach trembled on her lip--but sheremembered her own part in the wretched business, and theimpossibility of avowing it to Strefford, and of revealing tohim that Nick had left her for that very reason. She was notafraid that the discovery would diminish her in Strefford'seyes: he was untroubled by moral problems, and would laugh awayher avowal, with a sneer at Nick in his new part of moralist.
　　But that was just what she could not bear: that anyone shouldcast a doubt on the genuineness of Nick's standards, or shouldknow how far below them she had fallen.
　　She remained silent, and Strefford, after a moment, drew hergently down to the seat beside him. "Susy, upon my soul I don'tknow what you're driving at. Is it me you're angry with-oryourself? And what's it all about! Are you disgusted because Ilet the villa to a couple who weren't married! But, hang it,they're the kind that pay the highest price and I had to earn myliving somehow! One doesn't run across a bridal pair everyday ...."She lifted her eyes to his puzzled incredulous face. PoorStreff! No, it was not with him that she was angry. Why shouldshe be? Even that ill-advised disclosure had told her nothingshe had not already known about him. It had simply revealed toher once more the real point of view of the people he and shelived among, had shown her that, in spite of the superficialdifference, he felt as they felt, judged as they judged, wasblind as they were-and as she would be expected to be, shouldshe once again become one of them. What was the use of beingplaced by fortune above such shifts and compromises, if in one'sheart one still condoned them? And she would have to--she wouldcatch the general note, grow blunted as those other people wereblunted, and gradually come to wonder at her own revolt, asStrefford now honestly wondered at it. She felt as though shewere on the point of losing some new-found treasure, a treasureprecious only to herself, but beside which all he offered herwas nothing, the triumph of her wounded pride nothing, thesecurity of her future nothing.
　　"What is it, Susy?" he asked, with the same puzzled gentleness.
　　Ah, the loneliness of never being able to make him understand!
　　She had felt lonely enough when the flaming sword of Nick'sindignation had shut her out from their Paradise; but there hadbeen a cruel bliss in the pain. Nick had not opened her eyes tonew truths, but had waked in her again something which had lainunconscious under years of accumulated indifference. And thatre-awakened sense had never left her since, and had somehow kepther from utter loneliness because it was a secret shared withNick, a gift she owed to Nick, and which, in leaving her, hecould not take from her. It was almost, she suddenly felt, asif he had left her with a child.
　　"My dear girl," Strefford said, with a resigned glance at hiswatch, "you know we're dining at the Embassy ...."At the Embassy? She looked at him vaguely: then sheremembered. Yes, they were dining that night at the Ascots',with Strefford's cousin, the Duke of Dunes, and his wife, thehandsome irreproachable young Duchess; with the old gamblingDowager Duchess, whom her son and daughter-in-law had come overfrom England to see; and with other English and French guests ofa rank and standing worthy of the Duneses. Susy knew that herinclusion in such a dinner could mean but one thing: it was herdefinite recognition as Altringham's future wife. She was "thelittle American" whom one had to ask when one invited him, evenon ceremonial occasions. The family had accepted her; theEmbassy could but follow suit.
　　"It's late, dear; and I've got to see someone on businessfirst," Strefford reminded her patiently.
　　"Oh, Streff--I can't, I can't!" The words broke from herwithout her knowing what she was saying. "I can't go withyou--I can't go to the Embassy. I can't go on any longer likethis ...." She lifted her eyes to his in desperate appeal.
　　"Oh, understand-do please understand!" she wailed, knowing,while she spoke, the utter impossibility of what she asked.
　　Strefford's face had gradually paled and hardened. From sallowit turned to a dusky white, and lines of obstinacy deepenedbetween the ironic eyebrows and about the weak amused mouth.
　　"Understand? What do you want me to understand," He laughed.
　　"That you're trying to chuck me already?"She shrank at the sneer of the "already," but instantlyremembered that it was the only thing he could be expected tosay, since it was just because he couldn't understand that shewas flying from him.
　　"Oh, Streff--if I knew how to tell you!""It doesn't so much matter about the how. Is that what you'retrying to say?"Her head drooped, and she saw the dead leaves whirling acrossthe path at her feet, lifted on a sudden wintry gust.
　　"The reason," he continued, clearing his throat with a stiffsmile, "is not quite as important to me as the fact."She stood speechless, agonized by his pain. But still, shethought, he had remembered the dinner at the Embassy. Thethought gave her courage to go on.
　　"It wouldn't do, Streff. I'm not a bit the kind of person tomake you happy.""Oh, leave that to me, please, won't you?""No, I can't. Because I should be unhappy too."He clicked at the leaves as they whirled past. "You've taken arather long time to find it out." She saw that his new-bornsense of his own consequence was making him suffer even morethan his wounded affection; and that again gave her courage.
　　"If I've taken long it's all the more reason why I shouldn'ttake longer. If I've made a mistake it's you who would havesuffered from it ....""Thanks," he said, "for your extreme solicitude."She looked at him helplessly, penetrated by the despairing senseof their inaccessibility to each other. Then she rememberedthat Nick, during their last talk together, had seemed asinaccessible, and wondered if, when human souls try to get toonear each other, they do not inevitably become mere blurs toeach other's vision. She would have liked to say this toStreff-but he would not have understood it either. The senseof loneliness once more enveloped her, and she groped in vainfor a word that should reach him.
　　"Let me go home alone, won't you?" she appealed to him.
　　"Alone?"She nodded. "To-morrow--to-morrow ...."He tried, rather valiantly, to smile. "Hang tomorrow! Whateveris wrong, it needn't prevent my seeing you home." He glancedtoward the taxi that awaited them at the end of the deserteddrive.
　　"No, please. You're in a hurry; take the taxi. I wantimmensely a long long walk by myself ... through the streets,with the lights coming out ...."He laid his hand on her arm. "I say, my dear, you're not ill?""No; I'm not ill. But you may say I am, to-night at theEmbassy."He released her and drew back. "Oh, very well," he answeredcoldly; and she understood by his tone that the knot was cut,and that at that moment he almost hated her. She turned away,hastening down the deserted alley, flying from him, and knowing,as she fled, that he was still standing there motionless,staring after her, wounded, humiliated, uncomprehending. It wasneither her fault nor his ....
Chapter 23
    AS she fled on toward the lights of the streets a breath offreedom seemed to blow into her face.
　　Like a weary load the accumulated hypocrisies of the last monthshad dropped from her: she was herself again, Nick's Susy, andno one else's. She sped on, staring with bright bewildered eyesat the stately facades of the La Muette quarter, theperspectives of bare trees, the awakening glitter of shop-windows holding out to her all the things she would never againbe able to buy ....
　　In an avenue of shops she paused before a milliner's window, andsaid to herself: "Why shouldn't I earn my living by trimminghats?" She met work-girls streaming out under a doorway, andscattering to catch trams and omnibuses; and she looked withnewly-wakened interest at their tired independent faces. "Whyshouldn't I earn my living as well as they do?" she thought. Alittle farther on she passed a Sister of Charity with softlytrotting feet, a calm anonymous glance, and hands hidden in hercapacious sleeves. Susy looked at her and thought: "Whyshouldn't I be a Sister, and have no money to worry about, andtrot about under a white coif helping poor people?"All these strangers on whom she smiled in passing, and glancedback at enviously, were free from the necessities that enslavedher, and would not have known what she meant if she had toldthem that she must have so much money for her dresses, so muchfor her cigarettes, so much for bridge and cabs and tips, andall kinds of extras, and that at that moment she ought to behurrying back to a dinner at the British Embassy, where herpermanent right to such luxuries was to be solemnly recognizedand ratified.
　　The artificiality and unreality of her life overcame her as withstifling fumes. She stopped at a street-corner, drawing longpanting breaths as if she had been running a race. Then, slowlyand aimlessly, she began to saunter along a street of smallprivate houses in damp gardens that led to the Avenue du Bois.
　　She sat down on a bench. Not far off, the Arc de Triompheraised its august bulk, and beyond it a river of lights streameddown toward Paris, and the stir of the city's heart-beatstroubled the quiet in her bosom. But not for long. She seemedto be looking at it all from the other side of the grave; and asshe got up and wandered down the Champs Elysees, half empty inthe evening lull between dusk and dinner, she felt as if theglittering avenue were really changed into the Field of Shadowsfrom which it takes its name, and as if she were a ghost amongghosts.
　　Halfway home, a weakness of loneliness overcame her, and sheseated herself under the trees near the Rond Point. Lines ofmotors and carriages were beginning to animate the convergingthoroughfares, streaming abreast, crossing, winding in and outof each other in a tangle of hurried pleasure-seeking. Shecaught the light on jewels and shirt-fronts and hard bored eyesemerging from dim billows of fur and velvet. She seemed to hearwhat the couples were saying to each other, she pictured thedrawing-rooms, restaurants, dance-halls they were hastening to,the breathless routine that was hurrying them along, as Time,the old vacuum-cleaner, swept them away with the dust of theircarriage-wheels. And again the loneliness vanished in a senseof release ....
　　At the corner of the Place de la Concorde she stopped,recognizing a man in evening dress who was hailing a taxi.
　　Their eyes met, and Nelson Vanderlyn came forward. He was thelast person she cared to run across, and she shrank backinvoluntarily. What did he know, what had he guessed, of hercomplicity in his wife's affairs? No doubt Ellie had blabbed itall out by this time; she was just as likely to confide herlove-affairs to Nelson as to anyone else, now that theBockheimer prize was landed.
　　"Well--well--well--so I've caught you at it! Glad to see you,Susy, my dear." She found her hand cordially clasped inVanderlyn's, and his round pink face bent on her with all itsold urbanity. Did nothing matter, then, in this world she wasfleeing from, did no one love or hate or remember?
　　"No idea you were in Paris--just got here myself," Vanderlyncontinued, visibly delighted at the meeting. "Look here, don'tsuppose you're out of a job this evening by any chance, andwould come and cheer up a lone bachelor, eh? No? You are?
　　Well, that's luck for once! I say, where shall we go? One ofthe places where they dance, I suppose? Yes, I twirl the lightfantastic once in a while myself. Got to keep up with thetimes! Hold on, taxi! Here--I'll drive you home first, andwait while you jump into your toggery. Lots of time." As hesteered her toward the carriage she noticed that he had a goutylimp, and pulled himself in after her with difficulty.
　　"Mayn't I come as I am, Nelson, I don't feel like dancing.
　　Let's go and dine in one of those nice smoky little restaurantsby the Place de la Bourse."He seemed surprised but relieved at the suggestion, and theyrolled off together. In a corner at Bauge's they found a quiettable, screened from the other diners, and while Vanderlynadjusted his eyeglasses to study the carte Susy stole a longlook at him. He was dressed with even more than his usualformal trimness, and she detected, in an ultra-flat wrist-watchand discreetly expensive waistcoat buttons, an attempt atsmartness altogether new. His face had undergone the samechange: its familiar look of worn optimism had been, as itwere, done up to match his clothes, as though a sort of moralcosmetic had made him pinker, shinier and sprightlier withoutreally rejuvenating him. A thin veil of high spirits had merelybeen drawn over his face, as the shining strands of hair wereskilfully brushed over his baldness.
　　"Here! Carte des vins, waiter! What champagne, Susy?" Hechose, fastidiously, the best the cellar could produce,grumbling a little at the bourgeois character of the dishes.
　　"Capital food of its kind, no doubt, but coarsish, don't youthink? Well, I don't mind ... it's rather a jolly change fromthe Luxe cooking. A new sensation--I'm all for new sensations,ain't you, my dear?" He re-filled their champagne glasses,flung an arm sideways over his chair, and smiled at her with afoggy benevolence.
　　As the champagne flowed his confidences flowed with it.
　　"Suppose you know what I'm here for--this divorce business? Wewanted to settle it quietly without a fuss, and of course Parisis the best place for that sort of job. Live and let live; noquestions asked. None of your dirty newspapers. Great country,this. No hypocrisy ... they understand Life over here!"Susy gazed and listened. She remembered that people had thoughtNelson would make a row when he found out. He had always beenaddicted to truculent anecdotes about unfaithful wives, and thevery formula of his perpetual ejaculation-- "Caught you at it,eh?"--seemed to hint at a constant preoccupation with suchideas. But now it was evident that, as the saying was, he had"swallowed his dose" like all the others. No strong blast ofindignation had momentarily lifted him above his normal stature:
　　he remained a little man among little men, and his eagerness torebuild his life with all the old smiling optimism reminded Susyof the patient industry of an ant remaking its ruined ant-heap.
　　"Tell you what, great thing, this liberty! Everything's changednowadays; why shouldn't marriage be too? A man can get out of abusiness partnership when he wants to; but the parsons want tokeep us noosed up to each other for life because we've blunderedinto a church one day and said 'Yes' before one of 'em. No,no--that's too easy. We've got beyond that. Science, and allthese new discoveries .... I say the Ten Commandments were madefor man, and not man for the Commandments; and there ain't aword against divorce in 'em, anyhow! That's what I tell my poorold mother, who builds everything on her Bible. Find me theplace where it says: 'Thou shalt not sue for divorce.' Itmakes her wild, poor old lady, because she can't; and shedoesn't know how they happen to have left it out.... I ratherthink Moses left it out because he knew more about human naturethan these snivelling modern parsons do. Not that they'llalways bear investigating either; but I don't care about that.
　　Live and let live, eh, Susy? Haven't we all got a right to ourAffinities? I hear you're following our example yourself.
　　First-rate idea: I don't mind telling you I saw it coming onlast summer at Venice. Caught you at it, so to speak! OldNelson ain't as blind as people think. Here, let's open anotherbottle to the health of Streff and Mrs. Streff!"She caught the hand with which he was signalling to thesommelier. This flushed and garrulous Nelson moved her morepoignantly than a more heroic figure. "No more champagne,please, Nelson. Besides," she suddenly added, "it's not true."He stared. "Not true that you're going to marry Altringham?""No.""By George then what on earth did you chuck Nick for? Ain't yougot an Affinity, my dear?"She laughed and shook her head.
　　"Do you mean to tell me it's all Nick's doing, then?""I don't know. Let's talk of you instead, Nelson. I'm gladyou're in such good spirits. I rather thought--"He interrupted her quickly. "Thought I'd cut up a rumpus-dosome shooting? I know--people did." He twisted his moustache,evidently proud of his reputation. "Well, maybe I did see redfor a day or two--but I'm a philosopher, first and last. BeforeI went into banking I'd made and lost two fortunes out West.
　　Well, how did I build 'em up again? Not by shooting anybodyeven myself. By just buckling to, and beginning all over again.
　　That's how ... and that's what I am doing now. Beginning allover again. " His voice dropped from boastfulness to a noteof wistful melancholy, the look of strained jauntiness fell fromhis face like a mask, and for an instant she saw the real man,old, ruined, lonely. Yes, that was it: he was lonely,desperately lonely, foundering in such deep seas of solitudethat any presence out of the past was like a spar to which heclung. Whatever he knew or guessed of the part she had playedin his disaster, it was not callousness that had made him greether with such forgiving warmth, but the same sense of smallness,insignificance and isolation which perpetually hung like a coldfog on her own horizon. Suddenly she too felt old--old andunspeakably tired.
　　"It's been nice seeing you, Nelson. But now I must be gettinghome."He offered no objection, but asked for the bill, resumed hisjaunty air while he scattered largesse among the waiters, andsauntered out behind her after calling for a taxi.
　　They drove off in silence. Susy was thinking: "And Clarissa?"but dared not ask. Vanderlyn lit a cigarette, hummed a dance-tune, and stared out of the window. Suddenly she felt his handon hers.
　　"Susy--do you ever see her?""See--Ellie?"He nodded, without turning toward her.
　　"Not often ... sometimes ....""If you do, for God's sake tell her I'm happy ... happy as aking ... tell her you could see for yourself that I was ...."His voice broke in a little gasp. "I ... I'll be damned if ...
　　if she shall ever be unhappy about me ... if I can help it ...."The cigarette dropped from his fingers, and with a sob hecovered his face.
　　"Oh, poor Nelson--poor Nelson, " Susy breathed. While their cabrattled across the Place du Carrousel, and over the bridge, hecontinued to sit beside her with hidden face. At last he pulledout a scented handkerchief, rubbed his eyes with it, and gropedfor another cigarette.
　　"I'm all right! Tell her that, will you, Susy? There are someof our old times I don't suppose I shall ever forget; but theymake me feel kindly to her, and not angry. I didn't know itwould be so, beforehand--but it is .... And now the thing'ssettled I'm as right as a trivet, and you can tell her so ....
　　Look here, Susy ..." he caught her by the arm as the taxi drewup at her hotel .... "Tell her I understand, will you? I'drather like her to know that .... ""I'll tell her, Nelson," she promised; and climbed the stairsalone to her dreary room.
　　Susy's one fear was that Strefford, when he returned the nextday, should treat their talk of the previous evening as a fit of"nerves" to be jested away. He might, indeed, resent herbehaviour too deeply to seek to see her at once; but hiseasygoing modern attitude toward conduct and convictions madethat improbable. She had an idea that what he had most mindedwas her dropping so unceremoniously out of the Embassy Dinner.
　　But, after all, why should she see him again? She had hadenough of explanations during the last months to have learnedhow seldom they explain anything. If the other person did notunderstand at the first word, at the first glance even,subsequent elucidations served only to deepen the obscurity.
　　And she wanted above all--and especially since her hour withNelson Vanderlyn--to keep herself free, aloof, to retain herhold on her precariously recovered self. She sat down and wroteto Strefford--and the letter was only a little less painful towrite than the one she had despatched to Nick. It was not thather own feelings were in any like measure engaged; but because,as the decision to give up Strefford affirmed itself, sheremembered only his kindness, his forbearance, his good humour,and all the other qualities she had always liked in him; andbecause she felt ashamed of the hesitations which must cause himso much pain and humiliation. Yes: humiliation chiefly. Sheknew that what she had to say would hurt his pride, in whateverway she framed her renunciation; and her pen wavered, hating itstask. Then she remembered Vanderlyn's words about his wife:
　　"There are some of our old times I don't suppose I shall everforget--" and a phrase of Grace Fulmer's that she had but halfgrasped at the time: "You haven't been married long enough tounderstand how trifling such things seem in the balance of one'smemories."Here were two people who had penetrated farther than she intothe labyrinth of the wedded state, and struggled through some ofits thorniest passages; and yet both, one consciously, the otherhalf-unaware, testified to the mysterious fact which was alreadydawning on her: that the influence of a marriage begun inmutual understanding is too deep not to reassert itself even inthe moment of flight and denial.
　　"The real reason is that you're not Nick" was what she wouldhave said to Strefford if she had dared to set down the baretruth; and she knew that, whatever she wrote, he was too acutenot to read that into it.
　　"He'll think it's because I'm still in love with Nick ... andperhaps I am. But even if I were, the difference doesn't seemto lie there, after all, but deeper, in things we've shared thatseem to be meant to outlast love, or to change it into somethingdifferent." If she could have hoped to make Streffordunderstand that, the letter would have been easy enough towrite--but she knew just at what point his imagination wouldfail, in what obvious and superficial inferences it would rest"Poor Streff--poor me!" she thought as she sealed the letter.
　　After she had despatched it a sense of blankness descended onher. She had succeeded in driving from her mind all vainhesitations, doubts, returns upon herself: her healthy systemnaturally rejected them. But they left a queer emptiness inwhich her thoughts rattled about as thoughts might, shesupposed, in the first moments after death--before one got usedto it. To get used to being dead: that seemed to be herimmediate business. And she felt such a novice at it--felt sohorribly alive! How had those others learned to do withoutliving? Nelson--well, he was still in the throes; and probablynever would understand, or be able to communicate, the lessonwhen he had mastered it. But Grace Fulmer--she suddenlyremembered that Grace was in Paris, and set forth to find her.
Chapter 24
    NICK LANSING had walked out a long way into the Campagna. Hishours were seldom his own, for both Mr. and Mrs. Hicks werebecoming more and more addicted to sudden and somewhat imperiousdemands upon his time; but on this occasion he had simplyslipped away after luncheon, and taking the tram to the PortaSalaria, had wandered on thence in the direction of the PonteNomentano.
　　He wanted to get away and think; but now that he had done it thebusiness proved as unfruitful as everything he had put his handto since he had left Venice. Think--think about what? Hisfuture seemed to him a negligible matter since he had received,two months earlier, the few lines in which Susy had asked himfor her freedom.
　　The letter had been a shock--though he had fancied himself soprepared for it--yet it had also, in another sense, been arelief, since, now that at last circumstances compelled him towrite to her, they also told him what to say. And he had said itas briefly and simply as possible, telling her that he would putno obstacle in the way of her release, that he held himself ather lawyer's disposal to answer any further communication--andthat he would never forget their days together, or cease tobless her for them.
　　That was all. He gave his Roman banker's address, and waitedfor another letter; but none came. Probably the "formalities,"whatever they were, took longer than he had supposed; and beingin no haste to recover his own liberty, he did not try to learnthe cause of the delay. From that moment, however, heconsidered himself virtually free, and ceased, by the sametoken, to take any interest in his own future. His life seemedas flat as a convalescent's first days after the fever hasdropped.
　　The only thing he was sure of was that he was not going toremain in the Hickses' employ: when they left Rome for CentralAsia he had no intention of accompanying them. The part of Mr.
　　Buttles' successor was becoming daily more intolerable to him,for the very reasons that had probably made it most gratifyingto Mr. Buttles. To be treated by Mr. and Mrs. Hicks as a paidoracle, a paraded and petted piece of property, was a good dealmore distasteful than he could have imagined any relation withthese kindly people could be. And since their aspirations hadbecome frankly social he found his task, if easier, yet far lesscongenial than during his first months with them. He preferredpatiently explaining to Mrs. Hicks, for the hundredth time, thatSassanian and Saracenic were not interchangeable terms, tounravelling for her the genealogies of her titled guests, andreminding her, when she "seated" her dinner-parties, that Dukesranked higher than Princes. No--the job was decidedlyintolerable; and he would have to look out for another means ofearning his living. But that was not what he had really gotaway to think about. He knew he should never starve; he hadeven begun to believe again in his book. What he wanted tothink of was Susy--or rather, it was Susy that he could not helpthinking of, on whatever train of thought he set out.
　　Again and again he fancied he had established a truce with thepast: had come to terms--the terms of defeat and failure withthat bright enemy called happiness. And, in truth, he hadreached the point of definitely knowing that he could neverreturn to the kind of life that he and Susy had embarked on. Ithad been the tragedy, of their relation that loving her rousedin him ideals she could never satisfy. He had fallen in lovewith her because she was, like himself, amused, unprejudiced anddisenchanted; and he could not go on loving her unless sheceased to be all these things. From that circle there was noissue, and in it he desperately revolved.
　　If he had not heard such persistent rumours of her re-marriageto Lord Altringham he might have tried to see her again; but,aware of the danger and the hopelessness of a meeting, he was,on the whole, glad to have a reason for avoiding it. Such, atleast, he honestly supposed to be his state of mind until hefound himself, as on this occasion, free to follow out histhought to its end. That end, invariably, was Susy; not thebundle of qualities and defects into which his critical spirithad tried to sort her out, but the soft blur of identity, ofpersonality, of eyes, hair, mouth, laugh, tricks of speech andgesture, that were all so solely and profoundly her own, and yetso mysteriously independent of what she might do, say, think, incrucial circumstances. He remembered her once saying to him:
　　"After all, you were right when you wanted me to be yourmistress," and the indignant stare of incredulity with which hehad answered her. Yet in these hours it was the palpable imageof her that clung closest, till, as invariably happened, hisvision came full circle, and feeling her on his breast he wantedher also in his soul.
　　Well--such all-encompassing loves were the rarest of humanexperiences; he smiled at his presumption in wanting no other.
　　Wearily he turned, and tramped homeward through the wintertwilight ....
　　At the door of the hotel he ran across the Prince of Teutoburg'saide-de-camp. They had not met for some days, and Nick had avague feeling that if the Prince's matrimonial designs tookdefinite shape he himself was not likely, after all, to be theirchosen exponent. He had surprised, now and then, a certaindistrustful coldness under the Princess Mother's cordial glance,and had concluded that she perhaps suspected him of being anobstacle to her son's aspirations. He had no idea of playingthat part, but was not sorry to appear to; for he was sincerelyattached to Coral Hicks, and hoped for her a more human fatethan that of becoming Prince Anastasius's consort.
　　This evening, however, he was struck by the beaming alacrity ofthe aide-de-camp's greeting. Whatever cloud had hung betweenthem had lifted: the Teutoburg clan, for one reason or another,no longer feared or distrusted him. The change was conveyed ina mere hand-pressure, a brief exchange of words, for the aide-de-camp was hastening after a well-known dowager of the oldRoman world, whom he helped into a large coronetted broughamwhich looked as if it had been extracted, for some ceremonialpurpose, from a museum of historic vehicles. And in an instantit flashed on Lansing that this lady had been the person chosento lay the Prince's offer at Miss Hicks's feet.
　　The discovery piqued him; and instead of making straight for hisown room he went up to Mrs. Hicks's drawing-room.
　　The room was empty, but traces of elaborate tea pervaded it, andan immense bouquet of stiff roses lay on the centre table. Ashe turned away, Eldorada Tooker, flushed and tear-stained,abruptly entered.
　　"Oh, Mr. Lansing--we were looking everywhere for you.""Looking for me?""Yes. Coral especially ... she wants to see you. She wants youto come to her own sitting-room."She led him across the ante-chamber and down the passage to theseparate suite which Miss Hicks inhabited. On the thresholdEldorada gasped out emotionally: "You'll find her lookinglovely--" and jerked away with a sob as he entered.
　　Coral Hicks was never lovely: but she certainly lookedunusually handsome. Perhaps it was the long dress of blackvelvet which, outlined against a shaded lamp, made her strongbuild seem slenderer, or perhaps the slight flush on her duskycheek: a bloom of womanhood hung upon her which she made noeffort to dissemble. Indeed, it was one of her originalitiesthat she always gravely and courageously revealed the utmost ofwhatever mood possessed her.
　　"How splendid you look!" he said, smiling at her.
　　She threw her head back and gazed him straight in the eyes.
　　"That's going to be my future job.""To look splendid?""Yes.""And wear a crown?""And wear a crown ...."They continued to consider each other without speaking. Nick'sheart contracted with pity and perplexity.
　　"Oh, Coral--it's not decided?"She scrutinized him for a last penetrating moment; then shelooked away. "I'm never long deciding."He hesitated, choking with contradictory impulses, and afraid toformulate any, lest they should either mislead or pain her.
　　"Why didn't you tell me?" he questioned lamely; and instantlyperceived his blunder.
　　She sat down, and looked up at him under brooding lashes--had heever noticed the thickness of her lashes before?
　　"Would it have made any difference if I had told you?""Any difference--?""Sit down by me," she commanded. "I want to talk to you. Youcan say now whatever you might have said sooner. I'm notmarried yet: I'm still free.""You haven't given your answer?""It doesn't matter if I have."The retort frightened him with the glimpse of what she stillexpected of him, and what he was still so unable to give.
　　"That means you've said yes?" he pursued, to gain time.
　　"Yes or no--it doesn't matter. I had to say something. What Iwant is your advice.""At the eleventh hour?""Or the twelfth." She paused. "What shall I do?" shequestioned, with a sudden accent of helplessness.
　　He looked at her as helplessly. He could not say: "Askyourself--ask your parents." Her next word would sweep awaysuch frail hypocrisies. Her "What shall I do?" meant "What areyou going to do?" and he knew it, and knew that she knew it.
　　"I'm a bad person to give any one matrimonial advice," he began,with a strained smile; "but I had such a different vision foryou.""What kind of a vision?" She was merciless.
　　"Merely what people call happiness, dear.""'People call'--you see you don't believe in it yourself! Well,neither do I--in that form, at any rate. "He considered. "I believe in trying for it--even if the trying'sthe best of it.""Well, I've tried, and failed. And I'm twenty-two, and I neverwas young. I suppose I haven't enough imagination." She drew adeep breath. "Now I want something different." She appeared tosearch for the word. "I want to be--prominent," she declared.
　　"Prominent?"She reddened swarthily. "Oh, you smile--you think it'sridiculous: it doesn't seem worth while to you. That's becauseyou've always had all those things. But I haven't. I know whatfather pushed up from, and I want to push up as high again--higher. No, I haven't got much imagination. I've always likedFacts. And I find I shall like the fact of being a Princess--choosing the people I associate with, and being up above allthese European grandees that father and mother bow down to,though they think they despise them. You can be up above thesepeople by just being yourself; you know how. But I need aplatform--a sky-scraper. Father and mother slaved to give me myeducation. They thought education was the important thing; but,since we've all three of us got mediocre minds, it has justlanded us among mediocre people. Don't you suppose I seethrough all the sham science and sham art and sham everythingwe're surrounded with? That's why I want to buy a place at thevery top, where I shall be powerful enough to get about me thepeople I want, the big people, the right people, and to helpthem I want to promote culture, like those Renaissance womenyou're always talking about. I want to do it for Apex City; doyou understand? And for father and mother too. I want allthose titles carved on my tombstone. They're facts, anyhow!
　　Don't laugh at me ...." She broke off with one of her clumsysmiles, and moved away from him to the other end of the room.
　　He sat looking at her with a curious feeling of admiration. Herharsh positivism was like a tonic to his disenchanted mood, andhe thought: "What a pity!"Aloud he said: "I don't feel like laughing at you. You're agreat woman.""Then I shall be a great Princess.""Oh--but you might have been something so much greater!"Her face flamed again. "Don't say that!"He stood up involuntarily, and drew near her.
　　"Why not?""Because you're the only man with whom I can imagine the otherkind of greatness."It moved him--moved him unexpectedly. He got as far as sayingto himself: "Good God, if she were not so hideously rich--" andthen of yielding for a moment to the persuasive vision of allthat he and she might do with those very riches which hedreaded. After all, there was nothing mean in her ideals theywere hard and material, in keeping with her primitive andmassive person; but they had a certain grim nobility. And whenshe spoke of "the other kind of greatness" he knew that sheunderstood what she was talking of, and was not merely sayingsomething to draw him on, to get him to commit himself. Therewas not a drop of guile in her, except that which her veryhonesty distilled.
　　"The other kind of greatness?" he repeated.
　　"Well, isn't that what you said happiness was? I wanted to behappy ... but one can't choose."He went up to her. "No, one can't choose. And how can anyonegive you happiness who hasn't got it himself?" He took herhands, feeling how large, muscular and voluntary they were, evenas they melted in his palms.
　　"My poor Coral, of what use can I ever be to you? What you needis to be loved."She drew back and gave him one of her straight strong glances:
　　"No," she said gallantly, "but just to love."
Chapter 25
    IN the persistent drizzle of a Paris winter morning Susy Lansingwalked back alone from the school at which she had justdeposited the four eldest Fulmers to the little house in Passywhere, for the last two months, she had been living with them.
　　She had on ready-made boots, an old waterproof and a last year'shat; but none of these facts disturbed her, though she took noparticular pride in them. The truth was that she was too busyto think much about them. Since she had assumed the charge ofthe Fulmer children, in the absence of both their parents inItaly, she had had to pass through such an arduousapprenticeship of motherhood that every moment of her wakinghours was packed with things to do at once, and other things toremember to do later. There were only five Fulmers; but attimes they were like an army with banners, and their power ofself-multiplication was equalled only by the manner in whichthey could dwindle, vanish, grow mute, and become as it were asingle tumbled brown head bent over a book in some corner of thehouse in which nobody would ever have thought of hunting forthem--and which, of course, were it the bonne's room in theattic, or the subterranean closet where the trunks were kept,had been singled out by them for that very reason.
　　These changes from ubiquity to invisibility would have seemed toSusy, a few months earlier, one of the most maddening of manycharacteristics not calculated to promote repose. But now shefelt differently. She had grown interested in her charges, andthe search for a clue to their methods, whether tribal orindividual, was as exciting to her as the development of adetective story.
　　What interested her most in the whole stirring business was thediscovery that they had a method. These little creatures,pitched upward into experience on the tossing waves of theirparents' agitated lives, had managed to establish a rough-and-ready system of self-government. Junie, the eldest (the one whoalready chose her mother's hats, and tried to put order in herwardrobe) was the recognized head of the state. At twelve sheknew lots of things which her mother had never thoroughlylearned, and Susy, her temporary mother, had never even guessedat: she spoke with authority on all vital subjects, fromcastor-oil to flannel under-clothes, from the fair sharing ofstamps or marbles to the number of helpings of rice-pudding orjam which each child was entitled to.
　　There was hardly any appeal from her verdict; yet each of hersubjects revolved in his or her own orbit of independence,according to laws which Junie acknowledged and respected; andthe interpreting of this mysterious charter of rights andprivileges had not been without difficulty for Susy.
　　Besides this, there were material difficulties to deal with.
　　The six of them, and the breathless bonne who cooked and slavedfor them all, had but a slim budget to live on; and, as Junieremarked, you'd have thought the boys ate their shoes, the waythey vanished. They ate, certainly, a great deal else, andmostly of a nourishing and expensive kind. They had definiteviews about the amount and quality of their food, and werecapable of concerted rebellion when Susy's catering fell beneaththeir standard. All this made her life a hurried and harassingbusiness, but never-- what she had most feared it would be adull or depressing one.
　　It was not, she owned to herself, that the society of the Fulmerchildren had roused in her any abstract passion for the humanyoung. She knew--had known since Nick's first kiss--how shewould love any child of his and hers; and she had cherished poorlittle Clarissa Vanderlyn with a shrinking and wistfulsolicitude. But in these rough young Fulmers she took apositive delight, and for reasons that were increasingly clearto her. It was because, in the first place, they were allintelligent; and because their intelligence had been fed only onthings worth caring for. However inadequate Grace Fulmer'sbringing-up of her increasing tribe had been, they had heard inher company nothing trivial or dull: good music, good books andgood talk had been their daily food, and if at times theystamped and roared and crashed about like children unblessed bysuch privileges, at others they shone with the light of poetryand spoke with the voice of wisdom.
　　That had been Susy's discovery: for the first time she wasamong awakening minds which had been wakened only to beauty.
　　>From their cramped and uncomfortable household Grace and NatFulmer had managed to keep out mean envies, vulgar admirations,shabby discontents; above all the din and confusion the greatimages of beauty had brooded, like those ancestral figures thatstood apart on their shelf in the poorest Roman households.
　　No, the task she had undertaken for want of a better gave Susyno sense of a missed vocation: "mothering" on a large scalewould never, she perceived, be her job. Rather it gave her, inodd ways, the sense of being herself mothered, of taking herfirst steps in the life of immaterial values which had begun toseem so much more substantial than any she had known.
　　On the day when she had gone to Grace Fulmer for counsel andcomfort she had little guessed that they would come to her inthis form. She had found her friend, more than ever distractedand yet buoyant, riding the large untidy waves of her life withthe splashed ease of an amphibian. Grace was probably the onlyperson among Susy's friends who could have understood why shecould not make up her mind to marry Altringham; but at themoment Grace was too much absorbed in her own problems to paymuch attention to her friend's, and, according to her wont, sheimmediately "unpacked" her difficulties.
　　Nat was not getting what she had hoped out of his Europeanopportunity. Oh, she was enough of an artist herself to knowthat there must be fallow periods--that the impact of newimpressions seldom produced immediate results. She had allowedfor all that. But her past experience of Nat's moods had taughther to know just when he was assimilating, when impressions werefructifying in him. And now they were not, and he knew it aswell as she did. There had been too much rushing about, toomuch excitement and sterile flattery ... Mrs. Melrose? Well,yes, for a while ... the trip to Spain had been a love-journey,no doubt. Grace spoke calmly, but the lines of her facesharpened: she had suffered, oh horribly, at his going to Spainwithout her. Yet she couldn't, for the children's sake, affordto miss the big sum that Ursula Gillow had given her for herfortnight at Ruan. And her playing had struck people, and led,on the way back, to two or three profitable engagements inprivate houses in London. Fashionable society had made "alittle fuss" about her, and it had surprised and pleased Nat,and given her a new importance in his eyes. "He was beginningto forget that I wasn't only a nursery-maid, and it's been agood thing for him to be reminded ... but the great thing isthat with what I've earned he and I can go off to southern Italyand Sicily for three months. You know I know how to manage ...
　　and, alone with me, Nat will settle down to work: to observing,feeling, soaking things in. It's the only way. Mrs. Melrosewants to take him, to pay all the expenses again-well sheshan't. I'll pay them." Her worn cheek flushed with triumph.
　　"And you'll see what wonders will come of it .... Only there'sthe problem of the children. Junie quite agrees that we can'ttake them ...."Thereupon she had unfolded her idea. If Susy was at a looseend, and hard up, why shouldn't she take charge of the childrenwhile their parents were in Italy? For three months at most-Grace could promise it shouldn't be longer. They couldn't payher much, of course, but at least she would be lodged and fed.
　　"And, you know, it will end by interesting you--I'm sure itwill," the mother concluded, her irrepressible hopefulnessrising even to this height, while Susy stood before her with ahesitating smile.
　　Take care of five Fulmers for three months! The prospect cowedher. If there had been only Junie and Geordie, the oldest andyoungest of the band, she might have felt less hesitation. Butthere was Nat, the second in age, whose motor-horn had drivenher and Nick out to the hill-side on their fatal day at theFulmers' and there were the twins, Jack and Peggy, of whom shehad kept memories almost equally disquieting. To rule thisuproarious tribe would be a sterner business than trying tobeguile Clarissa Vanderlyn's ladylike leisure; and she wouldhave refused on the spot, as she had refused once before, if theonly possible alternatives had not come to seem so much lessbearable, and if Junie, called in for advice, and standingthere, small, plain and competent, had not said in her quietgrown-up voice: "Oh, yes, I'm sure Mrs. Lansing and I canmanage while you're away--especially if she reads aloud well."Reads aloud well! The stipulation had enchanted Susy. She hadnever before known children who cared to be read aloud to; sheremembered with a shiver her attempts to interest Clarissa inanything but gossip and the fashions, and the tone in which thechild had said, showing Strefford's trinket to her father:
　　"Because I said I'd rather have it than a book."And here were children who consented to be left for three monthsby their parents, but on condition that a good reader wasprovided for them!
　　"Very well--I will! But what shall I be expected to read toyou?" she had gaily questioned; and Junie had answered, afterone of her sober pauses of reflection: "The little ones likenearly everything; but Nat and I want poetry particularly,because if we read it to ourselves we so often pronounce thepuzzling words wrong, and then it sounds so horrid.""Oh, I hope I shall pronounce them right," Susy murmured,stricken with self-distrust and humility.
　　Apparently she did; for her reading was a success, and even thetwins and Geordie, once they had grown used to her, seemed toprefer a ringing page of Henry V, or the fairy scenes from theMidsummer Night's Dream, to their own more specializedliterature, though that had also at times to be provided.
　　There were, in fact, no lulls in her life with the Fulmers; butits commotions seemed to Susy less meaningless, and thereforeless fatiguing, than those that punctuated the existence ofpeople like Altringham, Ursula Gillow, Ellie Vanderlyn and theirtrain; and the noisy uncomfortable little house at Passy wasbeginning to greet her with the eyes of home when she returnedthere after her tramps to and from the children's classes. Atany rate she had the sense of doing something useful and evennecessary, and of earning her own keep, though on so modest ascale; and when the children were in their quiet mood, anddemanded books or music (or, even, on one occasion, at thesurprising Junie's instigation, a collective visit to theLouvre, where they recognized the most unlikely pictures, andthe two elders emitted startling technical judgments, and calledtheir companion's attention to details she had not observed); onthese occasions, Susy had a surprised sense of being drawn backinto her brief life with Nick, or even still farther and deeper,into those visions of Nick's own childhood on which the triviallater years had heaped their dust.
　　It was curious to think that if he and she had remainedtogether, and she had had a child--the vision used to come toher, in her sleepless hours, when she looked at little Geordie,in his cot by her bed--their life together might have been verymuch like the life she was now leading, a small obscure businessto the outer world, but to themselves how wide and deep andcrowded!
　　She could not bear, at that moment, the thought of giving upthis mystic relation to the life she had missed. In spite ofthe hurry and fatigue of her days, the shabbiness and discomfortof everything, and the hours when the children were as "horrid"as any other children, and turned a conspiracy of hostile facesto all her appeals; in spite of all this she did not want togive them up, and had decided, when their parents returned, toask to go back to America with them. Perhaps, if Nat's successcontinued, and Grace was able to work at her music, they wouldneed a kind of governess-companion. At any rate, she couldpicture no future less distasteful.
　　She had not sent to Mr. Spearman Nick's answer to her letter.
　　In the interval between writing to him and receiving his replyshe had broken with Strefford; she had therefore no object inseeking her freedom. If Nick wanted his, he knew he had only toask for it; and his silence, as the weeks passed, woke a fainthope in her. The hope flamed high when she read one day in thenewspapers a vague but evidently "inspired" allusion to thepossibility of an alliance between his Serene Highness thereigning Prince of Teutoburg-Waldhain and Miss Coral Hicks ofApex City; it sank to ashes when, a few days later, her eye liton a paragraph wherein Mr. and Mrs. Mortimer Hicks "requested tostate" that there was no truth in the report.
　　On the foundation of these two statements Susy raised one watch-tower of hope after another, feverish edifices demolished orrebuilt by every chance hint from the outer world wherein Nick'sname figured with the Hickses'. And still, as the days passedand she heard nothing, either from him or from her lawyer, herflag continued to fly from the quaking structures.
　　Apart from the custody of the children there was indeed littleto distract her mind from these persistent broodings. Shewinced sometimes at the thought of the ease with which herfashionable friends had let her drop out of sight. In theperpetual purposeless rush of their days, the feverish making ofwinter plans, hurrying off to the Riviera or St. Moritz, Egyptor New York, there was no time to hunt up the vanished or towait for the laggard. Had they learned that she had broken her"engagement" (how she hated the word!) to Strefford, and had thefact gone about that she was once more only a poor hanger-on, tobe taken up when it was convenient, and ignored in theintervals? She did not know; though she fancied Strefford'snewly-developed pride would prevent his revealing to any onewhat had passed between them. For several days after her abruptflight he had made no sign; and though she longed to write andask his forgiveness she could not find the words. Finally itwas he who wrote: a short note, from Altringham, typical of allthat was best in the old Strefford. He had gone down toAltringham, he told her, to think quietly over their last talk,and try to understand what she had been driving at. He had toown that he couldn't; but that, he supposed, was the very headand front of his offending. Whatever he had done to displeaseher, he was sorry for; but he asked, in view of his invincibleignorance, to be allowed not to regard his offence as a causefor a final break. The possibility of that, he found, wouldmake him even more unhappy than he had foreseen; as she knew,his own happiness had always been his first object in life, andhe therefore begged her to suspend her decision a little longer.
　　He expected to be in Paris within another two months, and beforearriving he would write again, and ask her to see him.
　　The letter moved her but did not make her waver. She simplywrote that she was touched by his kindness, and would willinglysee him if he came to Paris later; though she was bound to tellhim that she had not yet changed her mind, and did not believeit would promote his happiness to have her try to do so.
　　He did not reply to this, and there was nothing further to keepher thoughts from revolving endlessly about her inmost hopes andfears.
　　On the rainy afternoon in question, tramping home from the"cours" (to which she was to return at six), she had said toherself that it was two months that very day since Nick hadknown she was ready to release him--and that after such a delayhe was not likely to take any further steps. The thought filledher with a vague ecstasy. She had had to fix an arbitrary dateas the term of her anguish, and she had fixed that one; andbehold she was justified. For what could his silence mean butthat he too ....
　　On the hall-table lay a typed envelope with the Paris postage-mark. She opened it carelessly, and saw that the letter-headbore Mr. Spearman's office address. The words beneath spunround before her eyes .... "Has notified us that he is at yourdisposal ... carry out your wishes ... arriving in Paris ... fixan appointment with his lawyers ...."Nick--it was Nick the words were talking of! It was the fact ofNick's return to Paris that was being described in thosepreposterous terms! She sank down on the bench beside thedripping umbrella-stand and stared vacantly before her. It hadfallen at last--this blow in which she now saw that she hadnever really believed! And yet she had imagined she wasprepared for it, had expected it, was already planning herfuture life in view of it--an effaced impersonal life in theservice of somebody else's children--when, in reality, underthat thin surface of abnegation and acceptance, all the oldhopes had been smouldering red-hot in their ashes! What was theuse of any self-discipline, any philosophy, any experience, ifthe lawless self underneath could in an instant consume themlike tinder?
　　She tried to collect herself--to understand what had happened.
　　Nick was coming to Paris--coming not to see her but to consulthis lawyer! It meant, of course, that he had definitelyresolved to claim his freedom; and that, if he had made up hismind to this final step, after more than six months of inactionand seeming indifference, it could be only because somethingunforeseen and decisive had happened to him. Feverishly, sheput together again the stray scraps of gossip and the newspaperparagraphs that had reached her in the last months. It wasevident that Miss Hicks's projected marriage with the Prince ofTeutoburg-Waldhain had been broken off at the last moment; andbroken off because she intended to marry Nick. The announcementof his arrival in Paris and the publication of Mr. and Mrs.
　　Hicks's formal denial of their daughter's betrothal coincidedtoo closely to admit of any other inference. Susy tried tograsp the reality of these assembled facts, to picture toherself their actual tangible results. She thought of CoralHicks bearing the name of Mrs. Nick Lansing--her name, Susy'sown!--and entering drawing-rooms with Nick in her wake, gailywelcomed by the very people who, a few months before, hadwelcomed Susy with the same warmth. In spite of Nick's growingdislike of society, and Coral's attitude of intellectualsuperiority, their wealth would fatally draw them back into theworld to which Nick was attached by all his habits andassociations. And no doubt it would amuse him to re-enter thatworld as a dispenser of hospitality, to play the part of hostwhere he had so long been a guest; just as Susy had once fanciedit would amuse her to re-enter it as Lady Altringham .... But,try as she would, now that the reality was so close on her, shecould not visualize it or relate it to herself. The merejuxtaposition of the two names--Coral, Nick--which in old timesshe had so often laughingly coupled, now produced a blur in herbrain.
　　She continued to sit helplessly beside the hall-table, the tearsrunning down her cheeks. The appearance of the bonne arousedher. Her youngest charge, Geordie, had been feverish for a dayor two; he was better, but still confined to the nursery, and hehad heard Susy unlock the house-door, and could not imagine whyshe had not come straight up to him. He now began to manifesthis indignation in a series of racking howls, and Susy, shakenout of her trance, dropped her cloak and umbrella and hurriedup.
　　"Oh, that child!" she groaned.
　　Under the Fulmer roof there was little time or space for theindulgence of private sorrows. From morning till night therewas always some immediate practical demand on one's attention;and Susy was beginning to see how, in contracted households,children may play a part less romantic but not less useful thanthat assigned to them in fiction, through the mere fact ofgiving their parents no leisure to dwell on irremediablegrievances. Though her own apprenticeship to family life hadbeen so short, she had already acquired the knack of rapidmental readjustment, and as she hurried up to the nursery herprivate cares were dispelled by a dozen problems of temperature,diet and medicine.
　　Such readjustment was of course only momentary; yet each time ithappened it seemed to give her more firmness and flexibility oftemper. "What a child I was myself six months ago!" shethought, wondering that Nick's influence, and the tragedy oftheir parting, should have done less to mature and steady herthan these few weeks in a house full of children.
　　Pacifying Geordie was not easy, for he had long since learned touse his grievances as a pretext for keeping the offender at hisbeck with a continuous supply of stories, songs and games.
　　"You'd better be careful never to put yourself in the wrong withGeordie," the astute Junie had warned Susy at the outset,"because he's got such a memory, and he won't make it up withyou till you've told him every fairy-tale he's ever heardbefore."But on this occasion, as soon as he saw her, Geordie'sindignation melted. She was still in the doorway, compunctious,abject and racking her dazed brain for his favourite stories,when she saw, by the smoothing out of his mouth and the suddenserenity of his eyes, that he was going to give her thedelicious but not wholly reassuring shock of being a good boy.
　　Thoughtfully he examined her face as she knelt down beside thecot; then he poked out a finger and pressed it on her tearfulcheek.
　　"Poor Susy got a pain too," he said, putting his arms about her;and as she hugged him close, he added philosophically: "TellGeordie a new story, darling, and you'll forget all about it."
Chapter 26
    NICK Lansing arrived in Paris two days after his lawyer hadannounced his coming to Mr. Spearman.
　　He had left Rome with the definite purpose of freeing himselfand Susy; and though he was not pledged to Coral Hicks he hadnot concealed from her the object of his journey. In vain hadhe tried to rouse in himself any sense of interest in his ownfuture. Beyond the need of reaching a definite point in hisrelation to Susy his imagination could not travel. But he hadbeen moved by Coral's confession, and his reason told him thathe and she would probably be happy together, with the temperatehappiness based on a community of tastes and an enlargement ofopportunities. He meant, on his return to Rome, to ask her tomarry him; and he knew that she knew it. Indeed, if he had notspoken before leaving it was with no idea of evading his fate,or keeping her longer in suspense, but simply because of thestrange apathy that had fallen on him since he had receivedSusy's letter. In his incessant self-communings he dressed upthis apathy as a discretion which forbade his engaging Coral'sfuture till his own was assured. But in truth he knew thatCoral's future was already engaged, and his with it: in Romethe fact had seemed natural and even inevitable.
　　In Paris, it instantly became the thinnest of unrealities. Notbecause Paris was not Rome, nor because it was Paris; butbecause hidden away somewhere in that vast unheeding labyrinthwas the half-forgotten part of himself that was Susy .... Forweeks, for months past, his mind had been saturated with Susy:
　　she had never seemed more insistently near him than as theirseparation lengthened, and the chance of reunion became lessprobable. It was as if a sickness long smouldering in him hadbroken out and become acute, enveloping him in the Nessus-shirtof his memories. There were moments when, to his memory, theiractual embraces seemed perfunctory, accidental, compared withthis deep deliberate imprint of her soul on his.
　　Yet now it had become suddenly different. Now that he was inthe same place with her, and might at any moment run across her,meet her eyes, hear her voice, avoid her hand--now thatpenetrating ghost of her with which he had been living wassucked back into the shadows, and he seemed, for the first timesince their parting, to be again in her actual presence. Hewoke to the fact on the morning of his arrival, staring downfrom his hotel window on a street she would perhaps walk throughthat very day, and over a limitless huddle of roofs, one ofwhich covered her at that hour. The abruptness of thetransition startled him; he had not known that her meregeographical nearness would take him by the throat in that way.
　　What would it be, then, if she were to walk into the room?
　　Thank heaven that need never happen! He was sufficientlyinformed as to French divorce proceedings to know that theywould not necessitate a confrontation with his wife; and withordinary luck, and some precautions, he might escape even adistant glimpse of her. He did not mean to remain in Paris morethan a few days; and during that time it would be easy--knowing,as he did, her tastes and Altringham's--to avoid the placeswhere she was likely to be met. He did not know where she wasliving, but imagined her to be staying with Mrs. Melrose, orsome other rich friend, or else lodged, in prospectiveaffluence, at the Nouveau Luxe, or in a pretty flat of her own.
　　Trust Susy--ah, the pang of it--to "manage"!
　　His first visit was to his lawyer's; and as he walked throughthe familiar streets each approaching face, each distant figureseemed hers. The obsession was intolerable. It would not last,of course; but meanwhile he had the exposed sense of a fugitivein a nightmare, who feels himself the only creature visible in aghostly and besetting multitude. The eye of the metropolisseemed fixed on him in an immense unblinking stare.
　　At the lawyer's he was told that, as a first step to freedom, hemust secure a domicile in Paris. He had of course known of thisnecessity: he had seen too many friends through the DivorceCourt, in one country or another, not to be fairly familiar withthe procedure. But the fact presented a different aspect assoon as he tried to relate it to himself and Susy: it was asthough Susy's personality were a medium through which eventsstill took on a transfiguring colour. He found the "domicile"that very day: a tawdrily furnished rez-de-chaussee, obviouslydestined to far different uses. And as he sat there, after theconcierge had discreetly withdrawn with the first quarter'spayment in her pocket, and stared about him at the vulgar plushyplace, he burst out laughing at what it was about to figure inthe eyes of the law: a Home, and a Home desecrated by his ownact! The Home in which he and Susy had reared their precariousbliss, and seen it crumble at the brutal touch of hisunfaithfulness and his cruelty--for he had been told that hemust be cruel to her as well as unfaithful! He looked at thewalls hung with sentimental photogravures, at the shiny bronze"nudes," the moth-eaten animal-skins and the bedizened bed-andonce more the unreality, the impossibility, of all that washappening to him entered like a drug into his veins.
　　To rouse himself he stood up, turned the key on the hideousplace, and returned to his lawyer's. He knew that in the harddry atmosphere of the office the act of giving the address ofthe flat would restore some kind of reality to the phantasmaltransaction. And with wonder he watched the lawyer, as a matterof course, pencil the street and the number on one of the papersenclosed in a folder on which his own name was elaboratelyengrossed.
　　As he took leave it occurred to him to ask where Susy wasliving. At least he imagined that it had just occurred to him,and that he was making the enquiry merely as a measure ofprecaution, in order to know what quarter of Paris to avoid; butin reality the question had been on his lips since he had firstentered the office, and lurking in his mind since he had emergedfrom the railway station that morning. The fact of not knowingwhere she lived made the whole of Paris a meaninglessunintelligible place, as useless to him as the face of a hugeclock that has lost its hour hand.
　　The address in Passy surprised him: he had imagined that shewould be somewhere in the neighborhood of the Champs Elysees orthe Place de l'Etoile. But probably either Mrs. Melrose orEllie Vanderlyn had taken a house at Passy. Well--it wassomething of a relief to know that she was so far off. Nobusiness called him to that almost suburban region beyond theTrocadero, and there was much less chance of meeting her than ifshe had been in the centre of Paris.
　　All day he wandered, avoiding the fashionable quarters, thestreets in which private motors glittered five deep, and furredand feathered silhouettes glided from them into tea-rooms,picture-galleries and jewellers' shops. In some such scenesSusy was no doubt figuring: slenderer, finer, vivider, than theother images of clay, but imitating their gestures, chatteringtheir jargon, winding her hand among the same pearls and sables.
　　He struck away across the Seine, along the quays to the Cite,the net-work of old Paris, the great grey vaults of St.
　　Eustache, the swarming streets of the Marais. He gazed atmonuments dawdled before shop-windows, sat in squares and onquays, watching people bargain, argue, philander, quarrel, work-girls stroll past in linked bands, beggars whine on the bridges,derelicts doze in the pale winter sun, mothers in mourninghasten by taking children to school, and street-walkers beattheir weary rounds before the cafes.
　　The day drifted on. Toward evening he began to grow afraid ofhis solitude, and to think of dining at the Nouveau Luxe, orsome other fashionable restaurant where he would be fairly sureto meet acquaintances, and be carried off to a theatre, a boiteor a dancing-hall. Anything, anything now, to get away from themaddening round of his thoughts. He felt the same blank fear ofsolitude as months ago in Genoa .... Even if he were to runacross Susy and Altringham, what of it? Better get the jobover. People had long since ceased to take on tragedy airsabout divorce: dividing couples dined together to the last, andmet afterward in each other's houses, happy in the consciousnessthat their respective remarriages had provided two new centresof entertainment. Yet most of the couples who took their re-matings so philosophically had doubtless had their hour ofenchantment, of belief in the immortality of loving; whereas heand Susy had simply and frankly entered into a business contractfor their mutual advantage. The fact gave the last touch ofincongruity to his agonies and exaltations, and made him appearto himself as grotesque and superannuated as the hero of aromantic novel.
　　He stood up from a bench on which he had been lounging in theLuxembourg gardens, and hailed a taxi. Dusk had fallen, and hemeant to go back to his hotel, take a rest, and then go out todine. But instead, he threw Susy's address to the driver, andsettled down in the cab, resting both hands on the knob of hisumbrella and staring straight ahead of him as if he wereaccomplishing some tiresome duty that had to be got through withbefore he could turn his mind to more important things.
　　"It's the easiest way," he heard himself say.
　　At the street-corner--her street-corner--he stopped the cab, andstood motionless while it rattled away. It was a short vaguestreet, much farther off than he had expected, and fading awayat the farther end in a dusky blur of hoardings overhung bytrees. A thin rain was beginning to fall, and it was alreadynight in this inadequately lit suburban quarter. Lansing walkeddown the empty street. The houses stood a few yards apart, withbare-twigged shrubs between, and gates and railings dividingthem from the pavement. He could not, at first, distinguishtheir numbers; but presently, coming abreast of a street-lamp,he discovered that the small shabby facade it illuminated wasprecisely the one he sought. The discovery surprised him. Hehad imagined that, as frequently happened in the outlyingquarters of Passy and La Muette, the mean street would lead to astately private hotel, built upon some bowery fragment of an oldcountry-place. It was the latest whim of the wealthy toestablish themselves on these outskirts of Paris, where therewas still space for verdure; and he had pictured Susy behindsome pillared house-front, with lights pouring across glossyturf to sculptured gateposts. Instead, he saw a six-windowedhouse, huddled among neighbours of its kind, with the familywash fluttering between meagre bushes. The arc-light beatironically on its front, which had the worn look of a tiredwork-woman's face; and Lansing, as he leaned against theopposite railing, vainly tried to fit his vision of Susy into sohumble a setting.
　　The probable explanation was that his lawyer had given him thewrong address; not only the wrong number but the wrong street.
　　He pulled out the slip of paper, and was crossing over todecipher it under the lamp, when an errand-boy appeared out ofthe obscurity, and approached the house. Nick drew back, andthe boy, unlatching the gate, ran up the steps and gave the bella pull.
　　Almost immediately the door opened; and there stood Susy, thelight full upon her, and upon a red-checked child against hershoulder. The space behind them was dark, or so dimly lit thatit formed a black background to her vivid figure. She looked atthe errand-boy without surprise, took his parcel, and after hehad turned away, lingered a moment in the door, glancing downthe empty street.
　　That moment, to her watcher, seemed quicker than a flash yet aslong as a life-time. There she was, a stone's throw away, bututterly unconscious of his presence: his Susy, the old Susy,and yet a new Susy, curiously transformed, transfigured almost,by the new attitude in which he beheld her.
　　In the first shock of the vision he forgot his surprise at herbeing in such a place, forgot to wonder whose house she was in,or whose was the sleepy child in her arms. For an instant shestood out from the blackness behind her, and through the veil ofthe winter night, a thing apart, an unconditioned vision, theeternal image of the woman and the child; and in that instanteverything within him was changed and renewed. His eyes werestill absorbing her, finding again the familiar curves of herlight body, noting the thinness of the lifted arm that upheldthe little boy, the droop of the shoulder he weighed on, thebrooding way in which her cheek leaned to his even while shelooked away; then she drew back, the door closed, and thestreet-lamp again shone on blankness.
　　"But she's mine!" Nick cried, in a fierce triumph ofrecovery ...
　　His eyes were so full of her that he shut them to hold in thecrowding vision.
　　It remained with him, at first, as a complete picture; thengradually it broke up into its component parts, the childvanished, the strange house vanished, and Susy alone stoodbefore him, his own Susy, only his Susy, yet changed, worn,tempered--older, even--with sharper shadows under the cheek-bones, the brows drawn, the joint of the slim wrist moreprominent. It was not thus that his memory had evoked her, andhe recalled, with a remorseful pang, the fact that something inher look, her dress, her tired and drooping attitude, suggestedpoverty, dependence, seemed to make her after all a part of theshabby house in which, at first sight, her presence had seemedso incongruous.
　　"But she looks poor!" he thought, his heart tightening. Andinstantly it occurred to him that these must be the Fulmerchildren whom she was living with while their parents travelledin Italy. Rumours of Nat Fulmer's sudden ascension had reachedhim, and he had heard that the couple had lately been seen inNaples and Palermo. No one had mentioned Susy's name inconnection with them, and he could hardly tell why he hadarrived at this conclusion, except perhaps because it seemednatural that, if Susy were in trouble, she should turn to herold friend Grace.
　　But why in trouble? What trouble? What could have happened tocheck her triumphant career?
　　"That's what I mean to find out!" he exclaimed.
　　His heart was beating with a tumult of new hopes and oldmemories. The sight of his wife, so remote in mien and mannerfrom the world in which he had imagined her to be re-absorbed,changed in a flash his own relation to life, and flung a mist ofunreality over all that he had been trying to think most solidand tangible. Nothing now was substantial to him but the stonesof the street in which he stood, the front of the house whichhid her, the bell-handle he already felt in his grasp. Hestarted forward, and was halfway to the threshold when a privatemotor turned the corner, the twin glitter of its lamps carpetingthe wet street with gold to Susy's door.
　　Lansing drew back into the shadow as the motor swept up to thehouse. A man jumped out, and the light fell on Strefford'sshambling figure, its lazy disjointed movements so unmistakablythe same under his fur coat, and in the new setting ofprosperity.
　　Lansing stood motionless, staring at the door. Strefford rang,and waited. Would Susy appear again? Perhaps she had done sobefore only because she had been on the watch ....
　　But no: after a slight delay a bonne appeared --the breathlessmaid-of-all-work of a busy household--and at once effacedherself, letting the visitor in. Lansing was sure that not aword passed between the two, of enquiry on Lord Altringham'spart, or of acquiescence on the servant's. There could be nodoubt that he was expected.
　　The door closed on him, and a light appeared behind the blind ofthe adjoining window. The maid had shown the visitor into thesitting-room and lit the lamp. Upstairs, meanwhile, Susy was nodoubt running skilful fingers through her tumbled hair anddaubing her pale lips with red. Ah, how Lansing knew everymovement of that familiar rite, even to the pucker of the browand the pouting thrust-out of the lower lip! He was seized witha sense of physical sickness as the succession of rememberedgestures pressed upon his eyes .... And the other man? Theother man, inside the house, was perhaps at that very instantsmiling over the remembrance of the same scene!
　　At the thought, Lansing plunged away into the night.
Chapter 27
    SUSY and Lord Altringham sat in the little drawing-room, dividedfrom each other by a table carrying a smoky lamp and heaped withtattered school-books.
　　In another half hour the bonne, despatched to fetch the childrenfrom their classes, would be back with her flock; and at anymoment Geordie's imperious cries might summon his slave up tothe nursery. In the scant time allotted them, the two sat, andvisibly wondered what to say.
　　Strefford, on entering, had glanced about the dreary room, withits piano laden with tattered music, the children's toyslittering the lame sofa, the bunches of dyed grass and impaledbutterflies flanking the cast-bronze clock. Then he had turnedto Susy and asked simply: "Why on earth are you here?"She had not tried to explain; from the first, she had understoodthe impossibility of doing so. And she would not betray hersecret longing to return to Nick, now that she knew that Nickhad taken definite steps for his release. In dread lestStrefford should have heard of this, and should announce it toher, coupling it with the news of Nick's projected marriage, andlest, hearing her fears thus substantiated, she should lose herself-control, she had preferred to say, in a voice that shetried to make indifferent: "The 'proceedings,' or whatever thelawyers call them, have begun. While they're going on I like tostay quite by myself .... I don't know why ...."Strefford, at that, had looked at her keenly. "Ah," hemurmured; and his lips were twisted into their old mockingsmile. "Speaking of proceedings," he went on carelessly, "whatstage have Ellie's reached, I wonder? I saw her and Vanderlynand Bockheimer all lunching cheerfully together to-day atLarue's."The blood rushed to Susy's forehead. She remembered her tragicevening with Nelson Vanderlyn, only two months earlier, andthought to herself. "In time, then, I suppose, Nick and I ....
　　Aloud she said: "I can't imagine how Nelson and Ellie can everwant to see each other again. And in a restaurant, of allplaces!"Strefford continued to smile. "My dear, you're incorrigiblyold-fashioned. Why should two people who've done each other thebest turn they could by getting out of each other's way at theright moment behave like sworn enemies ever afterward? It's tooabsurd; the humbug's too flagrant. Whatever our generation hasfailed to do, it's got rid of humbug; and that's enough toimmortalize it. I daresay Nelson and Ellie never liked eachother better than they do to-day. Twenty years ago, they'd havebeen afraid to confess it; but why shouldn't they now?"Susy looked at Strefford, conscious that under his words was theache of the disappointment she had caused him; and yet consciousalso that that very ache was not the overwhelming penetratingemotion he perhaps wished it to be, but a pang on a par with adozen others; and that even while he felt it he foresaw the daywhen he should cease to feel it. And she thought to herselfthat this certainty of oblivion must be bitterer than anycertainty of pain.
　　A silence had fallen between them. He broke it by rising fromhis seat, and saying with a shrug: "You'll end by driving me tomarry Joan Senechal."Susy smiled. "Well, why not? She's lovely.""Yes; but she'll bore me.""Poor Streff! So should I--""Perhaps. But nothing like as soon--" He grinned sardonically.
　　"There'd be more margin." He appeared to wait for her to speak.
　　"And what else on earth are you going to do?" he concluded, asshe still remained silent.
　　"Oh, Streff, I couldn't marry you for a reason like that!" shemurmured at length.
　　"Then marry me, and find your reason afterward."Her lips made a movement of denial, and still in silence sheheld out her hand for good-bye. He clasped it, and then turnedaway; but on the threshold he paused, his screwed-up eyes fixedon her wistfully.
　　The look moved her, and she added hurriedly: "The only reason Ican find is one for not marrying you. It's because I can't yetfeel unmarried enough.""Unmarried enough? But I thought Nick was doing his best tomake you feel that.""Yes. But even when he has--sometimes I think even that won'tmake any difference."He still scrutinized her hesitatingly, with the gravest eyes shehad ever seen in his careless face.
　　"My dear, that's rather the way I feel about you," he saidsimply as he turned to go.
　　That evening after the children had gone to bed Susy sat up latein the cheerless sitting-room. She was not thinking ofStrefford but of Nick. He was coming to Paris--perhaps he hadalready arrived. The idea that he might be in the same placewith her at that very moment, and without her knowing it, was sostrange and painful that she felt a violent revolt of all herstrong and joy-loving youth. Why should she go on suffering sounbearably, so abjectly, so miserably? If only she could seehim, hear his voice, even hear him say again such cruel andhumiliating words as he had spoken on that dreadful day inVenice when that would be better than this blankness, this utterand final exclusion from his life! He had been cruel to her,unimaginably cruel: hard, arrogant, unjust; and had been so,perhaps, deliberately, because he already wanted to be free.
　　But she was ready to face even that possibility, to humbleherself still farther than he had humbled her--she was ready todo anything, if only she might see him once again.
　　She leaned her aching head on her hands and pondered. Doanything? But what could she do? Nothing that should hurt him,interfere with his liberty, be false to the spirit of theirpact: on that she was more than ever resolved. She had made abargain, and she meant to stick to it, not for any abstractreason, but simply because she happened to love him in that way.
　　Yes--but to see him again, only once!
　　Suddenly she remembered what Strefford had said about NelsonVanderlyn and his wife. "Why should two people who've just doneeach other the best turn they could behave like sworn enemiesever after?" If in offering Nick his freedom she had indeeddone him such a service as that, perhaps he no longer hated her,would no longer be unwilling to see her .... At any rate, whyshould she not write to him on that assumption, write in aspirit of simple friendliness, suggesting that they should meetand "settle things"? The business-like word "settle" (how shehated it) would prove to him that she had no secret designs uponhis liberty; and besides he was too unprejudiced, too modern,too free from what Strefford called humbug, not to understandand accept such a suggestion. After all, perhaps Strefford wasright; it was something to have rid human relations ofhypocrisy, even if, in the process, so many exquisite thingsseemed somehow to have been torn away with it ....
　　She ran up to her room, scribbled a note, and hurried with itthrough the rain and darkness to the post-box at the corner. Asshe returned through the empty street she had an odd feelingthat it was not empty--that perhaps Nick was already there,somewhere near her in the night, about to follow her to thedoor, enter the house, go up with her to her bedroom in the oldway. It was strange how close he had been brought by the merefact of her having written that little note to him!
　　In the bedroom, Geordie lay in his crib in ruddy slumber, andshe blew out the candle and undressed softly for fear of wakinghim.
　　Nick Lansing, the next day, received Susy's letter, transmittedto his hotel from the lawyer's office.
　　He read it carefully, two or three times over, weighing andscrutinizing the guarded words. She proposed that they shouldmeet to "settle things." What things? And why should he accedeto such a request? What secret purpose had prompted her? Itwas horrible that nowadays, in thinking of Susy, he shouldalways suspect ulterior motives, be meanly on the watch for somehidden tortuousness. What on earth was she trying to "manage"now, he wondered.
　　A few hours ago, at the sight of her, all his hardness hadmelted, and he had charged himself with cruelty, with injustice,with every sin of pride against himself and her; but theappearance of Strefford, arriving at that late hour, and soevidently expected and welcomed, had driven back the rising tideof tenderness.
　　Yet, after all, what was there to wonder at? Nothing waschanged in their respective situations. He had left his wife,deliberately, and for reasons which no subsequent experience hadcaused him to modify. She had apparently acquiesced in hisdecision, and had utilized it, as she was justified in doing, toassure her own future.
　　In all this, what was there to wail or knock the breast betweentwo people who prided themselves on looking facts in the face,and making their grim best of them, without vain repinings? Hehad been right in thinking their marriage an act of madness.
　　Her charms had overruled his judgment, and they had had theiryear ... their mad year ... or at least all but two or threemonths of it. But his first intuition had been right; and nowthey must both pay for their madness. The Fates seldom forgetthe bargains made with them, or fail to ask for compoundinterest. Why not, then, now that the time had come, pay upgallantly, and remember of the episode only what had made itseem so supremely worth the cost?
　　He sent a pneumatic telegram to Mrs. Nicholas Lansing to saythat he would call on her that afternoon at four. "That oughtto give us time," he reflected drily, "to 'settle things,' asshe calls it, without interfering with Strefford's afternoonvisit."
Chapter 28
    HER husband's note had briefly said:
　　"To-day at four o'clock. N.L."All day she pored over the words in an agony of longing, tryingto read into them regret, emotion, memories, some echo of thetumult in her own bosom. But she had signed "Susy," and hesigned "N.L." That seemed to put an abyss between them. Afterall, she was free and he was not. Perhaps, in view of hissituation, she had only increased the distance between them byher unconventional request for a meeting.
　　She sat in the little drawing-room, and the cast-bronze clockticked out the minutes. She would not look out of the window:
　　it might bring bad luck to watch for him. And it seemed to herthat a thousand invisible spirits, hidden demons of good andevil, pressed about her, spying out her thoughts, counting herheart-beats, ready to pounce upon the least symptom of over-confidence and turn it deftly to derision. Oh, for an altar onwhich to pour out propitiatory offerings! But what sweetercould they have than her smothered heart-beats, her choked-backtears?
　　The bell rang, and she stood up as if a spring had jerked her toher feet. In the mirror between the dried grasses her facelooked long pale inanimate. Ah, if he should find her toochanged--! If there were but time to dash upstairs and put on atouch of red ....
　　The door opened; it shut on him; he was there.
　　He said: "You wanted to see me?"She answered: "Yes." And her heart seemed to stop beating.
　　At first she could not make out what mysterious change had comeover him, and why it was that in looking at him she seemed to belooking at a stranger; then she perceived that his voice soundedas it used to sound when he was talking to other people; and shesaid to herself, with a sick shiver of understanding, that shehad become an "other person" to him.
　　There was a deathly pause; then she faltered out, not knowingwhat she said: "Nick--you'll sit down?"He said: "Thanks," but did not seem to have heard her, for hecontinued to stand motionless, half the room between them. Andslowly the uselessness, the hopelessness of his being thereovercame her. A wall of granite seemed to have built itself upbetween them. She felt as if it hid her from him, as if withthose remote new eyes of his he were staring into the wall andnot at her. Suddenly she said to herself: "He's suffering morethan I am, because he pities me, and is afraid to tell me thathe is going to be married."The thought stung her pride, and she lifted her head and met hiseyes with a smile.
　　"Don't you think," she said, "it's more sensible-witheverything so changed in our lives--that we should meet asfriends, in this way? I wanted to tell you that you needn'tfeel--feel in the least unhappy about me."A deep flush rose to his forehead. "Oh, I know--I know that--"he declared hastily; and added, with a factitious animation:
　　"But thank you for telling me.""There's nothing, is there," she continued, "to make our meetingin this way in the least embarrassing or painful to either ofus, when both have found ...." She broke off, and held her handout to him. "I've heard about you and Coral," she ended.
　　He just touched her hand with cold fingers, and let it drop.
　　"Thank you," he said for the third time.
　　"You won't sit down?"He sat down.
　　"Don't you think," she continued, "that the new way of ... ofmeeting as friends ... and talking things over without ill-will ... is much pleasanter and more sensible, after all?"He smiled. "It's immensely kind of you to feel that.""Oh, I do feel it!" She stopped short, and wondered what onearth she had meant to say next, and why she had so abruptlylost the thread of her discourse.
　　In the pause she heard him cough slightly and clear his throat.
　　"Let me say, then," he began, "that I'm glad too--immensely gladthat your own future is so satisfactorily settled."She lifted her glance again to his walled face, in which not amuscle stirred.
　　"Yes: it--it makes everything easier for you, doesn't it?""For you too, I hope." He paused, and then went on: "I wantalso to tell you that I perfectly understand--""Oh," she interrupted, "so do I; your point of view, I mean."They were again silent.
　　"Nick, why can't we be friends real friends? Won't it beeasier?" she broke out at last with twitching lips.
　　"Easier--?""I mean, about talking things over--arrangements. There arearrangements to be made, I suppose?""I suppose so." He hesitated. "I'm doing what I'm told-simplyfollowing out instructions. The business is easy enough,apparently. I'm taking the necessary steps--"She reddened a little, and drew a gasping breath. "Thenecessary steps: what are they? Everything the lawyers tellone is so confusing .... I don't yet understand--how it'sdone.""My share, you mean? Oh, it's very simple." He paused, andadded in a tone of laboured ease: "I'm going down toFontainebleau to-morrow--"She stared, not understanding. "To Fontainebleau--?"Her bewilderment drew from him his first frank smile. "Well--I chose Fontainebleau--I don't know why ... except that we'venever been there together."At that she suddenly understood, and the blood rushed to herforehead. She stood up without knowing what she was doing, herheart in her throat. "How grotesque--how utterly disgusting!"He gave a slight shrug. "I didn't make the laws ....""But isn't it too stupid and degrading that such things shouldbe necessary when two people want to part--?" She broke offagain, silenced by the echo of that fatal "want to part." ...
　　He seemed to prefer not to dwell farther on the legalobligations involved.
　　"You haven't yet told me," he suggested, "how you happen to beliving here.""Here--with the Fulmer children?" She roused herself, trying tocatch his easier note. "Oh, I've simply been governessing themfor a few weeks, while Nat and Grace are in Sicily." She didnot say: "It's because I've parted with Strefford." Somehow ithelped her wounded pride a little to keep from him the secret ofher precarious independence.
　　He looked his wonder. "All alone with that bewildered bonne?
　　But how many of them are there? Five? Good Lord!" Hecontemplated the clock with unseeing eyes, and then turned themagain on her face.
　　"I should have thought a lot of children would rather get onyour nerves.""Oh, not these children. They're so good to me.""Ah, well, I suppose it won't be for long."He sent his eyes again about the room, which his absent-mindedgaze seemed to reduce to its dismal constituent elements, andadded, with an obvious effort at small talk: "I hear theFulmers are not hitting it off very well since his success. Isit true that he's going to marry Violet Melrose?"The blood rose to Susy's face. "Oh, never, never! He and Graceare travelling together now.""Oh, I didn't know. People say things ...." He was visiblyembarrassed with the subject, and sorry that he had broached it.
　　"Some of the things that people say are true. But Grace doesn'tmind. She says she and Nat belong to each other. They can'thelp it, she thinks, after having been through such a lottogether.""Dear old Grace!"He had risen from his chair, and this time she made no effort todetain him. He seemed to have recovered his self-composure, andit struck her painfully, humiliatingly almost, that he shouldhave spoken in that light way of the expedition to Fontainebleauon the morrow .... Well, men were different, she supposed; sheremembered having felt that once before about Nick.
　　It was on the tip of her tongue to cry out: "But wait--wait!
　　I'm not going to marry Strefford after all!"--but to do so wouldseem like an appeal to his compassion, to his indulgence; andthat was not what she wanted. She could never forget that hehad left her because he had not been able to forgive her for"managing"--and not for the world would she have him think thatthis meeting had been planned for such a purpose.
　　"If he doesn't see that I am different, in spite ofappearances ... and that I never was what he said I was thatday--if in all these months it hasn't come over him, what's theuse of trying to make him see it now?" she mused. And then, herthoughts hurrying on: "Perhaps he's suffering too--I believe heis suffering-at any rate, he's suffering for me, if not forhimself. But if he's pledged to Coral, what can he do? Whatwould he think of me if I tried to make him break his word toher?"There he stood--the man who was "going to Fontainebleau to-morrow"; who called it "taking the necessary steps!" Who couldsmile as he made the careless statement! A world seemed todivide them already: it was as if their parting were alreadyover. All the words, cries, arguments beating loud wings in herdropped back into silence. The only thought left was: "Howmuch longer does he mean to go on standing there?"He may have read the question in her face, for turning back froman absorbed contemplation of the window curtains he said:
　　"There's nothing else?""Nothing else?""I mean: you spoke of things to be settled--"She flushed, suddenly remembering the pretext she had used tosummon him.
　　"Oh," she faltered, "I didn't know ... I thought there mightbe .... But the lawyers, I suppose ...."She saw the relief on his contracted face. "Exactly. I'vealways thought it was best to leave it to them. I assure you"--again for a moment the smile strained his lips-- "I shall donothing to interfere with a quick settlement."She stood motionless, feeling herself turn to stone. Heappeared already a long way off, like a figure vanishing down aremote perspective.
　　"Then--good-bye," she heard him say from its farther end.
　　"Oh,--good-bye," she faltered, as if she had not had the wordready, and was relieved to have him supply it.
　　He stopped again on the threshold, looked back at her, began tospeak. "I've--" he said; then he repeated "Good-bye," as thoughto make sure he had not forgotten to say it; and the door closedon him.
　　It was over; she had had her last chance and missed it. Now,whatever happened, the one thing she had lived and longed forwould never be. He had come, and she had let him go again ....
　　How had it come about? Would she ever be able to explain it toherself? How was it that she, so fertile in strategy, sopracticed in feminine arts, had stood there before him,helpless, inarticulate, like a school-girl a-choke with herfirst love-longing? If he was gone, and gone never to return,it was her own fault, and none but hers. What had she done tomove him, detain him, make his heart beat and his head swim ashers were beating and swimming? She stood aghast at her owninadequacy, her stony inexpressiveness ....
　　And suddenly she lifted her hands to her throbbing forehead andcried out: "But this is love! This must be love!"She had loved him before, she supposed; for what else was she tocall the impulse that had drawn her to him, taught her how toovercome his scruples, and whirled him away with her on theirmad adventure? Well, if that was love, this was something somuch larger and deeper that the other feeling seemed the meredancing of her blood in tune with his ....
　　But, no! Real love, great love, the love that poets sang, andprivileged and tortured beings lived and died of, that love hadits own superior expressiveness, and the sure command of itsmeans. The petty arts of coquetry were no farther from it thanthe numbness of the untaught girl. Great love was wise, strong,powerful, like genius, like any other dominant form of humanpower. It knew itself, and what it wanted, and how to attainits ends.
　　Not great love, then ... but just the common humble average ofhuman love was hers. And it had come to her so newly, sooverwhelmingly, with a face so grave, a touch so startling, thatshe had stood there petrified, humbled at the first look of itseyes, recognizing that what she had once taken for love wasmerely pleasure and spring-time, and the flavour of youth.
　　"But how was I to know? And now it's too late!" she wailed.
Chapter 29
    THE inhabitants of the little house in Passy were of necessityearly risers; but when Susy jumped out of bed the next morningno one else was astir, and it lacked nearly an hour of the callof the bonne's alarm-clock.
　　For a moment Susy leaned out of her dark room into the darkernight. A cold drizzle fell on her face, and she shivered anddrew back. Then, lighting a candle, and shading it, as herhabit was, from the sleeping child, she slipped on her dressing-gown and opened the door. On the threshold she paused to lookat her watch. Only half-past five! She thought withcompunction of the unkindness of breaking in on Junie Fulmer'sslumbers; but such scruples did not weigh an ounce in thebalance of her purpose. Poor Junie would have to oversleepherself on Sunday, that was all.
　　Susy stole into the passage, opened a door, and cast her lighton the girl's face.
　　"Junie! Dearest Junie, you must wake up!"Junie lay in the abandonment of youthful sleep; but at the soundof her name she sat up with the promptness of a grown person onwhom domestic burdens have long weighed.
　　"Which one of them is it?" she asked, one foot already out ofbed.
　　"Oh, Junie dear, no ... it's nothing wrong with the children ...
　　or with anybody," Susy stammered, on her knees by the bed.
　　In the candlelight, she saw Junie's anxious brow darkenreproachfully.
　　"Oh, Susy, then why--? I was just dreaming we were all drivingabout Rome in a great big motor-car with father and mother!""I'm so sorry, dear. What a lovely dream! I'm a brute to haveinterrupted it--"She felt the little girl's awakening scrutiny. "If there'snothing wrong with anybody, why are you crying, Susy? Is it youthere's something wrong with? What has happened?""Am I crying?" Susy rose from her knees and sat down on thecounterpane. "Yes, it is me. And I had to disturb you.""Oh, Susy, darling, what is it?" Junie's arms were about her ina flash, and Susy grasped them in burning fingers.
　　"Junie, listen! I've got to go away at once-- to leave you allfor the whole day. I may not be back till late this evening;late to-night; I can't tell. I promised your mother I'd neverleave you; but I've got to--I've got to."Junie considered her agitated face with fully awakened eyes.
　　"Oh, I won't tell, you know, you old brick, " she said withsimplicity.
　　Susy hugged her. "Junie, Junie, you darling! But that wasn'twhat I meant. Of course you may tell--you must tell. I shallwrite to your mother myself. But what worries me is the idea ofhaving to go away-- away from Paris--for the whole day, withGeordie still coughing a little, and no one but that sillyAngele to stay with him while you're out--and no one but you totake yourself and the others to school. But Junie, Junie, I'vegot to do it!" she sobbed out, clutching the child tighter.
　　Junie Fulmer, with her strangely mature perception of the case,and seemingly of every case that fate might call on her to dealwith, sat for a moment motionless in Susy's hold. Then shefreed her wrists with an adroit twist, and leaning back againstthe pillows said judiciously: "You'll never in the world bringup a family of your own if you take on like this over otherpeople's children."Through all her turmoil of spirit the observation drew a laughfrom Susy. "Oh, a family of my own--I don't deserve one, theway I'm behaving to your"Junie still considered her. "My dear, a change will do yougood: you need it," she pronounced.
　　Susy rose with a laughing sigh. "I'm not at all sure it will!
　　But I've got to have it, all the same. Only I do feelanxious--and I can't even leave you my address!"Junie still seemed to examine the case.
　　"Can't you even tell me where you're going?" she ventured, as ifnot quite sure of the delicacy of asking.
　　"Well--no, I don't think I can; not till I get back. Besides,even if I could it wouldn't be much use, because I couldn't giveyou my address there. I don't know what it will be.""But what does it matter, if you're coming back to-night?""Of course I'm coming back! How could you possibly imagine Ishould think of leaving you for more than a day?""Oh, I shouldn't be afraid--not much, that is, with the poker,and Nat's water-pistol," emended Junie, still judicious.
　　Susy again enfolded her vehemently, and then turned to morepractical matters. She explained that she wished if possible tocatch an eight-thirty train from the Gare de Lyon, and thatthere was not a moment to lose if the children were to bedressed and fed, and full instructions written out for Junie andAngele, before she rushed for the underground.
　　While she bathed Geordie, and then hurried into her own clothes,she could not help wondering at her own extreme solicitude forher charges. She remembered, with a pang, how often she haddeserted Clarissa Vanderlyn for the whole day, and even for twoor three in succession--poor little Clarissa, whom she knew tobe so unprotected, so exposed to evil influences. She had beentoo much absorbed in her own greedy bliss to be more thanintermittently aware of the child; but now, she felt, no sorrowhowever ravaging, no happiness however absorbing, would everagain isolate her from her kind.
　　And then these children were so different! The exquisiteClarissa was already the predestined victim of her surroundings:
　　her budding soul was divided from Susy's by the same barrier ofincomprehension that separated the latter from Mrs. Vanderlyn.
　　Clarissa had nothing to teach Susy but the horror of her ownhard little appetites; whereas the company of the noisyargumentative Fulmers had been a school of wisdom andabnegation.
　　As she applied the brush to Geordie's shining head and thehandkerchief to his snuffling nose, the sense of what she owedhim was so borne in on Susy that she interrupted the process tocatch him to her bosom.
　　"I'll have such a story to tell you when I get back to-night, ifyou'll promise me to be good all day," she bargained with him;and Geordie, always astute, bargained back: "Before I promise,I'd like to know what story."At length all was in order. Junie had been enlightened, andAngele stunned, by the minuteness of Susy's instructions; andthe latter, waterproofed and stoutly shod, descended thedoorstep, and paused to wave at the pyramid of heads yearning toher from an upper window.
　　It was hardly light, and still raining, when she turned into thedismal street. As usual, it was empty; but at the corner sheperceived a hesitating taxi, with luggage piled beside thedriver. Perhaps it was some early traveller, just arriving, whowould release the carriage in time for her to catch it, and thusavoid the walk to the metro, and the subsequent strap-hanging;for it was the work-people's hour. Susy raced toward thevehicle, which, overcoming its hesitation, was beginning to movein her direction. Observing this, she stopped to see where itwould discharge its load. Thereupon the taxi stopped also, andthe load discharged itself in front of her in the shape of NickLansing.
　　The two stood staring at each other through the rain till Nickbroke out: "Where are you going? I came to get you.""To get me? To get me?" she repeated. Beside the driver shehad suddenly remarked the old suit-case from which her husbandhad obliged her to extract Strefford's cigars as they wereleaving Como; and everything that had happened since seemed tofall away and vanish in the pang and rapture of that memory.
　　"To get you; yes. Of course." He spoke the words peremptorily,almost as if they were an order. "Where were you going?" herepeated.
　　Without answering, she turned toward the house. He followedher, and the laden taxi closed the procession.
　　"Why are you out in such weather without an umbrella?" hecontinued, in the same severe tone, drawing her under theshelter of his.
　　"Oh, because Junie's umbrella is in tatters, and I had to leaveher mine, as I was going away for the whole day." She spoke thewords like a person in a trance.
　　"For the whole day? At this hour? Where?"They were on the doorstep, and she fumbled automatically for herkey, let herself in, and led the way to the sitting-room. Ithad not been tidied up since the night before. The children'sschool books lay scattered on the table and sofa, and the emptyfireplace was grey with ashes. She turned to Nick in the pallidlight.
　　"I was going to see you," she stammered, "I was going to followyou to Fontainebleau, if necessary, to tell you ... to preventyou...."He repeated in the same aggressive tone: "Tell me what?
　　Prevent what?""Tell you that there must be some other way ... some decentway ... of our separating ... without that horror. that horrorof your going off with a woman ...."He stared, and then burst into a laugh. The blood rushed to herface. She had caught a familiar ring in his laugh, and itwounded her. What business had he, at such a time, to laugh inthe old way?
　　"I'm sorry; but there is no other way, I'm afraid. No other waybut one," he corrected himself.
　　She raised her head sharply. "Well?""That you should be the woman. --Oh, my dear!" He had droppedhis mocking smile, and was at her side, her hands in his. "Oh,my dear, don't you see that we've both been feeling the samething, and at the same hour? You lay awake thinking of it allnight, didn't you? So did I. Whenever the clock struck, I saidto myself: 'She's hearing it too.' And I was up beforedaylight, and packed my traps--for I never want to set footagain in that awful hotel where I've lived in hell for the lastthree days. And I swore to myself that I'd go off with a womanby the first train I could catch--and so I mean to, my dear."She stood before him numb. Yes, numb: that was the worst ofit! The violence of the reaction had been too great, and shecould hardly understand what he was saying. Instead, shenoticed that the tassel of the window-blind was torn off again(oh, those children!), and vaguely wondered if his luggage weresafe on the waiting taxi. One heard such stories ....
　　His voice came back to her. "Susy! Listen!" he was entreating.
　　"You must see yourself that it can't be. We're married--isn'tthat all that matters? Oh, I know--I've behaved like a brute:
　　a cursed arrogant ass! You couldn't wish that ass a worsekicking than I've given him! But that's not the point, you see.
　　The point is that we're married .... Married .... Doesn't itmean something to you, something--inexorable? It does to me. Ididn't dream it would--in just that way. But all I can say isthat I suppose the people who don't feel it aren't reallymarried-and they'd better separate; much better. As for us--"Through her tears she gasped out: "That's what I felt ...
　　that's what I said to Streff ...."He was upon her with a great embrace. "My darling! My darling!
　　You have told him?""Yes," she panted. "That's why I'm living here." She paused.
　　"And you've told Coral?"She felt his embrace relax. He drew away a little, stillholding her, but with lowered head.
　　"No ... I ... haven't.""Oh, Nick! But then--?"He caught her to him again, resentfully. "Well--then what?
　　What do you mean? What earthly difference does it make?""But if you've told her you were going to marry her--" (Try asshe would, her voice was full of silver chimes.)"Marry her? Marry her?" he echoed. "But how could I? Whatdoes marriage mean anyhow? If it means anything at all itmeans--you! And I can't ask Coral Hicks just to come and livewith me, can I?"Between crying and laughing she lay on his breast, and his handpassed over her hair.
　　They were silent for a while; then he began again: "You said ityourself yesterday, you know."She strayed back from sunlit distances. "Yesterday?""Yes: that Grace Fulmer says you can't separate two peoplewho've been through a lot of things--""Ah, been through them together--it's not the things, you see,it's the togetherness," she interrupted.
　　"The togetherness--that's it!" He seized on the word as if ithad just been coined to express their case, and his mind couldrest in it without farther labour.
　　The door-bell rang, and they started. Through the window theysaw the taxi-driver gesticulating enquiries as to the fate ofthe luggage.
　　"He wants to know if he's to leave it here," Susy laughed.
　　"No--no! You're to come with me," her husband declared.
　　"Come with you?" She laughed again at the absurdity of thesuggestion.
　　"Of course: this very instant. What did you suppose? That Iwas going away without you? Run up and pack your things," hecommanded.
　　"My things? My things? But I can't leave the children!"He stared, between indignation and amusement. "Can't leave thechildren? Nonsense! Why, you said yourself you were going tofollow me to Fontainebleau--"She reddened again, this time a little painfully "I didn't knowwhat I was doing .... I had to find you ... but I should havecome back this evening, no matter what happened.""No matter what?"She nodded, and met his gaze resolutely.
　　"No; but really--""Really, I can't leave the children till Nat and Grace comeback. I promised I wouldn't.""Yes; but you didn't know then .... Why on earth can't theirnurse look after them?""There isn't any nurse but me.""Good Lord!""But it's only for two weeks more," she pleaded. "Two weeks!
　　Do you know how long I've been without you!" He seized her byboth wrists, and drew them against his breast. "Come with me atleast for two days--Susy!" he entreated her.
　　"Oh," she cried, "that's the very first time you've said myname!""Susy, Susy, then--my Susy--Susy! And you've only said mineonce, you know.""Nick!" she sighed, at peace, as if the one syllable were amagic seed that hung out great branches to envelop them.
　　"Well, then, Susy, be reasonable. Come!""Reasonable--oh, reasonable!" she sobbed through laughter.
　　"Unreasonable, then! That's even better."She freed herself, and drew back gently. "Nick, I swore Iwouldn't leave them; and I can't. It's not only my promise totheir mother--it's what they've been to me themselves. Youdon't, know ... You can't imagine the things they've taught me.
　　They're awfully naughty at times, because they're so clever; butwhen they're good they're the wisest people I know." Shepaused, and a sudden inspiration illuminated her. "But whyshouldn't we take them with us?" she exclaimed.
　　Her husband's arms fell away from her, and he stood dumfounded.
　　"Take them with us?""Why not?""All five of them?""Of course--I couldn't possibly separate them. And Junie andNat will help us to look after the young ones.""Help us!" he groaned.
　　"Oh, you'll see; they won't bother you. Just leave it to me;I'll manage--" The word stopped her short, and an agony ofcrimson suffused her from brow to throat. Their eyes met; andwithout a word he stooped and laid his lips gently on the stainof red on her neck.
　　"Nick," she breathed, her hands in his.
　　"But those children--"Instead of answering, she questioned: "Where are we going?"His face lit up.
　　"Anywhere, dearest, that you choose.""Well--I choose Fontainebleau!" she exulted.
　　"So do I! But we can't take all those children to an hotel atFontainebleau, can we?" he questioned weakly. "You see, dear,there's the mere expense of it--"Her eyes were already travelling far ahead of him. "The expensewon't amount to much. I've just remembered that Angele, thebonne, has a sister who is cook there in a nice old-fashionedpension which must be almost empty at this time of year. I'msure I can ma--arrange easily," she hurried on, nearly trippingagain over the fatal word. "And just think of the treat it willbe to them! This is Friday, and I can get them let off fromtheir afternoon classes, and keep them in the country tillMonday. Poor darlings, they haven't been out of Paris formonths! And I daresay the change will cure Geordie's cough--Geordie's the youngest," she explained, surprised to findherself, even in the rapture of reunion, so absorbed in thewelfare of the Fulmers.
　　She was conscious that her husband was surprised also; butinstead of prolonging the argument he simply questioned: "WasGeordie the chap you had in your arms when you opened the frontdoor the night before last?"She echoed: "I opened the front door the night before last?""To a boy with a parcel.""Oh," she sobbed, "you were there? You were watching?"He held her to him, and the currents flowed between them warmand full as on the night of their moon over Como.
　　In a trice, after that, she had the matter in hand and herforces marshalled. The taxi was paid, Nick's luggage depositedin the vestibule, and the children, just piling down tobreakfast, were summoned in to hear the news.
　　It was apparent that, seasoned to surprises as they were, Nick'spresence took them aback. But when, between laughter andembraces, his identity, and his right to be where he was, hadbeen made clear to them, Junie dismissed the matter by askinghim in her practical way: "Then I suppose we may talk about youto Susy now?"--and thereafter all five addressed themselves tothe vision of their imminent holiday.
　　>From that moment the little house became the centre of awhirlwind. Treats so unforeseen, and of such magnitude, wererare in the young Fulmers' experience, and had it not been forJunie's steadying influence Susy's charges would have got out ofhand. But young Nat, appealed to by Nick on the ground of theircommon manhood, was induced to forego celebrating the event onhis motor horn (the very same which had tortured the NewHampshire echoes), and to assert his authority over his juniors;and finally a plan began to emerge from the chaos, and eachchild to fit into it like a bit of a picture puzzle.
　　Susy, riding the whirlwind with her usual firmness, neverthelessfelt an undercurrent of anxiety. There had been no time as yet,between her and Nick, to revert to money matters; and wherethere was so little money it could not, obviously, much matter.
　　But that was the more reason for being secretly aghast at herintrepid resolve not to separate herself from her charges. Athree days' honey-moon with five children in the party-andchildren with the Fulmer appetite--could not but be a costlybusiness; and while she settled details, packed them off toschool, and routed out such nondescript receptacles as the housecontained in the way of luggage, her thoughts remained fixed onthe familiar financial problem.
　　Yes--it was cruel to have it rear its hated head, even throughthe bursting boughs of her new spring; but there it was, theperpetual serpent in her Eden, to be bribed, fed, sent to sleepwith such scraps as she could beg, borrow or steal for it. Andshe supposed it was the price that fate meant her to pay for herblessedness, and was surer than ever that the blessedness wasworth it. Only, how was she to compound the business with hernew principles?
　　With the children's things to pack, luncheon to be got ready,and the Fontainebleau pension to be telephoned to, there waslittle time to waste on moral casuistry; and Susy asked herselfwith a certain irony if the chronic lack of time to deal withmoney difficulties had not been the chief cause of her previouslapses. There was no time to deal with this question either; notime, in short, to do anything but rush forward on a great galeof plans and preparations, in the course of which she whirledNick forth to buy some charcuterie for luncheon, and telephoneto Fontainebleau.
　　Once he was gone--and after watching him safely round thecorner--she too got into her wraps, and transferring a smallpacket from her dressing-case to her pocket, hastened out in adifferent direction.
Chapter 30
    IT took two brimming taxi-cabs to carry the Nicholas Lansings tothe station on their second honey-moon. In the first were Nick,Susy and the luggage of the whole party (little Nat's motor hornincluded, as a last concession, and because he had hithertoforborne to play on it); and in the second, the five Fulmers,the bonne, who at the eleventh hour had refused to be left, acage-full of canaries, and a foundling kitten who had murderousdesigns on them; all of which had to be taken because, if thebonne came, there would be nobody left to look after them.
　　At the corner Susy tore herself from Nick's arms and held up theprocession while she ran back to the second taxi to make surethat the bonne had brought the house-key. It was found ofcourse that she hadn't but that Junie had; whereupon the caravangot under way again, and reached the station just as the trainwas starting; and there, by some miracle of good nature on thepart of the guard, they were all packed together into an emptycompartment--no doubt, as Susy remarked, because train officialsnever failed to spot a newly-married couple, and treat themkindly.
　　The children, sentinelled by Junie, at first gave promise ofsuperhuman goodness; but presently their feelings overflowed,and they were not to be quieted till it had been agreed that Natshould blow his motor-horn at each halt, while the twins calledout the names of the stations, and Geordie, with the canariesand kitten, affected to change trains.
　　Luckily the halts were few; but the excitement of travel,combined with over-indulgence in the chocolates imprudentlyprovided by Nick, overwhelmed Geordie with a sudden melancholythat could be appeased only by Susy's telling him stories tillthey arrived at Fontainebleau.
　　The day was soft, with mild gleams of sunlight on decayingfoliage; and after luggage and livestock had been dropped at thepension Susy confessed that she had promised the children ascamper in the forest, and buns in a tea-shop afterward. Nickplacidly agreed, and darkness had long fallen, and a great manybuns been consumed, when at length the procession turned downthe street toward the pension, headed by Nick with the sleepingGeordie on his shoulder, while the others, speechless withfatigue and food, hung heavily on Susy.
　　It had been decided that, as the bonne was of the party, thechildren might be entrusted to her for the night, and Nick andSusy establish themselves in an adjacent hotel. Nick hadflattered himself that they might remove their possessions therewhen they returned from the tea-room; but Susy, manifestlysurprised at the idea, reminded him that her charges must firstbe given their supper and put to bed. She suggested that heshould meanwhile take the bags to the hotel, and promised tojoin him as soon as Geordie was asleep.
　　She was a long time coming, but waiting for her was sweet, evenin a deserted hotel reading-room insufficiently heated by asulky stove; and after he had glanced through his morning'smail, hurriedly thrust into his pocket as he left Paris, he sankinto a state of drowsy beatitude. It was all the maddestbusiness in the world, yet it did not give him the sense ofunreality that had made their first adventure a mere goldendream; and he sat and waited with the security of one in whomdear habits have struck deep roots. In this mood ofacquiescence even the presence of the five Fulmers seemed anatural and necessary consequence of all the rest; and when Susyat length appeared, a little pale and tired, with the broodinginward look that busy mothers bring from the nursery, that tooseemed natural and necessary, and part of the new order ofthings.
　　They had wandered out to a cheap restaurant for dinner; now, inthe damp December night, they were walking back to the hotelunder a sky full of rain-clouds. They seemed to have saideverything to each other, and yet barely to have begun what theyhad to tell; and at each step they took, their heavy feetdragged a great load of bliss.
　　In the hotel almost all the lights were already out; and theygroped their way to the third floor room which was the only onethat Susy had found cheap enough. A ray from a street-lampstruck up through the unshuttered windows; and after Nick hadrevived the fire they drew their chairs close to it, and satquietly for a while in the dark.
　　Their silence was so sweet that Nick could not make up his mindto break it; not to do so gave his tossing spirit such a senseof permanence, of having at last unlimited time before him inwhich to taste his joy and let its sweetness stream through him.
　　But at length he roused himself to say: "It's queer how thingscoincide. I've had a little bit of good news in one of theletters I got this morning."Susy took the announcement serenely. "Well, you would, youknow," she commented, as if the day had been too obviouslydesigned for bliss to escape the notice of its dispensers.
　　"Yes," he continued with a thrill of pardonable pride. "Duringthe cruise I did a couple of articles on Crete--oh, just travel-impressions, of course; they couldn't be more. But the editorof the New Review has accepted them, and asks for others. Andhere's his cheque, if you please! So you see you might have letme take the jolly room downstairs with the pink curtains. Andit makes me awfully hopeful about my book."He had expected a rapturous outburst, and perhaps somereassertion of wifely faith in the glorious future that awaitedThe Pageant of Alexander; and deep down under the lover's well-being the author felt a faint twinge of mortified vanity whenSusy, leaping to her feet, cried out, ravenously and withoutpreamble: "Oh, Nick, Nick--let me see how much they've givenyou!"He flourished the cheque before her in the firelight. "A coupleof hundred, you mercenary wretch!""Oh, oh--" she gasped, as if the good news had been almost toomuch for her tense nerves; and then surprised him by dropping tothe ground, and burying her face against his knees.
　　"Susy, my Susy," he whispered, his hand on her shaking shoulder.
　　"Why, dear, what is it? You're not crying?""Oh, Nick, Nick--two hundred? Two hundred dollars? Then I'vegot to tell you--oh now, at once!"A faint chill ran over him, and involuntarily his hand drew backfrom her bowed figure.
　　"Now? Oh, why now?" he protested. "What on earth does itmatter now--whatever it is?""But it does matter--it matters more than you can think!"She straightened herself, still kneeling before him, and liftedher head so that the firelight behind her turned her hair into aruddy halo. "Oh, Nick, the bracelet--Ellie's bracelet ....
　　I've never returned it to her," she faltered out.
　　He felt himself recoiling under the hands with which sheclutched his knees. For an instant he did not remember what shealluded to; it was the mere mention of Ellie Vanderlyn's namethat had fallen between them like an icy shadow. What anincorrigible fool he had been to think they could ever shake offsuch memories, or cease to be the slaves of such a past!
　　"The bracelet?--Oh, yes," he said, suddenly understanding, andfeeling the chill mount slowly to his lips.
　　"Yes, the bracelet ... Oh, Nick, I meant to give it back atonce; I did--I did; but the day you went away I forgoteverything else. And when I found the thing, in the bottom ofmy bag, weeks afterward, I thought everything was over betweenyou and me, and I had begun to see Ellie again, and she was kindto me and how could I?" To save his life he could have found noanswer, and she pressed on: "And so this morning, when I sawyou were frightened by the expense of bringing all the childrenwith us, and when I felt I couldn't leave them, and couldn'tleave you either, I remembered the bracelet; and I sent you offto telephone while I rushed round the corner to a littlejeweller's where I'd been before, and pawned it so that youshouldn't have to pay for the children .... But now, darling,you see, if you've got all that money, I can get it out of pawnat once, can't I, and send it back to her?"She flung her arms about him, and he held her fast, wondering ifthe tears he felt were hers or his. Still he did not speak; butas he clasped her close she added, with an irrepressible flashof her old irony: "Not that Ellie will understand why I've doneit. She's never yet been able to make out why you returned herscarf-pin."For a long time she continued to lean against him, her head onhis knees, as she had done on the terrace of Como on the lastnight of their honeymoon. She had ceased to talk, and he satsilent also, passing his hand quietly to and fro over her hair.
　　The first rapture had been succeeded by soberer feelings. Herconfession had broken up the frozen pride about his heart, andhumbled him to the earth; but it had also roused forgottenthings, memories and scruples swept aside in the first rush oftheir reunion. He and she belonged to each other for always:
　　he understood that now. The impulse which had first drawn themtogether again, in spite of reason, in spite of themselvesalmost, that deep-seated instinctive need that each had of theother, would never again wholly let them go. Yet as he satthere he thought of Strefford, he thought of Coral Hicks. Hehad been a coward in regard to Coral, and Susy had been sincereand courageous in regard to Strefford. Yet his mind dwelt onCoral with tenderness, with compunction, with remorse; and hewas almost sure that Susy had already put Strefford utterly outof her mind.
　　It was the old contrast between the two ways of loving, theman's way and the woman's; and after a moment it seemed to Nicknatural enough that Susy, from the very moment of finding himagain, should feel neither pity nor regret, and that Streffordshould already be to her as if he had never been. After all,there was something Providential in such arrangements.
　　He stooped closer, pressed her dreaming head between his hands,and whispered: "Wake up; it's bedtime."She rose; but as she moved away to turn on the light he caughther hand and drew her to the window. They leaned on the sill inthe darkness, and through the clouds, from which a few dropswere already falling, the moon, labouring upward, swam into aspace of sky, cast her troubled glory on them, and was againhidden.