INDY

 
 G W E N D A
 
 1 know him very well. Here he is " 
 
 (See page 150)
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 BY 
 
 MABEL BARNES-GRUNDY 
 
 AUTHOR OP 
 
 HAZEL OF HEATHERLAND," "DIMBIE AND i," 
 "HILARY ON HER OWN," ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 THE BAKER & TAYLOR COMPANY 
 1910
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY 
 THE BAKER & TAYLOK COMPANY 
 
 Published, March, 1910 
 
 THE TROW PRESS, NEW YORK
 
 STACK 
 ANNE) 
 
 TO HER 
 
 WHO BY HER WORDS AND DEEDS REPUTES 
 
 ALL THAT HAS BEEN SAID OF 
 
 MOTHERS-IN-LAW
 
 G W E N D A
 
 LETTER I 
 
 HOTEL DBS STRANGERS, 
 ST. LUNAIRE, BRITTANY, May 29th. 
 
 MY DEAR GRANTY : 
 
 When you command, I always obey. Per 
 haps you haven t noticed this, but it is true 
 nevertheless. And I don t think I am actually 
 colourless, but easily led by people I love. 
 
 You asked me to write a bit of something to 
 you every day, now that we are parted. A bit 
 about myself and my experiences in this new, 
 strange, happy life. 
 
 " You probably won t post all that you write," 
 you observed in your wise way, " because yours 
 is a temperament that allows itself and its 
 speech and its pen to run away with it. 
 But the mere fact of seeing your emotions 
 inscribed in black and white will not only 
 be a relief to your pent up feelings but a 
 safety valve. I see breakers ahead. Mar 
 ried life consists mostly of breakers, with 
 here and there a patch of smooth water which, 
 when arrived at by the married voyagers, 
 
 9
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 is rarely enjoyed owing to their exhausted and 
 sea-sick condition. You will probably fling 
 yourself at the first breaker in your usual im 
 petuous manner, and that you won t go un 
 der, be submerged completely, is my earnest 
 prayer." 
 
 And two scraps of advice you also gave me 
 in reference to my prospective outpourings: 
 " Write simply and without a lot of word ver 
 biage and embellishment. I always skip long 
 sunsets and drawn out moonrises. Use a word 
 of one syllable instead of two if it expresses 
 your meaning equally well. And don t write 
 reams about the perfection of your husband, 
 because the probability is that in a couple of 
 months time you will find him very much the 
 same as other men, if no worse. With feet of 
 most ordinary clay, an uncontrolled temper, and 
 little sense of humour. If you pull through the 
 first year of your married life fairly comfort 
 ably, the probability is, you ll get through fifty 
 quite happily. It is usually during the first few 
 months that the disillusionment and trouble be 
 gin. So if you accept the fact, right away, that 
 your husband is no better if no worse than 
 other men, you are starting with a better equip 
 ment than a woman who has taken first class 
 
 10
 
 GWENDA 
 
 honours in mathematics, and has a complete 
 knowledge of every language both Ancient and 
 Modern at her finger ends." 
 
 How have you learnt this wisdom, I wonder ? 
 And why do you so much dislike men, I still 
 more wonder? And have been wondering all 
 my life. 
 
 You never meant me to get married if you 
 could possibly prevent it. There was Tommy 
 Eenshaw a dear boy, but you said he was too 
 fat, would snore in his sleep, and have an apo 
 plectic fit before he was fifty. Tommy was told 
 to go. Then there was Bertram Izard. You 
 said he was a bad shape, his feet too long, and 
 that his legs, which bent like reeds in a wind, 
 reminded you of the admonition of the Psalm 
 ist : " Neither put ye your trust in any man s 
 legs." Bertram followed Tommy. And then 
 came Lionel, and you used to say that when I 
 pronounced his name my voice reminded you of 
 angels, prophets, martyrs, virgins, and things 
 of that description, why, I cannot imagine. 
 But Lionel did not follow the others. You 
 might make remarks about not trusting a hand 
 some man, or one with black hair and mous 
 tache especially hair that curled but they fell 
 on deaf ears. I heeded you no longer. Lionel 
 
 11
 
 GWENDA 
 
 was different from the others, besides he swept 
 me off my feet, taught me the meaning of the 
 word " love." And though I had never meant 
 to marry, never meant to leave you, as you 
 know, Lionel made me unsay and unthink all 
 that I had ever said or thought, with the result 
 that here I am with him in Brittany spending a 
 most delightful honeymoon. But I am not go 
 ing to rhapsodise, you have barred that, so have 
 no fear my dear Great Aunt. Neither am I go 
 ing to enter into long descriptions of scenery, 
 so as you are of a practical turn of mind, will 
 you allow me to touch guardedly upon the 
 subject of sea sickness, from which, metaphor 
 ically, you predicted I should suffer, and which 
 overtook me in reality on our passage from 
 Southampton to St. Malo? You will have re 
 ceived the picture postcards of the various 
 places we have visited during our ten days over 
 here, but on those postcards I made no mention 
 of my suffering in crossing, it was not that I 
 forgot, for the memory of it darkened my men 
 tal horizon for many days, but such a painful 
 subject was not for the eyes of old Hannah. 
 As we well know old Hannah not only reads all 
 postcards addressed to Sunset, but discusses 
 the matter of them calmly and without shame. 
 
 12
 
 GWENDA 
 
 By the way, how is she treating you? Write 
 and tell me that she is not making you eat 
 stewed rhubarb every day at dinner, and insist 
 ing upon your using it up for supper. How we 
 hated using up things, especially cold suet pud 
 ding, and how many things in a small menage 
 seem to want using up. 
 
 But to return to my sea sickness, as I say, 
 such a distressing subject was not for the eyes 
 of old Hannah, who would eat roast pork and 
 Devonshire cream in an equinoctial gale off the 
 Bay of Biscay. 
 
 I felt very ashamed of myself, because the 
 sea was almost calm, and I had taken two doses 
 of the mal-de-mer remedy in the train, and 
 when I got into my bunk I lay with my head 
 flat, and my eyes shut, so that I should not see 
 the motion of the boat, and my ears stuffed 
 with cotton wool so that I should not hear it, 
 and my nose covered with an eau-de-Cologne 
 handkerchief so that I should not smell it, and 
 the port-hole wide open so that the fresh air 
 should blow upon me. In fact, I did everything 
 that Mrs. Tiddlegate found of use on her voy 
 age from India, and I repeated poetry and 
 other things to myself in a crooning whisper. 
 And it was really Lionel who brought things to 
 
 13
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 a crisis because he shook me, and made me re 
 move the cotton wool from my ears to listen to 
 him. It appears he had been shouting at me 
 for ten minutes to know if I had any objection 
 to the port-hole being closed as he was shiver 
 ing with cold. 
 
 " If you shut the port-hole I shall die," I said, 
 pushing the wool back into my ears, and clos 
 ing my eyes tightly; and it is unnecessary to 
 give particulars of what happened next because 
 it would be unpicturesque and not interesting. 
 
 Some hours later a kind stewardess dressed 
 me, took my waving shoes from me and placed 
 them on my feet, pushed my uncertain hair 
 pins and hat pins into my head, which I bore 
 without a groan owing to my excessive weak 
 ness, dragged me up on deck to the blinding 
 light of day, placed me in a low chair and in 
 my husband s hands, and with annoying cheer 
 fulness told me I should soon be better, and 
 bustled away. 
 
 I lay for a few minutes with my eyes shut as 
 the light was intolerable, and then Lionel s 
 voice came to me as from a great distance: 
 " Have you still got your ears plugged up with 
 wool, dearest? " 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 14
 
 GWENDA 
 
 "We are nearing St. Malo." 
 
 If he had informed me we were nearing the 
 Kingdom of Heaven I should have remained 
 unmoved. 
 
 "You are feeling better now, are you not? 
 The water is as calm as a duck pond, and the 
 morning is lovely really hot." 
 
 With vague hands I drew my rug more 
 closely around me. The icy coldness of sea 
 sickness makes you wonder if you are still 
 alive, or already passed to the first place of 
 torture. 
 
 " I never imagined for a moment that you 
 would be like this," he observed next, and quite 
 reproachfully. 
 
 "Like what?" I demanded suddenly open 
 ing my eyes. 
 
 " Oh ill. It is so ordinary. I imagined you 
 so much superior to the average girl in every 
 respect, Gwenda." 
 
 I was so amazed that I got well at once. 
 
 " Sea sickness is not under one s control," I 
 said, nettled. 
 
 " Oh, yes it is to a certain extent. You be 
 came ill through taking that remedy, and stuff 
 ing your ears with wool, and being chilled to 
 the bone by the night air. Now if you had 
 
 15
 
 GWENDA 
 
 forced your attention upon some particular 
 subject " 
 
 " I did," I interrupted, " I repeated some lines 
 over and over to myself 
 
 "What were they?" 
 
 " I m not sure if I m well enough to say them, 
 but I ll try." 
 
 " Have some breakfast first dear," he sug 
 gested solicitously. " Some tea and toast. I 
 had mine an hour ago, and you must be hun 
 gry." 
 
 I shuddered at the bare thought of food, and 
 began my lines : " How much wood could a 
 woodchuck chuck, if a woodchuck could chuck 
 wood? Why just as much wood as a wood- 
 chuck could chuck, if a woodchuck could chuck 
 wood. I tried to get the whole said between 
 each lurch of the boat," I explained. 
 
 " I don t wonder you were ill." Then he 
 slightly turned his head and closed his eyes. 
 
 " Are you ill too, dear? " I whispered, trying 
 to keep the hope out of my voice that he was. 
 For had he not hinted that I had been com 
 monplace? 
 
 " Oh, no," he replied, " but the colour of your 
 face doesn t tone with your hat." 
 
 At first I gasped. Then I laughed outright. 
 16
 
 GWENDA 
 
 We had been married under a week and I of 
 fended his artistic sensibility, and yet I felt 
 simply inclined to laugh. It was so ridiculous 
 and so nice and frank of him. It showed the 
 good terms we were on with one another the 
 bonne camaraderie. That to me is the ideal of 
 married happiness good comrades and lovers, 
 lovers and good comrades from the beginning 
 to the end. 
 
 I should have hated Lionel had he set me up 
 on a pedestal and worshipped me from afar. 
 Pedestals are such chilly isolated places where 
 all the draughts of the world do congregate. I 
 want to be loved and folded in warm human 
 arms in an ordinary flesh and blood manner: 
 kissed and smacked, petted and scolded, ad 
 mired and criticised and found fault with. Not 
 treated as a goddess, but as a very human 
 woman. And as I desire to be loved, so I want 
 to love my husband. Each of us seeing the 
 other s faults, but viewing them tenderly and 
 mercifully, and loving each other not in spite 
 of them, but with them. 
 
 Your reiterated suggestions that a day would 
 come when I should alight upon the discovery 
 that Lionel was just an ordinary mortal have 
 often made me smile. Smile at your want of dis- 
 
 17
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 cernment in not recognising that this fact has 
 been known to me all along. An ordinary mortal, 
 yes, most assuredly, but just a little bit nicer, a 
 little more attractive, a little bit more interest 
 ing and certainly a little bit cleverer than most, 
 for has he not discovered the desirability of 
 me? But there, I am again getting on to the 
 subject of Lionel, and you must be kind and 
 make allowances for me. It is difficult when 
 you have been married for only ten days not 
 to allow your husband to fill up the land 
 scape. 
 
 But because I am so happy, do not for one 
 moment think that I am forgetting you. In 
 fact tucked away right at the back of my heart 
 there is a little sensation of pain that I am un 
 able to see you say, for five minutes on each 
 beautiful day. It just mars the perfection of 
 everything. It is the first time since you took 
 me into your home that you and I have been 
 separated for more than a day. Then I was a 
 little girl of seven, as thin as a lath and as ugly 
 as sin according to old Hannah, who prides 
 herself on speaking the truth in a black frock 
 that was too long for me, because I recollect 
 you ran a tuck in it the following day, and a 
 white tucker that scrubbed my throat. And 
 
 18
 
 GWENDA 
 
 you placed me on a high-backed chair and pre 
 sented me with a bun and a glass of milk and 
 admonished me never to forget to pray for my 
 two deceased parents who were in Heaven, 
 every morning and night of my life. 
 
 That was sixteen years ago, and like Ste 
 venson I can truthfully and gladly say that " my 
 whole life has been better to me than any 
 poem." And you and I have had some gay 
 times together, haven t we? Old Hannah may 
 be under the impression that you are every 
 thing a gentle well-behaved economical mistress 
 ought to be, but you are lawless at heart and a 
 thorough pagan. You and I have kicked over 
 the traces at times, though, of course, you 
 wouldn t admit it. But you will recollect the 
 occasion quite recently upon which we went to 
 Exeter and enjoyed a five course lunch and a 
 half flask of Chianti! Also with what brazen- 
 ness and shamelessness you ordered scrambled 
 eggs for our supper that evening because we 
 were so hungry. Even old Hannah was cheat 
 ed and forbore to refer to the extravagance of 
 a high supper. 
 
 I am not going to end this with Your lov 
 ing Gwenda, because if the spirit moves me I 
 will add a little to it to-morrow, and a little 
 
 19
 
 GWENDA 
 
 more the following day, and so on, and then 
 when my screed has become of portentous size 
 and length, I will despatch it in a long fat en 
 velope. 
 
 June 2nd. I am sitting on the hotel veran 
 dah at Cancale just above the sea. How can I 
 conjure up the picture? I don t care a jot about 
 your interdict that I should avoid all mention 
 of scenery and places, because this is something 
 quite exceptional. And I know you really love 
 to hear about the out-of-the-way corners of the 
 world you yourself have not visited, wide travel 
 ler though you have been. Take for granted that 
 the sea is calm and blue with the matchless blue 
 of the reflection of a cloudless June sky. Away 
 far out against the horizon Mont St. Michel 
 stands dimly reflected through a soft filmy haze. 
 All is very still in this peaceful little Cancale. 
 The white gulls wheel and float and drop noise 
 lessly on to the sea. The air is sweet and fresh 
 with all the freshness that is born of the sea 
 and the earth in early summer. Air that has 
 absorbed some of the fragrance of the little 
 yellow vetches nodding on the cliffs, and of the 
 honeysuckle flinging its creamy trumpets over 
 the hedge close by. 
 
 20
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 Lionel has sauntered away to some rock to 
 take photographs. M. le proprietaire is gently 
 dozing behind his paper at the far end of the 
 verandah. He is presumably concealed behind 
 one of the curtains, but a frolicsome little 
 breeze has whisked it away, and, should an en 
 ergetic young person who successfully man 
 ages him along with everything else in the 
 establishment come this way, there will be ruc 
 tions. 
 
 M. le proprietaire understands not a word of 
 English, and our French is so sketchy and un 
 reliable that at meals I secrete a small diction 
 ary on my knee beneath the table, and while 
 Marie, our pretty waitress, is removing the 
 omelette dish to the back regions, I am able to 
 concoct a very creditable sentence ere she re 
 turns, which I deliver in the airy fashion of 
 one with half-a-dozen languages at her finger 
 tips. But yesterday Marie discovered my ig 
 norance. You are aware of my absorbing curi 
 osity, and I was anxious to learn the relation 
 ship of the managing young person and M. le 
 proprietaire. For she comes to us at meals 
 with a solicitous air and, in a perfect torrent of 
 almost unintelligible French, demands if our 
 food is giving us complete satisfaction. 
 
 Of course, we say Bon. Tres bon, and won- 
 21
 
 GWENDA 
 
 der who she is. She expresses her delight and 
 goes away to stir up Monsieur from one of his 
 dozes. 
 
 " Elle est la parent de Monsieur" said Marie 
 in reply to my question. 
 
 "Which?" I cried in astonishment, while 
 Lionel lit a cigarette and gazed thoughtfully at 
 the sea. Have you ever observed that men re 
 fuse to be surprised at anything? 
 
 Marie repeated her statement. 
 
 "Impossible," I pronounced with emphasis. 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " Monsieur looks 105," I said in my best 
 French. I meant 65. 
 
 She now stared at me. 
 
 " And the young person I mean la dame 
 looks 25." 
 
 " Elle est la parent de Monsieur" Marie re 
 peated obstinately, whisked away the dishes 
 and went for the dessert. 
 
 Cautiously I drew forth my dictionary. 
 "Parent " Marie caught me. I pretended 
 not to have been caught, and laid the book aside 
 as though it were the last thing I wished to 
 consult. 
 
 " Elle est la parent de Monsieur" she mur 
 mured, with a gleam of mischief in her dark 
 eyes. 
 
 22
 
 GWENDA 
 
 " Tres bien! I don t care if she is the parent 
 of twins of Monsieur s age and appearance. It 
 is nothing to me," I said, motioning to her that 
 she might go. And don t you agree with me in 
 thinking it ridiculous that a parent and a 
 cousin and all sorts of obscure relationships 
 are one and the same thing in this language I I 
 do like simplicity above all things. 
 
 It was I who discovered Cancale, famous ac 
 cording to the guide books for nothing but its 
 oyster beds. " Let us go and see it," I sug 
 gested. So we drove over from St. Malo, a 
 long and most uninteresting drive, and Lionel 
 was just observing that it appeared to be the 
 end of everything and his face was settling 
 down to one of gloom, when we turned a cor 
 ner and below us lay Cancale and the hotel 
 which you have to enter through the roof. Can 
 you imagine the fascination of this ? Down the 
 cliffs you go, along a zig-zag path above the 
 sea, a narrow path with banks and tall grasses 
 on either side till you stumble across a flight 
 of steps. Descend these carefully, because they 
 are very steep, and you come to a romantic 
 looking door with a clanging sort of dinner bell 
 which warns M. le proprietaire of your prox 
 imity. Now you are on the flat roof of the ho- 
 
 23
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 tel, enter another door-way straight in front of 
 you, and you are in the cool interior with flight 
 upon flight of well-carpeted stairs to descend 
 till you reach the salons and the sunny veran 
 dah, and the sea lazily lapping your feet. 
 
 The tide has just turned, and so swiftly does 
 it run out that soon the oyster beds will be re 
 vealed, and as from nowhere scores of fisher 
 men and women will have sprung, busy at work, 
 raking, sorting, dredging, cleaning the succu 
 lent bivalve, making ready for the autumn when 
 it will be exported all over France. The women 
 chiefly at this, for the men have gone earlier 
 in their small brown boats to the lower beds 
 quite a long way out, and will again have to 
 wait for the turn of the tide to drift them and 
 their cargo along the little channels and staked- 
 in alley-ways to the women. 
 
 June 4th. I have little to add to my letter. 
 This has been a day of strong sunshine and 
 fresh wind, and white foamy clouds racing 
 along the blue of Heaven, and white foamy 
 waves breaking against the foot of the veran 
 dah. It is all delicious, and my body feels so 
 light and airy that I keep racing along the 
 cliffs, racing the foamy clouds and the occa- 
 
 24
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 sional shadows. How wonderful is the exhil 
 aration of the sea ! Even now I can recall my 
 sensation when I arrived at Silvercombe and 
 first caught sight of it from my little bedroom 
 window. " Is it true ? " I whispered, fearing 
 it would evaporate before my eyes, and you 
 laughed and kissed me and opened the window 
 wide to let in all its salt freshness and sweet 
 ness. And to-day I am loving it with such in 
 tensity that, like the great poet of the sea, I 
 sing: 
 
 " I will go back to the great sweet Mother, 
 
 Mother and lover of men, the Sea. 
 I will go down to her, I and none other, 
 
 Close with her, kiss her and mix her with me." 
 
 And Lionel says I am mad, quite mad, and I 
 only laugh. 
 
 Always your loving 
 
 GWENDA. 
 
 25
 
 LETTER II 
 
 BELLE VUE HOTEL, CANCALE, 
 BRITTANY, June 6th. 
 
 MY DEAK GRANTY: 
 
 Lionel says I must come and bathe. "We can t 
 manage this in front of the hotel, even at high 
 tide, because of the oyster beds. M. le pro- 
 prietaire pretends we can and points to two 
 vans moored below the verandah. But we 
 shake our heads and decline to be impaled on 
 the staked-in enclosures. 
 
 So we wander up the stairs, and through the 
 roof and up more stairs and along the cliffs 
 toward Port Maire; gowns and towels slung 
 across our shoulders, a galette for our lunch 
 or preliminary lunch for we have only had 
 coffee and rolls in Lionel s pocket, and a ga 
 lette made in this part of Brittany is quite too 
 delicious ; over the short crisp grass bestarred 
 with tiny sea flowers, and oh, the sounds and 
 scents of everything. What a beautiful sum 
 mer world! My own happiness frightens me. 
 " Man was born to sorrow," I say to myself, 
 
 26
 
 GWENDA 
 
 and at the same time sting my bare hand badly 
 with a nettle, and Lionel laughs at my dis 
 comfiture. 
 
 Presently we drop down the cliffs to a little 
 secluded cove, where there is not a creature to 
 be seen, only the white-sailed fishing boats in 
 the distance running before the breeze. I en 
 ter my cave into which the sunshine filters, and 
 leisurely undress, scrunching the warm, yellow 
 sand with my bare toes. Then the rush down 
 to the water s edge, picking my way in and out 
 of the sharp little stones, for bathing in shoes 
 is to me like going to bed in gloves, and the 
 plunge into the cool bracing sea. Lionel is kind 
 enough to admire my swimming, and allows 
 himself to be raced, and saved from drowning, 
 and seized by the hair, and dragged through 
 the water, and says what chance has he a Lon 
 doner born against a Devonshire South Coast 
 girl? 
 
 He remarked this morning, were we partak 
 ing of our petit dejeuner, that he could not 
 understand my choosing the coast of Brittany 
 for a honeymoon especially in June, when it 
 is so empty seeing that I have always lived 
 at a quiet seaside place, when I might have 
 gone to Paris. And he pronounced " Paris " as 
 
 27
 
 GWENDA 
 
 a prospector shouts " gold." And I said we 
 would go another time to Paris. And, some 
 how, I couldn t explain that I wanted to be alone 
 in the country with him in these first few weeks, 
 to show him the things I loved, with only the 
 wind and the larks and the tender newly- 
 opened leaves and flowers as companions in 
 our wanderings. Soon I shall be in the whirl 
 of a London Season receiving callers, return 
 ing calls. Entertaining and being entertained. 
 Going to balls, concerts, theatres, flower shows, 
 race meetings, regattas. At least Lionel says 
 I shall go to them, so I suppose I shall. And 
 I shall put on a brave face, have a long train, 
 and try to enjoy myself. 
 
 If Lionel be a Society Man, I must be a So 
 ciety Woman. Can you picture your Gwenda 
 in such a position? Long ago I realised that 
 when Lionel piped I should dance, dance till 
 my legs dropped off. 
 
 I can hear you say " bosh." 
 
 But it is so. My husband has a way with 
 him, as old Hannah says, that I cannot resist. 
 He gets round me. I say I won t do a thing. 
 and the next moment I am doing it, and not 
 only doing it, but glorying in it. 
 
 And now you will say I am a fool, floppy 
 28
 
 GWENDA 
 
 and characterless. Granty, I admit the im 
 peachment. 
 
 As evening approaches I say " Shall we stroll 
 along the quay and watch the return of the 
 fishing boats ? " 
 
 And my lord assents. So I don my white 
 woolly coat, for muslins, by the sea, are airy, 
 diaphanous garments, and we descend the 
 broad steps of the verandah, not up through 
 the roof this time, and M. le proprietaire, who 
 is always on the verandah, watches us walk 
 through the garden with its prim French beds 
 and tufts of pampas grass, to the little parade. 
 First we pause in front of a monster tin fish 
 which spreads its fins and tail across the front 
 of a black, tarred wooden shanty, advertising 
 the fact that Un parent, (the same old parent 
 turned up again) un ami recevra avec plaisir 
 la succulent huitre de Cancale. Expedition im 
 mediate. Degustation sur le pare, (that s the 
 bit I like) Votre serviteur Lehoerff Pierre 
 fils, 74, Quai de la Houle, Cancale. Lehoerff 
 Pierre fils appears from the doorway behind 
 the tail of the fish, a swarthy, good-looking fel 
 low, and presses some of his advertising bills 
 upon us. There can be no degustation sur le 
 
 29
 
 GWENDA 
 
 pare to-night, for the month, being minus an B, 
 is not accommodating. Then we wander past 
 the little jetty at the corner, and the shop which 
 sells fully-rigged Breton boats at 50 centimes 
 apiece. Past the Cafe with the smiling rosy- 
 cheeked girl who gives us after dinner coffee in 
 conjunction with a lesson in French. She is 
 patient and optimistic and full of hope that my 
 tongue will circumvent absinthe before we 
 leave the place for good. Past the little hotel 
 with its ambitious appellation of Hotel de 1 Eu- 
 rope, past the Cafe des Etrangers, and the 
 Cafe des Pechers till we come to the Calvary 
 Square. And here again we come to pause to 
 gaze at the drooping, sorrowful figure of the 
 Christ dyed blood-red in the rays of the sink 
 ing sun. Then again past the boat-building 
 yard, and two or three more cafes, and nets 
 spread everywhere and anywhere to dry, till 
 we come to the further jetty and the scrap of 
 beach with its shell-strewn surface as finely 
 powdered as pearl dust. Here drawn up in a 
 line, with their backs to the wall, are the house 
 wives ready to do a haggle as soon as the fish 
 is landed. A fine race these Breton peasant 
 women with their black hair braided so neatly, 
 and their dark eyes and fine foreheads and 
 
 30
 
 GWENDA 
 
 level eyebrows. And how infinitely more pic 
 turesque than our own poor women, in their 
 snowy caps and short skirts and jerseys and 
 sabots ; and what pleasant low-toned voices and 
 musical laughs ! 
 
 Now the boats are in, and the scene becomes 
 an animated one. Fish are tossed about from 
 hand to hand. A woman weighing a large con 
 ger up and down with thoughtful air, abstract 
 edly brushes her baby s sleeping face with its 
 moving tail. The sun, with a last dying effort, 
 floods the sky and sea and harbour with a won 
 drous light, and the whole scene becomes one 
 of magical beauty. The men and women begin 
 to move away, some of them wheeling barrows 
 of fish, others arm in arm with baskets and ba 
 bies perched on their shoulders. A hard, per 
 haps, but a wholesome and beautiful life to 
 those who love to dwell in the clean wind- 
 cleansed places of the earth. And they looked 
 happy, happy and contented. 
 
 So absorbed had I been in the scene that I 
 forgot Lionel, forgot everything, and as the 
 woman with the conger eel and the baby passed 
 me, I spoke to her and patted the baby s fishy 
 cheek. 
 
 "Yes, it is a very fine one," she said with 
 31
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 pride, in patois French, and I wasn t sure if 
 she were referring to her offspring or the eel. 
 
 " Gwenda ! " Lionel s voice sounded tired. 
 "Are you ready? I have had enough of this, 
 and I am so hungry. Come away." 
 
 And reluctantly I turned about. 
 
 The harbour light suddenly twinkled forth. 
 More lights shone from the row of little cafes. 
 The day was done. The golden splendour had 
 gone, the amber and rose had faded from the 
 sky. A soft velvety twilight was stealing o er 
 the land, and a hush as though the earth was 
 still holding its breath at the glory of the sun 
 set brooded over the sea. 
 
 In silence we wended our way back to the ho 
 tel. My heart was too full for words. Too full 
 of the beauty and gladness of life, for joy is 
 very close to tears. 
 
 June 7th. We leave for England to-morrow. 
 Will there be a budget from you awaiting me! 
 I have received three scrubby postcards from 
 you since I lejft you. Your refusal to bother me 
 with letters on my honeymoon was simply a 
 neat way of getting out of writing on thin for 
 eign paper which is an abomination to your 
 soul. 
 
 32
 
 GWENDA 
 
 Did the possibility of writing on ordinary 
 paper never strike you? Or had old Hannah 
 forbidden or objected to the extra postage 
 which would be incurred thereby? 
 
 Granty, you are not to permit old Hannah to 
 boss you. I have been saying this ever since I 
 knew you, and with little result. You say I am 
 weak because when in your or Lionel s hands I 
 am like melted candle grease. While you, you 
 in the hands of Hannah are like the grease 
 when it has been wiped up ! 
 
 I am longing for all your news. I hope you 
 are not lonely, dear one. And yet, selfish pig 
 that I am, I like to think that you miss me the 
 tiniest fraction. You are only my Great Aunt 
 not a very near relation and yet I have 
 never felt like a great niece, nor any other 
 form of niece to you. Neither have I felt like 
 a daughter, nor a grand-daughter, nor a sister 
 simply a friend, and your very own loving 
 Gwenda. 
 
 To-day I am longing for a sight of your pink 
 shawl, the best one which exactly matches the 
 colour of your cheeks, and for your black silk 
 apron with its narrow elastic waistband and 
 jet button. Nobody but you ever wore so tricky 
 and dainty an apron, or one that possessed a 
 
 33
 
 GWENDA 
 
 roomier pocket. It grieves me to think that 
 there are no old ladies in London who wear rich 
 black silk aprons. I have asked Lionel if there 
 is the faintest possibility of such a thing; and 
 he says not the faintest. 
 
 London is beginning to alarm me, but I hide 
 it behind a brave front. I remember your 
 words : " Unsophistication and gaucherie are 
 forgivable in a girl, but unpardonable in a mar 
 ried woman." 
 
 I enquired of Lionel the names of his ser 
 vants as we were returning from bathing just 
 now. And the butler, who has been in his ser 
 vice for ten years, is called Balbriggan, and the 
 footman Hillingbran a bit muddling. 
 
 I have been since practising saying (under 
 my breath) " Home, Hillingbran," when he 
 closes the door of my carriage, " Harrods 
 Stores, Hillingbran." And I hope I shan t 
 drop one of the H s in my excitement. I wish 
 Lionel wasn t rich. I think above everything 
 else I would like my husband to have been a 
 gypsy with a caravan. I should have been 
 more than content to sit at his side, my legs 
 dangling, feather brooms and carpet whisks 
 bobbing behind us swinging through leafy lanes, 
 a camp fire at night, just the two of us, and the 
 
 34
 
 GWENDA 
 
 stars overhead. But I am afraid lie is not cut 
 out for camp life. He is so particular, and 
 Bodkins, his man, is awful. I mean awful in 
 his primness, from what I can gather. 
 
 As I didn t bring a maid away, not possess 
 ing one, Lionel didn t bring Bodkins, and I im 
 agine it has been the greatest sacrifice of his 
 life. But could you imagine a honeymoon with 
 a person named Bodkins in the background ? I 
 couldn t. It would take away all the romance. 
 So I have packed for Lionel. He is very help 
 less, and was so worried over it that I cleared 
 him away and took possession of his suit cases 
 and portmanteaux. I feel it will be ages before 
 I have the opportunity of doing anything for 
 him again with the prospect of all those ser 
 vants staring me in the face, and it was the 
 touching and handling of his clothes that sud 
 denly made me wish that he had been a hawker. 
 
 Presently we are motoring to Mont St. Mi 
 chel, and will it disappoint me when I see it 
 close at hand? For distance has lent it en 
 chantment, and out of the blue haze it has stood 
 forth a dream-like monument, mystical against 
 the inarticulate line of sky and sea mystical 
 and misunderstandable. And it is so often 
 thus with reality; only anticipation and retro- 
 
 35
 
 GWENDA 
 
 spection bring us absolutely unalloyed pleasure 
 because of the power we possess, that has been 
 given to most of us, of wiping away all sorrow 
 from the past and seeing no pain in the future. 
 I believe it was you who suggested this to me, 
 and I often find myself cribbing your ideas. 
 Few of us remember anything but the joys of 
 our childish days. We forget the weary les 
 sons on summer afternoons, the punishments 
 for our misdoing, the awful dark nights when 
 the wind and bogies were whistling at the win 
 dows and down the chimneys and under the 
 doors and we dived our heads beneath the bed 
 clothes, only coming up when suffocation was 
 imminent. We forget the ink on our pinafores 
 and the awful moment of confession to the par 
 ticular Olympian set in authority over us. We 
 forget the tight painful curl rags at night 
 when our heads seemed to be resting on swollen 
 chestnuts and the scrubby frilly tuckers in 
 our necks, and the being ordered to bed when 
 the fire was burning its brightest and we were 
 at full length face downward on the white 
 bear-skin rug and had arrived at exactly the 
 most thrilling point in our story. We only rec 
 ollect the glorious days when we fished and 
 bathed and rolled in the hay, and had camp 
 
 36
 
 GWENDA 
 
 fires on desert islands in the proximity of the 
 rhubarb bed. When we had cream with our 
 strawberries, and Castle pudding with sherry 
 sauce on our birthdays. When we discovered 
 the first wren s nest in the violet bank, and the 
 first swallow s beneath the eaves of the barn. 
 When we had log fires at Christmas and car 
 ols ; and paste-egging at Easter with five thrill 
 ing black-faced men in the kitchen, Lord Nel 
 son with a bunch of blue ribbons down to his 
 knee; and a jolly Jack Tar; and a lady so fine 
 (a black-faced man in a bonnet and shawl was 
 exciting beyond description), and lastly, Toss 
 pot, Tosspot with a long straw tail and a tall 
 hat and a wicked expression ! Even now I shud 
 der when I think of Tosspot. 
 
 And so it is with anticipation. Don t we all 
 build our castle in Spain f A goodly pile of fair 
 stone and marble and alabaster, without flaw or 
 crack. No cheap glazed yellow bricks and un 
 satisfactory mortar, but a graceful monument 
 showing up its pure outline against the blue of 
 the sky. 
 
 Ah, how my own days spread before me with 
 Lionel a crescendo of pure unalloyed happi 
 ness. Not that I am not enjoying the present, 
 the actual to-day. My spirits are so great 
 
 37
 
 GWENDA 
 
 and everyone knows how uplifted I can get on 
 occasions that I have great ado to keep from 
 laughing when there is nothing to laugh at; 
 but how many of us really live at the moment? 
 Take for example my walk along the cliffs with 
 Lionel an hour ago. I was enjoying the braced- 
 up sensation of my body after bathing, when 
 the flesh is cool yet tingly, alert yet serenely 
 reposeful, I was loving the warmth of the sun 
 shine through my thin cotton clothing, the 
 springiness of the turf beneath my feet, the 
 light on the wide sea, the gentle rhythmic 
 sound of breaking waves, the scent of summer 
 o er the land, the soft shiver of the south wind 
 through a field of rye a foot above the ground. 
 I know now I was happily conscious of it all, 
 I am looking back. But at the time I was bus 
 ily talking with Lionel of our future life in 
 town, of our amusements, entertainments, river 
 parties, dinners, balls. I was hardly realising 
 the ecstasy of the moment. How I prose on! 
 The beauty of life and this world has got into 
 my veins, intoxicating me after the fashion of 
 heady old port. I just like to sit and sit on 
 this sunny verandah with Lionel somewhere 
 close at hand. With M. le proprietaire dozing 
 behind his paper; with the parent bustling 
 
 38
 
 GWENDA 
 
 about achieving more noise than work; with 
 Marie offering you oeufs a la coque, and oeufs 
 sur le plat, and oeufs poches, and oeufs brou- 
 illes; and with Jacques raking away at the 
 gravel in the prim garden below, raking slowly 
 and methodically without haste and over-much 
 energy; for "what need is there for energy?" 
 his placid back seems to enquire, " the day is 
 warm and life is long. The parent bustles, 
 there is not room for two to make a fussation." 
 Lionel bids me put on my hat and coat. The 
 motor which is to bear us on our excursion is 
 snorting below. M. le proprietaire has wak 
 ened up guiltily for the parent s eye is upon 
 him. Glad of an excuse for his existence he 
 has procured me a large envelope for the en 
 closure of this rambling epistle. If you only 
 like the practical bits of it, skip the sentimental. 
 But recollect you offered to be a dumping 
 ground for all my moods and tenses ; and I have 
 taken you at your word. 
 
 Your loving 
 
 GWENDA. 
 
 39
 
 LETTER III 
 
 PRINCE S GATE, LONDON; S. W.; 
 June 14th. 
 
 MY DEAR GRANTY : 
 
 A week has elapsed since my last, and never 
 a moment to send you my greetings. 
 
 It was like a bit of home to find your letter 
 awaiting me. I was depressed, can you imag 
 ine it? I arrived at Waterloo cold, squeamish, 
 and with my hat on one side. Lionel told me of 
 it, and I said " Does it matter! I can still feel 
 the boat rocking." I raised my right leg high 
 as I spoke, feeling I was climbing up the side 
 of the deck, and Lionel was quite shocked and 
 whispered that Hillingbran was staring at me. 
 Hillingbran and a coachman seated on the box 
 of a gorgeous carriage were awaiting us. " Do 
 you mean the Home, Hillingbran man?" I 
 asked feebly, and Lionel with an astonished 
 look simply pushed me into the carriage with 
 out replying. 
 
 " You will look better when you have had a 
 bath and a change," he observed presently. 
 
 40
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 " Am I as bad as that ? " I enquired. 
 
 " If only your hat would keep straight," his 
 tone was depressed. 
 
 I gave it a vicious push, and for the first time 
 since our marriage felt cross. 
 
 A whole retinue of servants received us in 
 the hall and did obeisance before us. And I 
 felt sorry I had worn my second best coat and 
 skirt. 
 
 Then your letter was handed to me on an 
 enormous silver salver. 
 
 Granty you never told me if one should thank 
 servants when they present you with things on 
 silver salvers, or just receive them with a care 
 less nod. I wanted badly to squeeze Balbrig- 
 gan s hand, I was so frightfully glad to have 
 your letter, but he looked forbidding. 
 
 I felt strange and shaky in my new surround 
 ings ; the hall seemed so large and I felt so thin, 
 as I had had another bad passage, and my feet 
 still had a tendency to raise themselves very 
 high as I walked up the wide staircase, trying 
 not to mind the disappointment of the servants, 
 writ large on their faces, in this new mistress 
 of theirs. 
 
 Your letter, crushed tightly in my cold hand, 
 supported me a little, and as soon as I reached 
 
 41
 
 GWENDA 
 
 my room I fell to devouring it, and then to 
 laughing. 
 
 My poor dear, you must not allow yourself to 
 be bullied by Hannah. You mustn t be meek 
 now that you are without my help and protec 
 tion. You must make a firm stand at the be 
 ginning. Your fear of most women and cour 
 age with all men has always been a matter of 
 surprise to me. Now that over a hundred and 
 fifty miles divide Hannah and me, I feel as 
 brave as a lion, and if she were here at this 
 moment I believe I should find courage to say : 
 " Peace varlet " No varlet means a man, 
 " peace woman ! I command thee to hold thy 
 tongue." Wouldn t Hannah nearly burst from 
 surprise ? 
 
 I am sorry Stringer has been tiresome over 
 the packing of the wedding presents. If he ran 
 out of straw, why couldn t he use something 
 else? The Silvercombe natives are so obsti 
 nate. I hope it has not worried you. Give him 
 beans with my compliments. I wonder what 
 you are doing at this moment. I picture you in 
 your old garden hat with the little scraggy 
 feather that once was black and is now a rusty 
 brown. "What a battered disgraceful thing that 
 hat is ! And you have five others put away in 
 
 42
 
 GWENDA 
 
 the spare-room wardrobe. I have lately dis 
 covered your motive for l saving things up. 
 It is that if you wait long enough, your gar 
 ments become again fashionable. Tight sleeves 
 were worn some years ago, tight sleeves are 
 in again your foulard has become up-to- 
 date. You are very tricky and clever! 
 
 I have oceans of things to tell you. But 
 where to begin I know not, and I shall never 
 get it all in for I have scarcely had five min 
 utes the whole week in which to breathe. We 
 have torn about from morning till night. Been 
 in a constant state of rush. And that is the 
 correct thing to be in Town. Everybody you 
 meet pants. " My dear I am simply rushed off 
 my legs." They fly from one enjoyment to an 
 other. They tell you with beaming smiles they 
 are perfect rags. Perhaps feeling raggy is 
 much nicer than it sounds. They tick their en 
 gagements off their fingers with the same pride 
 as an Indian war chief counts his scalps. Pre 
 sumably their popularity and social standing 
 are denoted by the number of their engage 
 ments. I thought I was a strong girl, but I can 
 truthfully say that at the end of three days I, 
 too, felt a " perfect rag," and not a cheerful 
 beaming one like the other rags, but a worn-out 
 
 43
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 old dish cloth. The only people I have met up 
 to now who appear to have any leisure are the 
 servants. My dear Granty, the butler s walk 
 is a poem, a Mendelssohn s Song without words ; 
 the leisureliness of it, the reposefulness, bring 
 such a sense of serenity and peace to me, that 
 I, for one, will never need a rest cure. And the 
 tone in which he says : " Certainly, Madame," 
 embraces all the harmony and modulation of 
 which the human voice is capable, not caressing 
 and not exactly subservient, but just right. 
 And when he announces " dinner is served," I 
 feel he ought by rights to be saying : " Come 
 into the garden Maud," or " Drink to me only 
 with thine eyes," no, that comes when he is 
 placing the port and liqueurs on the table. 
 
 I managed " Home, Hillingbran " right away 
 the first tune without so much as a tremor, 
 though I must confess I said it in the wrong 
 place because I really wanted to go to the 
 Army & Navy Stores, but I daren t alter it. A 
 coachman and a footman s backs seem so for 
 bidding when they exactly match and fill up the 
 whole of the landscape. 
 
 I have a victoria, a pair of bays, a motor 
 brougham and a King Charles spaniel all to 
 myself, and I am terrified of the lot. Most of 
 
 44
 
 GWENDA 
 
 all of the King Charles because he bites when 
 his muzzle is off. 
 
 Lionel suggested I should have something to 
 drive with me, and when I said perhaps a lit 
 tle wistfully, which was foolish of me because, 
 of course, he s busy like everybody else 
 "Won t you be coming with me?" he seemed 
 quite surprised and reminded me that his 
 mornings were crammed up. He went on to 
 say that a King Charles was always fashion 
 able. Black poms and Schipperkes and pugs 
 and various other small dogs might have a 
 vogue for a time, but a King Charles was the 
 most reliable, and he would get me one with a 
 long pedigree. For a moment I thought he was 
 only joking, but catching sight of his face I 
 saw he was quite serious, and suddenly I felt 
 dazed. What queer world was this into which 
 I had stepped! Or was it that I was queer 
 and the world normal? I felt I would like to 
 get away into some wide space such as the 
 moors at Blackhill and think things out. But 
 Lionel was talking away quite gravely and I 
 had to recall my wandering attention. " Some 
 women have pet monkeys," he was saying, 
 " but they are a little uncertain. Mrs. Fair- 
 bridger s grabbed at her veil the other after- 
 
 45
 
 noon when she was driving in the Park, tore it 
 off and removed one of her curls with it. Mrs. 
 Fairbridger was furious, and it was an awk 
 ward moment for her and the spectators. I be 
 lieve she had the monkey killed." 
 
 "Why not a mongoose?" I suggested, sti 
 fling something between a laugh and a scream. 
 
 Lionel examined me carefully, as though try 
 ing to read my countenance, but finding I was 
 perfectly grave he replied, " I am not sure that 
 I know what a mongoose is." 
 
 " It s an ichneumon, and comes from India, 
 and is dead on snakes." 
 
 " Oh," said he, " I hardly think it would do 
 as a carriage companion though it would be 
 very original; better stick to a King Charles." 
 
 And I know he suggested the whole thing be 
 cause he doesn t want me to feel " out of it " or 
 lonely. If it is the fashion for women to drive 
 with monkeys and poodles and cockatoos and 
 squirrels, I must do likewise. He is so thought 
 ful and considerate. 
 
 So my King Charles has arrived and is called 
 Chandy or Shandy for short, and is simply a 
 detestable little brute. He bit Hillingbran the 
 first time he was lifted into the carriage, and 
 Hillingbran dropped him on to the pavement 
 
 46
 
 GWENDA 
 
 like a hot potato, and I hoped he was killed 
 outright, but he wasn t, and actually started on 
 Hillingbran s legs. So now he always wears a 
 muzzle, and I am hoping that he will soon die 
 from over-eating. 
 
 During the last two days about a hundred of 
 Lionel s friends have called, and I m nearly 
 worn to a shadow, and my smile has become 
 permanently fixed. You know the sort of inane 
 society smile, mirthless and horrid. I m not 
 unfriendly and I m not churlish, but to be in 
 troduced to a hundred new people at one fell 
 blow is exhausting. Do you remember on our 
 last " At Home " day at Silvercombe how wild 
 ly dissipated we felt because we had seven 
 callers ? 
 
 I wondered how all these people knew we 
 were back, and it appears that Lionel sent cards 
 out sometime ago, announcing that I should be 
 " At Home " on the 13th and 14th of June. 
 
 " But supposing we had lengthened our hon 
 eymoon," I suggested. 
 
 " But we shouldn t. We had no intention of 
 missing half the Season." 
 
 " I shouldn t have cared," I sighed. " Li 
 onel, I am terrified at the thought of all these 
 people." And he told me not to be silly, he 
 
 47
 
 GWENDA 
 
 would help me, and I must wear one of my 
 prettiest gowns white for choice and just be 
 my own bright self and everybody would be 
 charmed. 
 
 This was rather cheering. I wore my bro cl 
 eric Anglaise, perhaps it was a bit too starchy, 
 for it appears to be the fashion in London to 
 resemble a sinuous caterpillar, but I can truth 
 fully say I never saw an assemblage look less 
 charmed with anybody. Have you ever tried 
 to be bright? Bright, for an occasion? Don t. 
 You feel like a smiling Hindoo god, or a lady 
 missionary. Seventeen people asked me for my 
 opinion of the Academy, and I was still bright 
 at the seventeenth. Six enquired if I consid 
 ered ordinary or auction bridge the better 
 game ; and eleven wanted to know if I had seen 
 " The Blushing Belle of Berlin." Nobody wait 
 ed for a reply. Whether they thought from my 
 appearance that I should be unequal to an in 
 telligent discussion of any subject, I am not 
 prepared to say, but, at a bound, they one and 
 all rushed away from the Academy, bridge, and 
 the theatre, and started on aeroplanes, North 
 Pole exploration, the Liberal government, the 
 super-tax, novels by Egbert Bales, and Laur 
 ence Hope s poetry. Nobody listened to any- 
 
 48
 
 GWENDA 
 
 body, everybody shouted, and they all seemed 
 quite happy. So I stopped being " bright," and 
 made a good tea. And when a pale stout man 
 asked me if I liked and understood " the Curse 
 of London," the picture of the year, I replied 
 that I was sure he really didn t want to know, 
 and wouldn t he have a mustard and cress sand 
 wich instead. 
 
 Lionel must have overheard me, for he re 
 proved me later, quite nicely and kindly. It 
 appears the stout man was Sir William Wil- 
 braham, an M.P., a millionaire, and owner of 
 one of the finest collections of pictures in Lon 
 don. I expressed my sorrow, and I really was 
 sorry; and to-day I have merely smiled and 
 said nothing. And at the end of an hour s time 
 I heard a man say to a pretty girl that I ap 
 peared to be very immature, but amiable. A 
 pleasant thing to have said about you! Don t 
 you think? 
 
 One fact I have learned, namely, that my 
 husband was one of the most sought after 
 bachelors in London. And you and I never 
 dreamed of such a thing. We were immature, 
 weren t we? But if he had not possessed a six 
 pence, it would have been all the same to me. 
 He should have shared the bit that father left 
 
 49
 
 me in consols. And had we been obliged to 
 earn our livings, make our bread and butter, I 
 shouldn t have minded, and I needn t then have 
 kept a King Charles spaniel. 
 
 June 16th. Fanchette has just left me with 
 my head in the dust. She is my French maid 
 a most elegant and fashionable creature with 
 a French figure, a rustling silk petticoat, and a 
 high-pitched shrill voice. 
 
 This is the hour of leisure which I have de 
 termined to snatch from the " rush of life." 
 One must read and think occasionally, and Li 
 onel asks why. Women who read are usually 
 pedantic, and women who think have hysterics 
 all over the place. Isn t he amusing? 
 
 My bedroom faces west and is a glory of gold 
 hangings and paper and white paint. And my 
 boudoir is of eastern aspect and is decorated 
 in a green of the coldest Art shade. And Fan 
 chette knowing nothing of my barbaric affec 
 tion for warm colours and sunshine, cannot im 
 agine why I prefer sitting in my bedroom at 
 this hour. " If it were 5 o clock in the morning 
 I would sit in the boudoir," I say, and she 
 shrugs her shoulders at the incomprehensible- 
 ness of Madame. 
 
 50
 
 GWENDA 
 
 To be alone is very restful after the hurry 
 and turmoil of the day, and that Fanchette 
 should have broken in upon me just now has 
 irked me not a little. I had instructed her to 
 put out my wedding gown for this evening. 
 We are going to a dinner given in our honour 
 by old friends of Lionel. Up to now I have 
 been wearing my black satin and green span 
 gled net, as we have been dining at restaurants 
 or quietly at home, but to-night being a sort of 
 state dinner I thought the occasion was worthy 
 of my wedding dress. That is how I put it to 
 myself out of the innocence of my heart, and 
 didn t you think it lovely! I know I did. But 
 not so Fanchette. She came to me with it held 
 out at arm s length as though the sight of it 
 offended her vision, and demanded if that was 
 what I meant. 
 
 " Certainly," I replied, " I have only one 
 wedding dress." 
 
 " But what sort of a gown is it supposed to 
 be, Madame?" 
 
 " Oh, just a simple, pretty, white one," I re 
 turned ingratiatingly, for I could see there was 
 trouble ahead. 
 
 "But what mode?" 
 
 " Why Directoire, of course." 
 51
 
 GWENDA 
 
 " Directoire? " (shrilly). 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " Mon Dieu, Madame ! With a waist below, 
 right away down where your sto mach ought 
 to be?" 
 
 " My waist is perhaps peculiarly situated," 
 I said with dignity. 
 
 " But, no, Madame, your figure is divine. 
 But the waist should be in a Directoire gown 
 just below your arms." 
 
 " I absolutely refuse to have my waist any 
 where but in its proper place." I picked up my 
 book. 
 
 " But I mean in the frock. No matter where 
 your waist really is, in the gown it should be 
 high up." 
 
 "Well, isn t it?" I said trying to keep pa 
 tient. 
 
 She drew out the bodice inch by inch as one 
 extends an accordion, and heaved a deep sigh. 
 " Look at it, so long, so very long. Madame re 
 sembles a a tadpole in it, is it not?" 
 
 " Fanchette ! " I cried indignantly. 
 
 "Ah, pardon, dear Madame. One thousand 
 pardons. I meant not to be impertinent. Ma 
 dame always looks beau-ti-ful. But what is to 
 be done? Madame cannot wear it as it is, it 
 
 52
 
 GWENDA 
 
 is impossible. If I could be permitted to alter 
 it." 
 
 " Alter it ! " I cried joyfully, gathering it up 
 in a bundle and pushing it at her, " do what 
 you will with it, anything you like, Fanchette, 
 so long as you make it right and leave me in 
 peace. Go now straightaway 
 
 " But one thing more," she interrupted quick 
 ly. " It is a high dress. Surely to-night, Ma 
 dame, a decollete gown 
 
 " Ah ! " Now I was triumphant, " but it will 
 turn into a decollete gown. The yoke is only 
 tacked on. In two minutes it can be unpicked 
 and removed, and, hey presto, the transforma 
 tion is complete." 
 
 Fanchette s eyes widened. " A high frock 
 becomes a low one ! " Her tone of horror froze 
 even me. " Impossible. Never, Madame, and 
 I have dressed many ladies, have I before come 
 across such a thing extraordinary. A high and 
 a low dress in one one combination. Every 
 body would know, I mean the ladies would rec 
 ognise it if you wore it in the day and then 
 again in the evening. The very thought is is 
 horrible." 
 
 Her genuine distress touched me. And had 
 she not shown some restraint and delicacy of 
 
 53
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 feeling in not alluding to the fact that she had 
 only been accustomed to the handling and hook 
 ing up of Worth and Paquin frocks, while the 
 gown she was holding had been fashioned by a 
 small dressmaker in Exeter? 
 
 " But what is to be done ! " I enquired help 
 lessly. I have only the green spangled net and 
 the black satin, they are both low, always 
 low " 
 
 " I know, Madame," she interrupted hastily, 
 " you have worn them." With one wave of her 
 hand she dismissed them both, and a great de 
 pression settled upon me. 
 
 I glanced at the timepiece. " Look here, 
 Fanchette," I said, " it is now 6 o clock. Din 
 ner is at 8, it is impossible to get a new gown 
 made in a couple of hours. I must wear the 
 high low frock which isn t Directoire, and in 
 which you suggest, not too politely, that I re 
 semble a tadpole. It cannot be helped. Please 
 go and wrestle with it. To-morrow I will order 
 another." And Fanchette went a hopeless 
 despairing figure, yet with * faithful to duty 
 however unpleasant written on every line of 
 her sallow countenance. 
 
 Perhaps she will give me notice to-morrow. 
 I am hoping for the best not that I dislike her, 
 
 54
 
 GWENDA 
 
 for, though my experience is limited, I can see 
 that she is an excellent maid ; but I realise how 
 ever much I may blossom forth in the future, 
 however modish I may grow to be, in fine, if I 
 became one of the queens of fashion whose 
 frocks and hats and chiffons are duly chron 
 icled in the papers, the memory of my green 
 spangled net and tadpole wedding gown will 
 never fade from Fanchette s mind. She will 
 in her secret heart regard me as a poor igno 
 rant thing a product of the country a sort of 
 pumpkin to be pitied more than despised. 
 
 You must not imagine, Granty darling, that 
 such a matter frets me one little atom. I know 
 that you will be disappointed that my trous 
 seau is turning out to be not smart, but I am 
 only sorry on that account. Eemember that 
 Lionel fell in love with me in spite of what I 
 know now was my extreme dowdiness. And, 
 oh, how I enjoyed those plain gowns ; and they 
 were always of a pretty becoming colour be 
 cause whatever you and I may lack in form, I 
 think our colour sense is all right, don t you? 
 At least we will take that small bit of comfort 
 to our hearts. And we had great fun in the 
 choosing of these derided gowns, hadn t we? 
 Fanchette can never wrest that from us. The 
 
 55
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 long days we spent in Exeter, bright delicious 
 Spring days, and the lovely run from Silver- 
 combe along the Exe. I am never quite sure if 
 I liked to find the tide in or out as we sped 
 along in the train, both were so lovely. Then 
 the trying on of the frocks ; and how lovely the 
 green spangled net looked as it flashed in the 
 sunlight, and I am not at all sure that it isn t 
 lovely now. Just because Fanchette happens 
 to be French, it doesn t prove she is right. You 
 and I may be as right as she, I shall try to sum 
 mon up courage to tell her this to-morrow. 
 
 Then the dainty lunches at Ealeigh s Cafe, 
 with no Hannah at our elbows making us * use 
 up things. And, later on, evensong at the 
 Cathedral, and all the lovely feelings and emo 
 tions that come to you in the dim recesses of a 
 Cathedral when a boy s voice soars to Heaven, 
 mounting higher and higher on liquid notes of 
 silver, and a stray gleam of sunlight flashes 
 through the glory of a stained window. 
 
 Granty, should you have resented it, had you 
 known that all my thoughts and prayers were 
 for Lionel in those moments? He was absent, 
 therefore I prayed for him. Now he is with 
 me. I can feel him, touch him, love him, and 
 you are absent so I pray for you just the 
 
 56
 
 GWENDA 
 
 order of things reversed. You seem to have a 
 certain amount of hold over those who are close 
 to you. You can bind them, nurse them, tease 
 them, quarrel with them. But the absent ones 
 well they seem so very absent and remote. 
 You receive letters from them telling you of 
 their doings, but you don t get a bit of them, of 
 their real selves, the inflection of their voices, 
 the familiar movement of their hands, the little 
 shake of their walk, the lavender scent of their 
 presence, the feel of their woolly shawls. 
 
 Do you go to my little old bed each night, I 
 wonder, and say " One to watch. Two to pray. 
 Three to keep all harm away?" I hope you 
 do, because I am often there in spirit. I shall 
 be there to-night, though at the time I shall 
 be, in all probability, at a bridge table in a hot 
 room with drooping flowers and lovely women 
 in still more lovely gowns and jewels, eager 
 and keen on their game, but with the impassive 
 well-bred look of indifference which the old 
 players can assume. And at 11 o clock, though 
 my body will be politely responding to my part 
 ner s call for a rough, my spirit will steal away 
 out of the room, through the wide star-lit spaces 
 to a cottage at Silvercom.be ; and you must not 
 fail me. Good night Granty. 
 
 57
 
 LETTER IV 
 
 PRINCE S GATE, LONDON, S. W., 
 June 19th. 
 
 MY DEAR GRANTY : 
 
 I am lonely. Why didn t I marry a poor man 
 who lived in a villa in the suburbs? I long to 
 have a dear little house called St. Kilda, and 
 one maid, and spend my evenings alone with 
 my husband. As it is I scarcely ever see him, 
 and you have always said that half the unhap- 
 piness of married life is caused by husbands and 
 wives seeing too much of each other. I find 
 such a lot of your statements are wrong! I, 
 of course, see him in a sense, but always with 
 crowds of people about. I am so tired of peo 
 ple. I don t mind them say, once a day, but I 
 don t want them at lunch and at tea and at din 
 ner. Breakfast I could have alone with Li 
 onel, but he makes me have it in bed. He says 
 I shall get fagged out before the summer is 
 over; and as we don t go to Scotland till Sep 
 tember I mustn t break down before then. 
 Isn t it an extraordinary way of living? I mean 
 
 58
 
 GWENDA 
 
 that people should fear a breakdown brought 
 about by over-much so-called pleasure. So I 
 have my breakfast in bed and read the Morn 
 ing Post and wade through our invitations and 
 consult my engagement book. Do you remem 
 ber our old engagement book? You always 
 would enter into it the dates on which the vari 
 ous hens began to sit. It would read as fol 
 lows : " Tuesday : Tea at the Eectory. Wednes 
 day: Jane Ellis comes to fit my new dress. 
 Friday : Yellow Fluff began to sit. Saturday : 
 Bandy legs hatched 10 chicks." This is a sam 
 ple of my engagement book : " Wednesday : Two 
 fittings at Valerie Soeurs. Eichmond Horse 
 Show. Dine at the Eitz with the Wilbrahams 
 (the man I invited to eat a cress sandwich). 
 Theatre. Thursday : Lunch with the St. Johns. 
 Fete Botanical Gardens. Dinner at the Pel- 
 hambys . Opera. Friday: Meet of the Four- 
 in-hand. Luncheon party at home. At Home 
 at Mrs. Crossfield s. Dine with the Vavasours. 
 Bridge. Saturday: Shop. Lunch with friends 
 at Prince s. Motor to Eanelagh polo. Din 
 ner party at home. Bridge." 
 
 That is to-night the dinner party. The first 
 we have given. Up to now cook has arranged 
 the few dinners that we have been in to eat. 
 
 59
 
 GWENDA 
 
 She has been with Lionel for years, in fact 
 ever since his mother died and he came in to 
 everything. But this morning he said he 
 thought it was time I took up the reins of man 
 agement, that he had wanted me to get accus 
 tomed to my new life gradually, but the ser 
 vants must now recognise that I was the 
 mistress. 
 
 If only he had given me longer notice I 
 should have been more prepared, could have 
 bought a book and planned out various menus ; 
 but as it was, he had hardly finished speaking 
 when a knock came at the door and cook like a 
 large battle ship sailed into the room. 
 
 " I will leave you now," said my husband 
 cheerfully. " Bear two things in mind, let the 
 dinner be short and the dishes really good, and 
 original if possible, originality is what we all 
 aim at. Mrs. St. John gives the best dinners 
 of any woman in Town. I want you to come a 
 good second," and humming a little tune he 
 took his departure. 
 
 Oh, how I longed to be able to hum too. 
 Carelessly, to impress cook, I tried to take up 
 the refrain, but my voice cracked on the first 
 note, and she regarded me with mild though 
 respectful surprise. She handed me a book 
 
 60
 
 GWENDA 
 
 and a pencil. It appeared that the various din 
 ners that had been given had been entered here 
 so that there should be no repetition. Unfor 
 tunately she had turned over to a blank page 
 and I dared not look back. Feverishly I racked 
 my brains and could conjure up nothing but 
 oyster soup, boiled mutton, and blackberry tart, 
 and neither oysters nor blackberries were in 
 season. Patiently she waited, and at that min 
 ute, Granty, I would gladly have been a single 
 woman. Presently I think it began to dawn 
 upon her that I was a hopeless fool. She did 
 not hint at such a condition, but she began to 
 be kind. People are always kind to hopeless 
 fools. She was also clever. When Potage aux 
 Pointes d Asperge was written down, it ap 
 peared to have emanated from my own brain; 
 and so on all through the salmon and ducklings 
 and truffles and ice puddings to the weary end. 
 She suggested everything and never let me 
 know it, or thought she didn t. And when we 
 had finished, she respectfully said : " I think 
 the master will be pleased with your dinner, 
 Madame, if you will kindly excuse my saying 
 so." Did she take me for a bigger fool than I 
 looked? 
 
 She had no sooner gone than there was an- 
 61
 
 GWENDA 
 
 other knock, and Balbriggan appeared. He ap 
 peared in the same way that a photograph 
 appears on a plate when washed with chem 
 icals, faintly, slowly, wraith-like. There is 
 something almost uncanny about Balbriggan. 
 This time it was the table decorations. Now I 
 felt more at home. You always admired the 
 vases on our dinner table, and Sunset gave me 
 such a profusion of flowers that I knew exactly 
 how to blend them. Eagerly in my mind I ran 
 through roses, carnations, sweet-peas, and 7 
 certainly never thought of Madonna lilies in 
 tall silver vases the whole scheme white and 
 silver without a touch of colour. But before I 
 knew what had happened Balbriggan was ad 
 miring the suggestion. It would be quite unique 
 and unusually beautiful. I looked at him crit 
 ically, sharply, but his eyes were as non-com 
 mittal as his person a sphinx gazing across the 
 arid desert of my stupidity and ignorance. 
 
 When he had faded from the room, I sat 
 down and burst into tears, otherwise I should 
 have set up shrill cat-calls and war whoops 
 which might have brought in the police. After 
 a while I began to laugh, and at this moment 
 Lionel entered the room in riding costume. 
 
 He was evidently pleased at my seeming 
 62
 
 good spirits. Nice men are always pleased 
 when their women folk are happy, and he asked 
 me what I was going to do. Everybody in 
 Town asks you as soon as they meet you what 
 you are going to do, because they never stop 
 " doing things," and if you replied you were 
 going into Kensington Gardens to sit in the 
 sun and read Browning, they would cry, " Oh, 
 you are one of those dear eccentric people who 
 do such delightfully odd things. You are de 
 licious and amusing." They never dream of 
 sitting down excepting at meals till they begin 
 their " rest cure." 
 
 " What am I going to do ? " I replied, surrep 
 titiously wiping away my tears. It would 
 never do to tell him I had nothing " on," be 
 cause it would distress him, and spoil his ride. 
 So I replied I was going shopping and had 
 heaps of things to get through, which was true 
 in a sense because I intended studying cookery 
 books. And he was quite satisfied and kissed 
 me, and said he was making arrangements 
 for my taking riding lessons and then we 
 would have some good times together in the 
 Park. 
 
 Some good times together! My spirits rose 
 with a bound, the very thought of cantering 
 
 63
 
 along on a fine horse brought the blood with a 
 rush to my cheeks. 
 
 " How lovely ! " I sighed, " and do you think 
 I shall soon learn! " 
 
 " Of course you will. You are cut out for a 
 horsewoman. Look at the figure you ve got. 
 You ll look fine on a good mount," he replied. 
 
 "And sometimes we ll ride in the country, 
 Lionel?" 
 
 "Well, we might, only I prefer the Park. 
 You meet all your friends there, and you ll 
 be worth looking at." 
 
 For a moment I turned to the window to hide 
 my face. "Was I pleased with his pretty com 
 pliment? Honestly, no. A thousand times 
 should I have preferred his saying he would 
 enjoy long days in the country alone with me, 
 dismounting for lunch at some wayside inn, 
 again for tea, and home in the evening through 
 cool, sweet-scented leafy lanes. Just the two 
 of us with intimate talks and still more inti 
 mate silences. No people, no crowds. Invol 
 untarily I turned and asked : " You still love 
 me, Lionel?" And then at his look of sur 
 prise, a smile came to my lips. " You see I 
 am like Wendy in Peter Pan. I like to be 
 told I am loved, why quite once a day. We 
 
 64
 
 GWENDA 
 
 women are built that way. Perhaps it is fool 
 ish of us." 
 
 " I think it is," he returned, " because you 
 see we men marry you. What more can you 
 want? " 
 
 I pictured your face, Granty, as he said 
 this. Men are so ingenuous, and I think that 
 is why we love them so. They are so much 
 simpler and more honest than we. We rarely 
 say what we think and men so rarely think 
 what they say, or they wouldn t hurt us so 
 often. And he looked so in earnest and so 
 handsome that I could only laugh. 
 
 " And you think when a man has married a 
 woman he always goes on loving her? " I 
 queried. 
 
 " I don t say that," he replied, smoothing his 
 well-brushed hair in front of a mirror, " it de 
 pends on the woman." 
 
 " And never on the man? " 
 
 " Not so much. A man always goes on pretty 
 much the way he starts, but a woman frequent 
 ly goes all to pieces. Gets bad tempered, and 
 jealous and loses her looks. I don t think you ll 
 become bad tempered, you are too sensible." 
 
 " But I may lose my looks 1 " 
 
 "Not just yet," he answered me gravely. 
 65
 
 GWENDA 
 
 " You re the kind that wears well. Good com 
 plexion and hair and all that sort of thing. 
 And now I must be off. I shall be in to lunch. 
 Hurlingham this afternoon remember. Good 
 bye, dear," and he went away humming a tune. 
 
 " I wonder if I ever shall get bad tempered," 
 I mused later as I drove through the crowded 
 streets, and then, as though in direct answer 
 to my question, I found myself slapping Shan 
 dy who was unusually cross. 
 
 I must stop all this chit-chat. Does it bore 
 you? But it s your own fault if it does. You 
 encouraged me to let myself " go," and all the 
 time I am hoping it may interest you. Fan- 
 chette says it is time I allowed myself to be 
 dressed. Lionel had sent me in some Dorothy 
 Perkins roses. Now for the fray. Wish me 
 good luck. 
 
 June 20th. The dinner was a great success. 
 I wore a new frock and have joined the cater 
 pillar brigade. Lionel says it looked moulded 
 to my figure. He meant it as a compliment, 
 but I am not sure I wanted it to look like that. 
 However, if he is pleased! He also compli 
 mented me on the menu. 
 
 " Cook chose it all," I said bluntly. 
 66
 
 GWENDA 
 
 " How was that? " he asked. 
 
 " I could think of nothing but boiled mutton 
 and blackberry tart." 
 
 " Surely you meant saddle of mutton ? " 
 
 " I meant boiled neck of mutton and caper 
 sauce," I repeated obstinately. 
 
 He raised his eyebrows, and instantly I was 
 sorry for my crossness. 
 
 " Look here, Lionel," I said gently. " You 
 married me from a simple home. We had a 
 three course dinner every day of our lives at 
 1 o clock. Granty never gave a dinner party. 
 But I am not stupid, only ignorant. There is 
 a great difference between the two. I have 
 bought two cookery books, and one contains 100 
 recherche dinners. I promise you within a 
 week I will make cook sit up. And at the 
 next dinner we give my menu will be worthy of 
 an ancient Phoenician feast." 
 
 Lionel said he didn t know what I meant, 
 and I told him that though I shouldn t be able 
 to obtain peacocks eyes and humming-birds 
 tongues, I would present unto him other, and 
 equally rare, delicacies if he would have faith 
 in me. 
 
 But I was going to tell you about our guests 
 and have wandered off to these devious by- 
 
 G7
 
 GWENDA 
 
 paths. Some of them were pleasant, most of 
 them dull, and one or two amusing. 
 
 The guests of the evening were a Mr. and 
 Mrs. Prendergast. I think Mrs. Prendergast 
 is one of the most attractive women I have 
 ever met. Not exactly pretty, but nice looking, 
 amusing, vivacious, and possessing that inde 
 finable quality charm. Her voice, too, is 
 charming, aloof yet tender, bantering yet ear- 
 nest, and low in tone, which to me is such an 
 attraction in women, who mostly seem to shout. 
 
 I couldn t remove my eyes from her at first, 
 and twice said " No " to Mr. Prendergast when 
 I ought to have said " Yes," and he only for 
 gave me when he found that his wife was the 
 object of my interest. 
 
 " She is quite as nice as she looks," he said 
 frankly, his own rather hard business face 
 softening. " A stunning woman and " he drew 
 himself up sharply as though fearing his con 
 fidence might be misplaced. 
 
 " Go on," I said. " I m awfully interested. 
 I like her looks so much that I hope we shall 
 be friends." 
 
 " Of course you will," he said heartily. 
 " We ve known Lionel since he was a boy, or 
 I should say I have." 
 
 68
 
 GWENDA 
 
 " Have you? " I endeavoured to keep the in 
 terest out of my voice. " Now I really don t 
 know which I want to hear about most your 
 wife, or my husband when he was in knicker 
 bockers." 
 
 " Your husband, of course," he said with a 
 smile, " but really I don t know that I remem 
 ber anything very exciting about him. Let me 
 see yes, he had measles when he was about 
 twelve, I recollect that." 
 
 " Most children have." 
 
 " Now, don t be ironic and interrupt my train 
 of thought." His pleasant laughter sounded 
 through the room. " I expect he had measles 
 in a most masterly way, because Lionel is pret 
 ty thorough in whatever he does. He and I 
 were at Eton together, and, you ll forgive my 
 mentioning it, but he bullied me a bit, he was 
 always big and I was small." 
 
 "No?" I said. 
 
 " But he did, and most women like a bully in 
 a mild way. I don t say his bullying arose 
 from anything but an excess of muscular en 
 ergy and overflowing vitality, but there it 
 was. Have you ever noticed the extraordinary 
 strength of his fingers Mrs. Conyngham? He 
 has a grip like a vice." 
 
 69
 
 " I don t know that I have," I returned, and 
 for some unaccountable reason I now wished he 
 would leave Lionel and talk of his wife. 
 
 " Cambridge found us together again, Trin 
 ity College. He worked hard in spite of being 
 a rich man. He never went in much for ath 
 letics, all his spare time was devoted to read 
 ing books that made your hair stand on end. 
 You know the sort: Poe, Gaboriau. He read 
 The Murder of the Rue Morgue aloud to me, I 
 recollect, and I never saw or heard anything 
 more realistically done. He mouthed like a 
 baboon, and imitated the shrieks of the women 
 till I was all of a blue funk and cold shivers 
 running up and down my spine. I always 
 thought he would be an actor, never dreamt for 
 one moment that he would develop into a thor 
 ough society man, and a devoted husband into 
 the bargain." He turned and smiled at me as 
 he finished, " Have you had enough! " 
 
 " Thank you, quite," I replied, and it struck 
 me that my voice sounded odd. " Tell me some 
 thing of your wife now." And I was relieved 
 when he launched forth, and in simple language 
 told me where he had met her, and what he 
 thought of her, and what all his friends said 
 of her; and then I gradually drew him on to 
 
 70
 
 talk of my guests, and while he talked I looked 
 down the length of the table at my husband. 
 What had Mr. Prendergast said that he had 
 been a bully? But that was nothing. All boys, 
 healthy boys, were bullies. And Lionel was of 
 a masterful temperament, a strong man in 
 every sense of the word. Searchingly I stared 
 at him, and suddenly he raised his head, and 
 his eyes met mine and for a moment I held 
 them. Then he smiled, a friendly nice smile, 
 and, as in a flash, all was well with me. What 
 had I been worrying about? What an idiot I 
 was. Granty, I don t think London suits me. 
 I am getting imaginative. 
 
 Now, I brought back my wandering attention 
 to Mr. Prendergast. He was rallying me for 
 not listening to him. 
 
 " But I was," I fibbed. 
 
 " You were smiling at your husband." 
 
 " And you have twice smiled at your wife," I 
 retorted. 
 
 He admitted the impeachment, and said if I 
 would listen he would tell me about the woman 
 who sat on my husband s left. She was one of 
 the best bridge players in Town, and was 
 equally good at golf. If I would notice, every 
 thing on the table was a potential game to her : 
 
 71
 
 She formed balls out of bread pellets, spoons 
 and forks became hazards, and salt cellars 
 made good pot bunkers. Well dressed, well 
 preserved, she was always in a rush, a perfect 
 rag, but never looked it. Everybody liked her 
 and she in return liked everybody but her own 
 husband who would " have hobbies." That was 
 the way she put it. His hobby at the moment 
 was earthworms "nasty slimy things." Fol 
 lowing Darwin s precedent, he cemented the 
 floor of a square of ground, placed cemented 
 walls around it, filled it in with soil, turned some 
 worms into this, and then enjoyed his investi 
 gations. Mr. Prendergast wasn t quite sure 
 how frequently the entire earth, with the excep 
 tion of deserts, passed through the bodies of 
 worms, but Mr. Ouless, he was sure, would in 
 form us. 
 
 " Don t," I commanded laughing, " I don t 
 want to know. He looks a bore." 
 
 The stout man next to Mrs. Ouless was brim 
 ming over with ancient stories. Most of them 
 were about eggs. There was the curate s egg, 
 and the lady who sat next to a bishop, drop 
 ping an egg under the table, and being told by 
 him to cackle. To-night he had a new one of 
 a tired cock, who, leaning against a barn door 
 
 72
 
 GWENDA 
 
 sighed " What a weary world. It s eggs to-day, 
 and feather brushes to-morrow," and he laughed 
 himself so much over his story that the man 
 with a hobby, who knew him well, requested 
 him to hush, quite crossly. 
 
 The lady of dignified mien, with pale watery 
 eyes and Eoman nose was the aunt of a bish 
 op, and was famous for having crossed a desert 
 on a camel with one attendant, " And looks as 
 though the dust had got into her eyes," said 
 Mr. Prendergast thoughtfully. 
 
 The fair-haired boyish-looking man was quite 
 a famous K.C., and had taken silk at a younger 
 age than any other man at the Bar. The pretty 
 girl opposite to him was his daughter, noted 
 for nothing but her good dancing. And the 
 thin bronzed man at our end of the table was 
 a rice merchant from Eangoon who came home 
 for six months every second year to get up suf 
 ficient strength to go back. A man with a far 
 away look, a kind smile, and no appetite. 
 
 And now that Mr. Prendergast s recital had 
 brought him up to the guests in our proximity, 
 he had to lower his voice. The beaming man to 
 my left who said "Eh, what?" was a father 
 first, as anyone could see, and a ratepayer next. 
 " And the lady to my left I know little about at 
 
 73
 
 GWENDA 
 
 present, though I hope to know more, but I can 
 say she is a good listener," he concluded laugh 
 ing. And you always said, Granty, that I could 
 only talk. It isn t that I want to be silent now, 
 but all these people are strange to me, and 
 theirs is a jargon I cannot understand, and half 
 of it is slang I never heard before. I am not 
 superior. Don t think it s that. But I am ig 
 norant, and I m afraid a little provincial. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 GWENDA.
 
 LETTER V 
 
 PRINCE S GATE, LONDON, June 23rd. 
 
 MY DEAR GEANTY : 
 
 The longest day has come and gone, and I 
 persuaded or sweedled, as the people say here 
 Lionel to motor me down into the country, 
 for the longest day in the country, when the 
 weather is fine, is a thing not to be missed. 
 
 And the weather was fine at first, not too hot 
 nor too cold, with a delicious little westerly 
 breeze; and we spun along the smooth red 
 roads to Shere. Eed sandstone roads are so 
 much prettier than chalk or lime. And there 
 had been rain the night before, just enough to 
 wash the hedges and trees and flowers, reviv 
 ing their delicate beauty, and making hem 
 smell sweet and fresh. Is there anything love 
 lier than an English lane with rain-washed 
 banks, and peeps over the hedges and gates of 
 blue distances hills and downs and valleys? 
 It is our atmosphere that lends such delicate 
 mystical loveliness to the landscape, and at- 
 
 75
 
 GWENDA 
 
 mosphere is the outcome of rain. Where there 
 is no rain there is no atmosphere, only gar 
 ish crude colours. I mentioned this to Lionel, 
 and he remarked that the way I hit upon and 
 " discovered " well-known facts was delightful. 
 And I was in no mood to take offence. Half 
 the delight of life, I think, is in finding out 
 things for yourself, don t you? 
 
 When I m an old, old lady I shall live at 
 Shere if I don t live at Silvercombe, because 
 when you re old it is good for your soul that 
 there should be no distraction beyond the pleas 
 ure of a little river babbling right through the 
 midst of your village, a little river laughing and 
 singing in the sunshine. And when you are 
 old and the sap drying up in your bones, the 
 pine trees, with the sound of the wind in their 
 branches, and the great stretches of heather 
 country are good for your body, because do not 
 pines and heather mean invigorating tonicy 
 air? And I shall live in a lovely old-world cot 
 tage, and jasmine and roses will peep in at the 
 windows. Balbriggan will not be there, neither 
 will Mrs. Perkins, the cook. And Lionel will 
 do a bit of gardening, just a little raking per 
 haps, because he will also be old, and raking 
 requires so little strength. There may be 
 
 T6
 
 GWENDA 
 
 daughters and sons too, but that is in the hands 
 of the gods. 
 
 I voiced my musings as we sat in the pretty 
 garden of the old fashioned inn at which we 
 had lunched. Stirring my coffee and sniffing at 
 a big crimson rose which dangled above my 
 head I said " Won t it be nice, Lionel? I with 
 a lavender bow in my cap, and you in a holland 
 coat gardening? " 
 
 And he said he hated gardening above all 
 things, that he should never bury himself in the 
 country. That the older you got the more you 
 wanted people and noise and towns. Silence 
 brought retrospection and introspection, the 
 two worst maladies from which any human 
 being could suffer, and the antidote to which 
 was a blue pill and a night at a music hall. 
 Then he startled me by suddenly seizing me 
 and framing my face in his hands and crying: 
 " But you ll never grow old. I hate to think of 
 it, to contemplate it even. I don t like old 
 women. They mouth their words and are fee 
 ble and ugly. You must always remain young, 
 always be my beautiful Grwenda. The very 
 thought of old age and death and corruption 
 on a day like this are nauseating. Don t talk of 
 it. Don t speak of it." 
 
 77
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 Releasing me he walked up and down the 
 garden with long angry strides, flicking at the 
 weeds with his stick, and muttering to himself. 
 And I sat mute with surprise staring at him. 
 
 Presently he paused in front of me. " Don t 
 you see that I love your body? How I gloried 
 in watching you bathe at Cancale. Your flesh 
 is so firm and white. You were like a mermaid 
 glancing through the water. I can t bear to 
 think of that body feeble and shrivelled. Can t 
 you understand that it hurts me physically ? " 
 
 " But don t you love my soul a little bit too f " 
 I cried, " Oh, my husband, a woman always 
 loves to be loved for her soul best of all. And 
 that never grows old to the man she loves and 
 who loves her. I have a soul tucked away some 
 where if you only knew it, and I am ready to 
 take it out, poor thing that it is, and show it to 
 you if you will. In all the mad whirl of gaiety, 
 in the endless succession of dinners and thea 
 tres and bridge, it is becoming dwarfed and sti 
 fled, longing for a wider atmosphere and for a 
 congenial spirit with which to dally. Won t 
 you be that spirit 1 " Smilingly, I placed my 
 hands on his shoulders, " You with your rake, 
 I with my lavender bow. A few months back, 
 when we stood on the cliffs at Silvercombe, it 
 
 78
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 was April and a lark was soaring and singing 
 in the blue, and again at Cancale when we 
 watched the sun set over the sea, it seemed to 
 me that our souls just frayed the edge of each 
 other s garments, and I was infinitely happy. 
 For a soul, after all, when you come to think of 
 it, is often very lonely. Who ever enters into 
 our secret places, knows us as we really are? 
 We come into being alone, we pass into the 
 shadows alone; and if during our short pil 
 grimage on earth we get into touch, if only 
 for a little while with another spirit that is 
 lonely, why we are each the happier." 
 
 My hands slipped to my side, for Lionel s 
 eyes were averted, and his forehead puckered 
 with perplexity. He didn t understand what I 
 was driving at, he said, and he was sure no 
 man would unless he were a clairvoyant who 
 was thoroughly up in spirits and spooks and 
 all that kind of bosh. " You used not to be 
 mystical and emotional," he said reproachfully. 
 
 " And I am not now," I protested. " Is it 
 mystical and emotional, to desire a companion 
 for your mind as well as for your body? " 
 
 " And you used to be such a jolly sort of girl, 
 with a laugh that made other people laugh," he 
 continued ignoring my interruption. 
 
 79
 
 GWENDA 
 
 " There doesn t seem to be so much to laugh 
 at now." The words were out before I realised 
 what I was saying, and instantly sorry I took 
 them back. 
 
 " I don t like this sort of talk. As soon as a 
 woman becomes analytical she goes all to pot." 
 He struck at a tall lupin. " I am sure you have 
 got everything a girl could possibly want, and 
 you hadn t very much down at Silvercombe. I 
 have spent the last six months in trying to think 
 of the things that would give you pleasure. I 
 had the paper in your boudoir specially made, 
 and you never sit in the room. The same with 
 your necklace, you never wear it because you 
 don t like showy things. I went to Brittany to 
 please you, though it was the dullest hole I ever 
 struck. And I never stop considering what you 
 would like to do next, and then you go and talk 
 like this." 
 
 Full of contrition for having hurt him, and 
 grieved that he should so misunderstand me, I 
 again put my arms around his neck. " I know," 
 I said, " and I m sorry if you think I am not 
 grateful. I do appreciate all that you have 
 given me, very very much. I only meant . . . 
 but I can t explain, it is difficult. The intimate 
 homely things of life, the things that cost little 
 
 80
 
 GWENDA 
 
 or nothing, yet are priceless, come to me first, 
 mean the most to me. Books, poetry, sunlight 
 on wide meadows, wind in a field of rye, a 
 crackling log fire on a wild winter s night, sto 
 ries of heroism and sacrifice, the laughter of 
 little children, the love of one human being for 
 another, all come to me before anything money 
 can buy. I am not emotional or sentimental, 
 but Granty and I have learned to love all these 
 things perhaps because we had nothing else 
 to love and this new life is a little strange, 
 and I am just the least bit lonely, because there 
 are so many people ..." Again, I laughed. 
 " You won t understand this because you are 
 used to them. I am not lonely when I am 
 amongst the pine trees at home. I recognise all 
 that they and the wind may be whispering, but 
 you would be lonely. You are accustomed to 
 being surrounded by your fellow creatures. 
 You enjoy their society, their friendship ; and I 
 am going to learn to enjoy what you enjoy. 
 Why, my husband, I have an enormous fund of 
 happiness and good spirits to draw upon. 
 Never again think I am not contented and hap 
 py because " In a flash, I realised that I was 
 going to tell a lie, but I went straight on. It 
 was one of the necessary lies of this life, for 
 
 81
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 Lionel was still frowning and perplexed " I 
 am happy and contented. And now kiss and be 
 friends. And don t you think we ought to be 
 going, for a cloud certainly no bigger than a 
 man s hand has appeared in the west, and the 
 wind is coming from there. Though I may not 
 be accomplished, I know more about the weather 
 than most girls. Come." 
 
 And the cloud gathered to an ominous size 
 before we had got many miles on our home 
 ward journey, and the wind rose, and soon we 
 were in the teeth of a storm ; and before Lionel 
 could get the cover up we were almost drenched 
 to the skin, and my hat was almost blown from 
 my head and long strands of my hair escaped 
 and lashed me across the face, but somehow I 
 enjoyed it with a wild sort of exhilaration. We 
 were at the mercy of the elements. The trees 
 bowed down before the fury of the gale, little 
 flowers laid their velvety faces to the wet earth, 
 the big drops stung our faces. 
 
 " Leave the cover up," I shouted. " It is 
 glorious." 
 
 For a moment Lionel regarded me as one re 
 gards a person who is deranged, and then raised 
 the cover with a snap. And I only laughed and 
 hugged his arm. 
 
 82
 
 GWENDA 
 
 June 30th. A good deal I have written just 
 lately, I am doubtful about sending you, Granty. 
 Firstly because it has been about Lionel and 
 myself, intimate talk. I have always told you 
 everything, and it has been a relief to me to 
 write, just as you predicted. Why should the 
 mere fact of inscribing your sensations in black 
 and white bring you relief? Have you ever 
 noticed though that this is a fact? You sit 
 down to describe the death of a much loved 
 friend. The writing paper, pen and ink have 
 been approached with diffidence and halting 
 steps. Your sorrow is so great that you cannot 
 bear to speak of it. But within five minutes 
 you are so touched and wrung by the beauty of 
 your own language, that your tears are flowing 
 easily and almost happily, and you are even 
 deriving a certain amount of satisfaction from 
 your own pain. But I fancy you have said all 
 this yourself. How often you must be amused 
 at my echoing your sentiments ! 
 
 Certainly a trouble and misunderstanding 
 lose half their sting if faced practically and 
 with an earnest desire to remove the cause of 
 the misunderstanding. 
 
 The other day I imagined my soul was lonely. 
 I began to pity myself. I was hurt because 
 
 83
 
 GWENDA 
 
 Lionel didn t exhibit a keen desire to sit and 
 hold my hand half the day. I resented the 
 presence of so many people. I was ashamed of 
 my ignorance. My pride was always up in 
 arms. I was unhappy and longed to be back in 
 Silvercombe. Then came your wise practical 
 letter. Had you sensed the trouble ? Suddenly 
 I saw that if I had a soul at all, it was a poor 
 sort of thing and nothing to boast about. Then 
 came the sickening realisation that I was self 
 ish and unreasonable. I knew when I married 
 Lionel that he was rich and had many friends. 
 I said I was prepared to dance to his piping, 
 and the minute he calls upon me to do so, I be 
 gin to howl. I want slapping. I have made up 
 my mind from this moment to enjoy my life. 
 There is no reason why I shouldn t. I have 
 everything money can buy. Surely this ought 
 to satisfy any girl. But, oh, Granty, I wish you 
 were just round the corner. I do so want you. 
 
 Lovingly, 
 
 GWENDA. 
 
 84
 
 LETTER VI 
 
 PRINCE S GATE, LONDON, S. W., 
 July 4th. 
 
 MY DEAR GrKANTY : 
 
 I don t think I can keep Fanchette. Her re 
 spect increased for me 100 per cent on the day 
 that she discovered I had ordered twelve new 
 dresses and one bang go, and all of the newest 
 materials and up-to-date designs, but she never 
 lets me alone about my hair. She condescends 
 to approve of the colour, but the way I dress 
 it is demode and dowdy. She wants me to wear 
 pin curls on my temples that have grown on 
 another woman s. " Ducks " she calls them, 
 " so sweet and so inexpenseev only 7/6 each." 
 Then she wishes to fasten Empire bunches of 
 curls at the back of my head. My own hair is 
 too long to roll into satisfactory curls, and the 
 bought ones are so chic and will fill up the 
 hiatus under my hats! 
 
 " But I have no hiatus," I objected. And she 
 said I would have if only I would wear fash 
 ionable hats. And I replied it was no good dis- 
 
 85
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 cussing what I would have, if I hadn t got it. 
 And I didn t see the fun of achieving a gap be 
 neath my hats just to fill it up again with Em 
 pire curls. And she sighed and called upon 
 Heaven to witness she was doing her best. 
 
 So if you know of a girl in the village who 
 would do as a maid, let me know. The more 
 ignorant she is the better I shall like her, for 
 I may then be allowed to have my own way 
 occasionally. And if her name should be Mar 
 tha, so much the better. I keep getting Fan- 
 chette mixed up with Planchette, and then she s 
 offended. Martha only rhymes with Arthur, 
 and I shouldn t be likely to call her that, how 
 ever wandering I might be. I remember there 
 was a Martha at Silvercombe with blue eyes 
 and smooth brown hair, daughter of a fisher 
 man. Fanchette has snappy black eyes, and 
 her hair is a veritable tower of curls and twists. 
 
 Cook, or Mrs. Perkins as I find she likes to 
 be called, has been relegated to her proper po 
 sition. The fear of me lies in her heart, if the 
 love of me doesn t. It took a week to achieve 
 this, a week of hard work studying cookery 
 books and 200 recherche dinners. 
 
 At first she took high ground with me, then 
 became soothing as one dealing with a refrac- 
 
 86
 
 GWENDA 
 
 tory child, and finally took up the position that 
 things were out of season. With calm effront 
 ery she endeavoured to make me believe that 
 I couldn t get salmon trout at the end of June 
 for love or money. But I was very patient and 
 very firm. The dishes I had selected before 
 leaving my room that morning, those dishes of 
 a certainty we dined of at night. Had I not 
 thought out the soups and fish whilst taking my 
 bath; the entree and entremet over my hair, 
 the savoury, I am ashamed to say, during my 
 prayers? Were they to be put aside after all 
 my travail and weariness of spirit by a woman 
 named Perkins ? 
 
 " Did you say roly-poly pudding, Madame? " 
 she demanded in such pained amazement the 
 other morning that I had to bite my tongue so 
 severely to keep from laughing that it really 
 hurt. 
 
 I nodded. " I believe the master would like 
 it, though he never gets it. And if we write it 
 role pole, it will sound French and taste Eng 
 lish." 
 
 " And dolmans in vine leaves I I think I 
 know everything there is to be known about 
 cookery, but a dolman in a vine leaf 
 
 " You haven t met dolmans in vine leaves ? " 
 87
 
 I cried in such well-simulated astonishment 
 that Mrs. Perkins instantly recollected she had. 
 Mrs. Perkins can lie as well as most servants, 
 and she is resourceful above all things. 
 
 We had dolmans that night, Granty, and they 
 were the most disagreeable things I had ever 
 met. A sort of pulpy beef olive rolled up in a 
 vine leaf which was burnt, and a sash round its 
 middle. Lionel remarked that Mrs. Perkins 
 was going off in her cooking and I felt very 
 unhappy. Still it must have been a poser to 
 find vine leaves all in a minute, and I cheered 
 up a little. Next morning I enquired carelessly 
 how she had obtained them, and her reply sent 
 me into something very like a temper though I 
 kept it under control ! " Oh, Madame, the leaf 
 part seemed immaterial to me so long as the 
 inside was right, so I just used large currant 
 leaves, I thought you wouldn t be able to de 
 tect the difference." And I hadn t. 
 
 Now I am spending every minute I can 
 snatch in trying to think of a dish Mrs. Perkins 
 doesn t know, and cannot get beyond stewed 
 lampreys. And I am not sure if you can get 
 them in this country, or whether the king who 
 died from overeating them had had them im 
 ported. 
 
 88
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 It took me a week to drive it home to Bal- 
 briggan that in future I intended to think out 
 my own table decorations. He could do the ar 
 ranging of the flowers and / do the planning. 
 When I said forget-me-nots and gypsophila he 
 appeared not to have heard me, and as from 
 some self-effacing wraith the word " orchids " 
 was breathed, " I didn t say orchids," I ob 
 served pleasantly. " I think you are a little 
 deaf, Balbriggan, I said forget-me-nots and 
 gypsophila. See, I will write it down and then 
 you won t forget." Gradually I am winning 
 through. It is exhausting this hot weather, but 
 it must be done. 
 
 July 4th. I have been thinking of what you 
 said to me two or three days before my wed 
 ding : " You will probably be hurt with your 
 husband during the first week of your married 
 life, and angry with him the second most 
 wives are. The third week you will quarrel, as 
 you are of a sensitive disposition, and the 
 fourth have a regular row. Then the air will 
 be cleared, and, if you are as sensible as I im 
 agine you to be, you will settle down to make 
 the best of things, and of him. He is probably 
 doing his best. It may be a bad best from the 
 
 89
 
 GWENDA 
 
 standpoint of a newly married woman, but it 
 might be worse. There is no end to what a man 
 can do if he likes. So if you just succeed in 
 keeping him quiet and amused and pleased 
 with himself and in a good temper, you are 
 doing a lot. But one thing remember, never 
 lose your own temper. It s bad enough for a 
 man to lose his, but foolish for a woman. It at 
 once puts her at a disadvantage. The moment 
 she lets fly, the man has sufficient, or thinks he 
 has sufficient cause to bang a door and go and 
 get drunk somewhere. If he s going to get 
 drunk, let him get drunk in his own home. 
 Don t, through the sharpness of your tongue, 
 give him the chance of saying he s been driven 
 out of his own house. A man will say that on 
 the slightest provocation. Moral, never lose 
 your temper." 
 
 And I have lost mine pretty badly, and all 
 about nothing, so to speak, which, as you say, 
 has put me at such a disadvantage that I have 
 wanted to creep into a nice tight hole like a 
 lobworm and entirely disappear from view. 
 And Lionel and I are, well, not exactly, out of 
 friends, as little children say, but there is just 
 a suspicion of restraint and aloofness between 
 us which makes me feel lonesome and sad. 
 
 90
 
 GWENDA 
 
 I was in the boudoir this morning, where 
 Lionel likes me to sit after breakfast, when he 
 came into the room. He usually attends to his 
 correspondence in the library at this hour, so 
 I was surprised and very glad to see him. The 
 boudoir always depresses me, and I sit trying 
 to like it each morning without much success. 
 His appearance brightened up things wonder 
 fully, and I made a cheerful remark about the 
 beauty of the morning, which seeing it was rain 
 ing hard at the moment, was a little out of place. 
 
 He stood in front of the mantel-shelf and 
 picking up a Cloisonne vase examined it with 
 absent eyes. I knew that he wanted to say 
 something to me which he found perhaps a lit 
 tle difficult, and wondering what it could be I 
 waited for him to speak. 
 
 At last it came, and I admit I was disap 
 pointed at its lack of interest : " What are you 
 wearing to-night at Lady Eivers ? " 
 
 " Heavens ! " I thought, " is he going to begin, 
 too ? Surely Fanchette is enough." I must tell 
 you I don t yet know this Lady Eivers. She 
 called upon me and I was out. I returned her 
 call and she was out. Evidently she held a posi 
 tion of some importance in Lionel s eyes, and 
 a spirit of mischief entered into me. 
 
 91
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 " I had thought of either the green-spangled 
 net or my wedding dress whichever you 
 prefer," I said gravely. 
 
 He made a little movement of impatience. 
 " Have you nothing smarter than either of those 
 things? Lady Eivers is so " he paused. 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " So beautifully dressed, and I expect she s 
 critical. She looks it. And there are sure to be 
 some smart women there to-night with eyes 
 sharp enough to recognise that your gown was 
 made by some provincial dressmaker." 
 
 " And if they did? " I queried. 
 
 He raised his brows. " You are married to 
 a rich man. You can afford to go to a first- 
 class dressmaker. You can afford to be as well- 
 dressed as any woman." 
 
 " But I must wear out my trousseau frocks, 
 they can t be wasted. My green-spangled net 
 must have cost five pounds if it cost a penny, 
 and my wedding dress was frightfully expen 
 sive, the bugle trimming alone was five and six 
 pence a yard." I hid the laughter in my voice, 
 for he was so very much in earnest, and he 
 looked such a splendid figure of a man as he 
 leant against the mantel-shelf. 
 
 He picked up the Cloisonne vase and banged 
 92
 
 GWENDA 
 
 it down with some violence and I was glad that 
 it was of a strong make. " Give them away, 
 every one of your clothes. They re all dowdy, 
 give them to Fanchette." 
 
 I think, perhaps, he saw I was hurt, for he 
 spoke more gently. " You hadn t much chance 
 of picking up anything decent at Exeter, I sup 
 pose, but now you have, so get yourself an en 
 tire new outfit, and spare no expense. There s 
 a Clotilde who hangs out in some back street 
 somewhere or other, and worth her weight in 
 gold." 
 
 " How do you know about her? " I asked 
 quietly. 
 
 Oh er " 
 
 " Don t," I cried suddenly, " I don t want to 
 know. I was only teasing you. Some of your 
 smart friends will have told you. They keep 
 nothing to themselves. I heard a woman tell 
 a man the other day that she wore three lots 
 of suspenders to keep her figure down. She 
 laughed immoderately, and apparently thought 
 the information interesting and amusing, wheth 
 er he thought the same, or simply vulgar, I 
 don t know. I have already discovered Clo 
 tilde. She s a wonderful person, and I had 
 given her an order for a dozen new gowns 
 
 93
 
 GWENDA 
 
 morning, visiting, and evening before I knew 
 what I was doing. I had begun to realise that 
 you were not pleased with my appearance. I 
 had seen you glance askance at my toilets. It 
 hurt me a bit at first. Now I don t mind. I can 
 see you were paying me a high compliment in 
 wishing me to look as well as other women. 
 Now I hope you will be satisfied for some of the 
 frocks are of exquisite make and material. I 
 knew you would not grouse at the bills, if the 
 result were good; so I just put myself unre 
 servedly into Clotilde s clever hands. Are you 
 pleased, my husband, for I have worked hard? " 
 
 " I will tell you when I see you in them," and 
 I smiled at his caution, it was so exactly like 
 him. 
 
 " You didn t seem dissatisfied with my ap 
 pearance when we were engaged," I ventured, 
 trying to keep my voice practical. 
 
 " Ah, you were unmarried then, and simplic 
 ity was in keeping with your setting. Plain 
 gowns and wide-brimmed straw hats were in 
 harmony with cliffs and rocks and wild moors. 
 Paris clothes would have been bizarre. You 
 knew it, and your pose was clever." 
 
 " My pose ! " My cheeks reddened with an 
 ger. Then I laughed. Surely he was teasing 
 
 94
 
 GWENDA 
 
 me. "Do you really think I am that sort?" 
 I asked, with my hand on his arm. 
 
 " Women can t help it. You are freer from 
 it than most. But I think women are unattrac 
 tive if they are perfectly natural. The ele 
 mental woman has always bored me. Your 
 simplicity attracted me, your unworldliness, 
 but beneath it all I knew there was a substratum 
 of coquetry. You would have been dull with 
 out." 
 
 " Good heavens ! " I cried. " I wonder what 
 I shall hear next. Will you think I am telling 
 you an untruth if I say I have never posed in 
 my life." 
 
 " You think you haven t, and I quite believe 
 you. But I know you better, my Gwenda." 
 And he laughed as again the colour burnt in 
 my cheeks. " And why should you mind? We 
 all pose. Your fear of people, your air of shy 
 ness, the look of wistfulness in your wide 
 gray eyes, are all a pose, and a very pretty one 
 too. They caused me to fall in love with you; 
 but now, as a married woman, they are not so 
 becoming, and I should let them drop." He 
 tried to put an arm round me, but I wrested 
 myself away from him. 
 
 "Don t touch me," I panted, stamping my 
 95
 
 GWENDA 
 
 foot. " You shall not touch me if you feel like 
 that about me. Oh " and I dashed out of the 
 room fearful of what I should say next. 
 
 And could he have meant it, do you think? 
 He couldn t. You and I always hated people 
 so much who posed, we laughed at them so. We 
 felt so scornful toward them. I remember your 
 saying once that all people who posed were 
 bores, and they only became interesting when 
 they were natural. So I am a bore. Oh, Granty, 
 what a lot of disagreeable things I am finding- 
 out about myself. I am a dowdy bore, and 1 
 have also lost my temper. But married life is 
 a little more difficult than it sounded when 
 Lionel talked about it! Quite a good bit more 
 difficult. 
 
 July 7th. And we went to Lady Eivers din 
 ner party, and it is the last time I shall ever 
 enter her house. She is certainly the most beau 
 tiful woman I have seen since I came to Lon 
 don, and also the most dangerous. There was 
 something about her which filled me with the 
 most curious distrust and fear, and I felt if 1 
 were a man wanting to run straight I should 
 be really frightened of her. She moved about 
 among her guests, easily, charmingly, a smiling 
 
 96
 
 GWENDA 
 
 gracious hostess, exquisite from the top of her 
 perfectly coiffured head to the point of her 
 silver slipper. I suppose, too, she was perfectly 
 dressed, but there was so little of it. Directoire 
 and Princess frocks are such wisps, that I found 
 myself growing hot as she walked about the 
 room and had much ado to keep myself from 
 shouting : " Madame, you have forgotten your 
 petticoats." 
 
 A bored elderly young stockbroker why 
 did I imagine he was a stockbroker crooked 
 his elbow and led me in to dinner. Oh, how 
 very old was that poor young man and how very 
 weary. I thought he would fall asleep into his 
 soup. He picked up a little when he discovered 
 that I was married. Hadn t caught my name 
 . . . didn t look married . . . single women 
 frightened him so dreadfully . . . only felt safe 
 with married ones . . . and their talk so much 
 more interesting ... (a droop of the tired eye 
 lids). Perhaps I would be kind to him. 
 
 " Poor thing," I said sympathetically ; and 
 then he woke up and tried to be fascinating. 
 The vacuousness of his conversation was worse 
 than his sleepiness. I should have loved to 
 have slapped a mustard leaf suddenly onto his 
 spine, and awaited results. Tiring of him I 
 
 97
 
 GWENDA 
 
 turned my attention to the rest of the assem 
 bled company and mine hostess. The table was 
 round, covers for sixteen only, and I could hear 
 every word of the conversation distinctly. I 
 am not a prude. Why do I preface what I am 
 going to say with that? Am I afraid of the 
 opinion of such people as these? Am I afraid 
 of being dubbed superior, priggish, provincial? 
 But I know you will not think this of me. 
 Granty, the conversation of these men and wom 
 en left me amazed. At first I could hardly 
 credit that I heard aright. Stories of well- 
 known people, dancers, actresses, public serv 
 ants, even Cabinet Ministers could not escape. 
 Characters torn to shreds, reputations left with 
 not a leg to stand upon. Plays, books discussed 
 that should have been undiscussable. A public 
 censor should have been at the elbow of each 
 man and woman, and more especially the wom 
 an. All touched upon in a light pseudo modest 
 fashion, with shrugs of apologetic white shoul 
 ders, eyelids modestly cast down, and an air 
 of : "I am not responsible for this bit of scan 
 dal. You must take it for what it is worth." 
 I looked at Lionel. What did he mean by 
 bringing me to such a house and making me 
 associate with such people? He couldn t have 
 
 98
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 known, couldn t have had an idea, or he would 
 not have subjected me to such an indignity. I 
 held him with my eyes, seeking and asking for 
 sympathy, but he was engrossed with Lady 
 Rivers and didn t look my way. He seemed 
 perfectly contented and at home, and was so 
 absorbed that possibly the conversation around 
 him had escaped his attention. 
 
 Presently I made a show of talking to my 
 companion, and he remarked in a plaintive 
 voice that I might have been to a funeral. 
 
 " Perhaps, I have," I returned smiling, " the 
 funeral of my lost ideals." 
 
 "Difficult burying?" 
 
 " Very difficult, because I would fain have 
 kept them with me. Perhaps you have noticed 
 that when your ideals, your illusions go you 
 begin to feel old," I said. 
 
 " Never had any. Rotten things to have. 
 You re bound to lose them, then down you come 
 to earth with a bang like a man who s lost con 
 trol of his aeroplane. Never keen on hurting 
 myself. Very practical chap." 
 
 " But if you never have any illusions you 
 miss a great deal of the beauty of life, and the 
 sadness of the world hurts you badly." 
 
 " I don t know what you mean," he said 
 99
 
 GWENDA 
 
 thoughtfully, " and I m rather tired. I only 
 like talking about common or garden things 
 when I m dining out, nothing that requires any 
 effort of thought. Most women are too clever 
 for me I mean married women, and girls want 
 to flirt." 
 
 "Do they?" 
 
 " You needn t be quite so astonished," he 
 said, leaning back in his seat and closing his 
 eyes. " Some people like me." 
 
 " Of course, I don t know you very well, but 
 I am sure it is possible," I rejoined. 
 
 He looked at me with languid eyes. " I can t 
 think why you are so unkind to me. I have 
 done nothing to you." 
 
 " I am sorry if I have been horrid, but I feel 
 horrid." 
 
 " I haven t minded," he assured me. " I mind 
 very few things. Ah," he roused himself with 
 a show of interest, " Lady Rivers is going to 
 tell a story. She usually reserves a clinker till 
 the end of dinner." He leaned forward quite 
 eagerly. I would repeat that story but I don t 
 think you would see the point of it, I didn t, 
 and Lionel explained it to me afterward at my 
 request. I wanted to understand why the oth 
 ers had laughed so immoderately. Her voice 
 
 100
 
 GWENDA 
 
 was sweet and her language well chosen, she 
 might have been talking to a Sunday school 
 class. 
 
 " And do people people of that class, I mean 
 enjoy such stories? " I demanded vehemently, 
 as we drove home. 
 
 " I don t know what you mean by people of 
 that class, " Lionel replied coldly. 
 
 " Common, vulgar, evil-minded people," I 
 cried, losing control of myself. 
 
 For a moment I could hear him breathe a 
 little hard. He was leaning far back in the 
 carriage and I could not see his face. 
 
 " I should like you to take that back," he said 
 at length very quietly, "your language is 
 strong." 
 
 " Never." 
 
 " They are my friends." 
 
 "Your friends!" I repeated incredulously. 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " Then I am sorry for your taste." Granty, 
 I shouldn t have said that. I knew he was 
 angry, and I shouldn t have fanned the flame. 
 But I too was angry. 
 
 " They will also be your friends. Your 
 opinion of my taste we will leave out of the 
 question." 
 
 101
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 " They will never be my acquaintances let 
 alone my friends." My voice was steady, but 
 I shook from head to foot. 
 
 " You will send out invitations to a dinner 
 next week, and Lady Eivers must be the prin 
 cipal guest," he said quietly. 
 
 " Lionel, you cannot mean it! " 
 
 " But I do." 
 
 I leant back trying to read his face, and 
 slipped my hand into his, there was something 
 in his voice that had chilled me, but he made 
 no response. "You cannot mean me to know 
 that woman," I whispered. 
 
 " I do most decidedly. I think it would be a 
 privilege. I have not known Lady Eivers long 
 or intimately, but I think she is one of the most 
 beautiful and attractive women in London. 
 Why you dub her * that woman beats my com 
 prehension." 
 
 "And you approve of her? Think her re 
 fined, and enjoy her stories T " 
 
 " What I know of her I distinctly approve. 
 I think her quite good enough for my wife to 
 know. And as for her stories, pah! Only a 
 bread and butter miss straight from the school 
 room could possibly look down her nose at 
 them." 
 
 102
 
 " That last story amusing? " 
 
 " Certainly, and scarcely risque. You are a 
 little prude, my dear, and prudes have always 
 excessively annoyed me. They are not only 
 self-satisfied, but boring. What is the matter 
 with you, Gwenda? You have very much 
 changed. "What has become of my bright jolly 
 charming girl? You used to be so sensible. 
 Now you are always puling." He slipped his 
 arm round me. 
 
 " I have not changed," I said slowly, battling 
 to keep the tears back, for his words had hurt. 
 " I have not changed, only you didn t know me 
 before. Our courtship was too short, and I 
 am sorry, sorry for us both." 
 
 " You needn t be sorry for me. I am quite 
 satisfied when you behave sensibly. And you 
 looked Al to-night. I was quite proud of you. 
 That simple style of dressing your hair suits 
 you though it isn t fashionable. If you regret 
 that you married me, I m afraid that I can t 
 help it. I do everything a man can to make 
 you happy, and if you re not, it s not my fault." 
 
 " I am happy. I mean I should be quite 
 happy if 
 
 " If you had your own way about everything," 
 he laughed. 
 
 103
 
 " No, I don t mean that. I I didn t know I 
 was so selfish, Lionel," again my voice broke. 
 
 " You mean if I didn t insist upon your know 
 ing people like Lady Eivers ? " 
 
 I did not speak. 
 
 "Do you mean that?" He gave my arm a 
 little shake. 
 
 " Perhaps." 
 
 " But it is foolish of you. You will have to 
 know her." 
 
 " I shall never know her," I said quietly, as 
 we arrived at our own door. And, without say 
 ing " good night " he walked up the stairs and 
 locked himself in his dressing room. 
 
 Of course, I watered my pillow with tears. 
 You predicted that I should sooner or later. 
 I remember the occasion upon which you said 
 it. We were walking up the cliffs to the coast 
 guard station. It was a clear fragrant even 
 ing in May. The gorse was golden on every 
 side of us. You smiled because I said that like 
 Linnaeus of old I wanted to go down on my 
 knees and thank God for its glory, its golden 
 glory. I broke off some prickly bits and inhaled 
 its subtle almond scent, so delicate and so sweet. 
 It was then you said " Gwenda, you are very 
 happy." And because I was caressed by a 
 
 104
 
 GWENDA 
 
 warm soft wind, and wrapped around by the 
 scents of the gorse and the sea and the stirring 
 bracken, and because there was green new turf 
 at my feet, and overhead the blue serene sky 
 and a baby crescent moon, and you at my side 
 and life before me with Lionel, I cried in my 
 arrogance " I shall always be happy." And 
 then you said in your wise way and with a 
 little apology for your pessimism, " No woman 
 is always happy if she be very human and very 
 affectionate and very sensitive. It is impossi 
 ble as long as any man comes into her life, 
 whether it be a husband, or a son, or a brother. 
 Men bring happiness to the women who love 
 them, but also do they bring much sorrow, espe 
 cially husbands. Few women within the first 
 few months of their married life escape water 
 ing their pillows with their tears, while their 
 husbands snore profoundly at their sides. In 
 a couple of years the women snore equally pro 
 foundly. The first bloom of their sensitiveness 
 has been rubbed off. They have got used to 
 things. They have become a little harder, their 
 romantic affection for the husband has become 
 prosaic, but they are happier." 
 
 The prospect that a time will come when I, 
 too, shall learn to snore profoundly comforts 
 
 105
 
 me not a little, and let it come quickly, 
 I cry. 
 
 Now when you next write I want you to tell 
 me what a hypothetical friend of yours named 
 Belinda Ann did when she was confronted with 
 a similar difficulty to mine. Belinda Ann s hus 
 band insisted upon her receiving at her house 
 a woman of whom she disapproved. Belinda 
 Ann said she shouldn t; her husband said she 
 must and should. Belinda Ann loved her hus 
 band and hated hurting him, she also hated 
 and despised the woman. What did she do ? 
 
 Write and tell me quickly, 
 
 Your perplexed, 
 
 GWENDA. 
 
 106
 
 LETTER VII 
 
 PRINCE S GATE, LONDON, 
 July 14th. 
 
 MY DEAR GRANTY: 
 
 I think Belinda Ann acted most sensibly in 
 always shelving a question till the necessity 
 arose for tackling it. For, as you say, the Lady 
 Rivers of the world might go to Honolulu, and 
 fall sick of a fever, and die and be planted 
 among the daisies. My Lady Rivers is remain 
 ing in Town till the end of the Season, I 
 heard her say so, and she looks extraordinarily 
 healthy; but one never knows, and one hopes 
 for the best. 
 
 Your letter did me heaps of good. You are 
 quite right. I did take the whole matter too 
 seriously. There was nothing to water my 
 pillow about. If Lionel had slapped me in the 
 face as you suggest, or had got drunk, or had 
 been making love to another woman, I might 
 have felt I had sufficient cause to howl. I am 
 a sensitive idiot, and will you think me mean 
 if I say I don t think it is entirely my own 
 fault? 
 
 107
 
 GWENDA 
 
 Granty, you sheltered me too much at home. 
 My life was made too easy for me from the 
 time you befriended me as a tiny girl till the 
 day I drove away in all my wedding finery, 
 which Fanchette has now persuaded a second 
 hand clothes woman to remove from the prem 
 ises. I started out in the world badly equipped 
 to do battle with it. I had got into a groove, 
 a beautiful, soft, rounded groove, but one that 
 did not help me to face life gamely. When I 
 was hurt you rubbed butter and placed pieces 
 of raw meat on the bumps, when I was in pain 
 you comforted me with poultices mentally as 
 well as physically, when I cried you wiped away 
 the tears. You should have let me cry occasion 
 ally till I was black in the face, and allowed me 
 to suffer till I curled up like a wire-worm. As 
 it is, I am formless and without any back bone ; 
 perhaps I should have been that in any case 
 back boneless, but you didn t give me a chance. 
 Anything that I disliked doing, you did for me, 
 if old Hannah was not about to see you giv 
 ing in to me. Possibly you will say that you 
 only gave in in unimportant matters, but they 
 counted, they have told on my character. 
 
 Oh, what a beast you will think me. I am 
 blaming you for my own lack of strength, put- 
 
 108
 
 GWENDA 
 
 ting it on to your shoulders. Searching about 
 like Adam and Eve for someone upon whom 
 to lay the responsibility of my shortcomings. 
 Forgive me. I have always liked the Serpent 
 so much better than those two weaklings, and I 
 am going to try to do so much better now, cease 
 to be a weakling, and like Daniel dare to stand 
 alone and without shouting out for somebody to 
 prop me up. 
 
 July 15th. I suddenly felt I would like to 
 have a picnic this afternoon. The weather has 
 been insufferably hot and we have rushed about 
 to dinners and balls and theatres and race- 
 meetings till I am beginning to feel very, very 
 tired. 
 
 We had a huge luncheon party to-day, and 
 when by half past three everybody had gone, 
 and Lionel departed for his club, and I was left 
 to my own resources, which is a very delight 
 ful and unique experience, this desire for a 
 picnic suddenly came upon me. Tea out under 
 cool spreading branches, near cool water, with 
 cool grass beneath my feet. With no Balbrig- 
 gan to announce that it was served, with no 
 handsome furniture gorgeous cabinets, inlaid 
 tables and solemn grand piano sitting staring 
 
 109
 
 GWENDA 
 
 at me but just the furniture of the earth to 
 bring peace to my soul and the sounds of na 
 ture to soothe my tired spirit. 
 
 Where should I go? I wanted to be unac 
 companied. If I selected Richmond Park, two 
 polite liveried servants would conduct me there 
 by motor or carriage, it was too late to go by 
 train. I searched around in my mind. Why, 
 Kensington Gardens, close at hand, just at my 
 elbow. Plenty of cool grass, trees, and the 
 water would be supplied by the Serpentine. 
 Why hadn t I thought of it before? 
 
 Balbriggan s face as I ordered the thermos 
 and tea-basket to be prepared was sphinx-like 
 as usual. " No," I said in reply to his question, 
 I did not want the carriage, nor the electric 
 brougham, nor the car, nor anything, nor any 
 body. Who then would carry my basket as I 
 was taking tea out? Myself, of course. Noth 
 ing gave me greater pleasure than to carry a 
 basket on a nice summer afternoon, so long as 
 it wasn t a clothes or a fish basket : 
 
 " It makes me feel picnicy, and pleasant, and 
 altogether light-hearted, Balbriggan," I said. 
 " Indeed the mere fact of having a basket in 
 my hand makes me want to run." 
 
 " Yes, Madame," he said imperturbably. 
 110
 
 GWENDA 
 
 " Has it the same effect upon you? " 
 
 "No, Madame." 
 
 The very thought of my butler running made 
 me want to laugh, and I checked it with dif 
 ficulty. 
 
 " I shall be ready in ten minutes," I told him. 
 " Please put the things on the hall table." 
 
 "Yes, Madame." 
 
 I removed my luncheon party finery and got 
 into a cotton frock and shady straw hat. I 
 locked Fanchette out of the room for I guessed 
 she would be troublesome, then I descended 
 the stairs and found Balbriggan awaiting me 
 with the basket. He looked a little troubled 
 as he bowed me out of the front door, in fact, 
 I could hardly persuade him to part with the 
 basket. Couldn t Hillingbran carry it for me 
 to whatever place I was going and then leave 
 me? 
 
 " No," I said sternly, stepping into the road, 
 and he quickly closed the door. Possibly he 
 flew to a window, and other servants may have 
 watched me from various points of vantage, 
 but I cared not. I was alone, I was free, and 
 it was a glorious summer afternoon. 
 
 When I reached the Serpentine I placed my 
 basket beneath a tree near by, and then helped 
 
 111
 
 GWENDA 
 
 two little boys to sail boats. It was very excit 
 ing, and by the time I had finished I was a little 
 wet and exhausted, and felt I had earned my 
 tea. 
 
 It is extraordinary the way in which Provi 
 dence sometimes upsets one s simplest plans 
 when one can see no apparent reason for doing 
 so. There is no harm in drinking tea in a Lon 
 don Park, it is an innocent amusement. I felt 
 amiable and at peace with all men, I harboured 
 no unkind or evil thoughts, I was reading out 
 some lines from Whittier 
 
 "And if the husband or the wife 
 In home s strong light discovers 
 Such slight defaults as failed to meet 
 The blinded eyes of lovers, 
 
 "Why need we care to ask? who dreams 
 Without their thorns of roses, 
 Or wonders that the truest steel 
 The readiest spark discloses? 
 
 "For still in mutual sufferance lies 
 The secret of true living; 
 Love scarce is love that never knows 
 The sweetness of forgiving." 
 
 My cup was suspended in the air, a piece of 
 chocolate cake in my other hand, my book 
 stretched open on my knee, when raising my 
 
 112
 
 GWENDA 
 
 eyes I descried a tall gray figure through the 
 trees that somehow seemed familiar, a tall up 
 right figure of a man that was coming my way. 
 My heart beat a little quickly. " It cannot be," 
 I told myself. " It is impossible. He is at his 
 club." 
 
 Nearer and nearer came the figure. I bent 
 my eyes on my book. Whoever it was I might 
 escape his notice. " Love scarce is love that 
 never knows the sweetness of forgiving " I 
 read again and yet again, my head sinking 
 lower and lower, till only the top of my hat 
 could have been visible. The figure stopped 
 right in front of me, but I did not look up 
 the crown of my hat I hoped was attractive. 
 And then there came a voice a voice full 
 of credulous amazement; of sorrowful amaze 
 ment and reproach : " What are you doing, 
 Gwenda?" 
 
 And it struck me as being a stupid question, 
 for, of course, it was so very obvious what I 
 was doing. 
 
 " I I am just having tea in Kensington Gar 
 dens," I explained patiently. 
 
 He stood and stared at me and my eyes 
 dropped before his. " Will you have some ? " 
 I asked ingratiatingly. " There is plenty for 
 
 113
 
 GWENDA 
 
 both. You can have the cup and I will drink 
 from the saucer." 
 
 " Gwenda ! " 
 
 His voice was so loud and startling that I 
 nearly fell off the seat. 
 
 "Yes, Lionel?" 
 
 " How can you?" 
 
 " I am so fond of picnics. Are aren t you? " 
 
 "Picnics in Kensington Gardens?" His 
 horror began to tell on me. 
 
 " There is nowhere else handy." 
 
 " Come home at once. We might be seen at 
 any moment. Pack up the things quickly," he 
 said. 
 
 "Oh, can t I just finish!" I pleaded, "You 
 could hold my parasol in front of me. I I was 
 so enjoying myself." 
 
 " Enjoying yourself. It was Providence who 
 made me return to the house so soon, and Bal- 
 briggan at once told me you had gone out with 
 the tea-basket. I could scarcely believe it." 
 
 " I think Providence interferes unnecessarily 
 at times," I observed, "don t you?" 
 
 He did not reply, and with trembling fingers 
 I packed up. Then I searched for some daisies 
 and buttercups to put at the top of the basket. 
 " If we meet any of your friends they will think 
 
 114
 
 GWENDA 
 
 we have been collecting botanical specimens," 
 I said. 
 
 Still he did not reply. 
 
 I stood in front of him feeling like a naughty 
 little boy who has been caught paddling in the 
 duck pond in his best velvet suit. " I am 
 ready," I said meekly. 
 
 He offered to take the basket, but I would 
 not give it to him. " No, I don t care about 
 appearances," I said, and silently we walked 
 home. 
 
 When we reached the door he said quite 
 kindly : " Gwenda, I must request you never 
 to do such a thing again. You are not a nurse 
 maid. You are the mistress of a large estab 
 lishment in Prince s Gate. I know it is difficult 
 for you to realise your position, but you must 
 try to do so for my sake. At the first op 
 portunity I will take you down into the country 
 for the day, and we will have a real picnic with 
 ginger beer and pork pies for lunch." 
 
 " How glorious ! " I cried. And afterward I 
 realised I shouldn t have said that for his last 
 words had been intended for sarcasm. 
 
 July 16th. Lionel has just gone off to the 
 Eclipse Stakes with two men friends. He has 
 
 115
 
 GWENDA 
 
 been trying to arrange a day s entertainment 
 for me in his absence, and as the thermometer 
 registers 87 in the shade, I would listen to 
 none of his suggestions. It is difficult to make 
 him or any of his friends understand that a 
 quiet day to some people is a real pleasure. 
 That to rest and read and have nothing to do 
 is a delight to one s soul. He first suggested 
 a matinee with a friend. " In this heat," I 
 cried. Then he dangled a concert at the Queen s 
 Hall, a picture gallery, a motor show at Olym- 
 pia, a cat show, a flower show, an aeroplane 
 show before my tired eyes. Then he passed to 
 a fancy fair at the Crystal Palace, and the 
 White City, till I felt I was going to scream. 
 Finally he banged out of the room in something 
 suspiciously near a temper, and now I feel 
 sorry and ashamed. I might have said I would 
 go somewhere just to please him. I needn t 
 have stayed for more than five minutes, and 
 he would have gone to Sandown happy in the 
 knowledge that I was going to be amused. 
 
 I will yet go to the cat show, I will telephone 
 to Mrs. Prendergast and ask her to go with me. 
 It is not late, I will wear my coolest frock, and 
 Lionel will think I have had a glorious time. 
 
 Now for the telephone, and then an awful 
 116
 
 GWENDA 
 
 half-hour in Fanchette s hands, with a fight 
 over my hair, and a blank refusal to wear a 
 terrible bee-hive which she took upon herself 
 to order because it was so sweet and chic and 
 which she happened to see in Sloane street 
 when her thoughts were far far away noth 
 ing whatever to do with Madame and hats 
 when suddenly it burst upon her delighted eyes 
 purple grapes, white currants, red tomatoes, 
 all creeping round the bee-hive, and as in a 
 flash she saw it on Madame s head and was 
 knocked all of a heap at the beauty thereat! 
 And to humour her I tried it on, and with 
 clasped hands and eyes raised to Heaven she 
 raved. Why, I cannot imagine. For my nose 
 and mouth only were visible, and I exactly felt 
 like a horse in blinkers. In preference I stick 
 to cart wheels and creations that resemble fully- 
 rigged battleships ; and I catch in all the doors, 
 and jab men in the eye, but Fanchette and 
 Lionel are happy, so what would you? And I 
 am hoping against hope that a day will never 
 arrive on which they will insist upon my ap 
 pearing in a busby. Jam pots and bee-hives 
 are bad, but busbies are worse. 
 
 If there is one thing that I dislike doing in 
 117
 
 my life, it is telephoning. It looks so easy, and 
 would be if only Balbriggan would cease prowl 
 ing about the hall, and Hillingbran from se 
 creting himself behind doors, and their both 
 listening to my Helios, and Are you there 
 and What s that? and watching the flush of 
 anger mount to my brow. 
 
 Mrs. Prendergast is undoubtedly charming 
 and everything that her husband imagines her 
 to be, but she is not only unintelligible when 
 speaking through a telephone, but almost stone 
 deaf. This is a sample of our attempt at a 
 conversation this morning. She is " on," and 
 you picture her pleasant face at the other end. 
 
 "Oh, how do you do, Mrs. Prendergast!" 
 pleasantly and very friendly. 
 
 "What s that!" 
 
 "How do you do!" 
 
 " I can t hear what you say." 
 
 " I only said how do you do ! shouting, 
 and annoyed at Balbriggan floating down the 
 hall. 
 
 " I am sorry, but I can t hear." 
 
 " Never mind," I bawl, trying to keep calm. 
 " I am Mrs. Conyngham and I want to know, 
 if you have nothing better on, if you will go 
 with me to a cat show this morning." 
 
 118
 
 GWENDA 
 
 "Mrs. who?" 
 
 " Mrs. Conyngham." 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Conyngham. How do you do ? " 
 
 " That s what I said at the beginning." 
 
 "Said what?" 
 
 "How do you do?" 
 
 " I can t hear you." 
 
 " It s of no consequence," checking a wild de 
 sire to dash the transmitter against the wall. 
 
 A pause. Then : " Can I do anything for 
 you?" 
 
 " Oh, yes. Will you come with me to the 
 Cat Show, if you have nothing better to do ? " 
 
 "The what show?" 
 
 " The Cat Show." 
 
 " A hat show. Yes, where is it ? I love hats." 
 
 " A Cat Show. Persians, Angoras, Tabbies, 
 Tortoiseshells," I scream, and now everyone 
 in the house can hear me. 
 
 " Oh, furs. Didn t you say Persian, An 
 gora? I suppose they are being sold off cheap. 
 Yes, I ll come." 
 
 " But I didn t say furs, I said cats." 
 
 "Said what?" 
 
 " CATS." Balbriggan approaches, and I sim 
 ply foam at the mouth. " If you would speak 
 quite quietly, Madame, just your ordinary 
 
 119
 
 GWENDA 
 
 voice, you would be heard perfectly," he whis 
 pers. 
 
 " And so I am," I retorted, " only this lady 
 happens to be stone deaf." 
 
 " Which makes it a little awkward, Madame." 
 
 " Which makes it exceedingly awkward, Bal- 
 briggan." 
 
 " Are you still there Mrs. Prendergast? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 (Now I am speaking in my ordinary voice) 
 " I said, Cat Show." 
 
 "Oh! Yes, I should like it immensely, Mrs. 
 Conyngham. I shall be delighted if you will 
 lunch with me afterward. Just ourselves." 
 
 " Thanks awfully. Can you be ready by 
 twelve o clock and I will call for you! " 
 
 " Yes, thanks. Good-bye for the present." 
 And she rang off, and now that her hearing 
 seemed less impaired I felt quite anxious to 
 prolong the conversation. 
 
 Fanchette was in an unusually tiresome 
 mood. She held forth on the charms of the 
 bee-hive hat till I was worn out. Being small 
 in circumference it was the very thing for a 
 show where the rooms would be crowded, or 
 the busby of forget-me-nots with my blue 
 
 chiffon 
 
 120
 
 GWENDA 
 
 " Fanchette," I interrupted sternly, " if I 
 were going to a show of the British Bee Keep 
 ers Association I would wear the skep even 
 though it attracted a swarm of bees to settle 
 on my head. But it would be incongruous with 
 cats. Nor will I have anything to do with a 
 forget-me-not busby, or an old gold tegal jam 
 pot. In a weak moment I was cajoled into 
 flinging away good money upon them. They 
 can repose on the shelves of my wardrobe for 
 you to feast your eyes upon, but they will never 
 rest upon my head. Give me my black shady 
 crinoline for the morning is hot. And don t 
 argue." 
 
 So finally I arrived at Mrs. Prendergast s 
 door at twelve o clock feeling more fit for bed 
 than anything else. 
 
 But her pleasant companionship soon dis 
 sipated my weariness, and the mere satisfac 
 tion of looking at her well repaid me for the 
 sacrifice I was making for Lionel. 
 
 " You do look nice," I said, " and you are 
 wearing a jampot? " 
 
 " Oh, they happen to suit me," she laughed, 
 " though they are hideous. It was nice of you 
 to suggest my going with you." 
 
 " I was dull." 
 
 121
 
 GWENDA 
 
 " Dull ! and a bride of a couple of months 
 standing ! " 
 
 " I suppose that is why I am dull. Had I 
 been married for some time I should have 
 shaken down into my new environment, and 
 had plenty of real friends, I hope. Granty and 
 I never were dull " 
 
 "Who is Granty?" she interrupted. And it 
 took me quite ten minutes to make her under 
 stand exactly what you were like. And she was 
 so interested. She seemed to love to hear about 
 your three pink shawls morning, afternoon, 
 and best morning faded ; afternoon fringe ; 
 best bobs; also about your silk aprons and 
 fur-lined velvet boots. And of your interest in 
 politics, and your grief that the country is so 
 going to the dogs, and of your admiration for 
 the House of Lords and all things Imperial, and 
 your detestation of the wild acrobatic and jug 
 gling feats of the Liberals. And of your affec 
 tion for Mrs. Humphry Ward as a novelist 
 because she is dignified and clean in her writ 
 ing, and of your fear of old Hannah, and easy 
 pleasantry with your second cousin, old Ad 
 miral Beancroft. Of your adventurous life in 
 Australia when you were a child and could fish 
 and shoot and ride with anybody, and of your 
 
 122
 
 life in Winchester when you were grown up 
 and married. And then of your removal to 
 Sunset at Silvercombe and the arrival of me. 
 And at this point we arrived at the Cat Show 
 and Mrs. Prendergast said you must be a per 
 fect duck, and I replied she was not wanting 
 in perspicacity. 
 
 Some of the pussies were lovely, with long 
 silky coats and big ruffs and mild expressive 
 eyes. I would much prefer a blue Persian to 
 Shandy, and I am sure it would be more com 
 panionable on my drives, even though it went 
 to sleep, than a creature that is always trying 
 to bite. 
 
 I greatly enjoyed my lunch with Mrs. Pren 
 dergast ; she is so gay and interesting and really 
 nice. Two little girls with big blue eyes and 
 fair pigtails sat one on each side of her twins, 
 delightfully solemn and shy, and amusing when 
 you had once drawn them out. Jane and Eliza 
 beth they gravely told me were their names. 
 " Are you sure you didn t say Marjory and 
 Dorothy!" I asked them. "Your names seem 
 too refreshing to be true." And they nodded 
 their heads and said they really were Jane and 
 Elizabeth. They also called their mother, 
 " Mother " and not " Mummy." They don t 
 
 123
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 care much for lessons, but have a partiality for 
 grammar and parsing. They parsed without in 
 vitation " The curfew tolls the knell of parting 
 day," at a breathless rate, and had an argument 
 as to whether knell was a common noun, of 
 the neuter gender, or a proper noun, of the 
 feminine gender. 
 
 " Why, it isn t a girl s name, goose," said 
 Jane scornfully. But Elizabeth wasn t quite 
 sure and appealed to me. 
 
 "Knell? Why knell means," I said flur- 
 riedly, " Oh, just the knell of parting day ; it 
 certainly doesn t mean a girl s name." 
 
 " I see," said little Elizabeth politely, but 
 she was telling a fib. 
 
 Besides parsing they also rather liked Peter 
 Pan, but not Tinker Bell, said Jane, it was a 
 silly thing and didn t mean anything. They 
 also liked strawberries and cream, and the book, 
 Flat Iron for a Farthing, and Jonathan Bliss, 
 their coachman, because he had a sweet weeny 
 baby and three white kittens with their eyes 
 shut. 
 
 When they bade me good-bye they pressed me 
 to come again and they would parse some more, 
 perhaps " Toll for the brave," or " Break, break, 
 break on thy cold gray stones, sea ! " In fact 
 
 124
 
 GWENDA 
 
 they would say the last now if I liked, but their 
 mother said we would excuse them to-day. 
 
 " They are rather nice," she agreed, " and 
 their father is just silly over them." 
 
 " I am sure he would be silly over anything 
 he possessed." 
 
 "You have noticed that!" she smiled. 
 
 " He talked of you nearly the whole time that 
 night you dined with us," I said. 
 
 " How boring ! I wish I could break him of 
 it. I am certain that our friends must get to 
 hate me. And it doesn t prove that a man 
 is a bit fond of his wife when he keeps drag 
 ging her into the conversation. I know a man 
 who asks you if you have seen his wife every 
 time he meets you, and he is notorious for his 
 infidelities." 
 
 " Do you like men! " I enquired suddenly. 
 
 "Very much, don t you?" she laughed. 
 
 " I am not sure yet," I stirred my coffee slow 
 ly, " I am trying to find out. I was brought 
 up to distrust and dislike them. Granty hated 
 most of them. Why I never knew." 
 
 "Perhaps her marriage was unfortunate?" 
 
 " I don t know. She never told me. But if 
 it had been, would it make her unjust toward 
 all men? She is broad-minded." 
 
 125
 
 GWENDA 
 
 " It depends on her temperament. And how 
 much her husband abused her." 
 
 I felt I must tell you this, Granty. It seemed 
 unfair for Mrs. Prendergast to make such a 
 suggestion, and you not to know it. But do not 
 tell me anything you don t want me to know; 
 and yet I can t get it out of my mind, her words. 
 I hate to think you have ever been unhappy. 
 And what I do know is that you could never 
 have been unjust. Your dislike for men is not 
 prejudice but temperamental. That is how I 
 have always regarded it. Just as some people 
 dislike dogs, and women are frightened of mice. 
 Isn t it so, dear? 
 
 But Mrs. Prendergast was telling me what 
 she thought of men. 
 
 " I like them for their simplicity and trans 
 parency," she said. " You can see through them 
 as easily as you can see through a highly pol 
 ished window. But try to see through a wom 
 an and you might just as well look for your 
 reflection in a brackish pool with the sun be 
 hind a cloud. There are exceptions to every 
 rule, of course, but the majority of men s minds 
 are like a book with all its pages cut, clear type, 
 large print, plenty of capital letters. I know 
 all this has been said hundreds of times, but it 
 
 126
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 makes it none the less true. And to me it is 
 their charm. The simple and elemental ones 
 are far and away the nicest as husbands, don t 
 you think so? A man comes home from busi 
 ness, he meets you in the hall and tells you you 
 can buy the handsomest emerald bracelet to be 
 found in Bond street. You know he has made a 
 good spec. The next day he trips over the mat 
 and swears horribly, his liver is out of order. 
 He tells you no man ever had a more charming 
 or delightful wife and that you may ask your 
 Aunt Maria to come and visit you ; he has just 
 beaten his man at golf five up and four. You 
 ask Aunt Maria, and by the time she arrives 
 he has developed a bad cold, and Aunt Maria 
 wishes she had stayed at home with Uncle 
 Robert with whose particular species of temper 
 she is familiar after thirty years experience. 
 You always know what the simple men are up 
 to, and why they are up to it. Beware of the 
 man who never loses his temper, who never 
 turns a hair when his wife s flirtations are the 
 talk of the neighbourhood, who smiles when he 
 ought to be swearing, and who strokes the cat 
 when he ought to be throwing hassocks at it. 
 The man who has his temper well under control 
 and who always turns the same smiling face to 
 
 127
 
 GWENDA 
 
 the world, is the one who usually rules the roost 
 and brings havoc into other men s hen roosts." 
 She poured herself out another cup of coffee, 
 and lighted a cigarette. 
 
 " So you think to achieve happiness in a 
 household a woman should rule ? " I asked. 
 
 " Certainly, if she does it tactfully. A man 
 can go to his office and boss dozens of clerks 
 and subordinates, and bang about, and say he 
 won t have things, and raise Cain generally, but 
 he is never a happy man if he does it at home, 
 or rather his wife isn t happy, and then, of 
 course, if he s at all nice, he s miserable. A 
 man may lose his temper at home, trip over 
 mats and swear, grumble about the omelette 
 being burnt, scream at the canary for singing 
 too loudly, but he mustn t boss. A really sen 
 sible man likes things fixed up for him. Invita 
 tions accepted or refused without appealing to 
 him, the destination of his holidays arranged 
 without discussion. The man who says de 
 cidedly " we ll go to Eastbourne or to Scotland," 
 and who won t go to Mrs. Pikestaff s for the 
 dinner will be bad, and a lot of nobodies will 
 be there, and who says lie shall give cook notice 
 unless you do, is the man to avoid. His convic 
 tions are too assured and his habits too settled. 
 
 128
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 He will always have his Yorkshire pudding 
 with his beef, and never before or after like the 
 dear people in the North," she finished with a 
 laugh. 
 
 " But the man who always does as his 
 wife wishes is surely a bit of a fool," I de 
 murred. 
 
 " You wait till you have been married a few 
 years and then see if you are inclined to offer 
 the same proposition," she replied succinctly. 
 " But he mustn t know he isn t having his own 
 way about everything, his wife will be too sen 
 sible and tactful for that. Or if he does know, 
 he is too artful to let her know that he knows, 
 and so they re both happy." 
 
 " Dear me, how clever you are," I observed, 
 " and as you appear to be so up in the subject 
 of marriage can you give me any hints as to 
 how a girl should remain happy in her wedded 
 state, as well as how to manage her husband? 
 It doesn t seem to me that successful manage 
 ment and happiness necessarily go hand in 
 hand, and happiness to me comes before every 
 thing else." 
 
 " Of course, it does," she agreed, rising and 
 altering the position of a blind, taking a seat 
 near an open window. " How to arrive at mar- 
 
 129
 
 GWENDA 
 
 ried happiness if a woman doesn t care about 
 management?" she said thoughtfully. "Well, 
 to begin with she should start expecting very 
 little instead of very much. It is the senti 
 mental girl who has devoured silly love stories, 
 who has derived all her ideas of love and mar 
 riage from sensational rubbish, whose heroes 
 and heroines are soulful, unnatural, bloodless 
 creatures without human sins and irritable 
 tempers, who raises the first cloud in the hori 
 zon of matrimonial happiness. She is sensitive 
 and ready to take offence at the most trifling 
 word. She has for some months been sitting 
 on a pedestal while a fool of a man grovels at 
 her feet and talks nonsense. He has placed 
 her there and not unnaturally she enjoys her 
 lofty position. He tells her she is a goddess. 
 He looks into her eyes and says they are like 
 stars, and her mouth which he kisses he likens 
 unto a newly-opened rosebud. He makes her 
 believe that her intellect is nothing short of 
 remarkable, that she is more beautiful, more 
 charming, more virtuous, more heroic than any 
 woman who has ever breathed. She laughingly 
 denies it, and all the same feels a sort of Grace 
 Darling and Joan of Arc and Florence Night 
 ingale rolled into one, with the face and figure 
 
 130
 
 GWENDA 
 
 of a Venus de Milo, and the brain of a George 
 Sand and Madame de Stael. She is almost an 
 noyed that her family does not see her in this 
 new light, and offended when they offer her a 
 common thing like a pickled herring the day be 
 fore she is married. And one can t blame her, 
 it is the man s fault, not hers. And then, within 
 a month after her marriage, a morning comes 
 when she stops feeling like any of these things, 
 and all because the eggs are hard-boiled or a 
 button is off some unimportant garment of her 
 husband. Flop she comes to earth, a little 
 stunned and amazed, with feelings lacerated 
 and tears in her eyes. Then the man, who is 
 really quite a good fellow, kisses the tears away 
 and calls himself a brute, and for a brief period 
 she is again reinstated in the good opinion of 
 herself. In six months time when the tears 
 still come at an impatient or rough word, he 
 looks worried and irritated and tells her not 
 to be silly, and in twelve months not to be 
 a fool, and he bangs the door when he leaves 
 the house. And now the critical moment has 
 arrived in which she must decide whether her 
 marriage shall be peaceful and moderately 
 happy, or stormy and unhappy. So she sits 
 down and reviews the advantages and disad- 
 
 131
 
 GWENDA 
 
 vantages of the married state : She has a house 
 of her own, servants of her own. She can choose 
 her own dishes and the hours for meals, and 
 do as she likes. She has more money to spend 
 than when she was single. And she has the 
 protection of a man who is right at heart, a bit 
 selfish and rough in his speech perhaps, but 
 with no vices and ready to stand by her in a 
 tight place " 
 
 " But there doesn t sound much romance in 
 this," I interrupted. 
 
 " No," she returned, " because there is no 
 romance in marriage, only in courtship. The 
 minute marriage takes place, romance departs. 
 It is inevitable. A man to his valet is never a 
 hero, neither is he to his wife, nor she a heroine 
 to her husband. But if the one has tact and a 
 sense of humour, is undemonstrative and not 
 lavish with her kisses, if she refrains from re 
 ferring to what he said and did before mar 
 riage ; and if the other leads a straight life and 
 has his temper fairly well under control, they 
 will be happier married than single. They will 
 have founded a home and probably a family. 
 They will care for one another in an un- 
 romantic, calm, comfortable fashion; marriage 
 has brought them a sense of completion, a feel- 
 
 132
 
 GWENDA 
 
 ing of satisfaction, and they will be contented. 
 What more can anybody want? " 
 
 " A great deal," I cried, springing up and 
 crossing over to the window. " Much more 
 than this. That is only the life of animals. Men 
 and women require sympathy and understand 
 ing. They need the gentle word, the caress 
 at least women do when life becomes hard. 
 They starve and shrivel up without affection 
 as a plant fades from want of water. For 
 every harsh word a woman receives from the 
 man she loves there is a little scar in her soul. 
 Some women s souls, I believe, are one big scar, 
 and when that scar is healed and she feels no 
 further sensation or pain, it means she has be 
 come hard." I broke off at her look of surprise 
 and I stammered when she said, " How do you 
 know all this 7 " 
 
 " I feel it within me," I replied. " I don t 
 know, but it is true. It is writ on some women s 
 faces. I am beginning to think that women 
 should only have children." 
 
 Again she looked at me, and I knew that she 
 wondered at my warmth. 
 
 " But it is not always the women," she said, 
 dropping her light half bantering tone and be 
 coming grave, "men often suffer too in their 
 
 133
 
 GWENDA 
 
 marriages. Some wives are so unreasonable 
 and selfish. They can t see when their men are 
 tired out and worried by their business, and 
 just want to be let alone. They are annoyed 
 if they are not always willing and ready to go 
 out with them to some so-called amusement, 
 they are vexed if they receive curt monosyl 
 lables to their endless questions and chatter. 
 They feel aggrieved at what they term the dul- 
 ness of their husbands. They forget that while 
 they are fresh at the end of a day which has 
 found no more arduous task for them than the 
 ordering of the dinner, arranging the flowers, 
 being fitted for a new gown and playing bridge, 
 that the husband s brain and hands have been 
 at it hard all day in the pursuit of that money 
 which brings so many little comforts and lux 
 uries to the home." 
 
 " I know," I said. " I forget. Perhaps wom 
 en leave too much of the worries and troubles 
 of life to the men, and they don t see the beam 
 in their own eyes." 
 
 " I am sure they don t. But mind you, in 
 spite of my defence of husbands I do think they 
 are more to blame than the wives if the course 
 of their marriage does not run smooth." 
 
 " I should say that yours ran without so
 
 GWENDA 
 
 much as a ripple," I smiled, " but perhaps you 
 are an exceptional wife." 
 
 " It is nice of you to say so, and I let my hus 
 band think it. But, as a matter of fact, and 
 I tell you this in confidence, mine is rather an 
 exceptional husband," and she leant toward 
 me whispering the last in my ear with a comical 
 little gesture to keep silent. 
 
 " Must you go I " she said. " Won t you stay 
 to tea! I am on my pet topic and am so en 
 joying myself." 
 
 I told her that I couldn t as there were sev 
 eral things I wanted to do before dinner, and 
 that it was not often I had an afternoon to 
 myself. 
 
 " May I come again soon? " I asked as she 
 went to the door with me. " No, don t call a 
 cab. I want to walk." 
 
 " Come whenever you can," she returned 
 heartily. " We long to know you better. You 
 see my husband has known yours for years. 
 I have not seen much of him myself, he has 
 always been such an engaged man, an eligi 
 ble bachelor is very much run after wherever 
 he is." 
 
 " Were you surprised to hear he had married 
 a girl from the country 1 " I queried. 
 
 135
 
 GWENDA 
 
 " Well, I was rather," she admitted, " and he 
 was no bad judge." 
 
 " I think your great charm lies in making 
 people feel pleased with themselves," I laughed 
 as I walked down to the gate, " and probably 
 you are not sincere." 
 
 " How can you say such a thing? " she 
 laughed back. " Besides sincere people are al 
 ways disliked. A woman once kindly told me 
 that I had omitted to remove the powder from 
 my nose, and I have hated her ever since." 
 
 I walked home through the Park. The shade 
 of the trees was pleasant after the heat of the 
 day, and the grass and flowers grateful to the 
 eye. The road was crammed with carriages, 
 and the footpaths packed with smartly dressed 
 people ; but I scarcely saw them. Through the 
 crowds I moved, my parasol tilted behind my 
 head, thinking deeply of Mrs. Prendergast s 
 words, of our conversation. Had I been feel 
 ing like a Grace Darling, a George Sand, a 
 Venus de Milo rolled in one? Was I expecting 
 too much from my husband? Demanding too 
 much attention and affection and adulation? 
 Because his wooing had been a passionate one, 
 was I foolish to expect it to go on after mar 
 riage? Mrs. Prendergast had said women 
 
 136
 
 GWENDA 
 
 should be chary of offering their kisses and 
 showing too much affection. That they were 
 idiotic to remind their husbands of their little 
 speeches, of their little sacrifices, of their words 
 of love before marriage. Husbands looked fool 
 ish and shuffled their newspapers about when 
 their wives indulged in this. 
 
 There seemed so much to remember. A wife 
 must be sympathetic without being demonstra 
 tive, intelligent without being clever. Manage 
 her husband with tact and never let him know 
 it. Eeceive harsh words with a smile, and his 
 indifference with cheerful acquiescence, always 
 look nice, never have a headache, and always 
 be in good spirits. I collided with an elderly 
 stout gentleman in my absorption, and although 
 he raised his hat at my apology he looked more 
 inclined to fling it at me. I arrived home de 
 pressed but full of good resolves. 
 
 Lionel came in about seven o clock. He too 
 was depressed. He had backed no winner. 
 One horse had scratched, another had bolted, 
 and a third come in at the pace of a coster- 
 monger s donkey. I sympathised with him, and 
 when he became silent I fell into silence too. 
 He was tired like Mrs. Prendergast s weary 
 business husbands, he mustn t be worried with 
 
 137
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 questions and silly chatter. Quietly I munched 
 salted almonds. Suddenly he turned upon me. 
 " You re a nice cheerful wife to come home to. 
 Is anything the matter 1 " 
 
 " Oh, no," I replied. " I thought you were 
 tired," and I proceeded to tell him of my after 
 noon with Mrs. Prendergast and the cat show. 
 
 " I don t like that woman," he said as he 
 followed me up the stairs to the drawingroom. 
 
 " You don t like Mrs. Prendergast I " I ex 
 claimed in surprise. 
 
 " You have such a habit of repeating one s 
 remarks, Gwenda. I wish you wouldn t," he 
 said irritably. 
 
 " Have I ? I m sorry," I returned, trying not 
 to get hurt. " I won t do it again." 
 
 He sank down in an armchair and picked up 
 a paper, and I picked up a book " Septimus " 
 and I soon became absorbed. Presently his 
 voice came to me plaintively, "You are enter 
 taining. I have been out the whole day and 
 you just sit here and read." 
 
 " Would you like me to play to you? " I put 
 down the book and moved toward the piano. 
 
 " For Heaven s sake don t if it s classical 
 music, I can t bear those dull things you play. 
 Can you manage The Merry Widow waltz? " 
 
 138
 
 GWENDA 
 
 " I am afraid I can t," I said, feeling most 
 awfully sorry that I couldn t oblige him. " But 
 I know * Waltz Bleu. " 
 
 "That old thing! No, please don t. But 
 never mind, I think I ll go and have a game 
 of billiards with Dollington, if you don t 
 mind." 
 
 So I cheerfully said I didn t, which was quite 
 true, for I was beginning to feel tired of being 
 tactful and patient. 
 
 And I am sitting in my dressing-gown in the 
 boudoir which is nice and cool to-night. Soon 
 I am going to bed. It is nearly eleven o clock. 
 I am depressed still, and at the same time angry 
 with myself because I am so foolishly sensitive. 
 I am hurt because Lionel prefers Dollington s 
 company to mine, and I am vexed because I 
 didn t know " The Merry Widow " waltz. I 
 shall buy it to-morrow, and I am going to learn 
 to play billiards. There is a jolly table here. 
 It is coming home to me that I am no great 
 catch as a wife. Still Lionel knew of my ig 
 norance before we were married. Good-night. 
 And now I come to think of it, Mrs. Prendergast 
 advised me never to think or refer to our rela 
 tions with one another before marriage, and I 
 must try to remember. 
 
 139
 
 GWENDA 
 
 July 19th. Don t try to find a maid named 
 Martha for me. Lionel wishes me to keep Fan- 
 chette. A country girl, he says, would be sure 
 to have rough red hands and would be no good 
 at doing my hair. 
 
 " But I mostly do it myself," I said ; and he 
 replied " Ah, that explains things," and I 
 didn t ask him what he meant. I find that it is 
 better sometimes to leave things unexplained. 
 
 We lunched with some rather dull people to 
 day named Heckles but they are very rich and 
 Mrs. Heckles drove up to the Bitz in a gorgeous 
 motor car, lined with pale blue. Mr. Heckles 
 talked of investments, and stocks and mines, and 
 companies most of the time, and when my at 
 tention wandered he rapped on the table with 
 his fork. Once I ventured to say that for 
 every person who made money by speculation 
 somebody else must be the loser and sufferer, 
 and I might have thrown a bombshell at his 
 head. 
 
 " What do you know of finance, young lady! " 
 he enquired with an attempt at pleasant bad 
 inage. 
 
 I admitted not very much, and he asked me 
 why then had I made such an observation. 
 
 " Well it seems to me a plain fact that if one 
 140
 
 GWENDA 
 
 man makes a profit in a deal another man 
 makes a loss." 
 
 " Not at all," he said in a loud voice. " You 
 ladies must stick to your frocks and bridge and 
 amusements, and leave money matters alone." 
 
 And I dared not venture to remind him that 
 he had introduced the subject himself and not 
 I; besides as we were his guests I certainly a 
 very unwilling one it would hardly have been 
 polite. 
 
 Afterward Lionel told me that I had made 
 very unfortunate remarks at times, and I could 
 find nothing to say. I didn t feel sorry and I 
 wasn t going to say I was. Mr. Heckles is a 
 nasty rude man, and I think few rich people 
 
 are nice. 
 
 Your loving, 
 
 GWENDA. 
 
 141
 
 LETTER VIII 
 
 PRINCE S GATE, LONDON, S. W., 
 July 26th. 
 
 MY DEAR GRANTY : 
 
 I met such a nice man last evening, a queer, 
 irregular-featured, thin, brown, smallish man, 
 or perhaps he looked small by Lionel. And I 
 shouldn t exactly say I met him for I had fallen 
 asleep in a conservatory and when I awoke I 
 found him there. We were at a supper and 
 cotillion given by the Prendergasts. Lionel 
 dances beautifully. Cotillions, of course, are 
 quite beyond my reach, and after watching some 
 little time, feeling tired, I slipped quietly away 
 to the dim conservatory softly lighted and 
 sweet with the scent of a tea rose which clam 
 bered over the roof. The chairs were seductive, 
 the air was warm, and sounds of dance music 
 came from the distant ball room. We had been 
 up late for eight consecutive nights. Can you 
 wonder I slept? 
 
 When I woke I found this man gravely re- 
 142
 
 GWENDA 
 
 garding me and I thought a little anxiously. 
 He was seated near to me. 
 
 " I hope I didn t snore ? " I asked quickly. 
 
 " Only a little," he assured me. " You see 
 you were on your back, and it is an uncomfort 
 able position." 
 
 I laughed, and looked at him with interest. 
 
 " If I was snoring, I think it would have 
 shown greater delicacy of feeling if you had 
 gone away," I said gravely. 
 
 " That was my first intention, but on examin 
 ing your face, you were so white I thought you 
 were ill and hoped to be able to render you 
 some assistance." 
 
 " Do I look ill ! " I enquired anxiously. 
 
 He hesitated. " You do rather, and I hope 
 you don t mind my saying so." 
 
 " I am very tired, that is all. This has been 
 a hard season, and my first." 
 
 "Your first?" He spoke incredulously. 
 
 "Why are you so surprised? Do I look as 
 old as that? First you tell me I look ill, which 
 really means I look plain, and then you are 
 frightfully surprised when I say it is my first 
 season," I laughed. 
 
 A smile passed over his thin brown features. 
 " I am sorry if I have appeared rude," he said 
 
 143
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 simply. " I certainly did not think you looked 
 plain, and I did think you looked older than a 
 debutante." 
 
 " You are quite right. I am twenty-five. And 
 don t you think we might introduce ourselves 
 as our hostess isn t here? Or perhaps you are 
 going to dance ? " 
 
 " No, like you I am tired. I have had a hard 
 day." 
 
 " Well, in the ordinary way you would be 
 presented to me. So will you tell me your name 
 first?" I said. 
 
 " Peter." 
 
 "Is that all? Just Peter?" 
 
 "Yes, for to-night. I am tired of my other 
 name. I have heard it so much to-day." 
 
 " You are a Member of Parliament ? " I 
 queried. 
 
 " God forbid," he replied with great earnest 
 ness. 
 
 " You are not complimentary to His Majesty s 
 Government, Mr. Peter." 
 
 " No." He offered me a cushion for my back 
 and a stool for my feet, and asked me if he 
 could procure me any refreshment. I told him 
 No. 
 
 " You would like to stay here ? " he asked. 
 144
 
 GWENDA 
 
 " Yes, but don t let me keep you," I returned. 
 
 " Why, I want to stay above all things, 
 Miss Will you tell me your name now? It 
 is your turn." 
 
 " Gwenda." 
 
 "Only Gwenda?" 
 
 " Gwendolen Mary, or Gwenda, for short." 
 
 " No other name ? " 
 
 " No, like you, I have only one name to 
 night." 
 
 " It is a pretty one," he said thoughtfully. 
 
 There was something very straight and kind 
 ly about this man, and he was a gentleman in 
 every sense of the word one could see, gentle 
 and considerate. I felt I wanted to know him 
 better. His face certainly would have been de 
 scribed as plain, but his head was well-formed 
 and clever with good brain development above 
 the eyebrows. Do you remember how you and 
 I used to search around for brainy bumps, and 
 how very flat most of our friends foreheads 
 were? What I was most struck with were his 
 hands, they were beautifully shaped with deli 
 cate sensitive-looking fingers. " Not an artist," 
 I said to myself. I have observed that the 
 fingers of most artists I have met are podgy 
 with broad finger tips and nails. And not a 
 
 145
 
 GWENDA 
 
 musician, and not a literary man. I felt he 
 was none of these. What was he 1 I very much 
 wanted to know. Perhaps his conversation 
 would enlighten me, but it was mostly about 
 yachting and fishing and approaching holidays. 
 
 He was surprised that I didn t want to go to 
 Scotland, and I did not tell him it was because 
 I wished to go to you at Silvercombe. 
 
 " Scotland," he said with enthusiasm, " is an 
 ideal country for holidays, heather spreading a 
 carpet of royal purple on the hills and moors to 
 the feet of the lovely mournful lochs. Fir trees 
 glooming against the sky, bracing air with a 
 tang of peat in it, trout streams brawling and 
 singing through the valleys, Scotch beef, Scotch 
 scones, and a vigorous kindly people." 
 
 His ardour affected me. " It sounds delicious 
 after the heat and fatigue of London," I sighed. 
 
 "Why do you do so much?" he asked sym 
 pathetically. 
 
 " I can t help it. Force of circumstances. 
 Everybody does it, and most of them seem to 
 enjoy it. I shall learn to enjoy it too in time. 
 I love the country and I say it in all humility, 
 because perhaps you have noticed that when 
 people love the country they are generally so 
 proud of it. They look down upon the common 
 
 146
 
 GWENDA 
 
 herd that enjoys the pleasures of town. Did 
 it ever strike you how conceited Thoreau and 
 Eichard Jefferies were at times ? I always feel 
 that Thoreau wouldn t have lived in a wood 
 if the rest of the world had been unaware of 
 the fact." 
 
 He smiled. " And you love the country be 
 cause you really do love it f " 
 
 " I love it because I know it so well. Usage, 
 it is said, is second nature. I am so used to the 
 country that it seems part of myself. Had I 
 been born and brought up in a town I should 
 most probably love it as I now love the country. 
 I understand the country, and when you under 
 stand a thing you usually like it. I am begin 
 ning to understand bridge and like it. I know 
 from the signs when there is going to be a good 
 hay crop. I know when the beans will be a 
 failure, and when the damsons will bow down 
 the trees with their weight. I know when a 
 storm is coming long before the clouds appear 
 in the sky, and I know when we are in for a 
 spell of fine weather. All the insects and cater 
 pillars and flies and birds of country life are 
 known to me. The thrill one experiences in dis 
 covering the nest of a plover after tracking 
 it for some minutes is only equalled by the joy 
 
 147
 
 of finding the first bit of coltsfoot after the long 
 barren days of winter. In town I am always 
 knocking up against my own ignorance and it 
 hurts my pride. The customs and social ameni 
 ties and etiquette of these people are as a Greek 
 book to me. But I am learning rapidly, and 
 Fanchette, my French maid, teaches me a lot." 
 I had forgotten I had only known this man for 
 a quarter of an hour. 
 
 "And don t you like people!" he enquired. 
 
 " Individually but not collectively. It is when 
 people are in a mass that I am frightened. The 
 very thought of being announced into a draw- 
 ingroorn fills me with dread. I square my 
 shoulders and throw back my head and people 
 say I am haughty. My eyes seek the carpet and 
 I trip over my train, and they say I am gauche. 
 I was never nervous at Silvercombe; I had 
 known the few residents since I was a child so I 
 expect I was natural with them; and now with 
 these people I am always self-conscious." 
 
 He nodded sympathetically. " Yes," he said, 
 " go on." And then suddenly remembering that 
 I was telling all this to a stranger I drew in my 
 horns. "No," I said, "you talk now, I have 
 had my innings." 
 
 " With pleasure, if I only knew what would 
 148
 
 interest you. Do you object to my smoking! " 
 He drew out a cigarette case. " How cool and 
 pleasant it is here. I never expected to enjoy 
 myself so much. I am not paying empty com 
 pliments, but I don t care for dancing." 
 
 "Why did you come?" 
 
 "Why did you?" 
 
 " I had to." 
 
 " So had I." 
 
 " Are you married I " 
 
 "Dear me, no. But the hostess, Mrs. Pren- 
 dergast, is my sister." 
 
 "0 h!" I said. 
 
 " You don t sound pleased." 
 
 " No, it s not that, but now I understand why 
 I have been puzzled as to whom you resemble." 
 
 " Well, don t say it as though you dislike our 
 appearance so much," he observed plaintively. 
 
 I laughed. " On the contrary, I admire your 
 sister immensely. She has a kind face, and yet 
 it is so quizzical, as though she were smiling 
 at the world generally." 
 
 " So she is mostly. She hoodwinks her hus 
 band and everybody else. Jane is clever, and 
 she is also the kindest-hearted creature in the 
 world." 
 
 " Oh, is she f " A merry voice came through 
 149
 
 GWENDA 
 
 the open door of the conservatory. " Peter you 
 are downright rude and unkind. You said you 
 would come and help me. Who is with you? 
 Oh, Mrs. Conyngham ! " She trailed toward 
 us in a gown of silver that glittered softly in 
 the subdued light. " I am so glad you two know 
 each other. I always felt you d be friends. 
 Peter have you been polite to Mrs. Conyng 
 ham?" 
 
 " Very," I smiled at him, and to my surprise 
 I found he was staring at me fixedly and with a 
 frown between his eyebrows. " Are you Mrs. 
 Lionel Conyngham? " he asked abruptly. 
 
 "Yes," I said. "Do you know him?" 
 
 " I know him very well. Here he is. How 
 do you do, Conyngham? " He nodded curtly. 
 " Good-bye Mrs. Conyngham. You have given 
 me a delightful half hour," and he walked out 
 of the conservatory without another word. 
 
 As we drove home Lionel enquired if I had 
 met Peter Drexel before. 
 
 " Is that his name ? " I asked. 
 
 "Yes, a brother of Mrs. Prendergast, and 
 quite a famous surgeon." 
 
 " No," I said, " I have not met him before to 
 night." I felt that was just what he ought to 
 be a surgeon. 
 
 150
 
 GWENDA 
 
 " You sounded as though you knew each other 
 well." 
 
 " Did we ? You see we introduced ourselves," 
 I replied. " I think people who do that always 
 get to know each other pretty quickly, the 
 formal barrier is broken down at once. Be 
 sides Mr. Peter Drexel appears to be very in 
 formal. He told me I snored. I had fallen 
 asleep in the conservatory. You soon get to 
 know a person after that. Also he told me I 
 looked white and seedy. I might have known 
 he was a doctor." 
 
 " H m ! " said my husband. " I can t have 
 you flirting with every Dick, Tom, and Harry 
 you meet." 
 
 " Mr. Drexel certainly doesn t come under 
 the category of a Dick, Tom, and Harry," I 
 laughed. " And we didn t flirt." 
 
 And I went to bed, Granty, strangely happy 
 that Lionel had exhibited a little spasm of 
 jealousy. I felt it was a good sign. 
 
 July 29th. I am filled with sorrow that your 
 disappointment is so great at our not spending 
 a little time with you at Silvercombe before 
 going to Scotland. I feel absolutely too sick 
 for words about it. I had pictured the lovely 
 
 151
 
 GWENDA 
 
 time we three would have had together: the 
 walks in the evening up to the Coast Guard, 
 tea out of the dainty Crown Derby under the 
 scented lime trees in the afternoon, bathing in 
 the morning. Calls on old friends and show 
 ing off my handsome husband with great pride, 
 which I was too shy to do before we were mar 
 ried. Foursomes on the links with dear old 
 Colonel Mainprice and Mary Middleton, lazy 
 loungings in the hammock with Creamy the cat 
 purring on my knee and there would have been 
 much lazing I think for I am feeling tired and 
 seedy and pleasant evenings in the drawing- 
 room, now so fresh I know with its clean chintz 
 bibs and tuckers, and roses on the polished 
 table in the corner, and on the mantel-shelf, 
 and piano, and what-not, (nobody in London 
 knows what a what-not is) and in every imag 
 inable spot and corner; and purple clematis 
 flowers peeping their soft velvety faces through 
 the open windows. I have pictured it all, times 
 without number, Granty: I never imagined I 
 could have been so homesick in so short a 
 time. What makes me I wonder? I am get 
 ting used to this life. I am enjoying a great 
 deal of it. Many of the people improve on 
 acquaintance. They are fond of pleasure and 
 
 152
 
 society and everything that money can buy; 
 but why shouldn t they be? I ask myself. And 
 they are jolly and kindly and unself-conscious, 
 and if they get the best out of life it would 
 be superior to say they shouldn t so long as 
 they do not forget the poor people who have a 
 worse time than themselves. And yet I ache 
 to see you. I have tried everything in my 
 power to induce Lionel to say we can go for 
 one fortnight to Silvercombe, and he won t. 
 And Mrs. Prendergast said it was so easy to 
 manage men. I have been firm in a morning 
 in a tailor-made and linen collar; tactful in an 
 afternoon in a lace ruffle and plumed picture 
 hat; beseeching between tea and dinner in a 
 sweet pastel-blue tea-gown, reclining with my 
 head amongst pale yellow silken cushions; and 
 positively imploring at night in a simple white 
 dinner gown, with a red rose behind my ear 
 like a girl in a book. But everything has failed. 
 I might have been arguing with St. Paul when 
 he was in one of his specially antagonistic, anti- 
 women moods. I would just like Mrs. Prender 
 gast to try and manage Lionel. When I was 
 firm and argumentative, he stared and said he 
 had no idea I was such an unreasonable girl. 
 When I was beseeching and inclined to be a lit- 
 
 153
 
 GWENDA 
 
 tie emotional, he kissed me kindly and, at the 
 same time, mentioned that tears in a woman 
 was to him one of her most futile weapons. 
 When I tried to be alluring and irresistible, he 
 simply said the rose behind my ear was tickling 
 his nose and he wasn t sure if he liked flowers 
 in the hair. And when I tried flying in a 
 temper, he walked out of the room with a 
 shocked expression. 
 
 It is quite evident that Mr. Prendergast and 
 Lionel are built of very different material. Mr. 
 Prendergast may swear when he trips over 
 mats and be fiery and easily extinguished, 
 Lionel simply reprimands a servant for leav 
 ing a mat in the way, and is self-contained and 
 of extremely slow combustion. You might try 
 to extinguish his fire, but nothing would get 
 it under, neither the hose pipe nor garden soil 
 once he had made up his mind to go on burning. 
 
 In my secret heart I respect and admire his 
 strength of character and firmness of will, I 
 despise a weak man, as you know, but I do wish 
 he would be less firm about Silvercombe. 
 
 He says he doesn t know how I can wish him 
 to go to a seaside place in August when it 
 would be crammed with indecently dressed chil 
 dren with buckets and spades building idiotic 
 
 154
 
 GWENDA 
 
 forts ; and fathers in Panama hats and morning 
 coats and knickerbockers ; and mothers in short 
 skirts and pipe-clayed boots and no hats and 
 dishevelled frowsy locks. Nothing to do and 
 nobody to know. Perhaps it would be dull for 
 him. And I had my way in going to Brittany, 
 so it is his turn now. You, not understanding 
 men, and you can t understand them, Granty, 
 or you wouldn t be so unjust to them, will say 
 he is selfish. But he isn t. Why should he give 
 in to me any more than I to him? Don t you 
 think that we women expect men to give in to 
 us too much! As you know, I am frightfully 
 disappointed that we shall not be with you, but 
 can t you see his point? I can, at least I nearly 
 can. 
 
 So we are going to Scotland. First to the 
 house of a real laird of the Clan oh, Pve for 
 gotten the name of it an uncle by marriage 
 of Lionel, a bachelor living in the heart of the 
 Trossachs. There are to be about a dozen 
 guests, and there will be a little fishing and 
 shooting and I find Lionel is keen on the last; 
 and there will be drives and walks, and bridge 
 at night. So we ought to have a good time. The 
 thought alone of bees humming amongst the 
 heather intoxicates me. But the sound of bees 
 
 155
 
 humming above the moors of Silvercombe would 
 be best of all. Oh, when shall I see you, dear! 
 
 August 1st. Again I want council with 
 Belinda Ann. I am in sore difficulty, and know 
 not what to do. Oh, that I had the wings of a 
 dove and could fly to Silvercombe for advice 
 and help ! 
 
 Lionel has invited Lady Rivers to dine with 
 us to-morrow night. 
 
 We met her at Goodwood last Thursday. 
 Lionel and I were strolling about after lunch 
 and I was feeling in radiant spirits. The day 
 was exquisite, clear and cool after recent rain, 
 the country round Goodwood is beautiful. Two 
 of my horses had won. We had had a jolly 
 lunch and Lionel had just complimented me on 
 my costume. What more could a girl desire? 
 When, as a bolt from the blue, Lady Eivers 
 bore down upon us with outstretched hands and 
 smile of welcome. 
 
 Of course, she looked perfect. It is posi 
 tively exasperating the power some women 
 possess of making every other woman feel 
 dowdy when in their proximity. A minute be 
 fore I had regarded my frock with satisfaction, 
 now nothing seemed more desirable than the 
 
 156
 
 GWENDA 
 
 long cut-away black satin coat she was wearing 
 over a white gown. But, Granty, I don t think 
 I really minded her clothes, it was the way she 
 was looking at Lionel. How do these women 
 do it? They drop their heads modestly and 
 then peep up from under their eyelashes. If 
 I tried to do it I should simply squint. Anyway 
 Lionel seemed to enjoy it, and gazed back with 
 unconcealed admiration. Now you will say I 
 am vulgarly jealous. And do you know I don t 
 believe I am, I don t think I ever should be 
 jealous of Lionel. I feel like this about it. If 
 my husband ever wanted another woman I 
 shouldn t want to keep him. There would be 
 no happiness to me in succeeding in having him 
 at my side if he wanted to be elsewhere. I 
 should be too proud. If he were merely indulg 
 ing in a passing flirtation, perhaps I would 
 make an effort to induce him to flirt with me 
 instead; I would wear my prettiest gown and 
 smile. But if he genuinely loved another wom 
 an, I should pack my boxes and leave him a 
 clear field. Don t you agree with me in this? 
 Women are wanting in pride and self-respect 
 if they remain with a man who has ceased to 
 love them. At any rate that is my way of think 
 ing. Had Lady Eivers been a nice woman 
 
 157
 
 GWENDA 
 
 Lionel could have flirted with her at Goodwood 
 to his heart s content. But she is a bad woman, 
 of that I am convinced. 
 
 When I heard Lionel inviting her to dine 
 with us, I could scarcely believe my ears. And 
 when he looked at me to second the invitation, 
 I was dumb. I am not quick witted, neither 
 would I stoop to lie and say we had another 
 engagement. I simply stood silent and awk 
 ward. Your brains would have helped you out 
 of the dilemma, mine felt addled and refused to 
 work. Lionel was looking at me expectantly; 
 gradually a frown gathered between his eye 
 brows. Lady Rivers silky tones relieved the 
 tension : " Perhaps Mrs. Conyngham remem 
 bers an engagement which you have forgotten. 
 Men are so naughty in that respect." 
 
 " No," he replied, " we have no engagement 
 for a wonder. An old Cambridge friend of mine 
 is dining with us, so we shall just be four. 
 Shan t we, Gwenda?" 
 
 Still I could not speak, and apparently grasp 
 ing the situation, Lionel, with ready wit, sud 
 denly took hold of my arm, and saying that I 
 looked ill and faint and he wondered he hadn t 
 noticed it before, begged Lady Rivers to excuse 
 us. " She is not used to this treadmill of pleas- 
 
 158
 
 lire, and is feeling overdone and seedy, I must 
 get her away from here at once, catch the next 
 train back to town. We shall expect you on 
 Monday night without fail. Good-bye Lady 
 Rivers. Sorry to leave you so abruptly." 
 
 And when we had left her, I blazed into anger, 
 " How could you"? " I cried. " You know I am 
 not ill, and I absolutely refuse to return to 
 town, and I also absolutely refuse to receive 
 Lady Rivers next Monday." 
 
 " You will," he said in that calm even voice 
 which I have learnt to dread. 
 
 " The woman is bad," I said passionately. 
 
 " You say that because you have heard that 
 she has been divorced from her husband." 
 
 " I had not heard it. Neither am I narrow. 
 I think it quite possible for a divorced woman 
 to run a straight decent life after the decree 
 has been made absolute. Many a woman sins 
 from self-sacrifice and devotion. Such women 
 require sympathy and help from the women 
 who have not been tempted. Christ himself 
 taught us this. He believed in justice before 
 all things. Who is without sin? He asked. 
 But Lady Rivers is not one of these, and you 
 know it. You have only to look at her to know 
 that she is not fit to associate with decent wom- 
 
 159
 
 GWENDA 
 
 en, and I wonder that you could wish to put 
 such an indignity upon me." 
 
 I will not give you details of the sad pitiful 
 quarrel that followed. And is it possible that 
 I can be writing to you thus only a little more 
 than three months after our marriage? It 
 seems like some bad dream. And all the time I 
 keep asking myself : " Is it my fault? " It must 
 be. For Lionel loved me when he asked me to 
 be his wife, and he cannot have stopped loving 
 me so quickly. And yet if he still loved me, he 
 would not ask me to do a thing which hurts me 
 so much. Do you think he would? But do not 
 think because of this trouble, of this rift within 
 the lute, that I have ceased to love him. God 
 forbid that. "Without my love for my husband 
 I should be like a ship without a rudder, a 
 derelict on the ocean of life. And I think, too, 
 that my love would be of poor stuff, don t you, 
 if it stood no assaults and went down at the 
 first blow? Love that has been tried by fire 
 surely burns brighter for its purification. But, 
 oh, I don t know what to do. We have never 
 touched upon the subject since Thursday last. 
 Five days intervened from the time of the invi 
 tation to the dinner. Something might crop up 
 I hoped to prevent its taking place. But noth- 
 
 160
 
 ing has and nothing will. This is the evening 
 of the fourth day. To-morrow night at this 
 hour I ought to be dressing to receive Lady 
 Eivers. There will be no time for a letter from 
 you in reply to this. No time for the advice and 
 counsel which I so earnestly desire. I must 
 act on my own initiative, unless your friend 
 Belinda Ann would be good enough to send me 
 a wire saying what she did when placed in a 
 similar position. She could put " Stand to 
 your guns " or " Surrender." And whichever 
 course she advised I should follow, for I am 
 beginning to think she has achieved wisdom 
 after much tribulation. 
 
 Expectantly, 
 
 GWENDA. 
 
 161
 
 LETTEE IX 
 
 
 
 PRINCE S GATE, LONDON, W., 
 
 August 3rd. 
 MY DEAR GRANTY: 
 
 I stuck to my guns following the advice of 
 Belinda Ann, but the battle was a hard one, and 
 to-day the reflection of a white face all hair 
 and eyes stares at me from the mirror. And 
 I am asking myself "was it worth it 7 Will 
 Lady Rivers morals be any the better or worse 
 for my refusing to see her? and have I per 
 manently alienated the affection of my hus 
 band?" 
 
 I retain my self-respect, about which I feel 
 now absolutely indifferent, and I have a bad 
 sick headache, of which I am cruelly conscious 
 and which has kept me to my bed on a very hot 
 day. Lionel has been conspicuous by his ab 
 sence, and Fanchette has worried me with eau- 
 de-Cologne handkerchiefs, and gruel and sickly 
 messes till I finally burst into tears and en 
 treated her to leave me. I am wearing a silk 
 and lace nightdress which cost ,3.15.0 and there 
 
 162
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 is no one to see it but Shandy, who is curled 
 up at the bottom of the bed and making a 
 disgusting noise, half snore and half overfed 
 grunt. My temperature is 100 and I long to 
 be a spirit sitting in a draught. A nice cool 
 spirit without flesh or bones or principles, espe 
 cially the last. 
 
 This afternoon I am positively envying peo 
 ple who have no principles. They are gay, and 
 good humoured, and generous, as a rule. They 
 have a thoroughly good time, and everybody 
 likes them. They are often tender-hearted, and 
 adored by little children and animals. Just 
 cast your eyes around upon the few what we 
 should describe as unprincipled people we 
 have known. There was Captain Eeynolds who 
 drank like a fish and was always in debt, and 
 yet whom, at his death, the whole of Silver- 
 combe mourned; and the fisher folk, you will 
 remember, deemed it an honour when they were 
 permitted to carry him to his last resting place. 
 There is Minna Singleton. We know she tells 
 lies, I have detected her in heaps, and her sym 
 pathy toward those who are in trouble is un 
 bounded. She sat up the whole of one night 
 with Widow Cowd s baby in her arms hushing 
 and soothing its sufferings. Would Mrs. Prin- 
 
 1G3
 
 GWENDA 
 
 gleton, with her unanswering code of honour, 
 have done that f I do not mean that necessarily 
 the highly principled people have fewer lovable 
 qualities than the unprincipled, but I do think 
 that as a rule they are less sympathetic, less 
 kindly in their feelings toward the backsliders 
 than the backsliders are toward them. So busy 
 are they in living up to their principles and to 
 the standard they have set up for themselves, 
 that they have no time or inclination to con 
 sider the feelings of those who happen, either 
 through carelessness or lack of moral feeling, 
 or lack of healthy training, to regard things 
 from another point of view. 
 
 Possibly, had I been friendly toward Lady 
 Rivers I might have helped more than by being 
 unfriendly. I might have proved to her that it 
 is possible to lead as straight and decent a life 
 as one can and at the same time be tolerant 
 and kindly to those whose feet, either through 
 bad influence or bad luck, or want of moral 
 sense, are set upon the crooked paths of life. 
 If the people who try to be good won t help the 
 people who are bad, I can t find much use for 
 Christianity. As it is, Lady Eivers, in all prob 
 ability, went away raging last night at my not 
 being present at dinner. She is clever and would 
 
 164
 
 not believe Lionel s trumped-up excuses of a 
 headache and sudden indisposition. I have 
 gained an enemy, and a dangerous one I am 
 sure. Not that on that account do I regret my 
 action, but because and, oh, Granty, you will 
 now think I am blaming you for your advice, 
 and I am not. I am blaming myself. I should 
 have acted alone, not sought help from anyone. 
 Given no one a right to interfere in Lionel s 
 and my affairs. It is not straight to him, and 
 I am afraid he is ceasing to care for me. He 
 said some bitter things to me last evening, 
 things that I have already forgiven but can 
 never forget. He stood over my chair, when 
 I refused to dress, like some dark Fury, threat 
 ening, never raising his voice, but threat 
 ening, cruel words falling from his lips. His 
 love for me had been a brief passion, a mo 
 ment s insanity. I was childish, gauche, fool 
 ishly simple. Could he have meant all this, and 
 why do I tell you? My heart isn t breaking, be 
 cause I don t believe it. People say things in 
 their passion they don t mean and soon forget. 
 I, myself, uttered words of which I am now 
 ashamed, and Lionel is a man of strong passion. 
 In a few hours he will be sorry for what he 
 said. Come to me and make friends like the 
 
 165
 
 children. And, oh, how I am looking forward 
 to that coming. I have tied my hair with a 
 blue ribbon, and I shall put my arms around 
 his neck and say I am sorry, sorry for having 
 given him cause for anger. And he will kiss 
 me, and this feeling of doubt and distrust 
 which has lately grown upon me, doubt of 
 his love, will be dissipated as the mist before 
 the sun. 
 
 Granty, my head is better. Long rays of 
 westering light are filling the room. I hear 
 Lionel s step. I will be happy. He is coming 
 along the passage. He has paused at the door. 
 My heart is beating tumultuously ... he has 
 passed along. 
 
 August 5th. I have been riding most of to 
 day. The weather is cooler and we have had 
 little showers of rain. I am now quite at home 
 in the saddle. When I was preparing for my 
 first lesson, I was warned by Lionel not to seize 
 the horse by the mane in moments of excite 
 ment. Naturally this annoyed me and so put 
 me on my mettle that I mastered the whole art 
 of riding in a very short time. And I love 
 it. You, having ridden so much in Australia, 
 well know the exhilaration of galloping along 
 
 166
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 springy turf on a good mount. And my mare 
 is a beauty: graceful, lithe, swift, mettlesome, 
 only her name spoils her Elizabeth. Can you 
 imagine the order of mind that christens a 
 horse Elizabeth? It emanated from the groom, 
 a heavy, trustworthy, stout man, who accom 
 panies me on my rides. His name is Shrove 
 Tuesday Wilkinson. Needless to mention he 
 was born on pancake day. 
 
 With Elizabeth and Shrove Tuesday I went 
 to Richmond Park this morning. I felt bad 
 everywhere body, soul and spirit. Only wind, 
 untainted by smoke, born of the bracken and 
 trees and fields, would help to ease the ache 
 of me, I felt. Lionel and I were still at enmity 
 though I longed for peace. We breakfasted 
 practically in silence. To all my little overtures 
 of friendship he turned a deaf ear, presenting 
 to me the top of a neatly parted head as he 
 studied his newspaper. I had passed an almost 
 sleepless night. I heared 12, 1, 2, 3, 4 o clock 
 strike. Between the hours of 12 and 2 I still 
 felt remorseful for my discourtesy to Lady 
 Eivers, and grieved that I had hurt and offend 
 ed Lionel so much. I ached to get up and tap 
 at his door and tell him I was sorry, and that 
 if he would just give me one kiss of forgiveness 
 
 107
 
 GWENDA 
 
 I should be able to get to sleep. But pride kept 
 my head glued to my hot pillow. Then I began 
 to turn and twist about like a meat-jack in front 
 of a fire. My blue ribbon tickled my face and 
 I tore it off, my heavy plait tickled the back 
 of my neck and I pinned it up on top. I turned 
 my pillow in unison with my body, and each 
 side seemed hotter than the last. I counted 
 sheep through a gate and repeated " if a herring 
 and a half weighed " and I couldn t get any 
 further for I had forgotten what they ought 
 to weigh, and tried so hard to remember that 
 I began to cry. I cried till I was exhausted, and 
 then I began to be hungry and I think that is 
 the last and worst stage of wakefulness. Once 
 you are assailed by hunger, no more sleep till 
 it is satisfied. Longingly I thought of glasses 
 of milk, bread and butter, of cool greengages 
 and oranges. I switched on the light, rose 
 noiselessly and searched the room for food. A 
 well-trained maid, such as Fanchette, would be 
 certain to leave a tin of biscuits handy, but she 
 hadn t. She thought only of the clothing of my 
 body, not of its nourishment. I could wear a 
 tulle busby and die of starvation. Martha, with 
 the smooth brown hair, I felt, would never have 
 neglected to place sustenance at my bedside. 
 
 1G8
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 I could have wept again from disappointment. 
 Suddenly my roving eyes caught the beautiful 
 sight of a box of Turkish delight which reposed 
 at the corner of the mantelshelf. You probably 
 have never used Turkish delight very spongy 
 and very nutty as a food to allay the pangs of 
 your hunger at four o clock in the morning. You 
 have never fastened your teeth into its ad 
 hesive softness when the rest of the world was 
 sleeping. If you haven t, don t, because next 
 morning you will wish you hadn t. You would 
 have preferred risking a descent to the larder 
 and the possibility of falling into the hands of 
 your butler who had mistaken you for a burglar. 
 As I stared at the parting of Lionel s hair 
 and toyed with a bit of sole, that Turkish de 
 light was very present. My mouth was dry, my 
 body was limp. Feverishly I searched about 
 for pleasant conversation. I tried the weather, 
 the theatre, the new fashion in men s overcoats, 
 the cultivation of tobacco in England, but the 
 bent head never looked up, and I received mon 
 osyllables by way of reply to each of my ques 
 tions. Gradually my pleasantries fizzled out, 
 and slowly my temper rose, slowly but surely ; 
 and once, Granty, you said it was sweet. Why 
 should I be treated in this manner? I fumed. 
 
 169
 
 I had done and said everything to express my 
 sorrow for my inhospitality. I longed to be 
 friends. Longed to thresh the whole thing out, 
 and this cold silence was freezing me, choking 
 the love out of me. I jumped up from my chair, 
 kicked Shandy out of the way, told Balbriggan 
 to give instructions for my horse to be saddled 
 and round in a quarter of an hour, and dashed 
 out of the room, giving the door a terrific bang. 
 What do you think of that? Banged the door 
 like a passionate uncontrolled schoolgirl. Even 
 now I tremble when I think of the way the table 
 silver would jump about under Lionel s nose. 
 
 Fanchette wished me to wear my hard hat. 
 I waved her to one side. " My soft cap and no 
 other," I shouted, and she was dumb from sur 
 prise. I met Lionel as I descended the stairs in 
 a whirl. He stared at me blankly. " Where 
 are you going? " his lips framed the words, but 
 I took them out of his mouth : " Don t ask me 
 where I am going. I haven t decided, perhaps 
 to perdition," and I shot out of the house. 
 
 Within an hour I was in Eichmond Park tear 
 ing across the springy turf, Shrove Tuesday 
 making manful efforts to keep up with me. 
 " Stop," I cried at last, " your horse is winded. 
 You wait here, I want to be alone." And leav- 
 
 170
 
 GWENDA 
 
 ing him there, I turned along to the right guid 
 ing Elizabeth through some fine beech trees to 
 a path amongst high-growing bracken, along 
 which she delicately picked her way. Presently 
 coming to a quiet spot a little slopy piece of 
 green turf surrounded by thorn trees I dis 
 mounted, and fastening Elizabeth to one of the 
 trees I wandered on a few yards further and 
 then flung myself face downward amongst the 
 sweet-scented bracken. How long I lay there 
 I hardly realised. The day was windy and cool 
 and I knew it not. There had been some rain 
 early in the morning, but I was hardly con 
 scious that the damp pungent bracken was wet 
 ting my face and hands. I had stumbled upon 
 the first real trouble of my life, and I desired 
 to be alone in some quiet place, with only the 
 gray sky to look down upon me and my suffer 
 ing. For, of course, I was suffering. I loved 
 my husband and he refused to speak to me, and 
 he had aroused a great soreness and anger in 
 my heart toward him which frightened me. I 
 could not understand his attitude. I am always 
 ready to make friends five minutes after a 
 quarrel with anyone, and he had been sulking 
 with me for nearly forty-eight hours. I had 
 expressed sorrow for having annoyed him, I 
 
 171
 
 GWENDA 
 
 had humbled myself before him, and it is never 
 a pleasant job kissing the dust, and he still re 
 garded me with stony indifference. Tennyson s 
 lines came to my mind : " Oh, we fell out, my 
 wife and I, and kissed again with tears." And 
 kissed again with tears ! Should we ever do 
 that? Keason told me "no." We might kiss, 
 but not with tears. To kiss with tears is re 
 served only for the Elect in the Kingdom of 
 Love. And somehow through and through me 
 I knew that I was not of that Elect Company. 
 Many can laugh in unison, but few can both 
 laugh and weep. 
 
 Granty, you will say I am becoming intro 
 spective, and you warned me against it ; but as 
 I lay there dissecting fronds of the bracken, 
 sniffing at its scent, I went through the weeks 
 of our married life, reviewed my conduct, and 
 examined my love to see if it had been found 
 wanting. Do you remember one spring after 
 noon a few months back, as we were picking 
 kingcups in Water Marsh, that you remarked 
 that as soon as a human being examines and 
 probes into and dissects and measures its love, 
 love begins to prepare for flight. Love is a 
 sensitive plant, and when rooted from the 
 ground and examined under a microscope shriv- 
 
 172
 
 els and dies. Love is an undefinable quality, 
 it cannot be analysed as a chemist analyses 
 beer or oil. " If you begin to wonder if you 
 love or are loved enough there is something the 
 matter. Love is a gift of the Gods, accept it 
 as such, and don t worry." Do you remember 
 saying that? And then you went on to say: 
 " but if you find that a day comes when it droops 
 a little through the strong and pitiless intimacy 
 and trials of matrimony, water it with kindness 
 and understanding, and if it should still droop, 
 give it more water diluted with sympathy and 
 a great forbearance. And if all this and other 
 treatment fail, root it up, for it is only cumber 
 ing the ground and not worth further considera 
 tion; stamp out its feeble life, and turn your 
 attention and affection to some object more 
 worthy. A man or a woman who ruins his or 
 her life in endeavouring to retain the affection 
 of the other is a fool. Life is too short for 
 regrets." 
 
 Water it with kindness and forbearance and 
 sympathy and a great understanding ! I jumped 
 to my feet. Once again I would try I would 
 invest in the very largest watering-pot a 
 watering-pot of unknown dimensions height, 
 width, depth Lionel should see that it was 
 
 173
 
 GWENDA 
 
 limitless. " A watering-pot as big as the Uni 
 verse," I shouted, laughter falling from my 
 lips, and turning toward Elizabeth, I found 
 Shrove Tuesday seated on his horse like a 
 statue of bronze, and regarding me with re 
 spectful gravity. 
 
 " How long have you been here ? " I demand 
 ed, picking bits of fern from my habit. 
 
 " Nigh on half an hour, Madame." 
 
 " But I told you to remain where you 
 were." 
 
 " Master said I must be very careful with 
 you and not let you out of my sight, Madame." 
 
 " Did he say that? " I know the pleasure and 
 gratification in my voice simply shouted. 
 
 "Yes, Madame." 
 
 " Oh," I walked toward Elizabeth. " Did you 
 happen to hear anything I said? " 
 
 " Nothin* particular, Madame." 
 
 "What was it?" 
 
 " Only something about a watering-pot as 
 big as the universe, Madame." He looked a 
 little ashamed of proclaiming my foolishness. 
 
 I laughed gaily. " A funny thing to say. But 
 I happen to possess such an article, and I am 
 going to fill it to the brim with all kinds of 
 useful qualities mentioned in a certain Book 
 
 174
 
 GWENDA 
 
 to be exact, in the Beatitudes; handy useful 
 things, such as patience and kindness and sym 
 pathy, everything but meekness. I don t like 
 meekness, reminds you of a piece of pastry that 
 has been flattened out by a rolling-pin." 
 
 " Yes, Miss Madame." Shrove Tuesday 
 coughed deferentially behind his hand. 
 
 " You can put me on Elizabeth now." 
 
 He dismounted and offered me his hand. 
 
 " And I may tell you in confidence that I am 
 starving with hunger. I am sure it must be 
 three o clock." 
 
 " It has just gone one, Madame." 
 
 " Only one ! Now do you know of any place 
 within a mile of this spot where we could get 
 lunch? " 
 
 "No, Madame." 
 
 "You are depressing, Shrove Tuesday. Do 
 you see that small house at the end of this 
 valley on the other side of the pond ? " 
 
 " That is Ham Lodge, Madame." 
 
 " Oh, do you think we could get lunch at Ham 
 Lodge? The name sounds hopeful," I asked. 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 " Never did I meet a more pessimistic spirit. 
 You should have been christened Ash Wednes 
 day. Shrove Tuesday sounds too light hearted 
 
 175
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 on account of its association with pancakes. I 
 am going to Ham Lodge to see what can be 
 done. Please follow me." 
 
 Delicately and carefully the horses picked 
 their way through the high bracken along the 
 little path to the Lodge. To the right was a 
 sleepy pond. Behind, in the distance, was the 
 beautiful course of a golf links. In front of 
 the little house lay an ancient collie. Painted 
 in white letters on the garden wall were these 
 words : " Teas for cyclists." At the gate was a 
 man in uniform with sad blue eyes and a gold- 
 laced cap. 
 
 "I see that you give teas to cyclists," I 
 started pleasantly. 
 
 " Perhaps we do," he replied doubtfully. 
 
 " Do you think you could give lunches to 
 horse-women? " 
 
 He shuffled inside the little gate, " I will ask 
 my wife." 
 
 " But you must know without asking your 
 wife," I said. 
 
 He shook his head, and seemed to think he 
 didn t. 
 
 "Mrs. Huggins," he called gently. 
 
 " Yes, George," returned a voice, " what are 
 you wanting now? Always worritin round." 
 
 176
 
 GWENDA 
 
 " It s a young lady wanting lunch." 
 
 Mrs. Huggins appeared at the doorway, a 
 magisterial figure with a hooked nose. She 
 shook her head firmly, she didn t give lunches. 
 
 " Oh dear," I cried, " couldn t you manage 
 just a bit of bread and cheese? " 
 
 Another shake. 
 
 " But I am so terribly hungry, and I do so 
 fancy lunch in the Park." 
 
 Marked indifference to any of my fancies. 
 
 " Well," suddenly I brightened, " early tea. 
 Could you give me some tea with a nice fresh 
 egg?" I was preparing to slip down from 
 Elizabeth. 
 
 " I have a fresh egg, but I never boil my 
 kettle before half past three in an afternoon," 
 she returned. 
 
 " What, never? " I said, surprised. 
 
 " By which I mean, never between breakfast 
 and tea." 
 
 " Dear me ! " I observed. 
 
 " I lets the fire out in summer, and boils the 
 potatoes on Beatrice that s the oil stove, for 
 dinner at half past twelve, and then boils the 
 kettle ready for cyclists at half past three." 
 
 " But couldn t you light the stove again for 
 once! " 
 
 177
 
 GWENDA 
 
 " No, it s against my habits." 
 
 " And wouldn t you say, if you had to make 
 a poultice for your husband ? " 
 
 " He never wants a poultice." 
 
 " But supposing he did," I persisted. 
 
 " He s not likely to as long as he s married 
 to me. Is you, George ? " 
 
 George shuffled his feet on the gravel path a 
 little uneasily. " It s rheumatiz as I have, 
 Miss." 
 
 " You see," she said with triumph. " He 
 wants no poultices; it s Elliman s Embrocation 
 as what he wants for the rheumatics." 
 
 " And you couldn t under any consideration 
 whatsoever, not in a case of storm or famine or 
 sudden death, boil your kettle before half past 
 three ? " I pleaded in a coaxing voice. 
 
 " None of these things is likely to happen," 
 she returned, regarding the heavens with the 
 eye of a skipper. 
 
 " But famine is." 
 
 " Kingston isn t above two miles from here, 
 neither is Eichmond. You can get a grand 
 lunch at either of them," observed this unshak 
 able woman. 
 
 " But two miles will take us such a time to 
 cover, and I m literally starving," I said, mak- 
 
 178
 
 GWENDA 
 
 ing one last effort. " And there is nothing in 
 the whole world I desire more at this moment 
 than a cup of tea and a boiled brown egg. I 
 can see your fowls at the back and I know they 
 lay brown eggs." 
 
 She shook her head. " They ve never laid 
 a brown egg in their lives, has they George? 
 They re mostly Minorcas, and they always lay 
 white eggs." 
 
 Then my hopes evaporated entirely, and 
 crushed in spirit I was preparing to ride away 
 when George himself interceded for me. 
 
 " / could light Beatrice," he suggested hesitat 
 ingly, "and boil the kettle and egg for the 
 young lady, Mrs. Huggins." 
 
 " You could light Beatrice ! " Mrs. Huggins 
 cast her eyes up to Heaven as though calling 
 down a witness to the words of her spouse. 
 " You ve just found out you could light that 
 stove when I ve been persuading of you to make 
 the effort for nigh on ten years. And you could 
 boil an egg! You could do something besides 
 stand at these here gates in a gold laced cap 
 by day, and sit in your dressin gown with the 
 girdle and tassel in the best armchair readin 
 your paper of a night. Mr. Huggins you aston 
 ish me. You ll be able to procure brown eggs 
 
 179
 
 GWENDA 
 
 next, I suppose, to gratify the young lady s 
 fancy. I ll bid you good-day, Miss. I m that 
 overcome that I must go and sit down to get 
 my breath." And Mrs. Huggins, her hands 
 clasped across her capacious apron, sailed into 
 the house. 
 
 For a moment I feared to meet the gaze of 
 Mr. Huggins sad blue eyes. How crushed he 
 would feel, how humiliated ! Supposing Lionel 
 should ever address me in such a manner in 
 the presence of strangers ! I was wondering 
 how I could slip half-a-crown into the hand 
 of this outraged husband without looking at 
 him, when I heard a chuckle, and actually 
 found that Mr. Huggins was winking broadly. 
 " A fine woman, my wife," he whispered as 
 his hand closed over the money. " Good-day, 
 Miss." 
 
 Thoughtfully, I rode out of the Park and 
 across the Common. Reflectively I made for 
 Kingston Market Place. It appeared there 
 were more ways than one of managing a hus 
 band. And that Mr. Huggins admired and re 
 spected, and possibly even loved, his wife, I had 
 not the shadow of a doubt. I felt greatly 
 cheered. If all the Beatitudes failed, I would 
 imitate Mrs. Huggins. 
 
 180
 
 GWENDA 
 
 August 6th. And I was like Mrs. Huggins 
 for exactly five minutes, and then Lionel said 
 he thought a little change to Silvercombe, after 
 all, might do me good, as evidently there was 
 something seriously the matter with me; and 
 he would run over to Ostend for a fortnight or 
 so, and he was sure I should be glad to miss the 
 passage seeing I was such a wretched sailor. 
 He said several other things as well, but I 
 scarcely heard, I was fighting so hard to keep 
 back the tears. So, Granty, like a little child 
 I am dismissed and am coming home. You 
 predicted there would be breakers ahead, and 
 I have foundered in the first. But I am not 
 going to squeak; do not fear that. 
 
 Ever lovingly, 
 
 GWENDA. 
 
 181
 
 LETTER X 
 
 GLENFINLAS HOUSE, THE 
 
 THOSSACHS, Aug. 25. 
 MY DEAR GRANTY : 
 
 Such a long long journey and I arrived at 
 Callander last evening weary and travel-stained. 
 Your prognostication was correct. Lionel met 
 me and greeted me affectionately, but I felt 
 shy and awkward, and found myself regarding 
 him curiously during the lovely drive from Cal 
 lander to Glenfinlas. But he was quite at ease. 
 Nothing was said of our late estrangement, and 
 he made no reference to his not having written. 
 He had enjoyed Ostend, and hoped that I had 
 had a pleasant time at Silvercombe. He en 
 quired after you, and remarked that I still 
 looked pale and seedy. His behaviour during 
 the evening was friendly and polite. He kissed 
 me good-night at my bedroom door and I 
 sobbed myself to sleep. Of course I did, and 
 I am not ashamed of it. I am not made of the 
 same stuff as you. I loved Lionel once, and I 
 believe I still love him. Where did you find 
 
 182
 
 GWENDA 
 
 your strength? In your pink shawl with your 
 wonderful white hair and pinky cheeks you look 
 like a gentle baby. You might be composed of 
 satin and rose leaves. I think I alone know 
 of your inflexible will, of your strong loves and 
 fiercer hates, of your sense of justice, and pity 
 of an angel. 
 
 This evening I am better. A dumb resent 
 ment and pride have come to my aid, and I am 
 trying to remember all you advised. Out of 
 your own suffering you have learned a greater 
 wisdom than Solomon ever preached. And to 
 think that I lived with you all those years and 
 never knew, never guessed, what you had been 
 through. You played dolls with me when I was 
 a child, and when I grew up you walked and 
 talked and read, and still played with me. You 
 fought down your sorrow, and I believe you 
 grew to be happy. As you said to me the other 
 night, a great many of us suffer through our 
 own faults, so why be always whining? It is 
 ridiculous for a man or a woman to expect to 
 be happy when they have married for love 
 love in the sense that means passion only. 
 What they should strive after is the love that 
 means friendship, as well as passion. That is 
 the only perfect love. " Did you consider this 
 
 183
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 when you married Lionel? " you asked. " Had 
 you any tastes in, common 1 ? You love books. 
 Does he? He loves Society and show. Do you? 
 Are you real friends and companions?" At 
 the time I was unable to reply to your ques 
 tions, Granty. I had not been looking at the 
 position from Lionel s point of view, and I 
 wanted to be fair. I had been pitying myself 
 only. I had been inclined to regard myself as 
 a martyr. Even in my sorrow for my treat 
 ment of Lady Rivers and consequent annoyance 
 to Lionel there was an enormous amount of 
 sympathy for my own self-abnegation. Your 
 questions have made me honest with myself. I 
 think I am seeing things with a truer sense of 
 proportion. I have come away from Silver- 
 combe better and happier than I went to it. I 
 feel as though I had been cleansed and in 
 vigorated by a strong wind which had blown 
 across a wide salt ocean, or over fields of golden 
 corn or limitless moors. I am mentally stimu 
 lated, if not bodily. I came here prepared to 
 do almost anything, to laugh and to be merry 
 as of old, to be an entertaining companion, to 
 cast sentimentality to the winds, no reproaches, 
 no repinings after what I couldn t get, just to 
 be a sensible, practical, affectionate woman; 
 
 184
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 and Lionel s politeness, his calm indifference 
 have hemmed me in and about and crushed 
 me as with closing blocks of ice. What am 
 I to do now? What course am I to adopt? 
 Shall I, too, be indifferent and polite. I be 
 lieve I could stoop to anything, play any role 
 in order to win back the affection of my 
 husband. 
 
 To-night, I am wearing a dream of a new 
 gown. I wrote and ordered it from Town. It 
 is white chiffon posed over cloth of silver. Even 
 Fanchette is in ecstasies. And in my hair will 
 be a spray of white heather. It was presented 
 to me to-day by a dear old gillie, and I am wear 
 ing it for luck. Will it bring me any? 
 
 To-morrow I will tell you of our host and 
 fellow guests, and of this beautiful old house 
 and place. I could be so happy. 
 
 August 27. The white heather brought me 
 no luck. But what matters? I am fighting 
 after philosophy ; and as the poet sang : " The 
 world is so full of a number of things." And 
 it is very full in this lovely corner of Scotland. 
 To begin with it contains our host, one Alex 
 ander or Sandy McAlister, a most delightful 
 and extremely Scotch person. A bachelor, mid- 
 185
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 die aged in years, but so youthful that you 
 almost wonder at the restraint of his friends in 
 refraining from presenting him with pop-guns 
 and trains; and but for his great height and 
 long flowing beard, and still longer moustachios, 
 which droop like two cascades, I believe they 
 would. His Scotchiness and beard are the two 
 most pronounced features about him. He sim 
 ply runs over with the former, it bursts from 
 him at every pore; and you can see that only 
 the natural delicacy of his feeling and kind 
 liness of his heart, prevent him from openly 
 commiserating with you on your English an 
 cestry, while you are conscious that he is re 
 garding you with a sort of pity out of the tail 
 of his eye. 
 
 You may admire his fine old house set in a 
 very lovely bit of the Trossachs above Loch Ach- 
 ray; you may rave about the mist curling and 
 creeping above the corries and crags of Ben- 
 venae, and of the fairy dream-like scenery of 
 Loch Katrine; but you are not of it, you are 
 not part of it, you are not, so to speak, one 
 with it. You are an alien in a foreign land. 
 You are a product of an English town or sleepy 
 English village. You were not born of the 
 mountains and lochs, and rolling mists, and 
 
 186
 
 glooming skies, and bold rocky defiles and rush 
 ing mountain torrents. You were not hushed 
 to sleep as was Uncle Sandy McAlister by the 
 sound of a mighty cataract 
 
 "Whose waters their wild tumult toss 
 
 Adown the black and craggy boss 
 
 of that huge cliff " 
 
 (This from " The Lady of the Lake") 
 
 You were not cradled in the arms of Loch Ach- 
 ray, with its calm peace 
 
 "The rocks, the bosky thickets sleep 
 So stilly in the bosom deep." 
 
 Once, many years ago, you and I read " The 
 Lady of the Lake " aloud, but I had forgotten 
 it. Why, oh why, did I not look it up, re 
 fresh my memory with its witching silvery 
 lines before coming to visit Uncle Sandy Mc 
 Alister? 
 
 I believe he was prepared to like me at first. 
 He gave me friendly pats on the shoulder with 
 his large hairy hand, he called me his dear niece 
 by marriage, Mrs. Gwenda. He played a bag 
 pipe for my edification, and one by one the 
 other guests hid themselves in various secluded 
 
 187
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 parts of the house. All was going well till yes 
 terday afternoon when he took me alone to 
 Loch Katrine. We walked, and the way was 
 heavenly: a dell of rocks and ferns, and more 
 rocks and ferns reaching higher and higher till 
 the road was cast into one of slumbrous gloom, 
 cool and sweet-scented, with little threads of 
 water gushing from the rocks. So peaceful, so 
 restful, no motors allowed in this enchanted 
 country, the lochs and the streams, the moun 
 tains and the mists, the rocks and ferns, the 
 sheep and wild fowl have it all to themselves. 
 Suddenly we emerged from the shadow to the 
 sunshine, and Loch Katrine lay smiling before 
 us. And it was then, through my ignorance, I 
 missed the opportunity of twining myself round 
 Uncle Sandy s heartstrings. It was then I 
 should have quoted the famous lines, it was the 
 proper place, the suitable moment. Uncle Sandy 
 looked at me anxiously. He started the first 
 line, he prompted, he waved his arm compre 
 hensively around the lake to give me courage, 
 but it was of no avail. All I could do was to 
 sit down and weep at the beauty that lay before 
 me, weep and laugh at one and the same mo 
 ment. And then patting my shoulder, he him 
 self declaimed the lines: 
 
 188
 
 GWENDA 
 
 "With promontory, creek, and bay 
 And islands that, empurpled bright, 
 Floated amid the livelier light, 
 And mountains, that like giants stand 
 To sentinel enchanted land." 
 
 But I knew he was disappointed in me. He was 
 still kind and full of information. He showed 
 me Ellen s Isle, and told me her story, for now 
 he had tapped my ignorance to its depths. But, 
 in his secret heart, I think he was debating 
 why Lionel had married me. So two of us are 
 now cogitating about the same matter, and per 
 haps even three. 
 
 When we got back a maid brought to my 
 room a copy of " The Lady of the Lake " in a 
 tartan cover, with her master s compliments. 
 And before going down to dinner I mean to 
 commit some of the opening verses to memory. 
 I want Uncle Sandy to love me. Soon, I fear, 
 he will begin to talk to me about Robert Bruce, 
 and the battle of Bannockburn, and Sir Walter 
 Scott and Robert Burns, the Massacre of Glen- 
 coe and Mary Queen of Scots. So will you send 
 me by return of post my History of Scotland? 
 I feel so glad I know a little about Steven 
 son and his works, and that his father or 
 grandfather built lighthouses useful thing to 
 
 189
 
 GWENDA 
 
 know that. I shall start on R. L. to-night, 
 and carelessly touch upon his beautiful re 
 quiem: "Under a wide and starry sky ..." 
 and that may put me straight over " The Lady 
 of the Lake." 
 
 Now for the guests. I have still a quarter 
 of an hour before Fanchette comes to worry me 
 with her endless talk of hair frames. She ac 
 tually brought one here an evil-looking thing 
 of hair, shaped like a bolster, and when I burnt 
 it real tears came to her eyes. I was sorry for 
 her distress, and it appeared she would have 
 liked it for herself, as her own was getting thin 
 in the middle and a new one cannot be procured 
 in the Trossachs and she is a bit eprise with 
 the Boots at the hotel half a mile away. I asked 
 her how she had become acquainted with him, 
 and she said she had met him in a cornfield 
 above Loch Achray. She was admiring the 
 moon and so was he; they were quite distant, 
 sitting against separate corncocks, when she 
 was suddenly bitten by an awful harvest bug 
 and set up a shrill scream as the creature was 
 running up her sleeve, and naturally the Boots 
 rushed across to help her to catch it, and when 
 they had run it to earth, he still more naturally 
 remained at her side to admire the moon with 
 
 190
 
 a W E N D A 
 
 her. " It is lonely," she added, " staring at the 
 moon by yourself, and Monsieur le Boots is a 
 most perfect gentleman, Madame." 
 
 So Fanchette will be contented to be here for 
 a little while, and will cease to moan at the 
 noise of the sheep and lambs at four o clock in 
 the morning. 
 
 A Mr. Colin Elder moans too at the noises 
 of the night, of the cry of wild birds flying over 
 the Loch. I mention him first because he is an 
 Art Student of great earnestness and immense 
 aspirations. Haven t you always imagined all 
 earnest Scotch students as embryo ministers 
 with kirks and manses ahead? I had, so this 
 Art one came as a surprise. He is much more 
 advanced than the Glasgow or any other school, 
 and believes that true Art is only to be found 
 in the North. I had but known him for five 
 minutes when he quoted something from Laf- 
 cadio Hearn; do all Scotch people quote on 
 every possible occasion? This is what he said: 
 
 " I do not wonder the South has produced 
 nothing of literary art. Its beautiful realities 
 fill the imagination to repletion. It is regret 
 and desire and the spirit of unrest that pro- 
 voketh poetry and romance. It is the North, 
 with its mists and fogs and its gloomy sky 
 
 191
 
 GWENDA 
 
 haunted by a fantastic and ever-changing pan 
 orama of clouds, which is the land of imagina 
 tion and poetry." 
 
 And I said : " Surely that refers to writing 
 only ? " And he closed his eyes and said, " I 
 do not agree with you. Art is always Art." 
 
 " But think of the painters of the South," I 
 persisted, and he refused to do anything of the 
 kind. 
 
 And when a man is very young and earnest 
 it is always best to let him have his own way. 
 He wears a soft unbleached linen shirt with a 
 turned-down collar, which exposes an extremely 
 large Adam s apple, and a Bernard Shaw tie 
 with long ends. Uncle Sandy admires him very 
 much, but confided to me that he was the de 
 spair of his father, a practical, rich man who 
 builds ships. 
 
 Miss Haddo is a very lively girl, with freckles 
 and blue eyes. I think she would be interested 
 in Colin Elder if he hadn t the misfortune to 
 hail from Glasgow. She herself is Edinburgh, 
 and it appears the capital city thinks very 
 meanly of the manufacturing one, and vice 
 versa. Isn t it funny? 
 
 Mr. Gow is a man with a dome-like head, very 
 bald and so bumpy that you feel you would like 
 
 102
 
 GWENDA 
 
 to iron it out. He says " Come away now," more 
 often than anything else, and slumbers imme 
 diately after dinner. 
 
 Mrs. Gow is interested in Scottish industries 
 and the manufacture of Harris tweeds. She 
 has certain weaknesses. If you so much as 
 refer in the most casual way to the author of 
 " The Unspeakable Scot," she swallows furi 
 ously and becomes purple in the face. 
 
 Uncle Sandy seems specially devoted and at 
 tentive to a dear old Aunt of his, who, you 
 know, would look sweet in a mutch. As it is 
 she wears a plaid shawl with a fringe, not so 
 becoming as your best pink one with bobs, 
 neither is she so pretty as you. 
 
 And this brings me up to Mr. and Mrs. Bran 
 son Americans, with whom Uncle Sandy 
 scraped acquaintance once at the Trossachs 
 hotel, on overhearing them say that in their 
 opinion Scott s monument was the finest in 
 Europe. Uncle Sandy strolls down to the hotel 
 once a day, immediately after the arrival of 
 the first coaches from Callander en route for 
 Loch Lomond. A handsome figure he cuts as 
 he walks along the road, beard and mustaches 
 flowing, tall, broad-shouldered, a Scot to his 
 finger tips. How he has restrained himself 
 
 193
 
 GWENDA 
 
 from wearing a kilt I cannot imagine. Osten 
 sibly he goes for a chat with the dear, old pro 
 prietress, Mrs. McDonald, but really to feast his 
 patriotic soul on the admiration expressed by 
 the visitors for the exquisite scenery spread 
 before them. He carelessly strolls about as they 
 stand in groups in front of the hotel and drinks 
 in all their expressions of praise. Later, at 
 lunch, he retails their remarks to his guests, 
 beaming with pride, and once when I ventured 
 to say that he might have had a hand in the 
 creation of his country, he replied, quite seri 
 ously, that if he had he couldn t have made a 
 better job of it. You would like Uncle Sandy 
 I know, Granty. His absolute simplicity, his 
 honesty and his kindness command your love 
 as well as your respect. I would like to kiss 
 him. I wonder whether he would think it a 
 liberty if I did. He holds my two hands in his 
 two immense ones when I bid him good-night, 
 and it would be so easy to put up my face to his 
 if I stood on tip-toe. 
 
 The Bransons are pleasant people, not too 
 twangy and not too tiresomely proud of the 
 U. S. A. He has a nanny-goat beard, just like 
 one of Winston Churchill s the American Win 
 ston Churchill judges. Mrs. Branson, what- 
 
 194
 
 GWENDA 
 
 ever the weather wears a mackintosh and rub 
 bers. I think her mean opinion of the Scotch 
 climate vexes Uncle Sandy, for he often refers 
 with sympathetic pity to the heat waves and 
 snow storms and blizzards of her country. 
 
 In this motely assemblage, I am at home and 
 as happy as I can be. But Lionel is bored un 
 utterably, I can see it in every line of his face, 
 in his irritation, in his wide yawns at night, 
 and I ask myself, why did he come? The shoot 
 ing is middling, the fishing bad for the season 
 has been so dry and the bridge worse. Could 
 he have come to this lovely country for my 
 sake f 
 
 August 30th. Granty, I am lonely, lonely. I 
 feel within me that all is over between us, and 
 yet I am still fighting. And why do I fight? 
 For I know that the battle is over, finished, 
 ended, and it is foolish to fight when one is 
 defeated. 
 
 Lionel said a few weeks back that his love 
 for me had been a brief unconsidered passion 
 of an hour. Perhaps it was kind to tell me this, 
 and at any rate he was straightforward one 
 hour, and I must accept the fact that my hour 
 is ended. It is hurting, deathly wounding to 
 
 195
 
 GWENDA 
 
 my pride, but must be faced, and I keep repeat 
 ing to myself: 
 
 "That moving Finger writes; And having writ; 
 Moves on : nor all thy Piety nor wit 
 Shall lure it back to cancel half a line, 
 Nor all thy tears wash out a word of it." 
 
 Those lines so fantastic, so deeply pathetic, 
 I say over and over again, whilst striving after 
 the philosophy and calm resignation of the 
 Persian poet of old. And perhaps some day I 
 shall attain them, and let them come soon, for 
 I am nearly broke, is the wish of your 
 
 GWENDA. 
 
 We scarcely speak to one another, or see 
 one another; and sometimes I find myself won 
 dering if I really am married. 
 
 196
 
 LETTER XI 
 
 GLENFINLAS HOUSE, THE 
 
 TROSSACHS, Sept. 4th. 
 MY DEAR GRANTY: 
 
 Two very pleasant things have come to pass 
 since I last wrote to you. Instantly you will 
 conjecture : " They have made up their quarrel. 
 They are friends once more." But no. My 
 husband is polite to me, fairly friendly, and 
 sometimes kind when Uncle Sandy is present, 
 for Uncle Sandy likes me, I believe I can now 
 repeat thirty verses of " The Lady of the Lake," 
 and have got up to the song : " Soldier, rest ! thy 
 warfare o er, Sleep the sleep that knows not 
 breaking " And our kiss is an accomplished 
 thing. I am not sure whether Uncle Sandy or 
 I made the first advance, I hope it was Uncle 
 Sandy. 
 
 No, Lionel and I are as far apart as the poles. 
 And while these miles and miles lie between us, 
 which I, alone, am unable to bridge, I must 
 learn to find my pleasure and peace in some 
 other quarter. 
 
 197
 
 GWENDA 
 
 And the first pleasant news I have to impart 
 is that September has arrived. And you will 
 reply, " So it has in Silvercombe. You haven t 
 got it all to yourself." But a September in 
 Silvercombe cannot hold a candle to a Septem 
 ber in the Trossachs. You will have the peace, 
 the mellow sunshine, the yellowing trees, the 
 dewy cobwebs, the hazy mists that this fairest of 
 the months brings ; but you haven t great sweeps 
 of purple heather on every side of you stretch 
 ing away into space, purple heather splashed 
 with the gold of the gorse, heather and gorse, 
 gorse and heather over which the little wild 
 bees hum from morning till night a carpet of 
 such colouring, of such texture, of such fragrant 
 sweetness that you hold your breath and tread 
 gently for fear that many of its beauties shall 
 escape you. You haven t the mournful blue lochs 
 and mountains, so serene, so quiet, so majestic 
 ally reposeful in the calm of these windless days. 
 The whole a symphony of purple and gold and 
 blue by day, and violet, and gray and silver 
 by night. Gray when the divine mist rises and 
 creeps along the edge of the lochs, and curls 
 around the mountains shrouding them in a va 
 porous garment ; violet when the night descends 
 and with it a touch of frost which clears away 
 
 198
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 the mist, and silver when the moon climbs up 
 into the sky and as with a magic wand touches 
 the cornfields above Loch Achray beloved of 
 Fanchette and Monsieur le Boots and the slim 
 trunks of the little birches standing spectre- 
 like at the end of the garden. 
 
 A fairy world, and yet so sad. So sad that 
 I stand at my window at night, and the tears 
 course down my cheeks as I watch the moon 
 beams playing hide and seek in the rushes and 
 across Benvenue and down in the valley, and I 
 listen to the heartbreaking cry of the snipe and 
 wild duck and other creatures of the night. And 
 I creep back to bed with cold feet, and some 
 times that pain, I had when with you last month, 
 visits me, a dull sickly pain, not sufficiently 
 acute to warrant my arousing Fanchette in the 
 next room, but sufficiently bad to render me 
 miserable and sleepless. What can it be? I 
 wonder, and try to put it from me as I lie and 
 think of you and old Hannah, and Uncle Sandy, 
 and the haunting beauty of this place. It must 
 be that I am depressed, for I never felt beauty 
 hurt before as it hurts here, and Mr. Peter 
 Drexel feels it in the same way. Oh, that is 
 my other pleasant bit of news, he and the Pren- 
 dergasts are staying at the hotel. The Prender- 
 
 199
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 gasts come every year, and Uncle Sandy knows 
 them quite well. Mr. Peter has come to fish, 
 because he cannot keep away from Scotland, he 
 says, once his holidays begin. He tries other 
 places, but always returns. 
 
 I am so glad they are here. Mrs. Prender- 
 gast is charming and amusing, and Mr. Peter 
 is so nice. I can find no other word to fit him. 
 Just nice, with his thin clever face and humour 
 ous gray eyes. Uncle Sandy called on them 
 soon after their arrival, and he told me that 
 they had expressed great pleasure on hearing 
 that I was staying at Glenfinlas. 
 
 "And did they mention Lionel?" I asked, 
 " and say they would be glad to see him? " My 
 heart beat a little quickly as I put the ques 
 tion, for instinctively I knew that Mr. Peter 
 disliked, if not hated, my husband. I saw it 
 in his eyes that night in the conservatory. I 
 noted the look of dismay, almost of horror, 
 which crept into his face on hearing that I 
 was Mrs. Lionel Conyngham, and the ab 
 rupt way in which he walked out as Lionel 
 walked in. 
 
 " They said nothing of the kind," replied 
 Uncle Sandy a little curtly, " in fact his name 
 was never mentioned. You seem to be the 
 
 200
 
 GWENDA 
 
 prime favourite. That Drexel chap fairly hung 
 on my words as I spoke of you." 
 
 " And did you say nice things ? " A little 
 thrill of pleasure ran through me on hearing 
 that anybody should care sufficiently about me 
 as to ask after me. I was beginning to feel 
 that only you loved me, Granty. 
 
 " Did I say nice things ? " He laughed, and 
 gave me one of his fatherly friendly pats : " I 
 am not going to tell you what I said Mrs. 
 Gwenda, for fear of turning your head." 
 
 " You could never do that," I cried, " be 
 cause " I stopped abruptly. In another sec 
 ond he would have known all, known of my 
 failure as a wife, known of my humiliating dis 
 covery that I could hold a man for one hour 
 one brief hour, and no longer. 
 
 "Well?" he queried. 
 
 "Because, because old Hannah, Granty s 
 old servant I stammered and floundered 
 about helplessly. 
 
 " Yes ? " his voice was gentle. I think he 
 noticed my embarrassment and wanted to help 
 me. " Old Hannah took advantage of her posi 
 tion as an old and valued servant and spoke 
 plainly ? " he suggested. 
 
 " That s it. She used to say horribly rude 
 201
 
 GWENDA 
 
 and unkind things. She once likened me to a 
 scarecrow that stood in a field at the back of 
 our garden. And another time she mentioned 
 that I resembled a clothes-prop. I certainly 
 was weedy in those days. But it was not my 
 appearance alone that excited her pity, but the 
 worthlessness of my character. She compared 
 me with every wicked and immoral person in 
 the Bible. One day it was Jael, and another 
 Ananias, and a third Lot s wife. Lot s wife 
 more frequently than any other ; and for years 
 I was in deadly terror that I should be turned 
 into a pillar of salt. She predicted I should 
 be, and I believed her until I was twelve years 
 of age." 
 
 "Poor little girl," muttered Uncle Sandy, 
 and then taking my hand in his, and without 
 looking at me, he said : " And now instead of 
 old Hannah s depressing observations, you 
 have your husband s adulation, eh! He says 
 all the pretty things, gives you all the admira 
 tion a nice wife deserves, is it not?" 
 
 And my answer seemed a long time in com 
 ing, and when it came I think it surprised Uncle 
 Sandy as much as it surprised me, for I said 
 " Yes." And a recording Angel entered up the 
 lie, and may have wept a little thereat. 
 
 202
 
 GWENDA 
 
 September 7th. I am having my breakfast 
 in bed, or supposed to be having it. A piece of 
 sole and an egg reposing on a tray look at me 
 invitingly. The egg wears a ridiculous flannel 
 cock s head (with an embroidered red comb 
 and eye), presumably to keep it warm, but 
 neither an egg hot or cold nor a piece of sole 
 tempt my appetite. I am what is called not 
 well. Nothing the matter with me really, just 
 poorly and tired and disinclined to get up. Dis 
 inclined to do anything but write to you, and 
 it doesn t seem like writing, for all the time I 
 feel you are sitting close to me, and I am just 
 talking, talking as I used to talk in the old days, 
 and you, with a smile on your face, listening to 
 your little girl. 
 
 Are you tired of listening to me, Granty 
 dear? I hope you are not, for this unburden 
 ing of my soul to you is what keeps me going. 
 I am one of those poor creatures who cannot 
 stand alone. If I fall and hurt myself I want 
 somebody Granty for choice to help me up 
 and rub the sore places. If I weep, I want 
 somebody to wipe away the tears, if I laugh I 
 want the world to laugh with me. I have no 
 strength of character, I am not self-reliant. 
 
 Why are you tired and poorly? you will ask. 
 203
 
 GWENDA 
 
 Or are you really only lazy? Perhaps a little 
 of both. But what makes me lazy? I never 
 used to be like this. There was a time when 
 you tied me into a chair to keep me still. Later, 
 you bribed me with all sorts of nice things if 
 I would remain quiet for half an hour. You 
 likened me to a piece of quicksilver. I couldn t 
 stay in bed after six o clock on lovely summer 
 and autumn mornings. Now my heart sinks 
 when I hear Fanchette knocking at the door. 
 And I have had that pain again, and am begin 
 ning to get frightened. It came on last even 
 ing. The Prendergasts invited us, Lionel and 
 me, to dine with them at their hotel. I sug 
 gested that we should walk. I don t want to 
 miss a moment of out of doors while we are 
 here. Soon we shall be returning to Town. 
 Uncle Sandy invited us for a fortnight, and 
 that is already up. Now he says we must stay 
 another week, and I was amazed when Lionel 
 said that we should be very pleased. " We 
 might as well be bored here as well as anywhere 
 else," he explained to me afterward. " Town 
 will still be pretty empty, and the watering 
 places abroad at this time of the year are 
 rotten." And I am only too contented that he 
 should will it so. 
 
 204
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 He was much against accepting the Prender- 
 gasts invitation for last night. He doesn t 
 like Mrs. Prendergast. He says she appears to 
 be always making fun of a chap, and as for her 
 beastly brother, why couldn t he stop at home 
 raking in fees from credulous patients and 
 fleecing people of a hundred guineas for opera 
 tions that were not necessary. 
 
 " How dare you say such things ? You know 
 they are not true," I cried. " And surely Mr. 
 Drexel deserves a holiday more than most peo 
 ple. He looks tired, and thin, and worn. The 
 man is nearly worked to death, Mrs. Prender 
 gast says, and Scotland is the only country 
 that soothes his tired nerves and mind, and 
 at the same time braces up his body. Don t 
 go to-night if you prefer remaining at home. 
 I shan t object, in fact I should like to go 
 alone." 
 
 And he stared at me in such blank amazement 
 that, though I was angry, I had much ado to 
 keep from laughing. 
 
 But he went. Why I am unable to say. Cer 
 tainly not to please me. Possibly from con 
 trariness, because I said I didn t want him 
 to go. 
 
 The evening was beautiful. A little mist 
 205
 
 GWENDA 
 
 hung over the mountains and crept along the 
 valley; a soft gray mist that did not conceal 
 but rendered more lovely the rugged mass of 
 Benvenue. Loch Achray gleamed palely from 
 its encircling reeds and rushes. The only sounds 
 that broke the stillness were the munching of 
 the cows and sheep in the meadows, and the 
 boom of the big flying moths, and the ever re 
 curring cry of the water fowl. 
 
 And as we walked side by side talking com 
 mon-places in indifferent non-committal voices, 
 suddenly a great sadness overwhelmed me. My 
 anger had gone, only a great longing swept 
 through me that Lionel should take me in his 
 arms as of old and hold me to his breast, that 
 all the misunderstanding and indifference that 
 had arisen between us should be wiped out. 
 That he would be honest with me, and tell me 
 through what cause had I lost his affection, 
 and what I could do to regain it. " Lionel," I 
 cried on a sudden impulse, " I " then the 
 words I had meant to say died on my lips. Rea 
 son swiftly forbade me to plead with him. 
 " That is not the way," it whispered. " No man 
 was ever won by tears and entreaties. They 
 vex and irritate him. Be proud and indifferent. 
 That is your only chance." 
 
 206
 
 GWENDA 
 
 " Yes f " He was looking at me, waiting for 
 me to continue. 
 
 " Oh nothing," I stammered. " Isn t, isn t 
 the evening lovely! " 
 
 " Not particularly. I don t like these misty 
 nights," he returned. "But," he looked at me 
 searchingly, " I suppose the near prospect of 
 meeting Peter Drexel makes everything couleur 
 de rose." 
 
 I turned and regarded him in surprise. 
 " Perhaps," I said indifferently. " I like Mr. 
 Drexel better than I like a great many people, 
 you know." 
 
 " That is only too apparent," he said with 
 a sneer. 
 
 " In what way?" 
 
 " In every way." 
 
 " I am glad if that is so, for when you like 
 people I think it is nice to let them know it," 
 I said quietly. 
 
 " It is not nice when a man is single and a 
 woman is married. The man might expect too 
 much." 
 
 "How dare you?" I cried furiously. "Be 
 cause you are my husband, it does not give you 
 the right to insult me." 
 
 " I am your husband, as you say, and it does 
 207
 
 GWENDA 
 
 give me the right to warn you. You went fish 
 ing yesterday with Drexel from eleven in the 
 morning till five in the evening." He hit sav 
 agely at a thistle. 
 
 " And it was the pleasantest day I have spent 
 for months. Mr. Drexel is kind and a gentle 
 man. That you appear to forget. The Pren- 
 dergasts, who were with us, and that you also 
 appear to have forgotten or perhaps you did 
 not know, are amusing and sympathetic com 
 panions, and also kind beyond words. They 
 thought I looked ill. They were anxious to give 
 me a pleasant day on the lake you were shoot 
 ing. I only hope they will ask me again. I 
 I I had to stop because my voice was break 
 ing, and suddenly I went sick and ill. Stum 
 bling to a bank I sat down, and fought against 
 the nausea and pain which was overtaking me. 
 
 "What is the matter? " he asked. 
 
 I shook my head. " I don t know. I have had 
 a good deal of pain lately and I don t know 
 what it is. It will pass soon for this is not a 
 severe attack," I replied. 
 
 "Pain?" He looked at me incredulously. 
 " How long have you had it? " 
 
 " All through the summer very slightly, but 
 nothing worth speaking of, more uneasiness 
 
 208
 
 GWENDA 
 
 than anything else. But at Granty s I had a 
 rather severe attack, and I have had two or 
 three here. That is all." I spoke a little curtly, 
 for I was too hurt and angry with him to wish 
 to excite or receive his sympathy. 
 
 " It can t be anything very bad or you 
 wouldn t be about. Women give in so quickly." 
 
 " No, it s not very bad, and I shall be ready 
 in a minute or two to go on. And I do not 
 agree with you that women give in quickly. I 
 think they have wonderful powers of endur 
 ance," I said. 
 
 " Would you like to go back ? And I will go 
 on and explain," he grumbled. 
 
 " I wouldn t miss this evening for worlds," 
 I returned. " I have looked forward to it for 
 twenty-four hours." Perhaps I said this from 
 maliciousness. But, as you know, I am a very 
 human girl and I felt miserable and ill. 
 
 I was foolish to go on, but somehow I dreaded 
 going to bed and being alone with my own 
 bitter thoughts. I longed to be in the Prender- 
 gasts and Mr. Peter s cheerful society, to hear 
 their talk and gay laughter, to listen to their 
 conversation of books and places, politics and 
 poetry. They spoke of other things besides 
 people, entertainments and games what you 
 
 209
 
 GWENDA 
 
 and I used to call " the beyond things," which 
 are so infinitely more interesting. It may not 
 bring one any nearer to the solving of the riddle 
 of the universe whence we came and where we 
 are going to conjecture about it, but it is a 
 more absorbing topic of conversation than a 
 football match, or than that Mrs. FitzSimmons 
 has gone in for a new shade of auburn hair for 
 the approaching Season. 
 
 So I struggled on, and, if on our arrival they 
 noticed that I looked seedy and I am afraid 
 I did, for as we passed from the lounge, with its 
 tall mirrors, to the diningroom, I caught sight 
 of the reflection of my own white face they 
 said nothing. Only unkind people reflect on 
 your appearance when you are not at your 
 best, and women, I am afraid, are the worst 
 offenders in this respect. 
 
 The diningroom at the Trossachs hotel alone 
 brought me pleasure, for the windows are like 
 stained church windows, gothic in shape, and 
 the walls and candle shades were a soft red, 
 and on each small table a blue campanula in a 
 hammered silver pot, graceful and tall reared 
 itself almost to the ceiling. Imagine the effect 
 of about twenty blue campanulas doing this, 
 each one seeming anxious to outstrip the other. 
 
 210
 
 GWENDA 
 
 Old Mrs. McDonald must be an extremely clever 
 manager. 
 
 The dinner was good and well served, but I 
 had little appetite. All I desired was a basin 
 of bread and milk, and, naturally, I didn t ask 
 for it. Lionel had recovered his temper and 
 was in good form. He looked unusually hand 
 some, and I found my eyes resting on his face 
 with a curious sort of satisfaction. "Whatever 
 else he may be, he is a good-looking animal, and 
 with my sensuous love for anything that is 
 beautiful it always gives me pleasure to watch 
 him. I like looking at a magnificent lion, or 
 the graceful lithe beauty of a tiger, but I don t 
 love them. And so I like watching Lionel, and 
 do I love him! I asked myself this question 
 as I played with a bit of grouse, and for the 
 first time since I knew him I could find no an 
 swer. Before I had always been able to say 
 Yes, but last night I found it impossible. And 
 so I may be nearer to happiness than I imagine. 
 If you don t love a man, you don t care tuppence 
 about his indifference to you. There is that 
 satisfaction. 
 
 I turned from him to Mr. Peter and uncon 
 sciously fell to watching the latter. What a 
 contrast were the two men. The one hand- 
 
 211
 
 GWENDA 
 
 some, animal ; the other plain, intellectual. 
 Mr. Peter has no good features but his kindly 
 humourous eyes; his mouth is wide, his nose 
 long, his hair nondescript in colour, but he has a 
 strong, good, clever face and an arresting per 
 sonality. 
 
 Granty, it gives me great satisfaction when 
 I reflect how much more sensible and clear 
 headed you are than any other woman in the 
 world. A fool woman would say that I was 
 falling in love with Mr. Peter Drexel, and a 
 man without much understanding of a woman s 
 character would probably say likewise. But 
 you do not say and imagine absurd improbabil 
 ities. You know that it is only a few months 
 since I gave my love and myself, every bit of 
 me body and soul to another man s keep 
 ing. And because he doesn t want me now, 
 has no further use for me, I am in no mood 
 to offer myself to anybody else. Before I 
 could contemplate such an eventuality, my 
 wounds would have to be quite healed, the sore 
 ness gone from my spirit, and I quite ready to 
 start afresh. 
 
 Fanchette is here. "Will I get up, or will I 
 not? she asks. The hour is late. Soon lunch 
 will be ready, and Mr. McAlister keeps asking 
 
 212
 
 GWENDA 
 
 for me. Yes, I will get up if Fanchette gives 
 a faithful promise that she will not try to make 
 me wear a new pair of corsets which might 
 have been fashioned from unbendable or un 
 breakable bamboo not iron, because that has 
 been known to bend under pressure. Nor a 
 new gown, nor new slippers, nor a new way of 
 doing my hair, nor new anything, because I 
 want to be old to-day, old and comfortable in 
 loose garments and no figure. With few hair 
 pins in my head, and no bones anywhere but 
 my own. Would it be possible to wear a tea- 
 gown? Yes, Fanchette assures me. Every 
 body out to lunch but Mr. McAlister and the 
 old lady with the shawl, and neither of them can 
 see properly. 
 
 "Not see?" I said in surprise. 
 
 And Fanchette explained that as they both 
 must be nearly sixty she didn t imagine that 
 they could see very well. 
 
 Still September 7th. I am alone in my bed 
 room. Fanchette has brushed my hair and 
 fixed me up for the night and gone to bed. A 
 bright little fire burns on the hearth, for these 
 nights are chilly and damp. I hold my feet, 
 which are like ice, to the glowing warmth, and 
 
 213
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 my head, which is like fire, I lean against the 
 cold marble of the mantelpiece. 
 
 Downstairs, away in the library, Lionel, in 
 a softly shaded light, is making love to Lady 
 Eivers. She is in white, and is looking excep 
 tionally lovely. 
 
 Fanchette made me some cocoa before she left 
 me and it is gently simmering on the hob. Only 
 my bodily discomfort seems to affect me to 
 night. I feel much keener at this moment on a 
 cup of cocoa than on Lionel. In fact, if I had 
 to make my choice between the two, I should 
 certainly choose the cocoa. It may be that 
 mentally you can only suffer up to a certain 
 point, then the body begins to assert itself. 
 
 You see how simple was the answer to my 
 question: What made Lionel come to Glenfin- 
 las I To humiliate me. Once in fight I worsted 
 him. Afterward I said I was sorry, but he ap 
 parently never forgives. And the cold venge 
 ance of this man, who is my husband, frightens 
 me. 
 
 It happened this way: We were having tea 
 in the hall when Lady Eivers arrived. The 
 Prendergasts and Mr. Peter were with us. The 
 hall was cosy with lamplight and firelight. 
 Everybody was laughing and chatting, and 
 
 214
 
 GWENDA 
 
 Uncle Sandy unusually entertaining. Lionel was 
 seated near to me on an old settle, and suddenly 
 he took my hand. I cannot describe to you my 
 se nsations at this simple action. It was so un 
 expected. The colour rushed to my face, and 
 my heart began to beat in a mad tumult of 
 doubt and pleasure, but chiefly doubt. It was 
 an accident I told myself, he was unconscious 
 of what he was doing; but, no, he looked into 
 my eyes and pressed my hand. There could be 
 no mistake. And then like a silly fool, I gave 
 myself up to the pleasure of the moment. All 
 my anger, and hurt pride, and bitterness, van 
 ished in a flash. He had come back to me, he 
 still loved me. Everything was forgiven and 
 forgotten. My hand was in his, that was suffi 
 cient. In my idiotic delight I smiled across the 
 room at Mrs. Prendergast. Everybody must 
 have witnessed my pleasure and pride, but I 
 cared not. Lionel, my husband, had returned 
 to me, and while I was still smiling like an 
 easily pleased infant, the walls of my new-found 
 joy tumbled about my ears with a crash, leav 
 ing me sick from the shock as Lady Rivers 
 walked smilingly into the room. 
 
 The absolute refinement and subtilty of my 
 husband s revenge almost calls forth my ad- 
 
 215
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 miration. It was so cunningly planned, the 
 anti-climax so complete. Only a master-hand 
 at cruelty could have evolved it. 
 
 Poor Uncle Sandy, dear simple Uncle Sandy, 
 and stupid unsuspicious Gwenda! She was 
 wondering in her last letter to you how her hus 
 band could support the dulness and loneliness 
 of such an isolated quiet place as Glenfinlas. 
 She even suggested the possibility of its being 
 done for her sake! She had almost forgotten 
 the existence of such a person as Lady Elvers. 
 It never entered into her wildest calculations 
 that such a person might descend upon Glen 
 finlas, and that kind Uncle Sandy should be 
 duped into sending her a pressing invitation 
 to visit him. If Lady Rivers was a friend of 
 Nephew Lionel and Mrs. Gwenda, and was 
 stranded with nowhere to go house in town 
 in the decorator s hands, visit to country house 
 to her dearest friends upset at the last hour 
 owing to a visitation of measles to her dearest 
 friend s children why, of course, she must 
 come to Glenfinlas. The house was large, some 
 of the guests were leaving, beauty in distress 
 always touched his kindly old heart. And cer 
 tainly it should be kept a secret from Mrs. 
 Gwenda if Lionel wished it. It would be a 
 
 216
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 pleasant surprise to her when she was so poorly 
 and tired, etc., etc. 
 
 And the surprise was so great, the shock 
 of it, that in the first moment my senses reeled 
 and I feared I should break down, and then 
 somehow, Granty, I pulled myself together, 
 strength came to me, and I rose to the occasion. 
 How I did it I shall never know. Lionel s eyes 
 were upon me. Lady Eivers stood in front of 
 me a daintily gloved hand was held out to 
 mine, Uncle Sandy was looking at me happily 
 triumphant, I was conscious that the Prender- 
 gasts and Mr. Peter were watching me curi 
 ously, and then I spoke calmly and with great 
 clearness, and without a break in my voice: 
 " Uncle Sandy will you introduce me to this 
 lady? I don t know her in Town, but here 
 she is your guest." 
 
 And while he murmured our names, amaze 
 ment and stupefaction written on every line of 
 his dear face, I met her eyes fearlessly, un 
 flinchingly, a little smile on my lips, a gracious 
 condescension in my bearing. Then motioning 
 her to a seat at my side, and with a pleasant 
 look at Lionel, I hoped she had had a comfort 
 able journey and had enjoyed the drive from 
 Callander, and how she must be longing for 
 
 217
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 some tea. And as I spoke it seemed to me that 
 the tension of the room relaxed. Mr. Peter, 
 who had been standing, sat down. Mrs. Pren- 
 dergast helped herself to a piece of scone, and 
 Uncle Sandy, forgetting to introduce her to 
 his other guests, took a very long drink of tea. 
 Only Lionel sat immovable. The blank aston 
 ishment of his countenance, as I had spoken, 
 had given way to one of gloom and anger. His 
 carefully arranged little game, his plan of at 
 tack, had received a check. It was his turn to 
 make the next move for my complete humilia 
 tion and undoing. Should I be able to say 
 checkmate I 
 
 Dear one, am I cruel to write to you thus? 
 Are you fretting for me, shedding tears for me, 
 thinking of me through the long hours of the 
 night? Because don t. I am not weeping. My 
 heart feels like a stone. I hardly care. To 
 night I am hating Lionel, so that is better. 
 When you have arrived at hating a person you 
 have loved, you are on the fair road to recovery. 
 It gives me no pain to think at this moment of 
 those two in the library. If Lady Rivers is 
 clasped in my husband s arms I would not be 
 in her place. Would not have her fair foul 
 body, and still fouler mind. She is beautiful, 
 
 218
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 and I am not. Her hair is warm red gold, and 
 mine is the same old brown. Her skin is daz- 
 zlingiy fair and her eyes bright, mine are dull 
 with suffering not suffering of the mind, but 
 of the body. We think nothing can be worse 
 than the pain of our souls till our bodies begin 
 to hurt, then we tell another story. Write to 
 me soon Granty. Send me one of your cheerful, 
 wise, practical letters. Say no bad things of 
 Lionel for that will be no help to me. I can 
 say them myself, think them myself. But tell 
 me what I am to do in the future. What work 
 I shall take up, how I shall learn to support 
 myself. I shall leave Lionel as soon as we re 
 turn to Town. That, of course, you will under 
 stand without my telling you. You know my 
 views on the subject. To me it is the most 
 degrading thing in life for a woman to continue 
 to live with a man, to be kept by a man, when 
 he has ceased to love her only love makes 
 matrimony holy And there is only one ex 
 cuse for a woman when she remains in such 
 a position, one excuse only, and that is if there 
 are any children. For the children she will 
 make any sacrifice, face any misery and humil 
 ity that may be put upon her. For the children 
 she will find strength to live her life. But 
 
 219
 
 where there are no children and she still re 
 mains simply to be " kept," when she bows her 
 head to a daily portion of insults and hard 
 words, when she cannot find the strength to 
 face the laughter or jeers and pity of her 
 friends for her unsuccess and dismal failure as 
 a wife for the world always blames the wom 
 an then, I say, she has sunk to great depths 
 of degradation. 
 
 I should leave Lionel now, go back to London 
 to-morrow, but for bringing sorrow to Uncle 
 Sandy. I don t want him to know of the failure 
 of our marriage before I can help it. It will 
 grieve him beyond words, and that I should 
 take such a step in his house would prove me 
 lacking in all consideration, not to mention af 
 fection for him. 
 
 Will you think I am giving in too soon? Say 
 that I should have tried a little longer. That 
 I have no patience and courage, that I am a 
 feeble knock-kneed creature? 
 
 Granty, I would have tried till the breath left 
 my body, my patience should never have been 
 exhausted, had I felt that there was the slight 
 est chance or one ray of hope for me. But I 
 know there isn t not the very slightest. For 
 days, weeks, I have been watching, studying my 
 
 220
 
 GWENDA 
 
 husband, searching for the weak places in the 
 armour of his cold indifference, but have found 
 none. Other husbands have their little mo 
 ments of tenderness I have detected them in 
 them. Mr. Branson spoke irritably the other 
 day to his wife, a few minutes later he put 
 a footstool to her feet, and laid his hand 
 for a second on her shoulder. She smiled and 
 thanked him, and I caught the look of under 
 standing between them, and they have been 
 married for twenty years. Mr. Prendergast, 
 much as he adores his wife, growled because she 
 had forgotten to see that his fly book had been 
 packed. She expressed great penitence for her 
 carelessness, scolded herself for her forgetful- 
 ness, suggested sending a wire for it at once, 
 and still he growled. Later on it was found at 
 the bottom of a trunk, but long before that I 
 had seen him fetching her her salts as she was 
 suffering from a headache, and fussing round 
 her like an old hen. My eyes are blinded with 
 tears as I speak of these things. I think if 
 Lionel had shown me just a little kindness and 
 attention, just loved me ever so little, I would 
 have bartered my soul in the next life for him. 
 He could have stormed at me till he was black 
 in the face one minute, if he would have kissed 
 
 221
 
 me the next. I would have always forgiven. 
 We women know it is only men s little way 
 when they storm, and we are always ready to 
 forgive. But now it is too late. I neither want 
 my husband s love nor his kisses. I should 
 feel polluted were he to offer them to me. All 
 I desire is to get away from him. To hide in 
 some hole, to pass out of his life for ever and 
 ever. 
 All my love, from your own sorrowful 
 
 GWENDA. 
 
 222
 
 LETTER XII 
 
 GLENFINLAS HOUSE, THE 
 TROSSACHS, Sept. 14th. 
 MY DEAB GRANTY : 
 
 For the first time in my life I have been in 
 the fashion! 
 
 Empire curls running all over your head like 
 " Maud s," you conjecture. 
 
 Wrong. My hair at this moment is in two 
 pigtails, and not very tidy at that. 
 
 A Directoire frock, in which you can only 
 stand, not sit? 
 
 Still wrong. 
 
 A hat so large that you have always to re 
 move it before getting into a cab? 
 
 What do you take me for? 
 
 You are learning to dance a cotillion? 
 
 Granty, I am nearly always in pain. 
 
 You have begun to smoke Egyptian cigarettes 
 and drink brandies and sodas? 
 
 I might like to, but shouldn t be allowed. 
 
 You are not quick or clever this time mine 
 Great Aunt. I thought you would have guessed 
 
 223
 
 GWENDA 
 
 at once. I am just recovering from a sharp at 
 tack of appendicitis. Royalty, nor the smartest 
 of the smart set could go one better. And this 
 is the explanation of all the pain and nausea 
 which had become so constant of late. 
 
 And I have enjoyed it. I don t mean the 
 pain, but the being tucked away in bed where I 
 could hide my hurt from the curious eyes of 
 the world. Where I could just lie with my own 
 eyes shut, no need to speak or smile or be agree 
 able, or play a part which in its difficulty had 
 become almost hellish the role of not caring 
 not caring that your husband and another 
 woman were making love to each other in front 
 of your very eyes. Of smiling upon them when 
 you could hardly suppress the cry of anguish 
 which rose to your lips, of sympathising with 
 them and almost assisting them in their assig 
 nations. Of being sisterly in your bearing to 
 ward the woman, and motherly in your gentle 
 kindness toward the man. 
 
 Granty, it was so difficult that I was near to 
 breaking down a score of times, but God or the 
 devil helped me ; and always I remembered the 
 words of your last letter : " Belinda Ann never 
 let them know her suffering. Her pride to her 
 was as a coat of mail to a warrior. It helped 
 
 224
 
 GWENDA 
 
 her to smile upon them when one less armed 
 would have wept. The lovers looked at each 
 other in surprise. Either this woman is a 
 fool or she doesn t care, they said. And in 
 their secret hearts they thought it was the last, 
 and somehow the savour went out of their love- 
 making, and they felt small and childish in the 
 presence of Belinda Ann. And she, though 
 deeply wretched, hugged one small consolation 
 to her heart, she had preserved her dignity and 
 her pride. She had never pleaded with them, 
 never puled or whined, and in the end she ar 
 rived at peace." 
 
 And in the end she arrived at peace ! Those 
 words were prophetic, and they have come true 
 in one sense of their meaning, for I have had 
 the peace of a sick room these last few days, the 
 gentle dropping of the cinders on the hearth, 
 the subdued voices of attendants and nurse, and 
 the hush of their walk as they cross the room 
 to open a window. And, in addition, I have 
 been surrounded with all the loving care of 
 three people, and you will guess their names: 
 Uncle Sandy, Mrs. Prendergast and Mr. Peter 
 Drexel. Was your Belinda Ann as fortunate? 
 
 Matters came to a crisis, or I should say my 
 illness did, when I was out one day with Uncle 
 
 225
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 Sandy in the dogcart. He had driven me along 
 the banks of Loch Vennachar such a glorious 
 drive. I felt ill when we started, but he was so 
 wishful that I should go I had declaimed five 
 more verses of " The Lady of the Lake " the 
 previous evening, and this drive, I knew, was 
 meant as a sort of reward that I could not 
 find it in my heart to say No. All went well at 
 first, then gradually the horrid pain began to 
 attack me dully at the beginning, and I was 
 able to enthuse with Uncle Sandy about the 
 loveliness spread before us; the light on the 
 yellow leaves of the birch trees, and the loch 
 which lay like a sapphire gem in an amethyst 
 setting of heather. 
 
 But, presently, it became so severe that I 
 was obliged to tell him. 
 
 " 111 ! " he cried pulling up the horse so ab 
 ruptly that I was nearly shot out of the cart. 
 " My darling, why ever didn t you say so be 
 fore? What is the matter?" 
 
 " I don t know," I said, smiling at his con 
 sternation. " I am in great pain. It s noth 
 ing I mean nothing serious, but it hurts a lot. 
 Oh ! " I checked a groan, " If you drive quickly, 
 I shall be able to hold out." 
 
 And Uncle Sandy did drive quickly. We 
 226
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 should have been run in if we had been seen by 
 a policeman. We simply swept along the roads 
 perplexity and distress written on every line 
 of his dear face. 
 
 " It s all right," I whispered, as we just 
 grazed a corner. " I ve had it before. I m not 
 going to die." 
 
 "Had it before? Does Lionel know?" he 
 asked. 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 He knit his brows and swore beneath his 
 breath. 
 
 " And he has not made you see a doctor? " 
 
 " We are so far away from one out here." 
 
 " There is Drexel." 
 
 " Lionel thought it might be indigestion." 
 
 " And he had no right to think it was indiges 
 tion," shouted Uncle Sandy. "What does he 
 know about indigestion? He knows as much 
 about it, I expect, as I know of sleeping sick 
 ness damned idiot ! Oh, my dear, you are not 
 going to faint. I ve no brandy don t faint. 
 One minute longer, Gwenda, one minute we re 
 nearly there." 
 
 " Y-es," I said, and as we tore up the drive 
 to the front door I lost consciousness. 
 
 And Mr. Peter has attended me, and he and 
 227
 
 GWENDA 
 
 Mrs. Prendergast and Uncle Sandy have helped 
 to nurse me, looked after me, sat with me, read 
 to me, talked to me. Heaped flowers upon my 
 table, and told me funny stories. Done every 
 thing in their power to liven my days and make 
 me forget that downstairs, or out on the moors, 
 Lionel has been making love to Lady Rivers, 
 or Lady Eivers making love to Lionel, it doesn t 
 matter which. And almost have they succeeded 
 in their efforts, so contented and happy have 
 I been with these three friends. I have listened 
 with amused pleasure to Mrs. Prendergast s 
 quaint and witty conversation. I have laughed 
 at Uncle Sandy and his Scotch sayings few of 
 which I have understood, but to look at Uncle 
 Sandy is to laugh when you are in the mood; 
 and I have talked to Mr. Peter what about I 
 am unable to say, but he has seemed to like to 
 listen to me, and when I have been too tired to 
 say another word, he suddenly recollects he is 
 my medical adviser, and not only scolds himself 
 but scolds me, which I tell him is mean. 
 
 This attack has given way to treatment and 
 I don t wonder! The toughest appendicitis 
 would surely yield to such boiling poultices and 
 fomentations and hot stoops. I feel like a 
 scalded rabbit. Mr. Peter says he has rarely 
 
 228
 
 GWENDA 
 
 seen anyone so tiresome about taking medicine, 
 and while I am struggling with a dose he piously 
 tells me of all the patients he has seen in hos 
 pital and out, swallowing disagreeable draughts 
 as I should swallow strawberries and cream. 
 And that if I don t get well soon of this, or 
 ever have another attack so severe, nothing but 
 an operation lies before me. 
 
 He has just come into the room and caught 
 me writing. Professional disapproval has set 
 tled upon his countenance like a cloak, and I 
 have smiled at him ingratiatingly. 
 
 " It s only to Granty," I plead. 
 
 " Put it away," sternly. 
 
 " May I just add that I am much better and 
 there is no cause for anxiety, that sounds so 
 nice and medical ? " 
 
 " Put it away." 
 
 " May I tell her that she is not to rush from 
 Devonshire to Glenfinlas like a streak of light 
 ning, as really there is no need? For I am so 
 much better that I feel I could write 
 
 "Put it away." He shouted this time, I re 
 gret to say. So I must put it. 
 
 Good-bye for the present, 
 
 Your loving 
 
 GWENDA. 
 229
 
 LETTER XIII 
 
 GLENFINLAS HOUSE, THE 
 TROSSACHS, Sept. 18th. 
 MY DEAR GBANTY: 
 
 Lionel has gone. He left last evening in a 
 white heat of passion not with me, but with 
 Uncle Sandy, and if I write very quickly I may 
 be able to tell you all before Mr. Peter catches 
 me. I feel so frightfully well to-day that it can 
 not do any harm. I am supposed to be sleeping 
 now they order me to sleep each afternoon 
 from three to four, then they Mrs. Prender- 
 gast, Uncle Sandy, and Mr. Peter come and 
 have tea with me, so I have a whole hour to 
 myself. 
 
 Uncle Sandy came to me last evening about 
 six o clock, and asked me if I felt equal to hav 
 ing a little chat. 
 
 " Indeed, yes," I replied. " I love chatting 
 with you, and I want to hear more about Rod 
 erick Dhu." 
 
 " Not to-day," he said, though a pleased look 
 came to his face, " I want to talk about some- 
 
 230
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 thing else I I want to ask you a question- 
 He sat down in front of the fire and curled one 
 long leg around the other. 
 
 "Well!" I said. 
 
 " Oh, do you like Lady Rivers I " he asked 
 abruptly. 
 
 " Not at all," I replied. 
 
 " I understood from Lionel that she was a 
 great friend of yours." 
 
 I moved my pillow uneasily. It is difficult to 
 tell a person that your husband is a liar. 
 
 " It was a mistake," I said, " she is not a 
 friend of mine." 
 
 " And it wasn t a pleasant surprise to you 
 when she came, not the pleasant surprise I had 
 hoped for?" 
 
 " It was a very disagreeable shock." 
 
 " Ah," he uncurled his legs. " Gwenda, I I 
 want to ask you something that you may deem 
 an impertinence, and and I don t want to 
 offend or hurt you, but " he knit his brow, and 
 walking to the window stared out into the gath 
 ering darkness. 
 
 " I will tell you anything you want to know, 
 Uncle Sandy," I said softly, " and I am sure 
 you couldn t be impertinent if you tried." 
 
 " Thank you, my dear," he said, " that is kind 
 231
 
 GWENDA 
 
 of you. It s about Lionel. He doesn t come 
 much to see you. Is there anything wrong ? Is 
 all well between you and your husband ! " 
 
 " The night before I was taken ill," I said 
 slowly, " I saw Lady Eivers in Lionel s arms. 
 They did not see me." 
 
 He started violently. Then coming to the 
 side of my bed, he knelt and took my hand 
 in his. 
 
 " Do you want to know any more I " I asked. 
 
 " Only this. Lionel loved you once when he 
 married you." 
 
 I shook my head. " He thought he did, and 
 so I thought, but I find he is incapable of it. 
 He thinks now that he loves Lady Rivers, but 
 he doesn t. He wanted to revenge himself upon 
 me when he induced you to ask her here. And 
 she amuses him, and she is very beautiful, and 
 so he imagines that he has a beautiful affection 
 for her. But it is not so. The first time she 
 crosses him in anything he has set his heart 
 upon, she will go to the wall too. Sometimes, 
 Uncle Sandy, I think Lionel isn t quite a normal 
 person, that there is some kink in his brain 
 which has dwarfed his moral sense. He is 
 cruel. Haven t you noticed it? " 
 
 Uncle Sandy bowed his head. 
 232
 
 GWENDA 
 
 " I watched him fish a week or two ago. I 
 watched him kill the fish he caught, it was not 
 done humanely, and as one poor little chap 
 jumped about the boat in its agony, I saw him 
 smile. I turned on him in a fury, You can 
 smile, I shouted, at witnessing the death 
 struggle of a poor little creature that has done 
 you no harm. And even Lady Rivers had the 
 decency to call him a brute." 
 
 " And that woman, does she love your hus 
 band?" 
 
 I laughed at the simplicity of his question. 
 
 " Does she look as though she loved him? If 
 she did, I could find it in my heart to be sorry 
 for her. Love when it is disinterested is always 
 worthy of admiration, but she is only vain 
 vain and selfish to the heart s core. It flatters 
 her vanity to see another woman s husband at 
 her feet, it pleases her senses, it gives her a 
 feeling of satisfaction to see him kneeling there, 
 and it gratifies her when she reflects upon the 
 suffering of that other woman. Love each 
 other, Uncle Sandy ! They are only playing 
 at it, or else I am very much mistaken." 
 
 Perhaps I spoke bitterly, though I tried hard 
 to make my voice careless, but Uncle Sandy 
 rose without a word and quietly left the room. 
 
 233
 
 GWENDA 
 
 An hour later I heard a carriage drive away, 
 and a little while after he came into the room. 
 
 " I have cleared that woman off," he said 
 briefly. His usual ruddy face was pale and his 
 hands shook from emotion. 
 
 "Lady Elvers t w 
 
 " Yes, Lady Rivers. She was in the library 
 with Lionel. I opened the door suddenly. Her 
 head wasn t actually on his shoulder, but pretty 
 near it. Then I let fly. I hardly know what I 
 said, but it was pretty bad not much varnish 
 about it. I told her what I thought of her. 
 Such women as you/ I thundered, vain, self 
 ish, cruel yes, cruel for while you are in 
 dulging in your flirtations, another woman is in 
 deathly pain, are worse than the women on the 
 streets. They are princesses by you. There is 
 a certain amount of loyalty and fairness to each 
 other among them. They do not deliberately 
 set out to win a man who is already bespoken. 
 While, as for you, I can find no word to fit you. 
 For a week I have been watching you. You 
 thought I was a blind old fool, but I saw a lot. 
 and it made me sick. And I also saw a woman s 
 face blanched from suffering more mental 
 than physical. I saw the brave stand she made, 
 I watched her laugh, and listened to her talk 
 
 234
 
 GWENDA 
 
 and she was game to the last. Neither of you, 
 neither you nor Lionel is fit to black her boots. 
 And now go. Leave my house. No, not both 
 of you. Lady Eivers to-night, please; my car 
 riage shall be round in an hour, and Lionel 
 to-morrow. You shall not leave my house to 
 gether. And I watched her crawl from the 
 room. I am afraid I forgot myself and said 
 too much, but I hate the woman." 
 
 I sat up in bed. I was unable to speak. And 
 Uncle Sandy put his arm around me and 
 stroked my cheek. " Poor little girl," he said. 
 " No, don t cry. There is nothing to cry about 
 now I shall have that Drexel chap after me. 
 She s gone. I saw her drive away, and I didn t 
 throw rice after her you bet." 
 
 I laughed and cried together till he became 
 alarmed. 
 
 " I m going for Drexel," he announced. 
 
 " Don t," I cried. " I m better." I mastered 
 myself with a great effort. " I won t cry again. 
 And Lionel?" 
 
 " I said little to him for your sake. He leaves 
 in the morning." 
 
 And, Granty, aren t we women extraordinary, 
 illogical creatures? for suddenly I felt sorry 
 for Lionel. I felt I would like to comfort and 
 
 235
 
 GWENDA 
 
 belabour him with blows at one and the same 
 moment. I felt like a woman who is in the 
 witness box at a police court : " Yes, your wor 
 ship, he did give me a black eye, but he s my 
 husband and he can do what he likes with me, 
 and I bring no charge against him, your wor 
 ship. It s people who will interfere. But don t 
 do nothing to him. I ll talk to him when I gets 
 him home." 
 
 But I did not say this to Uncle Sandy. He 
 is a man and would not have understood. 
 
 Later, I sent a little note to Lionel by Fan- 
 chette. I said : " Will you come to see me to 
 night for a few minutes ? I want to say some 
 thing to you. No reproaches about the past. I 
 think it is foolish of people, when they are 
 young, to think of the past, when they have 
 a future which may be full of good things. 
 Gwenda." 
 
 But he did not come. 
 
 Your sorrowful 
 
 GWENDA. 
 
 236
 
 LETTER XIV 
 
 GLENFINLAS HOUSE, THE 
 TROSSACHS, Sept. 21st. 
 MY DEAR GEANTY : 
 
 So you want me to come home. Come back 
 and take up my old life at Silvercombe the 
 dear life that was so full of happiness. You 
 want me to feed the chicks, collect the eggs, 
 clean the lamps, golf with Mary, walk, sew, 
 read aloud to you, watch the sunset, go to Ex 
 eter on market days, play ecarte with a certain 
 dear lady when evening falls and the lamps are 
 lit, do all the thousand and one things I used 
 to love doing, and Granty, I can t. 
 
 Now that I am tired and poorly it all sounds 
 deliciously restful, but how am I to forget the 
 ache of my heart in a life so peaceful and un 
 eventful! I should have so much time for 
 thought and retrospection. You would make 
 things too easy for me, too rounded off, and I 
 want to hustle, hustle like an American pork 
 packer. So I am going to work. 
 
 237
 
 GWENDA 
 
 I can see you lift your pretty hands in dis 
 may. I can hear what you say : " You propose 
 joining the ranks of unqualified, underpaid, 
 underfed, anaemic women who work for their 
 livings ? And what particular colourless species 
 of drab are you going to be : Nursery governess, 
 clerk, typist, companion, or housekeeper?" 
 Your voice is full of scorn, and it behooves me 
 to be firm when you are in such a mood. So I 
 reply, " I haven t yet made up my mind what I 
 shall do, but it will be work, not playing at it; 
 downright hard work your-fingers-to-the-bone 
 sort of work. Work that keeps your mind and 
 body on the run by day, and sends you to 
 dreamless sleep at night." 
 
 Granty, I must howl for a bit to myself. I 
 cannot help it. Later, I shall howl at intervals. 
 After a while I shan t howl at all. I have seen 
 a widow prostrate for the first three months 
 of her widowhood, playing bridge at the end 
 of six, attending theatres and race meetings at 
 the end of twelve, remarried at the end of 
 eighteen. Above everything else I try not to 
 cheat myself. Human nature has enormous 
 recuperative powers, thank God. My nature is 
 very little different from other people s natures. 
 There are degrees of sorrow as there are de- 
 
 238
 
 GWENDA 
 
 grees of joy, but ultimately most of us arrive 
 at moderate happiness if we have fair health 
 and enough to eat and drink. Some of us ar 
 rive at that happiness quicker than others. The 
 widow was quick, perhaps I shall be slow. But 
 sooner or later my howling will be finished and 
 then I will come home, and we will have some 
 more good times together. You will say if I 
 arrive at nothing else that philosophy has come 
 to my aid. Doesn t sorrow always bring a cer 
 tain amount of philosophy in its train? You 
 have often told me that this is so. In one s 
 first wild grief, it is difficult to believe that the 
 sun will ever shine again. You see that it is 
 shining upon others who have suffered, but 
 their suffering has never been as acute as your 
 own. They may have lost beloved children, a 
 sister, a mother, a brother, but there are things 
 that are worse than death you say to yourself, 
 believing that this is the truth. But, later, you 
 know that there is nothing worse than death. 
 Nothing in the world. There is a remoteness 
 about a dead person you have loved, a silence, 
 which are stunning. You might pick a man s 
 pocket, Granty, you might go to prison, but 
 when you came out I should still have you 
 to love, to hold in my arms, to touch. So I 
 
 239
 
 GWENDA 
 
 try to tell myself that I have not suffered 
 the greatest sorrow that is possible, and that 
 the sun may shine again some day, even for 
 me. 
 
 And when it does begin to shine I shall rush 
 straight off to Silvercombe, and we ll enjoy it 
 together. In the meantime, as soon as I get 
 quite strong, I m going to hustle round and 
 earn my own bread. Again you become in 
 sistent and say "What at?" And that s just 
 what I am trying to decide. A few months 
 back, before I crossed to St. Malo, I should 
 have said, a stewardess on board a big liner: 
 Something very breezy about such a life, plenty 
 of variety among the passengers, great satis 
 faction in seeing people with bright green 
 faces when your own is rosy with health. Now, 
 I know that mine would be greener than most, 
 so being a stewardess is off. The position of 
 hall porter in a big cheerful hotel, or clerk in 
 a police court are barred to me by my sex dis 
 ability, also that of an engine driver. There 
 are few jobs open to women that I fancy. I 
 wouldn t object to being a charwoman, as I 
 would char for several families and so get 
 plenty of change, but doubt my strength for 
 scrubbing. Charwomen seem to do nothing else 
 
 240
 
 GWENDA 
 
 but scrub, and if they stopped, wouldn t be char 
 women. One thing I won t be and that is a 
 companion. The bare thought of holding such 
 a position nearly makes me cry. Can you im 
 agine anyone less well equipped for companion 
 ship than I, unless it s yourself? By which I 
 don t mean to be rude, but you and I have not 
 the first and most necessary qualification of 
 brightness. Everybody wants bright compan 
 ions. Do you recollect how you and I used to 
 detest bright people bright-f rom-a-sense-of- 
 duty people. Born brightness one can tolerate, 
 but not acquired brightness. Miss Swallow, 
 who used to live along Heathy Bank, would 
 have made a lovely companion to anybody 
 desiring a sort of cheerful red Christmas 
 robin hopping about them. It would be as 
 easy for me to be a coal-heaver as a Christ 
 mas robin. So if you can think of any kind 
 of work more suited to me than companion 
 ships or charships, let me know in your next 
 letter. 
 
 I am sitting up in my bedroom to-day. A 
 pleasant comfortable room, with a rosy carpet 
 and rose-coloured walls, along the frieze of 
 which plump shepherdesses walk. I feel quite 
 well again, just a bit tired and an inclination 
 
 241
 
 GWENDA 
 
 to sit with my hands before me and stare into 
 the fire if Uncle Sandy and Mrs. Prendergast 
 and her brother would allow me. But they 
 won t for long. First one comes and chats with 
 me, and another comes and makes me chat (that 
 is generally Mr. Peter), and a third comes and 
 reads aloud, or plays poker patience with me. 
 There are now just the four of us left. Mr. 
 Prendergast has been obliged to return to 
 business, and, one by one, the other guests 
 have departed. Uncle Sandy insisted, as 
 soon as there were two vacant rooms, that 
 Mrs. Prendergast and Mr. Peter should 
 leave the hotel and take up their quarters 
 here. 
 
 Neither of them, in the very remotest way, 
 has made any reference to Lionel s leaving. 
 They must know of the trouble between us, of 
 our estrangement, of his attitude toward Lady 
 Eivers, but not by word or look have they 
 offered me any sympathy but for my illness; 
 and I am grateful to them for their tact, for 
 their delicate consideration, for their innate 
 courtesy. A kind-hearted ill-bred woman would 
 have let me know she pitied me. Mrs. Prender 
 gast is kind-hearted and well-bred. Only Uncle 
 Sandy speaks of him sometimes. He asked me 
 
 242
 
 GWENDA 
 
 to-day if I had heard from him since he left, 
 and when I shook my head, he swore again 
 beneath his breath. 
 
 " I don t understand it, Gwenda," he said a 
 little piteously, " and he is my nephew." 
 
 " You can t help it," I replied, unable to sup 
 press a smile. " You are not responsible for 
 the behaviour of any nephew." 
 
 " But I never suspected he was like this. I 
 imagined he was a decent chap, kind-hearted, 
 straight, at any rate a gentleman." 
 
 " So did I," I said. 
 
 " He looks one." 
 
 " Yes, his appearance is very attractive." 
 
 " Say something horrid about him," he 
 groaned. " Your silence, your self-restraint, 
 your white face, frighten me. Just curse him 
 to me, let yourself go. You ll feel tons better 
 if you will." 
 
 " But I don t want to. It will do no good. 
 I ve drawn a blank, so has he. We must just 
 make the best of it. There are thousands of 
 happy marriages, indeed I believe the majority 
 of marriages are happy. That ours is a failure 
 is rough luck on us both. We both think it is 
 the other s fault, it is human nature to lay the 
 blame on anybody but ourselves. I think it is 
 
 243
 
 GWENDA 
 
 Lionel s fault, he thinks it is mine. I think him 
 selfish, cold, cruel. He thinks me dull, superior, 
 fanatical and old-fashioned because I refuse to 
 receive immoral women at my house, or laugh 
 at coarse vulgar stories. I have been unable to 
 retain his affection, if I ever had it. My love 
 for him is nearly dead. It has been bruised, 
 trampled upon, spurned in the dust, but be 
 cause it was so alive once, I have made many 
 overtures of friendship and reconciliation, all 
 of which have been rebuffed. I have humbled 
 myself before him, and my better judgment, or 
 rather Granty, told me that this was a mistake, 
 and yet I did it because of my love for him." 
 My voice broke a little, and Uncle Sandy poked 
 the fire furiously. 
 
 " Yes ? " he said after a time. " Does it hurt 
 you to tell me?" 
 
 I shook my head. " Not much now, my pride 
 has gone. It always hurts a woman s pride for 
 the world to know that she has lost the affection 
 of her husband. It is like admitting her failure 
 to hold him. But, now, even that has gone. I 
 have become indifferent to what the world 
 thinks, and my own particular world is so very 
 small: Granty, you, the Prendergasts, Mr. 
 Drexel, one or two old friends at Silvercombe. 
 
 244
 
 GWENDA 
 
 They will not despise me because I have proved 
 unattractive to my husband." 
 
 " Despise you ! Don t you think they will 
 marvel at his lack of taste ! " 
 
 " I don t know," I sighed. " I am not really 
 attractive to men in general, in fact I think a 
 great many men dislike me. I don t say pleas 
 ant things to them. Only a few weeks ago I 
 was really rude to a man who took me in to 
 dinner, the sort of person I label a club man. 
 I have them all arranged in neat little parcels 
 in my mind. There are club men and games 
 men, business men, and loafers, serious men 
 with a purpose written large over their earnest 
 countenances, and literary men, artist men and 
 music men, professional men and scientific men, 
 public affairs men and sportsmen, domestic 
 men and racing men. The games men are the 
 most boring, the loafers are the most amusing, 
 the professional men interest me most because 
 they rarely talk of themselves, and the club men 
 I dislike the most. This particular club man 
 was well preserved, had black hair carefully 
 brushed over the thin places, a blue clean- 
 shaved face, a monocle, and took an intense and 
 really intelligent interest in his dinner, which 
 was a particularly good one. He examined the 
 
 245
 
 menu with care and forgot that I existed. His 
 first glass of champagne apparently warmed 
 him, for raising his eyes from his plate he took 
 a rapid survey of the assembled guests, the 
 second glass apparently caused him to feel 
 cordial, for he laughed at a joke perpetrated by 
 a man across the table, the third made him ex 
 pansive, and with the desire to expand to some 
 body he suddenly realised I was there at his 
 side, and a woman too. He was well fed, he 
 was comfortable, good wine ran through his 
 veins, he smiled and bent confidingly toward 
 me. And it was then I spoke, amiably and smil 
 ingly : * I am not ready yet. You have had 
 three glasses of champagne and I have not fin 
 ished one. You enjoyed the entree, and I didn t. 
 You have taken all the courses and I have 
 skipped one. You are feeling comfortable in 
 side and I am not. I shall be an uninteresting, 
 irritable companion as yet if you talk to me, 
 so please wait till I have arrived at the same 
 stage as you. And don t tell me I am a pretty 
 woman, because it s open to discussion. And, 
 of course, the man sat open-mouthed, a piece 
 of lamb cutlet poised on his fork, and he nat 
 urally thought me either a lunatic or the rudest 
 girl he had ever met. So you can see, Uncle 
 
 246
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 Sandy, that there are many men who must dis 
 like me horribly." 
 
 He sat back and roared. " Yes, certainly, if 
 you talk to them in that way. But I have never 
 seen you in such a mood. You always speak 
 to me nicely." 
 
 " Could I do anything else ? " I replied, strok 
 ing his sleeve. " You have been so good to me, 
 so kind. I have trespassed upon your hospital 
 ity so greatly. You invited me for a fortnight, 
 and I have been here for nearly a month, and 
 Mr. Drexel forbids me to travel for another 
 four days." 
 
 " I shall miss you when you have gone. This 
 house is large, and I am a lonely old man," he 
 sighed. 
 
 "Will you have me again some day?" I 
 asked. " It will be such a lovely, restful holiday 
 in prospect when my work becomes too ardu 
 ous. When I feel I must fly from my charing 
 or my shopkeeping, or my duties as lady s 
 maid." 
 
 " What do you mean? " 
 
 " I am going to leave Lionel, and I m going 
 to work." 
 
 " You re going to leave Lionel f " he cried in 
 astonishment. 
 
 247
 
 GWENDA 
 
 " Yes," I said. 
 
 " Leave him for good. Not live in his house," 
 he was greatly distressed. 
 
 " Uncle Sandy," I said gently. " Did you 
 think I could remain with Lionel when he has 
 ceased to care for me? What object is gained 
 when two people live together if they don t care 
 for each other! When they irritate one an 
 other, get on each other s nerves, render each 
 other s lives miserable. If I had a child I would 
 remain for its sake, but for no other reason in 
 the world." 
 
 He looked into the fire deeply troubled. 
 
 " But perhaps with patience " 
 
 " Never," I interrupted. " Not if I possessed 
 the patience of an angel and fifty Jobs rolled 
 in one would Lionel ever care for me again. 
 We have been married for less than six months, 
 and it feels like sixty years. Neither do I want 
 him to love me again. Before he left the other 
 evening I gave him one more chance, I wrote 
 him a little note. I asked him to come to me. 
 And he didn t. That is sufficient. I shall go 
 back to Prince s Gate for a night in order to 
 tell him that I am leaving. I think this is only 
 fair to him and to collect my belongings, then 
 I shall pass out of his life." 
 
 248
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 " And you will return to Silvercombe f " 
 
 " Perhaps later. But now I shall work, work 
 is the only panacea for trouble, don t you 
 think?" 
 
 " I wonder what you will work at." His 
 voice was slightly sarcastic. " Looking at the 
 space you occupy in that armchair, I should 
 calculate roughly that your fighting weight is 
 below eight stone, and you are a fairly tall girl, 
 Gwenda." 
 
 " Thin people are invariably more active than 
 stout people. Besides it s unfair to mention my 
 appearance just now when I have been shut up 
 in this room for some days. I have been boiled 
 and roasted, and when you boil or roast meat 
 its weight is reduced. I thought you would 
 know this. I want fresh air. Uncle Sandy, will 
 you take me for a drive to-morrow along some 
 wide high moor? Not through a valley shut in 
 by the mountains, but in a place where there 
 are curlews and strong sunshine and fresh 
 sweet winds. Just you and I alone. And we 
 won t talk to one another, because you and I 
 are such good friends that we can afford to 
 indulge in silences, and so few people can do 
 that." 
 
 And he said that he would. I would like you 
 249
 
 GWENDA 
 
 to know Uncle Sandy, because you must have 
 met so few really nice men, Granty. 
 
 September 23rd. To-morrow we return to 
 London: Mrs. Prendergast, Mr. Peter and I. 
 They pretend that they have not extended their 
 visit for my sake, that they are not travelling 
 to-morrow in order to look after me, that they 
 are not sorry for me, and this last little deceit 
 I appreciate the most. I don t want them to be 
 sorry for me. We can only tolerate pity from 
 a chosen few. 
 
 Do they imagine that I don t see through 
 them? I hope so. I would not spoil their little 
 game. I would not have Mrs. Prendergast 
 know that I know she is only pretending when 
 she assumes that I have heard from Lionel. 
 She rattles on and gives me no chance to 
 speak. She still holds forth on the correct 
 management of husbands, and is always de 
 lightful on the subject. This is what she said 
 to-day : 
 
 " Humour them in all the little things that 
 don t really matter. If they want the blinds 
 up when the sun is pouring into the room, let 
 them have them up, and presently you, yourself, 
 go and sit on the cool verandah. If they want 
 
 250
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 to put their feet on your best couch let them, 
 because a couch is so easily re-covered. If they 
 want to go to sleep immediately after dinner, 
 let them, because if they stayed awake they 
 would probably be cross. Let them have their 
 way about nineteen unimportant matters, it will 
 make them feel they are masters of your des 
 tiny; they will stand with their backs to the 
 fire, thumbs in waistcoats, swaying backward 
 and forward on their heels, feeling very fine 
 fellows. But when the twentieth and really 
 important matter comes along, you see that 
 you re away on top, before your husband finds 
 out it is important, because men are not quick. 
 If you are keen on moving to number 19 round 
 the corner because of its good bathroom, have 
 the vans at the door before he has had time to 
 consider whether he wants a good bathroom or 
 not. When he opens his mouth to speak, be 
 ready with some really good grilled kidneys to 
 put into it, and mention carelessly that Mr. 
 Jones, his superior at the office, was after the 
 house, and congratulate yourself on having a 
 husband of such prompt action. He, himself, 
 will help the men to move the inlaid cabinets, 
 and tell his friends that he has just done a 
 smart bit of business." 
 
 251
 
 GWENDA 
 
 " What you really mean is," I laughed, " that 
 to manage men you must gull them? " 
 
 " Don t use such an expression," she said, 
 pretending to look shocked. " I hate women 
 who stoop to deceit. Men are so really reason 
 able that you have only to understand their lit 
 tle ways " 
 
 " In order to get your own," I interrupted. 
 
 " Yes, if you like to put it that way. Just in 
 the same way a shrewish woman can always 
 retain the affection of her husband." 
 
 " Oh," I said, speaking carelessly, and alter 
 ing the position of my cushion, " That is a sub 
 ject that always interests me. Do tell me how 
 it is done. I sit at your feet." We still keep 
 up the pretence that my marriage is a happy 
 one. 
 
 " It is the easiest thing in the world. The 
 woman must run, and the man must chase her. 
 She must never stop running and must never 
 allow herself to be caught." 
 
 " That is an old wheeze," I smiled. " And 
 I should have thought you were too clever to 
 have perpetrated it." 
 
 She looked at me in surprise. 
 
 " Have you ever thought what is going to 
 happen when the woman is too old to run and 
 
 252
 
 GWENDA 
 
 the man no strength to chase her? Books, 
 plays, people seem to forget that husbands and 
 wives are much longer middle-aged, and even 
 old, than they are young. Middle-aged hus 
 bands and wives, when they have lost their 
 wind, don t want to go chasing each other about 
 like a couple of rabbits. Surely they want a 
 love that has been built upon a stabler founda 
 tion than that of allurement and desire? They 
 want the love that means understanding, sym 
 pathy and good co mpanionship. Imagine a 
 man of, say, fifty, returning from his work tired, 
 worried and hungry, and finding a wife of the 
 same age, decked out in all her finery, coquet 
 tish, capricious, and wanting to be chased for a 
 kiss. The man would swear, or bang the door 
 if he were a properly constituted normal man 
 of fifty. What he wanted was a welcome, a look 
 of sympathy for his fatigue, an armchair 
 pushed before the fire, the mere comfort of her 
 gracious, serene presence. A man of twenty- 
 five might be ready at the end of a day s work 
 to make ardent love to his wife and chase her 
 round the room, but not a man of fifty. It 
 seems so hard to me that the people who are 
 responsible for such alliances as * women must 
 run and men must chase them refuse to reckon 
 
 253
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 with the enormous number of middle-aged hus 
 bands and wives who don t want to run, but 
 want to be unromantically happy together." 
 
 Mrs. Prendergast sat down and stared at 
 me. 
 
 " Of course, you re young enough and beauti 
 ful enough to go on running and Mr. Prender 
 gast is very active," I said apologetically. 
 
 " My dear, you are quite right," she said. 
 " Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings, 
 etc. I never thought of it in that light before. 
 I am ten years older than you, and I am a fool. 
 From this day I set about building my house 
 of love on a good solid foundation of reason 
 able, work-a-day affection. You should have 
 been a happy wife and mother, Gwenda." And 
 then, I think because she saw I was near to 
 tears at her words, she went quietly out of the 
 room. 
 
 The evening of September 23rd. Your letter 
 arrived an hour ago. There is only one delivery 
 of letters a day here, but sometimes Uncle 
 Sandy sends a man to Callander in the even 
 ing on an errand and he calls at the post office, 
 and so to-night I have had your killing epistle. 
 And, oh Granty, how I have laughed over it. 
 
 254
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 I have laughed so much that already I feel a 
 pound heavier. And what pleases me is the 
 knowledge that I can still laugh. That it has 
 not all dried up. My recuperative powers, you 
 see, are already beginning to be active. 
 
 And oh, you are funny! I have had appen 
 dicitis. Flatly I contradict you. In spite of all 
 you say, of the terrible mistakes of doctors that 
 have come beneath your notice, I have had ap 
 pendicitis. I don t want to have had it, I am 
 not in the least proud of having had it, I never 
 mean to have it again if I can possibly help it, 
 I shall eschew the seeds of raisins and grapes 
 and raspberries and strawberries as I try to 
 eschew the temptations of the devil, and I cer 
 tainly won t have an operation if I can, by any 
 power of my own, prevent it. 
 
 I was playing ecarte with Mr. Peter in the 
 library when your letter was handed to me, and 
 as I have no peace till I have devoured every 
 word of your quaint interesting epistles, I laid 
 down my hand and asked for his forbearance 
 for a moment while I read it. And the next 
 thing, and I hope you won t be angry with me, 
 I was reading it out to him. It was too good a 
 thing to be missed. The bit he liked best and 
 made me re-read several times was this I 
 
 255
 
 GWENDA 
 
 quote from your own words : " This Mr. Drexel 
 may be a nice kind man, anxious to do his best, 
 but don t forget he is a doctor of medicine, and 
 doctors of medicine, especially when they are 
 surgeons, make more mistakes than any other 
 creatures on this troublous globe. Doctors of 
 science make a power of trouble with their in 
 vestigations and discoveries and prognostica 
 tions which never come true, but they can t 
 come near doctors of medicine in the havoc they 
 work in the minds and bodies of credulous 
 people. 
 
 " I knew a man, a farmer, who was ill, and 
 the doctors gave him up. He was getting cold, 
 what you call in a moribund condition, and they 
 stepped gently from the room and said they 
 could do no more. 
 
 " Now it s my turn, said the wife. And she 
 got eight big, empty vinegar bottles and filled 
 them with boiling water, and three of these she 
 laid against each of his sides and legs, and the 
 other two she put against his feet. Then she 
 poured some hot rum and milk down his throat, 
 and though he couldn t speak his eyes said he 
 liked it, and he signalled for more, and she kept 
 filling up the bottles with boiling water, and 
 pouring down the rum and milk, till his eyes 
 
 256
 
 GWENDA 
 
 shut in a beautiful sleep. And that man is liv 
 ing now." 
 
 I remember him, Granty. It was Jacob Win- 
 terbottom. And I am of opinion that the Angel 
 of Death might beckon to him with little result 
 so long as anyone was about who would con 
 tinue to pour rum and milk down his throat. 
 Jacob will have to die a sudden death. 
 
 Then you go on to say : " There was my old 
 friend Susan Taylor. She had been married 
 for some years when she fancied she had got a 
 tumour. Most of her friends had got tumours, 
 and she had been left behind in the running, 
 and she was an ambitious woman. Yes her 
 medical man assured her, he had grave fears 
 that she was right. She must see a first-class 
 specialist, and he wrote things on cards, and 
 bowed her out of the room. The specialist was 
 very awe-inspiring, and his frock coat was very 
 long. For every extra inch on a specialist s 
 frock coat the patient pays an extra guinea, I 
 have noticed. His fee was 3.3., and he also 
 wrote things on cards. He said an operation 
 must be performed within a month. The tumour 
 was a large fibroid one, but not malignant, he 
 would write to her doctor, and he bowed her 
 out of the room. 
 
 257
 
 GWENDA 
 
 " Now, my friend Susan Taylor was of an 
 impatient disposition. She didn t want to wait 
 a month for her operation, the spring-cleaning 
 was finished and she had nothing to do. So she 
 went to see another specialist. She didn t con 
 sult her doctor about this one. She did it off 
 her own bat. His diagnosis was not a bit like 
 the man s with the long coat. He was of opin 
 ion she was suffering from dropsy. My friend 
 was, naturally, greatly perplexed. Dropsy was 
 not nearly so exciting as an operation. She 
 went home and told her husband, and he, being 
 a shrewd man, whispered something in her ear. 
 And it greatly annoyed my friend Susan Tay 
 lor, and she went to bed in great dudgeon. 
 Within a week she was delivered of a fine male 
 child, and for the first time in his life, her hus 
 band had the laugh against her, and they had 
 been married for twenty years." 
 
 Do you know, I thought Mr. Peter would 
 have died with laughter at this story, and I am 
 not a bit sure if I ought to have read it to him. 
 Where do you get hold of such yarns ? 
 
 Your last about the man who was operated 
 on for appendicitis when he was suffering from 
 acute pneumonia, is the only one, Mr. Peter 
 says, that could contain the slightest foundation 
 
 258
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 of truth. It would be possible, but not prob 
 able. 
 
 Set your mind at rest, dear heart, only dire 
 necessity would ever send me to the operating 
 table. I have as great a horror of such a con 
 tingency as you. I am not like your friend 
 Susan Taylor who was hard up for something 
 to do. Besides, I am so much better, and with 
 care I may escape ever having another attack. 
 
 When I folded away your letter, Mr. Peter 
 remarked what an exceptionally nice old lady 
 you must be. And, of course, I said you were, 
 and straightway, forgetting all about our game, 
 I fell to telling him of your sayings and doings. 
 I must have talked for half an hour before I 
 realised what I was doing, and when, a little 
 shamefacedly, I pulled myself up, he said : " I 
 knew some beautiful old lady must have brought 
 you up, beautiful in mind as well as in body. 
 Tell me some more, if you are not tired." 
 
 Wasn t it nice of him? My cheeks burnt with 
 pride and pleasure, and I am so glad, so happy, 
 so proud that, through my own poor weak 
 medium, I am able to transfuse a tiny bit of 
 your reflected glory. Perhaps I am not ex 
 pressing myself clearly; what I mean to say is, 
 that I am so glad somebody thinks I am a credit 
 
 259
 
 GWENDA 
 
 to you and your training however infinitesimal 
 that credit may be, and not a disgrace. In the 
 old days whenever I was depressed and down, 
 felt wicked or meanhearted, I would go to look 
 for you. You might be in the garden or the 
 box room, the hen run or the greenhouse, but 
 wherever you were I searched for you till I 
 found you. 
 
 "What is it?" you would ask. "What do 
 you want, Gwenda f " And I would make some 
 idle excuse as to the whereabouts of the store 
 cupboard key, or the note book in which we 
 kept the record of the eggs that were laid, but 
 I never told you I had only come to look at you. 
 And as I looked and found comfort, I knew 
 what the angels felt when they had been in the 
 presence of God. 
 
 Granty, I thank you for just being what you 
 are, and I inscribe myself always and for ever, 
 Your loving and deeply grateful 
 
 GWENDA. 
 
 260
 
 LETTER XV 
 
 PRINCE S GATE, LONDON, S. W., 
 
 Sept. 24th. 
 
 MY DEAR GrRANTY : 
 
 Just this brief line to tell you of my safe 
 arrival. 
 
 I am tired, but the journey has been a long 
 one. 
 
 I was received by Balbriggan, Hillingbran, 
 Mrs. Perkins, about four other servants, 
 Shandy, who has grown enormously stout and 
 tried to bite Fanchette ; and a big pile of letters 
 and cards awaited me, but no Lionel. A tempt 
 ing little supper was laid in the dining-room 
 for one. Bread, potatoes, sauce, salsify were 
 handed to me alternately by Balbriggan and 
 Hillingbran. I choked into my cream a la mode, 
 and then told them they could leave the room. 
 I waved savouries and cheese to one side in 
 spite of their expostulations, and ordered them 
 to place the dessert on the table. 
 
 When they retired I burst into laughter, not 
 2G1
 
 GWENDA 
 
 tears. I was imagining the contrast of things. 
 To-night I sat in state waited upon by two 
 gorgeous creatures who only breathed a little 
 more noiselessly than they trod. To-morrow I 
 should be in a furnished apartment, probably 
 eating sausages and mashed potatoes which 
 may be rash after my illness, but I love them 
 so, and you can t with dignity eat sausages and 
 mashed in a house in Prince s Gate. I shall be 
 waited upon by a gaspy girl with impossible 
 hands, like the servant in " Merely Mary Ann," 
 and funeral cards mounted in black, and dead 
 ancestors will gaze at me from the flowery 
 walls. The coals will be cheap and dirty, and 
 the lamp will smell. Shells and china dogs will 
 ornament the mantelpiece, which will be of mot 
 tled marble, and birds in glass cases will litter 
 the tables, also wool mats and tortoiseshell tea 
 caddies. 
 
 But do you know, I believe I shall almost 
 touch the edge of happiness, for I shall be inde 
 pendent, and the strain will have been removed 
 the strain of wondering what I can do next 
 to please Lionel, put him in a good temper, 
 make him happy ; the strain of trying to appear 
 fair in his eyes, of wearing uncomfortable, long, 
 clinging frocks with wispy trains over which 
 
 2G2
 
 GWENDA 
 
 I always was tripping, and hats which made my 
 head split with their weight. 
 
 I am not taking any of my clothes for which 
 Lionel has paid. I have told Fanchette to un 
 earth my dear blue serge coat and skirt, which 
 jointly possess three pockets. There are com 
 pensations for everything in life, I shall lose a 
 husband and gain a pocket. 
 
 I also told Fanchette to have my things 
 packed for going away by eleven o clock to 
 morrow. 
 
 " You are going away again, Madame f " she 
 asked in astonishment. " Madame will excuse 
 me, I know, but I hoped for one day in London 
 to buy a few things that are greatly necessary 
 to me. Also I want to buy a tie, a beautiful 
 one of purple and green in the Burlington Ar 
 cade for " she blushed a little, " for Madame 
 will guess perhaps 
 
 " For Monsieur le Boots ? " I queried softly. 
 
 "Yes, Madame, you have guessed. Purple 
 is his colour, I think." 
 
 " Yes, I should say it was, he has a nice clear 
 skin if I remember rightly." 
 
 " A beautiful skin, Madame, so fair." She 
 clasped her hands. 
 
 " And you are betrothed, Fanchette? " 
 263
 
 GWENDA 
 
 " Nearly, Madame, Monsieur le Boots gave 
 me a brooch, it has forget-me-nots on it." She 
 blushed again. 
 
 " And you are giving him a Burlington Ar 
 cade tie they are expensive." 
 
 "Yes, Madame. To the footman at Mrs. 
 Prendergast s I gave only a sixpence ha penny 
 tie from Hope Brothers." She smoothed down 
 her apron reminiscently, and sighed. 
 
 " And a tie from the Burlington Arcade 
 means business ? " I asked. 
 
 " Yes, Madame." 
 
 " Well, Fanchette, you will have plenty of 
 time for your shopping. You are not going 
 with me, and I hope you will be very happy 
 with Monsieur le Boots," I said. 
 
 " Not going with you, Madame," she cried. 
 " You go alone, and you have been ill." 
 
 " I am better now." 
 
 " But who will dress Madame s hair? " She 
 was genuinely distressed. 
 
 " I shall dress it myself, and I don t want to 
 hurt you, Fanchette, but I am looking forward 
 to the prospect," I laughed. " Now, go and 
 pack my things. Three plain frocks, the under- 
 linen I had in my trousseau, no evening gowns 
 as you disposed of my beloved green spangled 
 
 2 04
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 net and my wedding dress which wasn t Direc- 
 toire. One trunk, remember, and my old hat 
 box." 
 
 " But " Her mouth opened wide, and I 
 went quickly out of the room. 
 
 So I have made all my arrangements. I have 
 searched the Daily Telegraph, and jotted down 
 the addresses of several advertised apartments, 
 to which I shall drive to-morrow. I have 15 
 of my own money, how thankful I am that my 
 father left me that tiny bit in Consols. ,30 a 
 year is better than nothing. Then I begin my 
 search for work. How I shall go about it, I 
 haven t the faintest idea at the moment, but in 
 spiration may come. 
 
 Granty, how good you are to me, and how 
 wise. You don t press me to return to Silver- 
 combe yet. You know that I will come when 
 I am ready. You know that my wounds are 
 raw and bleeding, and that when they are healed 
 the first person I shall look for will be you. 
 And you see how confident I am that you will 
 be waiting for me, ready with a welcome, a 
 smile on your lips, and hand in hand we shall 
 walk through the door of Sunset, and, in spite 
 of its name, there will be sunshine in the house 
 and still more sunshine out of doors. Happi- 
 
 265
 
 GWENDA 
 
 ness I shall have refound. For it s happiness 
 I go in search of to-morrow. There is so much 
 of it knocking about the world, the pessimists 
 may say what they will to the contrary. It is 
 to be heard in the song of the birds and the 
 bees, the sea and the corn, in the whisper of 
 the wind in the grass and the laugh of a child. 
 It is to be found in the light on the land, and 
 the twinkle of the stars by night, why even the 
 moon seems to be laughing, and the sun when 
 ever it appears is always smiling, as we know. 
 There is so much happiness everywhere that 
 surely there is a little left for me. Anyway, I 
 am going in search of it. Wish me good luck. 
 Good-night, Granty dear, 
 
 Your loving 
 
 GWENDA. 
 
 It is half past nine and Lionel has not yet 
 come in. I am very tired and feel far from 
 well. How shall I find strength to tell him of 
 my purpose. Perhaps it would be wiser after 
 all to slip away quietly in the morning, and 
 then write and tell him I have gone away for 
 good. It would save us a pitiful scene perhaps, 
 and some bitter words. ^ And I want to leave 
 with dignity, and without anger. 
 
 266
 
 GWENDA 
 
 I hear his footsteps and my heart is beating 
 suffocatingly. 
 
 Hillingbran is waiting to take this to the post. 
 I will write in a few days and give you my 
 address. Take care of your cold, naughty 
 woman. 
 
 267
 
 LETTER XVI 
 
 ST. MARGARET S HOSPITAL FOR WOMEN, 
 BLOOMSBURY, W. C., Oct. 8th. 
 
 MY POOR DARLING: 
 
 So you are ill. And you have been wonder 
 ing, wondering, worrying yourself to death 
 about my silence. 
 
 Oh, my dear, how I want to come to you ; and 
 I can t. For I, too, have been ill, and over one 
 hundred and fifty miles lie between us. 
 
 Just think if you were in the next little bed 
 to mine a dear, white-haired, beautiful lady 
 instead of a tousle-headed fat woman, who calls 
 upon God in a most peremptory and intimate 
 fashion to help her in her pain. 
 
 I have ten minutes in which to write, so must 
 hurry; and forgive the scrawl, for I am lying 
 flat on my back with the notepaper close up to 
 my chin, which is not conducive to good pen 
 manship. 
 
 You will guess what has happened from the 
 address above. Yes, at s all over. Appendix 
 gone good riddance to bad rubbish and I m 
 
 268
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 making a pretty good recovery. Temperature 
 a bit worrying, but wound healing nicely. Will 
 be able to venture on a sneeze in a day or two, 
 if sneezing attacks me, without fear of ruptur 
 ing stitches. Never wanted to sneeze so much 
 in my life just because I can t. 
 
 Granty, I wouldn t let them tell you Mrs. 
 Prendergast, Mr. Peter, Panchette, I knew 
 would worry so ; and you had a heavy cold when 
 you last wrote. So, Fanchette, obedient to my 
 instructions, just sent you the post cards say 
 ing I was too busy to write, which was per 
 fectly true for I have been busy. 
 
 Forgive the deceit, won t you? I had so little 
 time to think, to plan. In ten days I shall be 
 discharged from here. Then I shall take the 
 first train down to Silvercombe, and I shall 
 creep into bed beside you, and together we will 
 get strong and well. 
 
 The nurse is bearing down upon me, and she 
 is so plain and inflexible to duty. 
 
 One word more. Take care of yourself. 
 Bronchitis is not a thing to be played with. Be 
 good, and do as the doctor tells you. You think 
 you know more than he, but you don t. You 
 are a conceited old lady! Ten days, Granty 
 mine. Oh, how I love you. GWENDA. 
 
 2G9
 
 GWENDA 
 
 Tell Hannah never to forget the friar s bal 
 sam when she uses the steam kettle. It gave 
 you great relief before. And tell her to send 
 me a wire in the morning reporting how you 
 are. 
 
 270
 
 LETTER XVII 
 
 ST. MARGARET S HOSPITAL FOR WOMEN, 
 BLOOMSBURY, W. C., Oct. 9th. 
 
 MY DEAR GEANTY : 
 
 I have been washed and my hair brushed and 
 combed, and this morning I have been allowed 
 to plait it myself, showing how I am getting on. 
 I always told you my recuperative powers were 
 nothing short of marvellous. 
 
 The nurse says I may spend a whole hour in 
 writing to you to-day, or rather, I should say, 
 the Sister of the Ward, who is much more sen 
 sible than the others, and I suppose that is how 
 she got to be a Sister. Sense always tells in 
 the long run, and counts much more than bril 
 liancy, doesn t it? But I am wasting time, and 
 I have so much to say. I simply can t wait till 
 I get down to Silvercombe. I am to write half 
 an hour this morning, and the other half this 
 afternoon. 
 
 By this time you will have received my letter 
 telling you that I ve been led to the slaughter, 
 
 271
 
 GWENDA 
 
 and you will be wondering how I got here to 
 a woman s hospital, and I cannot tell you just 
 yet, because if I did I know I should cry. I 
 cry so ridiculously often these days the least 
 thing sets me off, and I suppose it s because I 
 am still a bit weak. But don t think because I 
 cry, I am unhappy. For I am not always. 
 Sometimes I smile as much as I weep can t 
 laugh yet because a laugh, though I don t sup 
 pose you know it, comes through your abdom 
 inal muscles. Such lots of things you do, come 
 from there: sneezing, coughing, sighing, clear 
 ing your throat, even some sorts of talking, 
 and at first you have to whisper, which is 
 very awkward, as the majority of the nurses 
 appear to be slightly deaf, or they won t 
 hear. 
 
 I was talking about smiling, wasn t I? And 
 there are so many things to smile about in 
 hospital you can hardly get them all in. There 
 is the young house surgeon, for instance, who 
 comes into the ward at certain hours of the day, 
 tapping his teeth with a pencil, feeling your 
 pulse, examining your tongue, and pretending 
 he thoroughly understands your case from top 
 to bottom, from beginning to end, and would 
 have you believe that he knows as much about 
 
 272
 
 GWENDA 
 
 your inside at the moment as your out. Of 
 course, you know he doesn t, he hasn t the slight 
 est idea as to why half an hour before you 
 had been in such pain; but you don t let him 
 know you are aware of this, and that he is ex 
 perimenting on you, learning from you, and 
 gaining experience from your every symptom 
 of pain and uneasiness, or he might get an 
 noyed. 
 
 You would be rude to him, Granty. But I like 
 the boy. He is young and very ignorant, but 
 he must gain his experience somehow or other. 
 And I possess the comforting knowledge that 
 if anything went wrong with my case, he has 
 only to go to the telephone and summon the 
 surgeon or assistant surgeon to his aid. 
 
 " Half time," the nurse says, and I must stop. 
 Besides the great, the important, the most 
 eventful moment of the day has arrived: the 
 surgeon the head surgeon is expected. My 
 sheet must be smoothed, my pillow straight 
 ened, a crumb must be dusted from the bed, I 
 must compose my hands at my sides, my nails 
 must be clean. Over the ward a solemn still 
 ness reigns. The tousle-headed woman begins 
 to whimper. She feels sick, she flings back the 
 clothes. A scandalised nurse flies to her side.
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 She mustn t be sick now, not till the great man 
 has been, it is most inconsiderate of her. She 
 brushes a wisp of hair away from the hot fore 
 head, she lays an eau-de-Cologne handkerchief 
 on her pillow, she bids her close her eyes and 
 be good. She removes a bit of fluff from the 
 hearthrug, and, for the third time, sweeps the 
 bars of the grate. I catch her regarding me 
 with a troubled expression. Perhaps I am look 
 ing mutinous. I close my eyes, and she heaves 
 a sigh of relief. Her two patients are going to 
 do her credit. They may be squirming with 
 pain like worms on a pin, but they look nice; 
 and again she sighs with relief. 
 
 4.30 P.M. Hannah s telegram has come, and 
 I am glad you are better. Dear one, do be care 
 ful. I am such a good patient though the 
 nurses won t allow it they would only allow it 
 if you were blind, deaf, dumb, and paralysed, 
 and lay in their hands like a senseless cocoon 
 and you are such a bad one. I read between 
 the lines of Hannah s telegram : " Doing as well 
 as can be expected." That means that you are 
 pouring your medicine, away when Hannah is 
 not looking, refusing to take your food prop 
 erly, and insisting upon having all the windows 
 
 274
 
 GWENDA 
 
 open though you are down with bronchitis. Do 
 be sensible for my sake. I am so worried about 
 you, and I am sure worry is not good for any 
 one who has just lost an appendix. 
 
 The stout lady in the other bed wants to talk. 
 She wants to talk more than any man or woman 
 I have ever met, and she always wants to talk 
 about the same thing operations. 
 
 She has had three, and her pride about them 
 is astonishing. 
 
 Why are some women so proud of having 
 undergone operations? She dilates on every 
 symptom, every pain, every complication, every 
 phase of all her illnesses and all her opera 
 tions throughout her life. She might have ar 
 ranged them all herself. She also gives me 
 intimate details of the births of her three 
 children. 
 
 I vexed her last evening. I was just dropping 
 off into a doze when she said : " If ever I have 
 another operation, Mrs. Conyngham, I 
 
 "You never will," I interrupted quickly, be 
 fore she could get any further. 
 
 "How do you know!" she asked a little 
 snappily. 
 
 " Because there can be nothing left to be op 
 erated upon. From what you have told me all 
 
 275
 
 GWENDA 
 
 your organs must be gone." And her mouth 
 was still a trifle open as I dropped asleep. 
 
 My half hour isn t up, but I am tired, so 
 tired I can scarcely move my pencil along the 
 paper. The least thing seems to fatigue me. 
 
 Love from 
 
 GWENDA. 
 
 276
 
 LETTER XVIII 
 
 ST. MARGARET S HOSPITAL FOR WOMEN, 
 BLOOMSBURY, W. C., Oct. 10th. 
 
 MY DEAR GBANTY : 
 
 Your letter was brought to me with my 
 breakfast no it wasn t now I come to think of 
 it, for I breakfast so early that nothing but the 
 milk could possibly arrive at such an ungodly 
 hour. The blinds go up with a clatter great 
 heavy Venetian ones at six o clock, and you 
 are recalled from your first dreamless sleep 
 following a long, long night of wakefulness, by 
 a large cup of tea and a plate of stodgy bread 
 and butter being pushed beneath your nose. 
 
 So your letter didn t come with my breakfast, 
 but an hour or two later, and on reading it I lay 
 and laughed and cried in such an idiotic fash 
 ion that the nurse on duty said she should take 
 it away from me unless I at once became quiet. 
 
 Fancying I detected just a suspicion of sym 
 pathy in her voice, I couldn t see her face for 
 she was down on the floor scrattling like an old 
 hen in search of dust, I said : " Nurse, are you 
 
 277
 
 GWENDA 
 
 the fortunate possessor of a Great Aunt who 
 has lovely hair like crinkly snow, and a pink 
 shawl with bobs, and a black silk apron with 
 an elastic and jet button! " 
 
 She raised herself from her kneeling posi 
 tion, and sitting on the back of her feet she 
 regarded me carefully for a moment, then she 
 shook her head. 
 
 " I am not crying now," I said, mopping away 
 at my tears, " and you haven t got such a Great 
 Aunt?" 
 
 " No," she replied. 
 
 " I am sorry for you," I said. 
 
 " You needn t be," she returned with a laugh. 
 " I hate relations." 
 
 " You hate relations f " I lay and considered 
 this. When you have had an appendix re 
 moved, the simplest proposition takes earnest 
 thought. 
 
 " So do I," said the stout lady from the other 
 bed. 
 
 " How very unfortunate," I observed mus 
 ingly. I had become tired of the conversation, 
 and feared the lady might start on her relations 
 as she had done on her operations. 
 
 " There was Bob Williamson, my first cous 
 in she began. 
 
 278
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 " Skip Bob Williamson," the words were out 
 before I knew I had said them. Wasn t it awful, 
 Granty? I lay and trembled. 
 
 The stout lady was deeply offended. She 
 gave a little snort, and when people snort, as 
 you are aware, I become simply abject. 
 
 " I am frightfully sorry," I said. " I never 
 meant to say that. Please forgive me, but I 
 I have a letter I was particularly anxious to 
 read again." 
 
 " We listened to your tale about the old lady 
 with the bobs," she said reproachfully. 
 
 " I know you did. It was simply horrid of 
 me. Perhaps you will tell me about your cousin 
 Bob Williamson when I have finished my 
 letter?" 
 
 " I will see," she said loftily, and I thanked 
 her in anticipation. Then I settled down as 
 comfortably as it is possible when you are 
 swathed in bandages like a trussed fowl and 
 read your letter over again, all but the sym 
 pathetic bits. Those I can t manage yet. 
 Granty, you mustn t make me weep. The nurses 
 get cross when I do, and they are quite right. 
 Weeping takes it out of you, and I want to get 
 strong as fast as ever I can. 
 
 So you were suspicious all along? I might 
 279
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 have known it. You didn t believe what Fan- 
 chette said on her post cards : that all was well 
 with me, and that I was too busy to write. You 
 couldn t understand why Fanchette was mess 
 ing about me at all. That my last letter in 
 formed you I was about to settle down in the 
 midst of funeral cards, and stuffed birds, wool 
 mats, and tea caddies, dirty coal, and gaspy 
 maid servants, sausages and mashed, flowery 
 walls and ancestors ; and a lady s maid in such 
 a setting would be absolutely incongruous. 
 
 I might have guessed that you wouldn t be 
 deceived. But I couldn t guess that you would 
 be so utterly foolish as to rise from your bed, 
 announce to Hannah that you were going in 
 search of Miss Gwenda how I like the old ap 
 pellation get dressed, order your trunk to be 
 packed, walk downstairs, and faint at the gar 
 den gate. 
 
 And your rudeness to old Hannah and the 
 doctor appears to have been terrible, and you 
 have the credit of being gentle and sweet! 
 What a fraud you are. I, alone, know of the 
 depths of your depravity. 
 
 I must pause. A nurse has dashed into the 
 room, a subdued murmur like wind in forest 
 trees is to be heard, a murmur of breathless 
 
 280
 
 GWENDA 
 
 anxious nurses. The surgeon, Mr. Wynn-Shut- 
 tleworth, is approaching. Two nurses fall upon 
 my counterpane and straighten it out, another 
 with a comb goes for the stout lady s hair. I 
 will write some more later. The great man is 
 at the door . . . 
 
 The great man is usually attended on his 
 daily round of the wards by the House Surgeon, 
 who refrains from tapping his teeth with a 
 pencil on these occasions, the Matron, the Sister 
 of your own particular ward, and two or three 
 other nurses. They body-guard him into the 
 room, and then fall into attentive attitudes and 
 hang on his words. And quite right that they 
 should; he is a busy man, his time is precious, 
 he cannot repeat his instructions more than 
 once, yet this scene always makes me want to 
 laugh. They all look so solemn and important. 
 If, after attending to a patient, it is necessary 
 for him to wash his hands, one nurse pours the 
 water into the basin, another hands him the 
 soap, and a third holds the towel in readiness : 
 
 "A nice little boy held a golden ewer 
 
 Embossed and filled with water, as pure 
 
 As any that flows between Rheims and Namur, 
 
 Which a nice little boy 
 
 Stood ready to catch 
 
 281
 
 GWENDA 
 
 In a fine golden hand-basin made to match. 
 Two nice little boys rather more grown 
 Carried lavender water and eau-de-Cologne. 
 And a nice little boy had a nice cake of soap, 
 Worthy of washing the hands of the Pope. 
 One little boy more a napkin bore 
 Of the best white diaper fringed with pink ..." 
 
 I was softly repeating these lines to myself 
 while Mr. Wynn- Shuttle worth was interview 
 ing Mrs. Philpots, the stout lady, when he 
 turned suddenly and said "Eh, what s that?" 
 And, of course, I was covered with confusion. 
 
 "Did you speak?" he demanded, and I re 
 plied that I was only saying some poetry to 
 myself. 
 
 " Poetry ! what about ? And why do you re 
 peat poetry now? " 
 
 " I don t know," I said, very frightened. 
 
 He turned to the matron and the nurses. 
 " Does this patient often recite? " And unex 
 pectedly I saw a twinkle in his eye. They all 
 shook their heads and denied knowledge of my 
 having been guilty of such a thing before. 
 
 " H m," he said. " She must be getting on 
 very rapidly." 
 
 " I am," I returned glibly. 
 
 " Are you well enough to repeat what you 
 were saying to yourself just now? " 
 
 282
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 " Oh, no," I cried, going scarlet. " I I sim 
 ply couldn t." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 The eyes of all were upon me, the matron s 
 cold, the house surgeon s amused, the nurses 
 alarmed. The great man was bandying words 
 with me; for a moment he had stopped being 
 great, and his eyes were human and twinkling. 
 
 " It would be a strain on my abdominal mus 
 cles," I said; and he laughed outright. 
 
 " H m. Will you tell me this Were your 
 lines from * The Jackdaw of Eheims 1 It is 
 one of the few poems I happen to know, and I 
 thought I caught a familiar line." 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 "And what made you repeat it now?" 
 
 I lay and wriggled, unable to answer. 
 
 " It was apropos of something 1 ? " 
 
 " Perhaps." 
 
 " I thought so. But let me give you a piece 
 of advice : Don t always repeat your poetry out 
 loud. The next man may not have a sense of 
 humour. Good-bye, young lady." And he went 
 out of the room followed by his astonished sat 
 ellites, leaving me so small and crushed that I 
 felt no bigger than a threepenny bit. 
 
 Your loving GWENDA. 
 
 283
 
 LETTER XIX 
 
 ST. MARGARET S HOSPITAL FOR WOMEN, 
 BLOOMSBURY, W. C., Oct. llth. 
 
 MY DEAR GBANTY : 
 
 To-day I feel strong enough to tell you of 
 how I left my husband and my home, and the 
 manner in which I arrived here. 
 
 You, too, are stronger thanks to old Han 
 nah s careful nursing. Before I felt it would 
 be cruel to give you a recital of my woes and 
 suffering, for I knew that you would lie and 
 suffer too. Impotent to assist me, you would 
 chafe and fret at your weakness and helpless 
 ness. 
 
 So I have tried to write to you cheerfully. 
 No, I haven t tried, for I have felt cheerful since 
 my body stopped hurting and aching, since the 
 grinding horrible pain left me, since the nausea 
 stopped, and the intolerable thirst departed. 
 
 It is all behind me now, all the misery of the 
 last few months, and I live simply in the pres 
 ent, live from hour to hour, from moment to 
 moment. 
 
 284
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 Presently Fanchette, Mrs. Prendergast and 
 Mr. Peter will be coming to see me. I have that 
 to look forward to, and their visit will bring 
 me great pleasure. On two afternoons a week 
 we are allowed to see our friends for three 
 whole hours, and eagerly we look forward to 
 Wednesday; and that passed, we as eagerly 
 look forward to Sunday. 
 
 Mrs. Philpots receives Mr. Philpots, a melan 
 choly looking man with a black beard, and some 
 little Philpots. A screen is placed between our 
 beds so that we may each have our party in 
 privacy. Mrs. Philpots party must sit in semi- 
 darkness, as her bed is the farther side from 
 the window, so with a tall black screen in be 
 tween there cannot be much light. Perhaps it 
 is just as well, for I feel sure Mrs. Philpots 
 cannot look her best in bed or Mr. Philpots 
 would not have married her. 
 
 I do not pretend that I look nice, but I im 
 agine, and hope, that I look nicer than Mrs. 
 Philpots. Our hair is tied into two plaits so 
 that the backs of our heads may rest comfort 
 ably on our pillows. Mine makes plaits of re 
 spectable length, and are tied with pink ribbons. 
 Fanchette insisted upon this, as she believes 
 that pink is a becoming bedroom colour, and I 
 
 285
 
 GWENDA 
 
 have a pink bedjacket, and a pink ribbon tickles 
 my throat. I only wear the last when I am ex 
 pecting a visit from Fanchette. Mrs. Philpots 
 hair is sandy and thin, and her plaits remind 
 me of two radishes. She also wears pink rib 
 bons, and, as you are aware, pink does not tone 
 with sandy hair. Fanchette, in an audible 
 whisper because, though you can t see over 
 the top of the screen you can hear through it 
 wonders why she doesn t wear green or blue 
 ribbons. She caught sight of Mrs. Philpots 
 sideways as she entered the room. 
 
 Fanchette will arrive first to-day. Oh, she 
 has been good to me. I had not the faintest 
 conception that she cared for me any more than 
 she cared for her new chignon which has just 
 come into fashion. But she has a heart of gold, 
 and is as faithful as the hound Gelert. 
 
 I must go back to that last evening at Prince s 
 Gate, and it seems so long ago that I begin to 
 wonder if it belonged to another life. That for 
 one brief spell I was transmigrated from a 
 beautiful state at Silvercombe to one of misery, 
 and am now returning to my old existence. 
 
 You will recollect that as I was ending my 
 letter to you that night, Lionel came into the 
 room. 
 
 286
 
 GWENDA 
 
 He was in evening dress, and looked hand 
 some and well. He neither greeted nor offered 
 to kiss me, for which I was grateful to him. 
 I might have been seated there for a week. 
 He remarked that the night was cold, and he 
 shouldn t be surprised if there was a frost and 
 would I like a fire. 
 
 I told him no as I was going to bed and had 
 only waited up to speak to him. 
 
 " I hope you re not going to make a scene," 
 he said with eyebrows raised in horror, " be 
 cause if you are, I am going out again. I have 
 been dining with Lady Eivers, and only re 
 turned because I thought you might feel neg 
 lected." 
 
 I shook my head and laughed, laughed at the 
 stupidity of his words. Did he think he could 
 hurt me now? 
 
 " You are not clever," I said gravely. " A 
 clever man would not have said that. It was so 
 obvious." 
 
 His face became dark with anger. " Did you 
 return home to tell me that f " he cried. 
 
 " No," I replied slowly, for my heart was 
 beating painfully. " I returned home in order 
 to leave it. To tell you that I was going away 
 for good. I thought it only fair and courteous 
 
 287
 
 GWENDA 
 
 to inform you of this. I am your wife and I 
 must endeavour to be considerate to you till I 
 cease to be your wife, and there were my things 
 to collect and pack." 
 
 "You are talking like a tragedy queen, my 
 dear," he sneered. 
 
 " No, I am not. If you reflect upon it, tragedy 
 queens indulge in heroics. They rave and weep 
 and plead and hurl reproaches about. I am 
 doing none of these things. I am simply stat 
 ing a plain fact. I am going away. I cannot 
 live with you. Whether you could continue to 
 live with me I do not take into consideration. 
 I simply know that I cannot live with you and 
 be happy. I am young and wish for happiness, 
 it is the birthright of each of us, therefore I go 
 to seek it. We made a mistake, we must undo 
 it, it is possible." 
 
 I walked toward the door, but he stood in 
 front of me barring the way. 
 
 " You cannot divorce me," he hissed. " There 
 is no proof." 
 
 Again I laughed at his own condemnation. 
 He was certainly not clever. 
 
 "Don t you want to be divorced?" I asked. 
 " I hadn t thought about it. I was going away 
 because we were not happy together, for no 
 
 288
 
 GWENDA 
 
 other reason. I accused you of nothing." I 
 looked at him steadily. " Neither do I accuse 
 you of anything but indifference to me; not of 
 cruelty, nor unfaithfulness, nor drunkenness. 
 A man seems to be under the impression that 
 it must be for one of these only that a woman 
 leaves him, but it is not so. There are her 
 pride and her own indifference to be reckoned 
 with. Yes, her own indifference. A woman 
 finds it hideously difficult to live with a man 
 she has ceased to love. Her life at home is 
 everything to her when that becomes unhappy 
 there is nothing left for her but to start all 
 over again." 
 
 "And you have ceased to love me? I am 
 curious, that is all." 
 
 " What do you think? " I laughed at the ques 
 tion. " Should I be going away if I had the 
 slightest affection for you? You might hate 
 me, but if I still loved you ever so little I should 
 remain and hope on, hope to win you back again. 
 We women are built that way, we are mostly 
 very faithful in our affections, it is no credit to 
 us, it is a scheme of nature for the protection of 
 the children. But I don t care for you. I loved 
 you once greatly, but you have killed it slowly 
 and surely till it is as dead as a stone." 
 
 289
 
 GWENDA 
 
 " In what way ? again I am curious." He 
 offered me a chair. 
 
 " In what way ? " My voice rose, " In every 
 way. By your indifference 
 
 " Excuse me," he interrupted, " does a wom 
 an expect to be loved and petted and kissed 
 from morning till night? " 
 
 " She expects a little affection from her hus 
 band at any rate during the first few months 
 of her married life. Her new life is so strange 
 to her. She has probably been taken from a 
 home where she has received much tender 
 ness and consideration from her parents. She 
 misses her mother, or the one who has stood 
 to her for mother. She feels a little lonely, 
 everything is new to her. It is then she turns 
 to her husband, and usually finds the sympathy 
 and protection she needs. But I My voice 
 broke, and for some moments I battled with my 
 tears. I was tired, desperately tired, after my 
 journey, and slowly but inexorably the old pain 
 was coming back. At first I hardly realised 
 what this meant. I forgot Mr. Drexel s warn 
 ing that the next time it meant an operation. 
 I only desired to make Lionel understand be 
 fore I left him for ever. 
 
 "Well?" he said. 
 
 290
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 " Ah ! " I cried, " you know. You understand, 
 though you won t admit it. You found me dull, 
 and you let me see it. You found me dowdy, 
 and again you let me see it. Perhaps I was 
 sensitive I was not well, but there is a way 
 of telling unpleasant truths to people we love 
 that prevents their feeling the hurt of it; you 
 did not find this way. I told you I was sorry 
 for my treatment of your friend. It was dif 
 ficult, but I cared for you. You refused to be 
 friends. You allowed me for nights to eat out 
 my heart in the silence of my own room. You 
 packed me off to Silvercombe alone. Then came 
 the crowning insult: you brought that woman 
 down to Glenfinlas, and I did not reproach you. 
 I was civil, almost friendly to her. I wrote you 
 a little note the night before you left, once again 
 asking you to come to me and we would let 
 bygones be bygones. You took no notice and 
 that was the end. And " again my voice 
 broke, and I leant against the chair in my pain, 
 grinding my teeth for control, and presently I 
 mastered it. " And to-night you admit your 
 guilt with Lady Eivers, and you ask me calmly 
 and without shame in what way you have for 
 feited my love and respect." 
 
 " I am no different from lots of other men." 
 291
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 "And is that your only defence!" I blazed. 
 " And it is a lie. You are different. Men and 
 women sin and are ashamed. You have no 
 shame. There is something lacking in you. It 
 is the kindest inference to draw. I verily be 
 lieve you are not quite in your right mind. 
 You " I had to stop for my voice failed me. I 
 was becoming desperately ill and the pain was 
 frightful. " Eing " I gasped. 
 
 For an instant he stood over me black with 
 fury, his hands clenched. Was he going to 
 choke the life out of me, I wondered curious 
 ly, and hardly cared. Then he crossed the 
 room and rang the bell violently. It scarce 
 ly seemed a second before Balbriggan ap 
 peared. 
 
 " Fetch Fanchette," I whispered, " at once." 
 
 " What are you going to do I " Lionel asked. 
 " Do you want a doctor? " He sounded fright 
 ened through his anger. 
 
 " No. Please leave me." 
 
 " What are you going to do ? " 
 
 " Will you leave me ? " 
 
 He did not move, and, somehow, bent double 
 with the pain, I managed to get to my room 
 which Fanchette was just leaving. 
 
 " I want my bag at once," I said, " and my 
 292
 
 GWENDA 
 
 hat and cloak. Tell Balbriggan to summon a 
 cab while I get ready. I am ill." 
 
 She set up a cry. " Don t," I commanded 
 harshly. " I want your help. I am going to a 
 hospital now. Will you come? Don t waste 
 time, I am in great pain and need all my 
 strength." 
 
 Within five minutes we were in a taxicab. 
 Fanchette calm, helpful, resourceful. We drove 
 straight to a post office, and she examined a 
 directory. We never thought or remembered 
 that the London cabbies know most things. 
 " St. Margaret s Hospital for Women " she di 
 rected him. And after that I knew little more 
 till I was on a couch in a lift going up to the 
 operating theatre, and then my senses returned 
 with sickening and awful clearness. 
 
 I must finish another time. 
 
 October 12th. Three o clock had barely 
 struck yesterday when my first visitor appeared 
 Fanchette. Fanchette, in the glory of a new 
 toque with alarming outstanding wings, and the 
 most rustling petticoat she has yet achieved. 
 She fell on her knees in her customary French 
 fashion and kissed my hands. 
 
 Then with fine scorn she whispered that the 
 293
 
 GWENDA 
 
 lady in the next bed looked less attractive than 
 ever this afternoon. 
 
 " Why? " I whispered back. 
 
 " Her nightdress is of longcloth," said Fan- 
 chette succinctly. 
 
 " Well, it s warmer than nainsook this weath 
 er," I suggested. 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders and dismissed 
 Mrs. Philpots. She took little interest in peo 
 ple who wore longcloth nightdresses, and I won 
 dered what she would have thought of your 
 warm flannel ones. 
 
 " And how is Monsieur le Boots I " I enquired, 
 sniffing at the lovely bunch of roses she had 
 brought. 
 
 " I write to him no more, Madame," she re 
 plied briefly. 
 
 " You write to him no more ! " In my excite 
 ment I turned on my left side, and she implored 
 me to go back. " I can lie on either side now," 
 I said grandly, " for a little while. Why have 
 you ceased to write? " 
 
 " I do not want to raise false hopes in 
 him." 
 
 " False hopes," I echoed. " Aren t you going 
 to marry Monsieur le Boots ? " 
 
 " No, Madame." 
 
 294
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 " Dear me," I said. " Whatever has made 
 you change your mind? " 
 
 " I have reasons, Madame." 
 
 "And what are you going to do?" 
 
 " I am going to live with you, Madame, if you 
 will permit it ? " She pulled out the bows of 
 my ribbon of the nearest plait to her. 
 
 " But I can t afford it," I said. " I have no 
 money now. I shan t be able to keep a maid. 
 You know you have guessed, Fanchette, that 
 I am not returning to Prince s Gate." 
 
 " Yes, Madame," her voice was practical. " I 
 left last week." 
 
 " You have left? I did not know. I thought 
 you would stay your month out." 
 
 " I was very miserable and lonely and had 
 nothing to do. I slipped out quietly. I have 
 comfortable rooms near here. I come each day 
 to enquire for you, and the time passes. I wait 
 for you to come out, then I am contented." 
 
 " Fanchette Suddenly I burst into tears 
 and laid my hand on hers. 
 
 She was very distressed, and implored me 
 not to weep. " Mrs. Prendergast and Mr. 
 Drexel will be coming, is it not? And your 
 nose will be a little red, Madame." 
 
 I laughed through my tears. " Fanchette you 
 295
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 are good to me. But I can t have you. I 
 shouldn t be able to pay you your wages. And 
 at first I go to Silvercombe," I said. 
 
 " And could I not go too ? I would be useful 
 while you got quite strong. And I love the sea 
 very much. You will let me go ? " She was 
 very beseeching. 
 
 " Perhaps. I will write to my Aunt. I should 
 like to have you. Fanchette have you do you 
 ever see the Master?" 
 
 " Only once since I left. Madame I must 
 be going, Mrs. Prendergast will be here soon." 
 She was evidently embarrassed. 
 
 " Where did you see the Master I mean Mr. 
 Conyngham? you have left his service." 
 
 " In Piccadilly, Madame." 
 
 " Was he alone? " 
 
 " No, Madame." 
 
 " Tell me who was with him. You need not 
 mind." 
 
 " A lady." She flushed crimson and rose 
 to go. 
 
 " Was the lady very beautiful? " 
 
 " Some might think so. Madame, when will 
 you be leaving here? I must give a week s 
 notice at my rooms." She was not going to 
 discuss Lady Eivers, and she was right. 
 
 296
 
 GWENDA 
 
 " I leave on the 18th if I am strong enough. 
 My bed is wanted." 
 
 " And I shall travel with you to Silver- 
 combe ? " 
 
 " Yes, please, Fanchette." And with a smile 
 of triumph she left me. 
 
 Mrs. Prendergast and Peter Drexel came to 
 gether, laden with flowers, lovely autumn flow 
 ers with their pungent delicious scent. How 
 did they guess how much more I loved them 
 than hothouse exotics? Dahlias, chrysanthe 
 mums, Michaelmas daisies, hollyhocks. They 
 placed them on the bed, and they laughed at 
 my indifference to the earwigs which crawled 
 from the dahlias. 
 
 " The only insect I object to is a wood-louse," 
 I said. 
 
 " Gwenda, you look better. Ever so much 
 better, doesn t she Peter?" Mrs. Prendergast 
 exclaimed, pleasure in her voice. 
 
 He regarded me critically, and for a moment 
 held my hot hand in his own cool one. 
 
 " She looks better simply because she is so 
 flushed and excited. Her hand is like a burning 
 coal. Why do you get in such a state?" He 
 frowned and looked at me severely. 
 
 " Did you leave your patients simply because 
 297
 
 GWENDA 
 
 you were in a bad temper and wanted to vent 
 it upon somebody who was defenceless ? " I 
 asked. 
 
 He laughed and drew a chair up to the bed. 
 " You are begging the question. Why are you 
 so flushed?" 
 
 " Fanchette insists upon remaining in my 
 service and is going to Silvercombe with me. 
 The news is exciting." This was the first time 
 I had hinted in any way that I was not return 
 ing to Lionel, but I knew that they knew. Had 
 they not been like brother and sister to me dur 
 ing my illness? Their extraordinary kindness, 
 their attention, their sympathy had touched me 
 beyond words. 
 
 " Going to Silvercombe ! But I had counted 
 on your coming to me. It is all settled. My 
 husband and I want you very much, and Peter 
 will take care of you, won t you Peter? " 
 
 Peter will take care of you! How comfort 
 ing it sounded. I looked at his strong thin face, 
 his pleasant humorous eyes, his alert confident 
 person, and I knew what good care he could 
 take of a person, but I shook my head. 
 
 " It is very good of you, Jane," for so she 
 made me call her now, " frightfully kind of you, 
 but I must go to Granty. She is expecting me, 
 
 298
 
 GWENDA 
 
 counting the moments till I go she says, and she 
 has been ill, too. We must get strong together. 
 And Silvercombe is the only place I fancy. In 
 November it is wonderfully attractive, there are 
 late flowering roses, pansies and snapdragons. 
 There are bits of gorse, streaks of flame here 
 and there in the brown heather. There will be 
 more sunshine than in London, and that is what 
 I need. I feel like a bleached stick of celery. 
 Thank you all the same." 
 
 " It is a long journey, much too long. Mr. 
 Wynn- Shuttle worth won t allow it," she said 
 irritably. 
 
 " He won t know, and he will be glad to wash 
 his hands of me," and I proceeded to tell them 
 of " The Jackdaw of Eheims " and his finding 
 me out in my nasty irony. 
 
 Peter laughed immoderately at first, and I 
 distinctly heard Mrs. Philpots remark how 
 noisy we were then he became grave. 
 
 " It is necessary," he said. " It may seem ab 
 surd to you, and perhaps it is carried to an ex 
 treme, but Wynn-Shuttleworth is a busy man, 
 everything must be in readiness for him, he 
 can t be kept waiting." 
 
 " Of course," I returned, " you will stick up 
 for your profession, and nobody wants him to 
 
 299
 
 GWENDA 
 
 be kept waiting, but need the nurses make such 
 a fuss and worry the poor patients so much? 
 I was hot the other day, it was a close steamy 
 morning, I wanted the counterpane down, it 
 was heavy, and the nurse wouldn t allow it till 
 after Mr. Wynn- Shuttle worth had been. The 
 bed wouldn t look so nice. Another nurse 
 scolded me because I dropped some crumbs 
 when I was having my lunch, it is difficult 
 to eat when you are lying flat. She whisked 
 them away from under my nose with a table 
 napkin and remarked I might be a little girl 
 of six." 
 
 Peter smiled and said I exaggerated. 
 
 " I don t," I returned vehemently. " There is 
 altogether too much red tapeism, everything too 
 cut and dried, too much law and order. I felt 
 drowsy one night. I had been in a good deal of 
 pain that day perhaps you know all our backs 
 are rubbed with ether at night to prevent bed 
 sores? " 
 
 " Perhaps I do," he replied dryly. " I have 
 been in hospitals before now." 
 
 " It is unkind to speak to an invalid in such 
 a manner," I observed. 
 
 " You don t sound like one." 
 
 " I am so tired of you two quarrelling about 
 300
 
 GWENDA 
 
 hospitals," interjected Mrs. Prendergast plain 
 tively, " Can t we talk about something else ? " 
 
 " No," said her brother with decision, " we are 
 going to thrash this out. Please continue. You 
 felt drowsy one night after a good deal of 
 pain " 
 
 " And I asked the nurse on duty if she would 
 mind, for once, doing my back before the time 
 was due for it to be done. And she replied it 
 was out of the question as she was going to 
 her supper. I pleaded with her, but she was 
 inexorable. I must tell you this operation 
 takes about half a minute. One nurse raises 
 you while another nurse dabs on the ether. 
 I dropped asleep. She woke me up later. 
 Now, she said, I am ready. I never closed 
 my eyes that night." 
 
 He rose and walked to the window. His back 
 looked very square and irritated. " That nurse 
 was a bad nurse. She will never get on. To a 
 dozen good nurses, there may be one bad one." 
 
 " Many more than that," I interrupted. 
 
 " I don t agree with you. And perhaps you 
 forget that this place is kept up by charity." 
 
 Suddenly I felt ashamed. " I forgot," I said 
 humbly. " I am sorry." 
 
 He strode back to the bed. " I didn t mean 
 301
 
 GWENDA 
 
 that," he said roughly. "You misunderstood 
 me. I I am not quite such a brute. What I 
 meant was, that hospitals can t afford skilled 
 trained nurses throughout. There is a sister 
 a clever reliable, thoroughly trained woman, at 
 the head of each ward, the rest are learning, 
 being trained. Some are probationers, they 
 have no difficult work allotted to them; then 
 come the ones who have been at it a year or 
 two. They are bound to make mistakes. The 
 hours are long, there is no pay or very little, 
 nurses like doctors are but human. They don t 
 pretend to be infallible at least, the sensible 
 ones don t," he broke off with a laugh, and gave 
 me his hand. " I must go," he said. " My time 
 is up, and I am sorry for you, don t think that 
 I am not. You are a brave plucky girl. You 
 shouldn t be here by rights, but you might be 
 in a worse place. Good-bye." For a moment 
 he held my hand, " May I come again? " 
 
 " Bather," I replied. " You are as bracing 
 as Blackpool, and I like being scolded." 
 
 " Scolded ! " he raised his brows comically. 
 
 "Yes, you have simply badgered me, but I 
 don t mind." 
 
 When he had gone I said: "I am afraid I 
 have vexed him and that he thinks me a poor 
 
 302
 
 GWENDA 
 
 sort of creature, and I don t want him to have 
 that impression." 
 
 Mrs. Prendergast looked at me, and then she 
 said a very astonishing thing. 
 
 " I was unaware that you posed, Gwenda. 
 Peter worships the very ground you walk on, 
 and you know it." 
 
 I lay and stared at her gasping. 
 
 " Do you pretend that you didn t know Peter 
 was in love with you? " 
 
 I shook my head, too amazed to speak. 
 
 "Honestly?" 
 
 " Honestly." 
 
 " And now you know it, are you glad? " 
 
 I considered this for a moment or two, and 
 then I said simply " Very glad." 
 
 "And are you in love with him? You will 
 forgive my asking you such very straight ques 
 tions?" 
 
 " No. Not at all, I never thought of such a 
 thing," I returned. 
 
 " And yet you are glad he is in love with 
 you?" 
 
 I nodded. "It is such an honour. Your 
 brother is so very nice." 
 
 " H m," she said. " You are a strange girl. 
 Do you realise what this means to Peter? " 
 
 303
 
 GWENDA 
 
 " Means to him 1 ? " I echoed. 
 
 " It has glorified his life and made him 
 wretched, glorified and darkened his life at one 
 and the same moment. He is a changed man. 
 You are married. You are beyond his reach. 
 He is not strong enough not to see you, and 
 when he does his depression afterward is dread 
 ful to see. He knows that I know. I have al 
 ways seen through Peter, he is as transparent 
 and simple as a child. And it makes it worse 
 for him knowing " she hesitated. 
 
 " Knowing that I have left my husband." 
 
 " Exactly." She put her hand on mine and 
 stroked it gently. " Gwenda, can I talk to you 
 about it ? " she asked. 
 
 "About what?" 
 
 " About your husband. We knew him for 
 years. We had not the slightest idea that he 
 could behave so cruelly. Does it pain you to 
 speak of him? " 
 
 " Yes, it does. I know you mean it kindly 
 but the hurt is too great yet I " I struggled 
 for control. " I try not to think of him. I put 
 him from me as much as possible. Sometimes 
 I sob through the long hours of the night till 
 I fall asleep from exhaustion. He has never 
 enquired for me, never sent a message to me. 
 
 304
 
 GWENDA 
 
 I hardly think I expected either, but oh, how 
 it hurts. I can t talk about it. Doesn t it seem 
 strange my husband hates and doesn t want 
 me, and Peter, you tell me, loves me and wants 
 me badly, and I can t be with one or the other." 
 
 " And from what you say," she returned, 
 " you don t want to be with Peter? " 
 
 " I don t want to be with either. I once loved 
 Lionel as much as it is possible for a woman to 
 love a man, now, I hate him. Peter I have 
 never learned to love, I couldn t be loving one 
 man when I have been fighting to regain the 
 affection of another. It is impossible. I am 
 glad and proud beyond words that your broth 
 er cares for me, I won t even pretend that I 
 am sorry that he does, for I am not, it gives me 
 keen pleasure to know that he loves me. If I 
 were free I should wish that I could return it, 
 but it seems a little hopeless ever thinking of 
 such a thing in the present position of affairs. 
 Doesn t it? " I finished with a laugh. 
 
 " It does rather," she agreed. " And yet I 
 can t understand any girl not caring for Peter." 
 
 " You are prejudiced," I said, " he is your 
 brother. If I had no husband, I might think 
 about it, but as it is, it is a waste of time." And 
 then I changed the conversation to other topics. 
 
 305
 
 GWENDA 
 
 I felt Peter would be anything but pleased at 
 our discussing him; or did he guess that his 
 sister would some day tell me? My cheeks 
 burnt at the thought. Did he want me to know ? 
 
 Granty, it doesn t seem even fair to him to 
 tell you, but I wanted you to know that it is 
 possible for a man to love me. 
 
 I am very feminine, and it seems to me that 
 the world will smile behind my back and say 
 the failure of my marriage is my own fault, and 
 it hurts my pride. "What does it matter?" 
 you will reply in your practical fashion, " what 
 the world says. Don t be self-conscious and 
 egotistical and make no mistake: the world 
 doesn t bother its head about you half so much 
 as you imagine." 
 
 Do you remember saying to me once when I 
 was very young perhaps I was eighteen: 
 " Youth imagines it is the hub of the universe. 
 Age knows that in the scheme of things it has 
 played as small a part as the minutest grain 
 of sand." 
 
 To-night I shall go to sleep saying to myself 
 " I am only a grain of sand, I am only a grain 
 of sand." 
 
 To-morrow I feel there will be a letter from 
 you, and within a week s time, if I continue to 
 
 306
 
 GWENDA 
 
 progress, I shall be with you. I shall lay my 
 head on your dear pink shawl, inhale its fa 
 miliar lavender scent, and look into your serene 
 blue eyes. 
 
 Good-night, 
 
 GWENDA. 
 
 But I am not getting on so well as I did. I 
 am always so hot and yet the weather is cold. 
 
 307
 
 LETTER XX 
 
 ST. MARGARET S HOSPITAL FOR WOMEN 
 BLOOMSBURY, W. C., Oct. 13th. 
 
 MY DEAR GRANTY : 
 
 I notice you say nothing of Lionel in your let 
 ter, and I think I know why. You still, perhaps, 
 feel that I am like that woman in the Police 
 Court. Nobody shall abuse my husband but 
 myself! But no, not now. My loyalty is gone. 
 How could it remain with me ? I am not a saint 
 as you well know. I have strong passions. 
 Sometimes I feel I could kill Lionel, choke the 
 life out of him ; and were I to see Lady Rivers 
 dying in a ditch I would give her no hand to 
 help her out. So write as you will. Let your 
 self go. Say all the things I haven t the 
 strength to say because of my beating pulses 
 and fevered brain. 
 
 Mr. Wynn-Shuttleworth wonders at times 
 why my temperature is up. I see him examine 
 the chart above my bed with knitted brow. 
 "What has she been doing?" he asks. The 
 nurse shakes fyer head " nothing, Sir." 
 
 308
 
 GWENDA 
 
 How can I say : " I am lying here a helpless 
 log with thoughts that would frighten you were 
 you to know them. In my impotent rage I dig 
 my nails into my hands and bury my face in 
 my pillow to keep from crying out curses and 
 recriminations." 
 
 " She is of an excitable temperament," the 
 great man says, " keep her quiet." 
 
 Keep her quiet! I laugh hysterically. The 
 great man frowns. " As long as your tempera 
 ture is up, you don t leave this place," he pro 
 nounces, and at once I am calm. I couldn t 
 stand much more of Mrs. Philpots, and I pic 
 ture myself lying at your side, my head against 
 a cool linen pillow-case and the sound of the 
 sea in my ears. 
 
 You ask me why did I fly to a hospital instead 
 of to a Nursing Home. 
 
 I had very little money of my own. All that 
 belonged to Lionel I left on my dressing-table 
 with the jewels that Lionel had given me the 
 showy necklace, my engagement ring, the dia 
 mond pendant, even my wedding ring. Do the 
 people here wonder why the third finger of 
 my left hand is bare? Perhaps it was foolish 
 and dramatic of me to leave the ring, but I felt 
 I should be soiled were I to keep anything that 
 
 309
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 had belonged to him. And you must remember 
 that I was nearly demented with pain that night. 
 As in a dream I heard Fanchette talking to the 
 hospital officials, and found myself being car 
 ried on a sort of stretcher to a room, undressed, 
 and put into long woollen sea boots, my own 
 nightdress, a flannel jacket, and a pink head 
 flannel; and then being placed on a couch and 
 smothered with blankets and wheeled to a lift. 
 And then because the pain was so excruciating 
 I set up a shrill laugh to stop myself from 
 screaming, and the lift man and a nurse stared 
 at me in amazement, and the nurse said I must 
 calm myself and be good and not be frightened. 
 And then well, Henley tells you what hap 
 pened next 
 
 "You are carried in a basket, 
 Like a carcase from the shambles 
 To the theatre, a cockpit 
 Where they stretch you on a table. 
 
 Then they bid you close your eyelids, 
 And they mask you with a napkin, 
 And the anaesthetic reaches 
 Hot and subtle through your being. 
 
 And you gasp and reel and shudder 
 In a rushing swaying rapture, 
 While the voices at your elbow 
 Fade receding fainter farther. 
 310
 
 GWENDA 
 
 Lights about you shower and tumble 
 And your blood seems crystallizing 
 Edged and vibrant yet within you 
 Racked and hurried back and forward. 
 
 Then the lights grow fast and furious, 
 And you hear a noise of waters, 
 And you wrestle, blind and dizzy, 
 In an agony of effort, 
 
 Till a sudden lull accepts you, 
 And you sound an utter darkness . . . 
 And awaken . . . with a struggle . . . 
 On a hushed, attentive audience." 
 
 But I didn t awaken on a hushed, attentive 
 audience. 
 
 I woke to the sound of loud groans (Mrs. 
 Philpots had also been operated on that after 
 noon) and the beating of something afterward 
 I found Mrs. P. was thumping her locker by 
 her bed with a fan. And I wondered what had 
 happened and where I could be. Beneath my 
 chin rested a small china bowl you can imagine 
 for what, and over me was a large cage arrange 
 ment to keep the bedclothes from pressing on 
 the wound, and I felt so hideously sick and ill 
 that I would have gladly died. Presently as my 
 senses became clearer I found I was lying quite 
 flat without any pillow, and that I was still in 
 horrible pain. 
 
 311
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 A nurse bent over the bed and spoke to me, 
 but I felt too badly to reply, then a large im 
 pressive man (Mr. Wynn-Shuttleworth) felt my 
 pulse, said I would do, and bustled away; and 
 for an hour or two I lay in a half stupor racked 
 by tearing pain and listening to the cries of 
 the woman in the other bed. " God, God," she 
 yelled, in a sort of groaning whisper, " help 
 me. Do something, oh, the pain! It s cruel, 
 it s cruel, God, God. Give me morphia. I can t 
 bear it. Nurse, why don t you come to me ? Oh 
 God, you are cruel. Help ! won t somebody help 
 me? Nurse send for the doctor " 
 
 And the nurse sent for him, and when he came 
 he did nothing but tell her to be quiet. He 
 couldn t and wouldn t give her morphia. She 
 must go to sleep, and she must be quiet, she was 
 disturbing me. She was going on beautifully. 
 She was bound to have some pain the first few 
 hours, and she must bear it bravely . . . 
 
 Then he came across to me and asked me if 
 I were comfortable. I begged in a whisper for 
 some water, but he shook his head. It might 
 cause me to be sick, and I was too weak to do 
 anything but acquiesce dumbly. 
 
 The hours passed slowly. My thirst became 
 intolerable, and my body burnt with heat. A 
 
 312
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 blanket was next to me, no cool sheet, and the 
 feel of the hot irritating wool nearly sent me 
 frantic. 
 
 At eleven o clock or thereabouts, the young 
 house surgeon came on his last round. He felt 
 my pulse, enquired about my temperature, and 
 again I pleaded for a little water. But he was 
 inexorable. When he had gone the slow tears 
 trickled down my cheeks. I was in grinding 
 pain, I longed unspeakably to turn on my side, 
 if only for a second, and I would have bartered 
 my soul for a pillow. 
 
 I never slept through that long, long night. 
 Mrs. Philpots had ceased her cries, and from 
 her laboured breathing I knew that her pain 
 was lost in slumber. Sometimes she moaned a 
 little, but she was unconscious, and that was 
 bliss. Occasionally a night nurse looked in to 
 see that all was right with us. There was little 
 she could do, we were neither allowed food 
 which we certainly didn t want, nor drink, nor 
 morphia, nor anything. We just had to lie still 
 and allow nature to heal us in her own way. 
 
 As the hours passed my mouth became so 
 parched that I found I was unable to articulate. 
 When the nurse bent over me I tried to frame 
 the word " water," but my dry swollen lips re- 
 
 313
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 fused to move. I pointed to a jug on the wash- 
 stand, but again she shook her head. " It is 
 against the rules," she whispered. " You can 
 not have anything till 6 o clock." She saw by 
 my face I wanted to know the time. " It is 
 3 o clock now." And she left me. 
 
 And in those three hours I tasted purgatory. 
 My head lolled from side to side, my body felt 
 like a burning coal, my wound seemed to be on 
 fire. And all the time before my fevered vision 
 I saw a little stream of water gushing from the 
 rocks, a little stream of water I saw when walk 
 ing with Uncle Sandy to Loch Katrine, spring 
 ing from moss-covered rocks. Splashing the 
 ferns in its fall, covering them with diamond 
 drops, making a sound most delicious and 
 musical. 
 
 I pictured myself lying amongst the wet ferns 
 with the water falling on to me, trickling down 
 my burning cheeks and into my parched mouth. 
 Splashing over my neck and hair, and hands. 
 And again blinding tears dropped on to the hot 
 woolly blanket. I could not sob, it hurt too 
 much. Then I thought of Water Marsh at 
 home, fed by the brook, with cress and waving 
 weeds and kingcups ; and I with bare feet pad 
 dling about as I did as a child frock pinned up, 
 
 314
 
 GWENDA 
 
 sleeves rolled back, and hair flying in the wind. 
 From that I passed to the garden at Sunset 
 after a shower of rain. I recalled the scent of 
 the wet box bordering the paths, and of the 
 roses when I pressed my face into their moist 
 petalled hearts and snuffed up the sweet drops ; 
 and of the privet in flower already inviting the 
 bees to venture forth as the rain had passed 
 and it contained much honeyed sweetness for 
 those who cared to cull. 
 
 You will say it was foolish of me to torture 
 myself thus, but I could not help it. Our 
 thoughts are not under our control when we 
 are feverish. 
 
 And so that night of horror passed and the 
 dawn crept into the room revealing the colour 
 washed walls and the lockers by our beds (in 
 which were stored bandages and antiseptic wool 
 and various appliances) and the cheap prints 
 and brightly coloured texts which assured us 
 that " God is Love," and " The Lord is my Shep 
 herd, I shall not Want," and " Joy cometh in 
 the Morning," which last I thought was an 
 irony, nothing short of cruel, for if there is any 
 time when an invalid is feeling worse than an 
 other it is in the early morning. 
 
 The roar of London had begun, milk carts 
 315
 
 GWENDA 
 
 with their rattling cans, and heavy drays rum 
 bled along the streets. A fire station butts on 
 to the side of the hospital, and at about five 
 o clock the engines were called out, and the 
 noise as they tore over the cobbled stones, 
 snorting and shrieking, would have made me 
 leap if I could have leapt. 
 
 And at last six o clock arrived and my water, 
 and as the nurse entered the room it seemed 
 to me she was a shining angel of mercy and 
 eagerly I stretched out my hands. And she 
 held to my lips one spoonful of warm water 
 with which she said I could rinse out my mouth, 
 but must not swallow. 
 
 Oh, the cruelty and bitterness of my disap 
 pointment: Bound and round in my mouth I 
 rolled that insipid warm water, and dared I 
 swallow it? But no, she was a large firm nurse 
 with a moustache. 
 
 When she had gone I did a very wicked thing, 
 so rash, so foolish that I hold my breath when 
 I think of it now. On the shelf of my locker 
 was a bowl of roses which Fanchette had left 
 me. By stretching out an arm I could reach it. 
 I could not raise my head more than a couple 
 of inches, but I managed to get that bowl to my 
 lips and I drank. And as I drank I knew that 
 
 316
 
 GWENDA 
 
 I was swallowing germs and all sorts of terrible 
 things that would set up septic poisoning and 
 kill me at once; but better die that way than 
 from thirst. 
 
 Providence had helped me. All flowers are 
 removed from the wards at night, but this bowl 
 of roses had been overlooked. It had appar 
 ently been left for me. And then I slept. 
 Through the day little sips of warm milk and 
 water were administered to us and we slept at 
 intervals. 
 
 And then another long night was to be faced, 
 and again Mrs. Philpots whimpered and cried 
 out and called upon God to help her ; and once 
 she became so noisy that I turned my head to 
 ward her and said " S-sh." And she was so 
 astonished that she did hush. It was a queer 
 noise I made, something like the hiss of a 
 gander, and whenever she began to groan I 
 shoo d at her till she stopped, and gradually I 
 shoo d her to sleep. And when the nurse came 
 to give us our medicine, or milk, I have for 
 gotten which, I implored her not to wake Mrs. 
 Philpots and I would take her dose as well as 
 my own. 
 
 And so the days and nights passed, always in 
 pain, sometimes sick, and often asleep. Till at 
 
 317
 
 the end of a week my suffering began to lessen 
 and lessen till it went. 
 
 I have various dates stowed away in my mind 
 by which I remember the stages of my progress : 
 At the end of twenty-four hours I was allowed 
 to have a pillow, my gratitude was enormous. 
 On the fifth day I had a little fish and thin 
 bread and butter. On the sixth I received Mrs. 
 Prendergast, my first visitor. Mrs. Philpots 
 saw Mr. Philpots for ten minutes on the third 
 day, and I was very jealous not of Mr. Phil- 
 pots who resembles a mournful music master 
 without pupils, but because 7 was not permitted 
 to have a visitor. I spoke of my grievance to a 
 nurse, and she replied I was not as well as the 
 occupant of the other bed. 
 
 " In what respect ? " I whispered with some 
 asperity, and she replied she wasn t there to 
 explain the medical aspects of our individual 
 cases, but to nurse us, wash us, feed us and 
 enforce obedience, and would I open my mouth 
 at once as she wished to take my tempera 
 ture. 
 
 On the eighth day the cage which supported 
 the bedclothes was removed and I ceased to feel 
 like a hen in a coop. 
 
 But I will not worry you with any further 
 318
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 details of my illness. They are not particularly 
 interesting I know, but this writing helps to 
 pass the time, and there is so little to write 
 about. 
 
 In five days I shall be out of here. Just 
 think of it! Mrs. Philpots wants to tell me 
 more about her Cousin Bob Williamson. He is 
 a soda water manufacturer, and I am getting 
 quite a good bit interested in him. He is enor 
 mously stout and his wife is under five feet in 
 height and weighs just over seven stone; and 
 it appears when they are in bed she has a 
 desperate time trying to get comfortable. I 
 couldn t see why at first, and Mrs. Philpots 
 hinted that I was very dull. He is so fright 
 fully heavy that he weighs the mattress down 
 his side to such an extent that a slope is formed 
 and she comes sliding down on to him at all 
 hours of the night which annoys him very con 
 siderably. 
 
 I laughed so much over this story that I 
 really hurt myself; and then Mrs. Philpots 
 searched about in her mind for more, but none 
 was so funny as that. 
 
 October 14th. Sometimes the days seem very 
 long. The convalescent stage of an illness is 
 
 319
 
 GWENDA 
 
 more trying than any other. Don t you find 
 it so? 
 
 So you have been up in your room. You have 
 beaten me. But had you also had an operation 
 you would still have beaten me. Yours is a 
 more indomitable will than mine. 
 
 To-day I am fractious and depressed. The 
 Sister tells me she fears I shall not be allowed 
 to leave here on the 18th. She doesn t give any 
 reason why. The prospect of being in this place 
 an hour longer than I anticipated fills me with 
 dismay. 
 
 Of course, I fainted when the stitches were 
 removed, most women, with the exception of 
 Goliath-like creatures without a nerve in their 
 bodies, would faint; it is such a horrid sick 
 ening sort of sensation. And what do you think 
 they gave me when I came round soda water. 
 Can you imagine colder comfort? It so tickled 
 me that it made me laugh, and the Sister says 
 I am one of the queerest patients she has had 
 in her ward. When she expects me to cry I 
 laugh, and vice versa. 
 
 I am picturing the woods to-day at home, and 
 I imagine I hear the thud of a chestnut as it 
 falls to earth with its soft fragrant carpet of 
 leaves, and I can see the flutter of yellow birch 
 
 320
 
 GWENDA 
 
 leaves as they too return to dear Mother earth, 
 and Mrs. Philpots will keep interrupting my 
 pretty fancies with her woes. 
 
 She has what is known as a surface stitch 
 abscess, nothing in the least serious, and she 
 has made as much fuss over it as if she had 
 had her operation all over again. She says it 
 is the fault of the nurses, that they have been 
 careless with her, not attended to her properly, 
 and that a stitch abscess only arises from bad 
 nursing. She has talked of it morning, noon 
 and night, and has just announced that she shall 
 ask her husband to remove her in an ambulance 
 before anything else goes wrong. I have had 
 difficulty to prevent myself from skipping (fig 
 uratively speaking) at this good news, but tried 
 out of politeness to look as if I should miss 
 her. 
 
 " The nurses and doctors will be vexed of 
 course, they will know that my faith in them 
 has gone," she said, her mountainous body 
 heaving the bedclothes up and down as she let 
 forth a big sigh of satisfaction at the prospect 
 of the discomf orture. " Mr. Wynn-Shuttle- 
 worth will give it the nurses, and I shall make a 
 point of telling him what I think of them." 
 
 " I shouldn t," I said, with some heat. " Just 
 321
 
 GWENDA 
 
 think of what they do for us." Peter Drexel s 
 rebuke had done me some good. 
 
 " They get paid for it." 
 
 " But they don t, very few of them receive 
 anything but their board and lodging," I re 
 turned. 
 
 " Well, they like their work," she persisted. 
 
 " Like nursing patients such as you and I? " 
 
 " I am sure I have been a good patient. I 
 have given as little trouble as I possibly could. 
 I am used to operations, and know the ropes 
 of the place. It is different for you, of course." 
 
 I checked a smile at her gentle patronage. 
 " Yet you persist in leaving before the time 
 is up." 
 
 " Because I am not satisfied with the treat 
 ment. I have no right to have a stitch abscess." 
 
 " Well I am sure they don t want you to have 
 one. It can be no pleasure to them," I retorted. 
 
 She ignored my sarcasm and announced that 
 she should give a handsome donation when she 
 left, and that I mustn t imagine she was living 
 on charity. 
 
 " My husband is a most liberal man," she 
 said. " Probably he will give 10. And these 
 hospitals must be jolly glad to get patients in 
 our position." 
 
 322
 
 GWENDA 
 
 " Do you think so?" I replied slowly, "I 
 fancy I should much prefer the poor were I in 
 the committee s position. We, who have had 
 comfortable homes, naturally expect more when 
 we come to such institutions than those who 
 have come from wretched surroundings. I am 
 angry because I am roused at 6 o clock in the 
 morning, I jeer at the fuss made over the sur 
 geon, (and I still jeer a bit to myself) and you 
 resent having a stitch abscess. There is a dumb 
 resignation in the poor when they suffer I 
 have seen it at home. They may not be grateful 
 for what they receive, but they at least don t 
 grumble at it. If you and I had undergone 
 operations in our homes, at the hands of Mr. 
 Wynn-Shuttleworth, they would cost us, with 
 nursing, a hundred and fifty pounds at the very 
 least. I try to remember this now when I am 
 inclined to grumble." 
 
 " Dear me," she said, " I wonder you came 
 here." 
 
 " I came because I couldn t afford to go any 
 where else, and I expect your reason was the 
 same," I said more gently, as her cheeks had 
 flushed. " I don t suppose either of us wanted 
 to come, but as we are here, don t you think we 
 ought to make the best of things T " 
 
 323
 
 GWENDA 
 
 " Perhaps," she returned grudgingly, " but 
 all the same I shall leave to-morrow." And I 
 said I certainly should. 
 
 A nurse has just been in with lovely flowers 
 from Mrs. Prendergast and Peter. They send 
 some each day and lovely fruit, most of which 
 I am not allowed to touch, and they know it, 
 but still send. To-morrow is visiting day, and 
 they will come to see me as usual and I am 
 rather dreading seeing Peter. At first I felt 
 glad and proud when I heard that he cared for 
 me, but now I am sorry if it be true, for of 
 course his sister as likely as not has made a 
 mistake in her supposition, and his feelings to 
 ward me may be those of mere friendship. I 
 shall feel awkward and self-conscious when I 
 meet him, nervous and stupid, and it is a pity. 
 I so much enjoyed having him as a friend, and 
 don t want him as a lover. 
 
 It is tiresome that a woman can never have 
 a man friend throughout her life. Some women 
 pretend they can, but they only get talked about 
 if they do. If a man is thirty years older or 
 twenty years younger than a woman and she is 
 seen about with him much, all her friends and 
 acquaintances nod their heads and incline them 
 toward each other and whisper " there is more 
 
 324
 
 GWENDA 
 
 in this than they would have us believe." Of 
 course there are a few women who can embark 
 upon a friendship with a man, I am sure Mrs. 
 Philpots could with absolute safety, but then 
 would any man want to be her friend? I can t 
 conceive it. 
 
 Granty, I am growing nasty and sour, but 
 keep your love for me, won t you? I have been 
 a failure, a few can support success with dig 
 nity but not many. It wants a fineness and 
 simplicity of character which few possess, but 
 how many come through the muddy waters of 
 failure with any gain to their characters? 
 Either they go under altogether, or they whine 
 and become cynical and soured. You must help 
 me to win through, dear. 
 
 GWENDA. 
 
 325
 
 LETTER XXI 
 
 ST. MARGARET S HOSPITAL FOR WOMEN, 
 BLOOMSBURY, W. C., Oct. 16th. 
 
 MY DEAR GEANTY : 
 
 Quite a number of important events have 
 taken place since I last wrote to you, which was 
 only the day before yesterday. I have sat up 
 for half an hour in a chair ; Mrs. Philpots has 
 departed ; a night-nurse has been taken off duty 
 because of her unkindness to the patients ; and 
 Mr. Peter Drexel has written me a letter say 
 ing that he has been obliged to leave Town on 
 business but will be back by the time I am dis 
 charged from the hospital, as he intends, with 
 my permission, to take me down to Silvercombe 
 himself. 
 
 " It is ridiculous," he writes, " to undertake 
 such a journey in the weak condition you will 
 be in, accompanied only by a maid. Only a rash 
 and very foolish girl would contemplate taking 
 such a step. I have been your medical adviser 
 once, therefore I feel in a position to scold you 
 and give you some advice which is: Come to 
 
 326
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 my sister for a few days while you feel your 
 feet and gain a little strength and then go to 
 Silvercombe. And may I venture to put a ques 
 tion to you: why this awful hurry to tear off 
 to Devonshire? We much fear, Jane and I, 
 that you intend taking root there, and once this 
 is achieved will there be any chance of your 
 ever consenting to be transplanted to another 
 soil even for a day or two? You have, as you 
 well know, two warm friends in this grimy old 
 city. Won t you give them an opportunity of 
 proving their affection for you by being per 
 mitted to nurse and tend you for a little while ? 
 It will be selfish of you to refuse." 
 
 Isn t it a nice kind practical letter? So ex 
 actly like him; and I can see the set of his 
 mouth as he penned those lines. 
 
 I don t believe he is a scrap in love with me. 
 It is a figment of Jane Prendergast s brain. A 
 man in love couldn t possibly have written any 
 thing so friendly and sensible. He would have 
 written either very guardedly and primly, or let 
 himself go altogether. 
 
 So that little romance cleared away, what 
 shall I do? I am horribly weak, there is not 
 a doubt about it, and it is a great disappoint 
 ment to me. When I am lying here, propped up 
 
 327
 
 with pillows and wearing my sky-blue dressing 
 jacket blue always gives me an elated sensa 
 tion I feel as well and as strong as a horse; 
 but, oh, when they got me up just now how did 
 I feel! It is not easy to describe. Suddenly 
 when I put my feet to the ground, my legs ap 
 peared to be made of tissue paper and they 
 crumpled up beneath me. And, of course, being 
 impossible to stand upon tissue paper legs all 
 crumpling up, I should have fallen had not a 
 nurse seized me and half carried me to a chair. 
 And what do you think she said, quite in a voice 
 of triumph 1 ? " There, I told you so." Can you 
 imagine anything baser or more exasperating? 
 And because I was trying to focus things cor 
 rectly, for all the furniture appeared to be 
 jumping about the room and I saw it through 
 a swimming black darkness, I was unable to 
 reply for a moment, but when clearness of 
 vision returned and the washstand went back to 
 its proper place, I said : " I don t know what 
 you mean. I feel perfectly well, and if I didn t, 
 it s unkind to say I told you so. " 
 
 And she laughed and wondered how I looked 
 when I wasn t well and felt faint. 
 
 " Probably very interesting," I replied. " I 
 have never seen myself when I have felt faint. 
 
 328
 
 GWENDA 
 
 You can t be looking into a mirror when you 
 are endeavouring to prevent the floor from hit 
 ting you in the face." And while I was speak 
 ing she suddenly and most unexpectedly seized 
 my feet and placed them upon another chair, 
 nearly upsetting my balance altogether. 
 
 " Don t do that again," I said severely, " or 
 else give me warning." 
 
 Again she laughed. " You ll never be allowed 
 to leave here in a couple of days, you re no 
 stronger than a baby. You should just see the 
 way your colour comes and goes." 
 
 " Need you keep referring to my strength," 
 I said, struggling after composure, for her 
 words seemed as a death knell to my hopes. " I 
 have wonderful recuperative powers once I am 
 up and about." 
 
 " You won t leave this place inside a week," 
 she repeated. 
 
 I did not tell her that I had never met a 
 person s conversation so singularly devoid of 
 interest as hers, as I thought she might be 
 offended, but I closed my eyes as a hint that 
 she might go. 
 
 " You don t look so bad when it s getting dark, 
 but this illness has aged you," was her next 
 comforting observation. There did not seem to 
 
 329
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 be anything to say to this; my glass told me 
 that she was speaking the truth, and I lay and 
 wondered weakly why it was that truthful peo 
 ple were usually so unlovable. 
 
 "Are you going to be married?" was her 
 next startling question. " There s a gentleman 
 who comes to ask for you every day." 
 
 "A gentleman?" I opened my eyes and 
 my heart suddenly began to beat violently. 
 " What s he like? Tall, dark, handsome? " 
 
 " No, not tall, and rather plain. I think he 
 came to see you one afternoon. I wasn t on 
 duty, but I caught sight of him as I was going 
 down the passage. And I must be going now. 
 Eh, you have flushed. And you can t have been 
 a widow very long. You don t look old." 
 
 " A widow ! " I stared at her. " Who said 
 I was a widow ! " 
 
 " Well nobody," she admitted. " But as you 
 are called Mrs. Conyngham and your husband 
 has never been to see you, I concluded you were 
 a widow." 
 
 " Dear me," I said, " how extraordinary." 
 
 " And aren t you one ? " 
 
 " No," I replied, " and and I don t want to 
 talk any more. I am tired." 
 
 Rather reluctantly, she went, saying she 
 330
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 would return in a quarter of an hour to put 
 me back to bed. 
 
 Granty, the disappointment that her words 
 brought to me was cruel. And oh, what a fool 
 I am, and where is my pride? It can t be that 
 I still care for Lionel? It is impossible. My 
 love is dead absolutely. It died the night of 
 our final interview. I hate him now. I have 
 kept telling you so in my letters, haven t I? 
 There can t be a mistake. He has never been 
 to see me, or sent me one little message of sym 
 pathy. He is always with Lady Rivers. He 
 loves her not me. I can t love a person who 
 doesn t love me. I hate him. I keep repeating 
 the words I hate him. But why did my heart 
 beat in that strange fashion, why did the blood 
 flame to my cheeks? It must be because I am 
 so weak. 
 
 I am too tired to write any more, but will 
 finish this letter to-morrow. And to-morrow 
 surely I shall know whether I am to remain a 
 prisoner here any longer or be with you at 
 Silvercombe in a fortnight s time. 
 
 October 17th. The decree has gone forth. I 
 am not to leave here just yet. It would not be 
 wise. 
 
 331
 
 GWENDA 
 
 Mr. Wynn-Shuttleworth was kind when he 
 saw my tears which I could not keep back. " It 
 is disappointing I know," he said gently, " but 
 another week will make all the difference in the 
 world. "We want our patients not to disgrace 
 us, but to do us credit. You must be brave." 
 
 Always I am told that " I must be brave." 
 And I am so tired of trying to be brave, and I 
 fail so dismally. My pillow is wet in the night 
 with my tears, and there is nobody now to hear 
 my sobs Mrs. Philpots has gone, her bed is not 
 yet occupied, the night nurse visits me rarely, 
 for there is little to do now, and so I lie and 
 weep. 
 
 How long is it since I was happy? Was it 
 in another life, Granty? I feel I should find 
 strength if I were with you. I am so weary 
 
 " Shoulders and loins ache . . . ! 
 Ache, and the mattress 
 Runs into bowlders and hummocks, 
 Glows like a kiln, while the bedclothes 
 Tumbling, importunate, daft, 
 Ramble and roll." 
 
 But one little bit of happiness I possess, and 
 that is to know you are gaining strength, and 
 have been out in the garden. So the ivy against 
 the barn is flowering once more, giving to the 
 
 332
 
 GWENDA 
 
 bees a last bit of honeyed sweetness before they 
 shut up house for the winter, and the laures- 
 tinus too. And I have them to look forward 
 to when I go home ivy flowers and laurestinus 
 and the sun shining upon them. So, after all, 
 there is something left for me. 
 
 GWENDA. 
 
 333
 
 LETTER XXII 
 
 ST. MARGARET S HOSPITAL FOR WOMEN, 
 BLOOMSBURY, Oct. 19th. 
 
 MY DEAR GBANTY : 
 
 I fear that my last letter to you was a little 
 depressed. 
 
 How true was your remark that my pen would 
 probably run away with me in a breakneck fash 
 ion; and you have been the victim. But I am 
 not going to say I am sorry because I believe 
 you have been a willing victim; that is your 
 way. 
 
 Some people are born unselfish and some 
 honest and some charitable and some sympa 
 thetic, and the greatest of these is the last. 
 Unselfishness and charity are very pleasant at 
 tributes ; honesty in others is very stimulating ; 
 but what we need most of all in our earthly 
 pilgrimage is sympathy. 
 
 A person may insist upon giving you the 
 most comfortable chair, the tit-bit of the 
 joint, the warmest place on the hearth, may 
 
 33-i
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 be willing to fetch and carry for you, save 
 you all the disagreeable things of life, be 
 absolutely unselfish toward the body part 
 of you, and never notice that your soul is 
 starving. 
 
 Most of us suffer from the frailty of being 
 more interested in ourselves than in anything 
 or in anybody else in the world. Some of us 
 more than others. And when a person is sym 
 pathetic enough to discuss with us ourself 
 myself, that person is very popular and much 
 beloved. All popular people are sympathetic. 
 They are interested in our work, our play, our 
 sorrows, our ambitions, our hopes. They have 
 good memories. A month has elapsed since you 
 met them, yet they enquire how the new cook is 
 going on and whether your evening frock turned 
 out a success, and the picture you are painting 
 finished. You are gratified and touched at their 
 interest in you. When they have gone you re 
 mark how nice they are. You don t realise that 
 you haven t enquired about their cooks and 
 frocks and paintings, or whatever lies near to 
 their hearts. 
 
 You are one of the former, and I am wonder 
 ing sadly if I am one of the latter. 
 
 For five months I have poured out my woes 
 335
 
 and thoughts and doings to you, and have al 
 ways found the sympathy I have sought and 
 needed. It has never failed me. And during 
 these five months what notice have I taken 
 of your woes and doings and pleasures and 
 occupations? Not much, dear heart. And yet 
 I have been interested. But sympathy un 
 expressed, mute, is not much use to anybody, 
 is it? 
 
 But I have thought of you more often than 
 I can tell you. I have pictured you in the up 
 right, extremely uncomfortable drawing-room 
 chair, to which you are so unaccountably 
 attached, reading The Nineteenth Century. 
 There is a paper on Free Trade with 
 which you disagree. Your brow is knit, 
 with an irritable movement you rearrange 
 your shawl, the man is a fool. I have seen you 
 on summer days seated on the milking stool, 
 close to a currant bush, engaged in picking fruit 
 for jam, you are wearing the battered hat, the 
 little feather of which, so rusty and thin, droops 
 sadly. I have been with you when you have 
 been patiently using up things for supper, while 
 in your secret heart wishing that old Hannah 
 would be a little more wasteful. And I have 
 always been with you in spirit when at night 
 
 336
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 you have gone to my old room and standing 
 by the bed whispered 
 
 "One to watch 
 Two to pray 
 Three to keep 
 All harm away." 
 
 Whatever I have been doing, dancing, playing 
 bridge, at a theatre, or in the quiet of my own 
 room, I have never failed to send my thoughts 
 through the night to a cottage at Silvercombe. 
 
 As I write, a pair of bright brown eyes watch 
 me from the other bed, if I smile or wipe away 
 a tear their gaze becomes uncomfortably intent. 
 They belong to a new patient who has taken 
 the place of Mrs. Philpots, and she is as small 
 as the other was large. 
 
 Her hands are tiny and her body so slight 
 that as she lies there she reminds me of a small 
 brown bird. She is to be operated on this after 
 noon, for what I don t know. She is unlike Mrs. 
 Philpots, and is not communicative. Poor, wee, 
 thing, I hope she won t suffer much. And if she 
 does, I know she will be silent about it. 
 
 I had been up again yesterday for half an 
 hour, and had just got back to bed when Mrs. 
 Prendergast, I can t get into the way of calling 
 her Jane, flew in for a few minutes on her way
 
 GWENDA 
 
 to a bridge party. She took my breath away 
 by saying : " Do you know why Peter hasn t 
 been to see you? " 
 
 " He is away," I replied. 
 
 " How do you know ? " she demanded. 
 
 " He wrote and told me." 
 
 She moved restlessly about the room. " That 
 is not the real reason." 
 
 I looked at her interrogatively. 
 
 " Have you ever thought how very difficult 
 it must be for a man of Peter s temperament to 
 prevent himself from putting his arms around 
 the woman he loves when he sees her as frail 
 and lonesome and unprotected as you? " 
 
 I put up my hand for her to hush. 
 
 " I won t," she said obstinately, " he wants to 
 strain you to his heart, to smother your face 
 with kisses, to pour out his words of love. 
 There ! " 
 
 " How imaginative you are," I said quietly, 
 " it is wonderful." 
 
 " It is not imagination. Peter is my only 
 brother. I am devoted to him. You are ruining 
 his life." 
 
 " And is that my fault? " I asked. " Were I 
 free I might love to hear your words, but as it 
 is, don t you think it is a little cruel ? " 
 
 338
 
 GWENDA 
 
 In an instant she was by my bed. " My 
 poor darling, forgive me. But I love you 
 both so much, and don t you think you could 
 ever care for Peter? " She looked at me 
 eagerly. 
 
 " I don t know. I don t think so ; but if I 
 could, what s the use? " 
 
 " You could divorce your husband." 
 
 " Divorce Lionel ! " I sat up in bed catching 
 my breath. 
 
 " Have you never thought of such a possi 
 bility?" 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 " But it s what every woman what every 
 normal woman would do. He has treated you 
 abominably, cruelly, heartlessly. Ah, I must 
 speak let me, dear. What s the use of pre 
 tending any more. Down at Glenfinlas Peter 
 could have horsewhipped him, whipped the life 
 out of him. You were away in your room ill, 
 suffering, and Lionel openly, deliberately and 
 publicly made love to that woman. It was sick 
 ening. I have seen Peter with clenched hands 
 and eyes suffused with passion fighting with 
 himself to keep his hands off him. He has gone 
 to your sick room for safety till he had con 
 quered himself, got his passion under control. 
 
 339
 
 GWENDA 
 
 And now She broke off, and seizing a poker 
 smashed a piece of coal in the fire till it sent up 
 a tongue of flame. 
 
 "Yes? Goon." 
 
 " And now while you are ill, while you are 
 lying in a ward of a public hospital, while your 
 face seems to grow whiter and your eyes larger, 
 the man you call husband is shocking the sen 
 sibilities of even the most hardened of sinners. 
 " He might have waited," they say, " waited 
 till that poor little wife of his is over her ill 
 ness ! " And yet it is more that woman s fault 
 than his, it is generally more the woman s fault ; 
 and while he is hers the worst and the best of 
 him body and soul, she cares no more about 
 him than she cares for the man who blacks her 
 boots." 
 
 "But why ? Why does she bother with 
 him?" 
 
 " He is of use to her. She plays with him as 
 a cat plays with a mouse. He is her tool. It 
 is said that she does it to anger her own hus 
 band who in a fit of passion divorced her and 
 yet still loves her. That is where her danger 
 lies. By her beauty she exercises a sort of en 
 chantment over men of a certain type. She 
 drives them nearly frantic. At one moment she 
 
 340
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 is gentle, sweetly feminine, demanding their 
 love and protection, and arousing in them as 
 much of chivalrous self-sacrifice as they are 
 capable of, and the next, if she has other fish 
 to fry, she casts them off like a worn-out glove. 
 She was one of the most talked of women in 
 Town before she married. Her husband is a 
 bounder, a Jew, and rolling in money, he liked 
 her title, but he has one decent instinct he 
 loves her, and still loves her. I am sorry for 
 him, and in a curious way I am sorry for Lionel, 
 for he is weak and it strikes me at times there 
 is something abnormal about him, something 
 wanting, his head is a curious shape." 
 
 " Has that struck you? " I cried. " For some 
 time I have noticed it. I I have tried to make 
 allowances." 
 
 " You poor little thing." She knelt and took 
 my hand in hers. " You have made too many 
 allowances. I do not mean that there is any 
 thing lacking in his brain development, but I 
 do mean may I speak plainly? " 
 
 I nodded assent. 
 
 " That had he not been trained my husband 
 says Lionel s mother was a very nice and charm 
 ing woman that had he not been educated, 
 surrounded by the refinements and luxuries of 
 
 341
 
 life, lie would have belonged to the criminal 
 class." 
 
 I started violently. 
 
 " Forgive me," she whispered. " What a fool 
 I am, I believe your temperature is up again. 
 Your hand is burning. What would Peter say ? 
 Gwenda, for his sake, for your own sake, for 
 everybody s sake, won t you let Lionel pass out 
 of your life ! It will be for the best." 
 
 "You mean " somehow I couldn t say the 
 words. 
 
 " I mean, divorce him. Put him from you." 
 
 I shuddered and buried my face in my hands. 
 " I couldn t. I simply couldn t. I don t believe 
 in divorce. I shall never live with him again. 
 But oh, I cannot do it. I cannot wash my dirty 
 linen in public. Think of it, going through the 
 Courts, and the wife is always blamed. They 
 will say it is my fault. I have been unable to 
 keep his affection. I have failed as a wife." 
 
 " Eot." Her voice was full of scorn. " And 
 do you care for the opinion of those who fre 
 quent the divorce courts ? And as for washing 
 your dirty linen in public, it is washed already, 
 it is shouted from the house tops." 
 
 I shrank at her words. And then with her 
 arms about me she made me laugh at the comi- 
 
 342
 
 GWENDA 
 
 cal despair of her voice : " I am the biggest ass 
 that ever breathed, I am no more fit to visit a 
 sick person than a lunatic is. I am going be 
 fore I can do any more mischief. And they will 
 be wanting to make up the number for bridge." 
 She drew on her long gloves. " Good-bye, 
 dear." 
 
 " You have been a sight for sore eyes," I 
 sighed. " I never saw anyone with a lovelier 
 figure. And you have, by your words, given me 
 fresh food for thought. My thoughts get very 
 monotonous : food, bandages, medicine, Silver- 
 combe, Uncle Sandy, you, Peter, Granty. I 
 want a change." 
 
 " And you never think of your husband f " she 
 queried. 
 
 " I try not to more than I can help. It makes 
 me cry, and then if I am discovered I am 
 scolded by an extremely stern nurse." 
 
 Suddenly she bent over me, and framing my 
 face in her hands, she looked at me searchingly. 
 " Gwenda, you don t still care for that husband 
 of yours ? " 
 
 " Of course not," I stammered. " Certainly 
 not," but my eyes dropped before the scrutiny 
 in hers. 
 
 " A woman s heart," she observed oracularly, 
 343
 
 GWENDA 
 
 " is the strangest, sometimes the most beauti 
 ful, and always the most inexplicable of all 
 God s creations." 
 
 And then she left me ; and I weakly laughed 
 off and on for some time, till the little lady with 
 the bright eyes politely hoped I wasn t hysteri 
 cal. 
 
 October 20th. Fanchette has just left me. I 
 am allowed to see visitors most days now, but 
 there are not many to come. Peter still keeps 
 away, and I miss him more than I thought it 
 would be possible. His kindness, his whimsical, 
 unexpected observations, his quiet calm pres 
 ence always brought me strength and peace. 
 One touch of his cool strong fingers seemed to 
 quiet my pulse as by magic. He sends me flow 
 ers, messages, good advice, but I want him. 
 And there again, the mere fact of his staying 
 away proves how strong he is. A weak man 
 would come, and I only want him as a friend. 
 
 But I started out to tell you about Fanchette 
 and not to talk of Peter Drexel. 
 
 She has made all arrangements for our jour 
 ney next week, and is a veritable tower of 
 strength. She is also glad I am not going to 
 the Prendergasts. I believe she thinks she will 
 
 344
 
 GWENDA 
 
 have a better chance of my entire management 
 at Silvercombe than in Town. I can plainly 
 see that Fanchette intends to manage me for 
 the rest of my life as old Hannah manages you. 
 What is it that makes us so weak in the hands 
 of servants? I have not dared to tell her that 
 Peter is travelling with us. I shall be much 
 stronger in a day or two. I have walked twice 
 the length of the room to-day, but am glad to 
 be back again and be coddled by Fanchette. 
 
 She has been brushing my hair. She says I 
 must have new ribbons. 
 
 " For one week," I remonstrated, " surely 
 these will do ? " 
 
 " A yard and a half of ribbon at 6d. a yard 
 could not ruin anybody, Madam," she assures 
 me, and I have told her to take ninepence from 
 my purse. When Fanchette begins to argue, 
 ninepence is a cheap price to pay for it to cease. 
 
 " You will want a new teagown, Madame, for 
 Silvercombe " 
 
 "Shall I? Won t my blue one do? It would 
 clean " 
 
 345
 
 LETTER XXIII 
 
 ST. MARGARET S HOSPITAL FOR WOMEN, 
 BLOOMSBURY, LONDON, Oct. 29th. 
 
 DEAR UNCLE SANDY : 
 
 I want you to come to us Granty and me. 
 
 Lionel is dead. He died suddenly this after 
 noon, and Granty lies in an unconscious condi 
 tion at the Hyde Park Hotel. 
 
 Peter Drexel and Mrs. Prendergast are doing 
 all they can for us, but I want you. You were 
 Lionel s uncle, how strange to say were, and 
 you are my dear kind friend. 
 
 They, the nurses and Peter, want me to go to 
 sleep. Aren t people funny? Granty lies fight 
 ing for her life, unconscious, in some strange 
 spirit world, and they want me to sleep. Peter 
 thinks she will rally, people rarely die from 
 shock, he says, and I know that her heart was 
 sound. He sends me messages by telephone 
 every half hour. Her pulse is a little stronger, 
 but I am nearly distracted with fear. 
 
 I don t seem to mind that Lionel is dead. I 
 only think of Granty. 
 
 346
 
 GWENDA 
 
 She came up from Silvercombe unexpectedly 
 this afternoon and suddenly walked into my 
 room, to Fanchette and me. Fanchette was 
 brushing my hair. 
 
 The joy of it, the intense happiness as that 
 slight upright figure stood beside me ! 
 
 I clung to her laughing, babbling incoherent 
 nonsense, the tears pouring down my cheeks. 
 But she was strangely white and still still as 
 the earth is still before a storm. 
 
 She returned my kisses; she brooded over 
 me with a hungry look in her eyes ; she passed 
 her small, white hand over my face and hair. 
 
 Presently she spoke : " I came to satisfy my 
 self that you were going on well. The report 
 that you were still too weak to travel alarmed 
 me. Your kind friend Dr. Drexel, in reply to 
 a letter of mine, wrote reassuringly. Still, I 
 was not satisfied. Doctors don t know, they are 
 very ignorant. But chiefly I came up to see 
 your husband, to see Lionel to have five min 
 utes talk with him. One " she spoke slowly 
 and as with difficulty, " one can say a lot in 
 five minutes." 
 
 She moved toward the door. " I will come 
 back. I shan t be long. I would have gone 
 straight to him but I felt I must see you first 
 
 347
 
 GWENDA 
 
 to find out how things were and it is worse 
 than I expected. . . . God, how you must have 
 suffered." 
 
 There was a note in her voice as that of some 
 wounded animal crying for the loss of her 
 young; and she stood a shaken, broken figure. 
 Then, with a supreme effort, she pulled herself 
 together. " I am weak," she murmured in a 
 little half -apologetic manner, " weak after my 
 illness and the doctor s treatment which nearly 
 killed me outright. But I am strong enough to 
 make your husband shrink before me, the Cur, 
 the white-livered cur. And that such men should 
 live, should be allowed to live after bringing 
 such a look to a woman s face. . . . Gwenda, 
 my little Gwenda," she hid her face in her 
 hands struggling for control, " Your eyes . . . 
 we must bring back the light . . . somehow." 
 She passed out of the room and quietly closed 
 the door. 
 
 " Fanchette," I cried, " follow her. Don t let 
 her see you, but never let her out of your 
 sight." 
 
 And I lay still, hands pressed to my beating 
 heart. 
 
 Have you ever known what it means to lie 
 still when the world is crashing around you? 
 
 348
 
 GWENDA 
 
 And after a long long while Peter Drexel 
 came to me. And he was very gentle, kneeling 
 beside the bed, and I knew that something ter 
 rible had come into my life. 
 
 " I can bear it," I said, " anything, anything 
 in the whole wide world so long as it ... isn t 
 . . . Granty." 
 
 He took my hand in his. " It isn t Granty, 
 though she is suffering from shock. It is Lio 
 nel, your husband. Will you be brave? " 
 
 "He is dead?" 
 
 " Yes," he said, " he died suddenly." And my 
 laughter rang through the ward that it was he 
 and not she. 
 
 " Hush," he commanded ; " for her sake you 
 must calm yourself. She is unconscious, and 
 very ill. But she will rally, I think. Every 
 thing that is possible is being done for her. I 
 will let you know constantly of her progress. 
 Fanchette is outside. She will tell you all for 
 I must go." For an instant he laid a cool hand 
 on my forehead, and at once I was calm. " It 
 is wise to tell things to people of your tem 
 perament," he said, " and will you promise 
 to be good for all our sakes I " And I prom 
 ised. 
 
 I must give you Fanchette s story briefly for 
 349
 
 GWENDA 
 
 the nurse says I must stop writing and try to 
 go to sleep. She is pretty and healthy and 
 young and without understanding because 
 she has never had a trouble. Sleep! 
 
 Fanchette, in a taxicab, followed Granty to 
 Prince s Gate and, slipping into the hall behind 
 her, signalled to Balbriggan to keep quiet. 
 
 " I want to see your master." Granty spoke 
 in a high clear voice. 
 
 Balbriggan told her that he was engaged with 
 a gentleman in the library and was not on any 
 account to be disturbed. 
 
 " Show me the library," she commanded and, 
 on a sudden, stopped short as loud angry 
 voices and a sound of scuffling came from a 
 room just to the right of where she was stand 
 ing. With a swift movement she stepped 
 toward it, flinging open the door wide, and 
 then drew back with a cry, for this was the 
 sight revealed: 
 
 A short heavily built man with large, coarse 
 hands was beating Lionel with a dog whip, 
 raining blows upon his head and shoulders. 
 " You hound," he shouted in a thick, hoarse 
 voice, " I ll teach you to carry on with the 
 woman who was once my wife. I divorced her, 
 because she drove me to it. But I still love 
 
 350
 
 GWENDA 
 
 her. . . . Heaven help me . . . but no other 
 man shall have her. I ll horsewhip the lot ... 
 take that . . . and that . . . you beast! It s 
 gone on too long . . . your love-making, and 
 I ll stop it. ... You shan t have her . . ." 
 
 It was Mr. Rosenberg; and I cannot write of 
 that pitiful scene as Fanchette described it for 
 Lionel was ill, mortally ill, fighting for breath, 
 for his life; unable to defend himself, unable 
 to ward off the cruel blows. 
 
 For a moment Granty, Fanchette and Bal- 
 briggan stood transfixed with horror not real 
 ising the position, wondering at the cringing 
 figure, scorning his cowardice, his dog-like atti 
 tude, his acceptance of his punishment, till, in 
 a flash, it came to Balbriggan that his master 
 was ill, and, springing forward, he seized Mr. 
 Eosenberg from behind wrenching the whip 
 from him. But it was too late. Lionel swayed 
 and fell heavily forward, striking his head vio 
 lently against the marble curb of the fireplace 
 a dull sickening thud; I can hear it the 
 awful sound. . . . He only lived a few minutes. 
 
 Peter says he ruptured a blood vessel 
 through excitement and intense passion. 
 
 And that is all : Lionel is dead. Granty is 
 unconscious. And I have to lie still. And al- 
 
 351
 
 GWENDA 
 
 ways the sound of that thud is in my ears. Can 
 you wonder that I want you Uncle Sandy! 
 
 This has passed an hour, but the long night 
 is before me, and I shall hear that awful im 
 pact over and over again, and picture that 
 handsome face and head bruised and disfig 
 ured and terrible. 
 
 Come quickly. GWENDA. 
 
 And a woman has been the cause of my life 
 being spoilt, and her husband s life being spoilt, 
 and the life of my husband being ended. And 
 she will go on smiling till her beauty has gone. 
 And then she, too, will suffer, for she will be 
 alone. I have that consolation. 
 
 Now that Lionel has gone I forget that he 
 ceased to love me. I forget everything for 
 the moment. Perhaps it will come back, but, 
 for the present, everything is wiped out. I only 
 remember our days at Cancale when we sat 
 together in the sunshine and threw pebbles into 
 the sea. 
 
 352
 
 LETTER XXIV 
 
 SUNSET, SILVERCOMBE, 
 Christmas Eve. 
 
 DEAR UNCLE SANDY : 
 
 Christmas is here and we wish you had con 
 sented to stay with us. 
 
 We know, of course, that nothing can touch 
 the Trossachs for dazzling beauty and real 
 Christmassy atmosphere at this season, for 
 Scotland is always seasonable, but we are doing 
 our best and we actually have snow, real, white 
 frozen snow. And snow and sea may not be so 
 beautiful as snow and lakes and mountains, but, 
 I can assure you they are not half bad. 
 
 "Won t you come to us for the New Year? 
 
 I promise you we will try to be cheerful, in 
 fact we shan t try for we are quite surprisingly 
 cheerful. We have closed the book of the past, 
 closed it for all but the nice bits, and these we 
 peep into but occasionally, and not often. 
 
 We have started a new book. Granty s is not 
 so large as mine which contains many clean fair 
 pages, and without haste I wait to see what the 
 
 353
 
 G W E N D A 
 
 writing thereon will be; but hers is of choice 
 get up, slim and elegant, an edition de luxe in 
 fact, suited for the beauty of the writing which 
 will grace its pages, I trust. 
 
 We are both very well, thank you. Granty, in 
 goloshes paddles out to feed the fowls, which 
 are laying well. I have put a new feather in the 
 old hat, and she has a new pink shawl and is 
 altogether very smart. And we cannot be dull 
 with Fanchette in the house. 
 
 For the first time in her life old Hannah has 
 met her equal; and their attitude toward one 
 another is a real source of delight to us. Little 
 Ellen has gone, and Fanchette is now house 
 maid, parlourmaid and lady s maid rolled in 
 one. 
 
 When Hannah is bad tempered, rude and 
 quarrelsome, Fanchette pretends she is ill, and 
 treats her as though she were an ailing child. 
 When she scoffs and makes sarcastic remarks 
 about Fanchette s silk petticoats and wonderful 
 coiffure, the latter puts it down to jealousy and 
 suggests that Hannah shall adopt a chignon 
 and she will show her how the hair should be 
 arranged over it. Hannah s snorts sometimes 
 steal right down the passage and across the hall 
 to the drawingroom, and often make us laugh. 
 
 354
 
 GWENDA 
 
 Colonel Mainprice and Mary Middleton come 
 to see us pretty frequently, and Granty has 
 learned to play bridge. On principle she never 
 goes * No Trumps. She regards it as a wile 
 of the devil to induce gambling. She likes a 
 good strong club call because clubs are rarely 
 doubled. And should one of us have the temer 
 ity to double spades, she treats us with marked 
 coldness for the rest of the evening. 
 
 No, I am not going to marry Peter Drexel 
 in the spring. I am not going to marry any 
 body. Because I have been so unlucky I am not 
 so foolish as to think there are no happy mar 
 riages. I believe there are a number of men 
 and women who together find quiet happiness 
 and a certain amount of contentment chiefly 
 through the patience and adaptability of wom 
 en, not radiant satisfaction and bliss that is 
 only for the first few months, but just quiet 
 happiness, which seems to be enough for most. 
 But I think I expect and want too much from 
 marriage. I should always be wounded at the 
 rough word, always hurt at the carelessness and 
 indifference of my husband. 
 
 So why risk further disillusionment? I am 
 contented now, and almost happy. Why put 
 my head into a bag which sounds rude to 
 
 355
 
 GWENDA 
 
 Peter when he is so patient, but you know : " A 
 burnt child," etc. 
 
 Before I close, we want to thank you once 
 again for all your goodness to us in that cruel 
 time. The very sight of you as you walked into 
 the ward in your heather-mixture tweeds 
 brought me strength and an uplifting of spirit. 
 About you there seemed to linger the breath of 
 your strong north wind and mountains. And 
 when I was dressed and you picked me up in 
 your arms and carried me down to the carriage 
 and took me to Granty, I seemed to find spirit 
 to face and get through things from your mere 
 invigorating presence. 
 
 Good luck and always much happiness we 
 both wish you. 
 
 Your loving 
 
 GWENDA. 
 
 356
 
 LETTER XXV 
 
 HOTEL DE L AFRIQUE, TANGIER, 
 Christmas. 
 
 DEAK UNCLE SANDY : 
 
 Another Christmas come round, and you are 
 chuckling much to yourself these days because 
 you and Peter have got your way. It is so like 
 a man or men, for Peter is actually chuckling 
 too when I am not about to fix him with stern 
 eye. 
 
 You badger me relentlessly, untiringly, per 
 sistently for twelve months, and then because I 
 give in you both chuckle. You think you are so 
 clever, so diplomatic, that women are so weak, 
 so easily got round. But let me tell you I 
 wanted, in the end, to be got round. Otherwise 
 I never should have given in. 
 
 I am so glad that you have remained on at 
 Sunset since the wedding. Granty will not be 
 feeling so lonesome. You happen to be about 
 the only man she has ever liked, I won t even 
 say that, but tolerated. 
 
 Has she told you she is going to live with 
 357
 
 GWENDA 
 
 Peter and me? And she likes the prospect. 
 She says she wants to go to a few theatres and 
 political meetings in her old age. Isn t she a 
 marvel? And won t it be pleasant for London 
 to have one old lady in its midst? Such a 
 unique phenomenon. 
 
 Tangier, in spite of its noisome smells, so 
 fascinates me that we are not moving on to 
 Algiers for a day or two. As you approach 
 it from the harbour it reminds you of houses 
 of blue cards, and looks wonderfully and ab 
 solutely clean. And the moment you put your 
 foot on shore this impression vanishes like a 
 streak of lightning. I had heard of the smell 
 of the East, and now it has surrounded me, you 
 can almost feel it. 
 
 And yet I stay because I can t leave it, and 
 Peter feels the same. 
 
 We have done the sights on mules. After us 
 drivers in orange slippers have torn yelling 
 " Arrah, Arrah ! " or something like that. My 
 saddle has usually been composed of anything 
 that was handy at the moment of its manu 
 facture: odd bits of straw and bone and old 
 bottles, so to speak. 
 
 We gallop through the noisy, pestilential, fly- 
 ridden market place, and over sandy wastes 
 
 358
 
 GWENDA 
 
 with no sign of vegetation but for the sad-look 
 ing prickly pears; and Mahomet, my driver, a 
 keen rascal after backsheesh, observes sadly 
 that the English lady is very white and tired 
 and will go, will she not, to the Governor s gar 
 den and gather lil violets and tangerines I 
 
 " It sounds pleasant," I murmur, and we go, 
 and it is for all the world as though we had 
 tumbled across a transformation scene. The 
 hot sun, glaring, dazzling sand, prickly pears, 
 and swarms of flies one minute, and the next 
 a carpet of violets at the foot of the tangerine 
 trees, grateful shade, an old moss-grown water- 
 wheel, fragrant scents, absence of flies. How 
 is it done? 
 
 I must end. Peter wants me to go to some 
 mosque. The religion of these people is won 
 derful. The call to prayer each night so 
 tender, so musical, touches within me some 
 strange, unexpected chord. " Allah, Allah, 
 Allah is great . . . He slumbereth not, neither 
 doth He sleep . . ." 
 
 Peter is calling to me, and I must go. 
 
 All my love and greetings to you. I have 
 written to Granty, and please take great care 
 of her for me, Ever lovingly 
 
 GWENDA. 
 359
 
 LETTER XXVI 
 
 119a BROOK STREET, LONDON, W., 
 December 12th. 
 
 DEAR UNCLE SANDY : 
 
 Peter and I have been married twelve months 
 to-day, and you made me promise that when the 
 year was up I would write and tell you how 
 things were with me, and whether I was happy, 
 unhappy, or neither one nor the other. I be 
 lieve from the twinkle in your eye you felt 
 pretty certain what my answer would be, and 
 as it would grieve me to disappoint you, I will 
 admit right away to the first. 
 
 Yes. I am happy, completely and absolutely 
 happy, and so is Peter, at least he has told me 
 so more tunes than I can count. And if I were 
 inclined to doubt his word, I have only to look 
 into his eyes (which were always the nicest 
 point about him) to know that he is speaking 
 the truth. 
 
 And I think we are both appreciating our 
 happiness so much because we have been 
 through sorrow. People who have never been 
 
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 sorry in their lives can never know what it is 
 to be really glad. 
 
 I sing as I run down the stairs to breakfast 
 and Peter takes up the refrain and hums it as 
 he opens his letters. 
 
 Granty is very well, and very popular which 
 will not surprise you. Her sage remarks de 
 light our friends. She still indulges in nasty 
 cuts at men, but they don t seem to mind in the 
 least, and fight for the honour of taking her 
 in to dinner. She has joined a Suffrage Society 
 not a militant one, I am relieved to say. 
 
 We are all very delighted to know that you 
 will come to us for the New Year. It is unself 
 ish of you to leave your own country during 
 its greatest festival. I must tell you in con 
 fidence that Granty is knitting you a tartan pair 
 of stockings of the Clan McAlister. From the 
 silk cover of " The Lady of the Lake " which 
 you one day presented to me. I am inclined to 
 think she has not got the colouring quite correct. 
 But don t let her know this, will you? 
 Your very affectionate, 
 
 GWENDA. 
 
 P. S. Of course Peter is an exceptional man. 
 P. S. And Granty has only once contradicted 
 me when I said this. 
 
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