CLAIR DE LUNE
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 MARQUERAY'S DUEL 
 
 NIGHTFALL 
 
 AN ORDEAL OF HONOUR 
 
 In collaboration with 
 R, K. WEEKES 
 
 THE PURPLE PEARL
 
 SHE SLIPPED ACROSS THE ROOM LIKE A GHOST, THE CHINESE COAT HALF 
 OPEN OVER THE SAXON FAIRNESS OF HER SHOULDERS. HER 
 INSTINCT WAS TO TAKE HIM IN HER ARMS.
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 BY 
 
 ANTHONY PRYDE 
 
 AUTHOR or "MARQUERAY'S DUEL," " NIGHTFALL, " ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 
 1922
 
 COPYBIGHT, 1922, 
 
 BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, INC. 
 
 PRINTED IN THE U. S. A. BY 
 
 gftt ett<"" * W> m C**9* 
 
 BOOK MANUFACTURERS
 
 To HELEN 
 
 In memory of the memories that we share 
 Wide sunny rooms; the cuckoo's April call; 
 The silver Darenth rippling through its fair 
 Enamelled meads; the scent of flowers that fall.
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 WAS Mr. Evelyn at home? No, Mr. Efelyn was 
 not at home. Was he likely to be in before 
 long? It was impossible to say. Was he 
 often late? He was occasionally a little late. Where 
 had he gone? Mr. Efelyn was playing at the Queen's 
 Hall : had not Mr. Dent seen the posters? it had been 
 verra extensifely advertised; carriages were ordered 
 for ten minutes to elefen, but, as Mr. Dent would be 
 aware, Mr Efelyn was often obliged to give a great 
 many Encores. And would probably go on some- 
 where to supper afterwards? Mr. Dent would surely 
 remember that Mr Efelyn nefer took supper after an 
 efening concert. . . . "Oh! well, I'll wait for him," 
 said George Dent, a trifle impatient under Eraser's 
 coldly Highland grey eyes, which seemed to be always 
 thanking heaven that he was not ignorant as Low- 
 landers are or even as this Southron; and dropping 
 into an armchair Dent ended the interview by picking 
 up a newspaper ,which however he hastily threw down 
 again as soon as Eraser's back was turned the Mu- 
 sical Times was not what he preferred to read. 
 
 Dent was thickset and sandy-coloured, keeping 
 room for temperate judgments behind a broad fore- 
 head, while his shrewd glance examined the world
 
 2 GLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 and the men and women in it with the cool slow 
 humour of the Cambridgeshire fens. Only the long 
 upperlip and slightly undershot chin bespoke a few 
 obstinate prepossessions and reserves, and perhaps, 
 behind all else, a hard fighting temper, born of the 
 drop or two of Norse blood that in an Eastern county 
 not infrequently crosses the milder Saxon strain. He 
 had had a long day and a longer night before it, the 
 racket of London tired him, and as a rule he went to 
 bed at ten, but he had come to Hever Street to find 
 Charles Evelyn, and he meant to do it before going 
 back to his hotel if he had to wait all night. 
 
 In the meanwhile he lit a pipe and examined Eve- 
 lyn's room, which he had never seen before, and which 
 struck him, in the given order of impressions, as very 
 pretty, rather spendthrift, not a bit his style, and 
 last of all, and with a faint uprising of discomfort 
 too much like a woman's drawingroom and the wrong 
 sort of woman at that ! There was nothing effeminate 
 about the chair he was sitting in, a man's chair, deep 
 and shabby and with shoulders well squared against 
 its leather cushions he settled himself lower in it and 
 stretched out his long legs in the luxury of an in- 
 dulged yawn; the fire too was a man's fire, stacked 
 high with a mixture of coal and logs, firtree bavins 
 apparently to judge by their blue twinkling flames 
 and resinous odour: roaring away on a wide and flat 
 brick hearth, the glorious heat of them struck right 
 across to the door. Nor had he any fault to find with 
 the polished floor and Persian rugs, or the wide airy 
 walls washed over with chrome-coloured distemper. 
 Even the grand piano might pass, and the violin flung
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 3 
 
 on top of it, and the case of clarinets, the harp, the 
 litter of music printed and in manuscript : it was an 
 extraordinary thing that a man who might have been 
 a country gentleman like his fathers before him should 
 take up with the career of a professional musician, 
 but after all Evelyn was had been only a younger 
 son, and at all events, so long as he worked at his 
 job, it kept him out of mischief. But the pictures ! 
 
 Dent had pictures at home, a collection of signed 
 engravings and proofs before letters which when the 
 harvest was bad he occasionally threatened to sell, 
 though he would as soon have sold his right hand 
 for they belonged to the house, and the house was part 
 of himself. But those were scenes worth looking at 
 "The Lawn," "The Covert Side," "First Check," and 
 so on, "Harry Hieover on 'Tilter,' " Wilkie's "Penny 
 Wedding," Richard Herring's "Black Rabbit", an epi- 
 tome of farm and sporting life, every stroke distinct 
 in pale blue and green and scarlet, or dimness of 
 sepia shadow. The works that Evelyn hung on his 
 walls one and no more to each wall were neither 
 dim nor distinct: bizarre combinations of coloured 
 angles, which looked to Dent like the dreams of a 
 house-painter gone mad. He couldn't make out the 
 subjects, and after scrutinising them for some time 
 from a distance with his light eyes, wrinkled at the 
 corners by much gazing across field and fallow under 
 a bronzing sun, he was not sorry for it : for the least 
 confusing of the five threatened to resolve into one 
 of those pink and white caf6 studies which, in Dent's 
 private opinion, decent people neither paint nor pur- 
 chase.
 
 4 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 And it wasn't the pictures only, but the curtains 
 and cushions, the metal work and lacquer and china : 
 the room was like a curio-shop, for every table (and 
 there were too many tables) was strewn with objects 
 of value: to inherit them was well enough (Dent had 
 inherited not a few of his own), but as for taking 
 the trouble to collect them ! And in any case they 
 should be set out with discrimination and reserve. 
 Dent did not mentally use the phrase "economy of 
 effect" when he found an ivory-hilted Persian sword 
 niched into the spout of a bronze Pyrenean regalada, 
 but this was the instinct that prompted him to dis- 
 content. And then the photographs ! men and women 
 of every class and age, standing about framed or un- 
 f ramed here there and everywhere : and signed, many 
 of them, with names well known in more than one 
 London world. . . . Apparently Charles Evelyn was 
 liked by people of all sorts, but especially by women 
 and such pretty women too ! 
 
 And Evelyn's own portrait amid the debris : how like 
 him to possess his own portrait ! Dent got up out of 
 his chair to examine it. He had not seen the original 
 for a twelvemonth, and was anxious to learn whether 
 the racket of this London life had altered him. A 
 painting, but of a different school from those that 
 graced the walls, it stood propped up unframed on a 
 French cabinet, between a plaster cast of a woman's 
 head which Dent thought the most hideously death- 
 like object he had ever seen, and an ivory fan through 
 whose sticks some one had twisted a couple of half 
 fresh, half fading pink rosebuds. Dent carried the 
 likeness to the lamp and studied it attentively. Come, 
 there was no want of economy here at all events!
 
 CLAIE DE LUNE 5 
 
 the head and throat only, in oils, and isolated by some 
 craftsman's trick on a background of indigo blue: 
 and smiling Dent owned to himself that Evelyn had 
 not altered after all, it was the same Evelyn as he had 
 known all his life, rather melancholy and delicate 
 and inaccessible, with the haunting grey eyes under 
 the waved cedar-brown hair, and the musician's 
 pointed chin. . . . 
 
 ". . . and wait till Charles turns up, shall we?" 
 
 ". . . your cloak, Sophy?" 
 
 Dent laid down the portrait as the confused mur- 
 mur of voices preluded the entrance of these other 
 friends of Charles Evelyn : a big fair man, exquisitely 
 dressed, Mayfair from head to heel, accompanied by a 
 tall girl in black and white flounces and a gold-em- 
 broidered coat. "Meredith!" Dent exclaimed. He 
 had known Meredith years ago at the university 
 in what seemed like a different life, and his first idea 
 was that "Sophy" was either Mrs. or Miss Meredith, 
 but he altered his mind when her escort, with a vague 
 provisional smile for the unexpected meeting, put 
 her into a chair by the fire without the offer of an in- 
 troduction. Brother and sister they certainly were 
 not: nor husband and wife, for she wore no ring. 
 Dent then, though unwillingly, entered her in a dif- 
 ferent pigeon-hole. In Cambridgeshire, in the society 
 to which he was accustomed, girls did not visit men 
 of Evelyn's years in their own rooms at any time, and 
 least of all after ten o'clock at night. Yet there was 
 a want of sentiment in the atmosphere which seemed 
 to rule Meredith out of the field. 
 
 "Dent is it Dent? what ages since I've seen you! 
 'Are you waiting for Evelyn? He'll be in directly;
 
 6 CLAIB DE LUNE 
 
 I got sick of hanging about Queen's Hall in the rain 
 and came on in a taxi. How long are you in town 
 for?" 
 
 "The night. I'm only here on business. You're 
 living in London, ain't you?" 
 
 "Well, I have a flat in Mount Street, which I inhabit 
 for three months out of the twelve. But I'm an out- 
 rageous globe-trotter. I cut the Diplomatic because it 
 was such a bore to be tied. What are you doing? 
 the last I heard, you were farming your ancestral 
 acres somewhere in the Midlands." 
 
 "So I am still," said Dent drily. "Near Temple 
 Evelyn. Eve and I are country neighbours, as you 
 may remember, which is why I've kept up with him. 
 We don't as a rule see anything of each other except 
 when he's at home. Working farmers like me don't 
 get many holidays." He was aware of a tinge of the 
 unduly defiant in his manner, but Meredith always 
 had irritated him and always would do so, with his 
 faultless clothes and faultless voice and the little 
 studied air of self-depreciation which seemed to say 
 "Do let me set you at your ease." Still Dent was 
 thoroughly goodhumoured, and, since he really was 
 quite at his ease, his spurt of irritation ended in a 
 slow apologetic laugh. "Very jolly to see you again, 
 Edmund," it had been Edmund and George at Cam- 
 bridge, and Dent, suddenly feeling warm towards 
 the companion of his lost youth, went back to the 
 old terms without much caring whether Meredith 
 were pleased or no. "You look as though the world 
 had been treating you pretty well. But then you al- 
 ways did, so that's nothing new." 
 
 "And Miss Dent, how is she?"
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 7 
 
 "My sister? Oh ah ! I remember, you met her in 
 town. Very fit, thanks. Very busy just at present 
 with an ailing Alderney calf. She runs the dairy 
 and the poultry yard." 
 
 "And she's not engaged yet?" Dent's eyes widened 
 in surprise. "A thousand pardons, my dear fellow, 
 but there were moths enough round the candle !" 
 
 "I dare say I don't pretend to keep count of Kitty's 
 dancing partners," Dent answered placidly. How 
 little change fifteen years make in a man's manner! 
 The shade of impertinence was as characteristic of 
 the Meredith he remembered as the shade of affec- 
 tation put on to cover it. "By the by, how soon do 
 you expect Evelyn? The fact is " 
 
 Dent's explanation, which would have explained 
 nothing, was lost as the door opened again and the 
 room was flooded with fresh visitors all talking at 
 once. A middle-aged plump man badly dressed in 
 light brown tweeds and a flannel shirt ; an extremely 
 handsome youth in evening clothes, as dark-haired and 
 olive-skinned as an Italian; and a third who might 
 have been any age, brown as a gipsy, thin as a lath, 
 and frankly disreputable in a wet macintosh worn over 
 a Leander blazer : Dent backed away from all of them, 
 rather liking their looks, but apprehensive of a life 
 so unlike his own. So these were Evelyn's London 
 friends, were they? They might have been worse 
 yes, in view of the Futurist paintings they might 
 have been very much worse! Yet they made Dent 
 feel shy because they all knew one another so well and 
 were so far more at home in Hever Street than he 
 would ever be. But the wave poured in, it closed over
 
 
 8 CLAIE DE LUNE 
 
 Meredith and his companion and over Dent as well: 
 Meredith was not expansive, but the others were in- 
 capable of leaving a stranger in the cold. 
 
 "That you, Meredith? ... I say, Sophy, what an 
 auriferous coat! . . . Good show wasn't it?" Then 
 discovering Dent in his corner, "Are you waiting for 
 Eve? Do come over to the fire," the elder man made 
 him hospitably welcome while the Leander blazer 
 pulled up a chair and patted the seat of it as if Dent 
 had been a timid dog. "He won't be long now. We 
 often drop in to cheer him up after a Queen's Hall 
 night, he gets the blues if he's left to recover from it 
 by himself." Dent said "Thanks very much, sir," 
 feeling stiff and shy and yet attracted, and the Leander 
 blazer, who had taken off his macintosh and was sit- 
 ting cross-legged on the rug, looked up with a lazy 
 twinkle in his brown eyes. 
 
 "What'll you have to drink? We're all having cof- 
 fee. You will too? That's so harmonious. Selwyn, 
 my son, you're young and active in the legs, cut down- 
 stairs and tell Eraser coffee for six." 
 
 "You can't go ordering Eraser about like that," said 
 Meredith angrily, "on my word, Wright, you seem to 
 forget that this is Evelyn's flat!" 
 
 "Selwyn !" 
 
 "Y-yes?" from the stairs. 
 
 "Five coffees, one gin and bitters." 
 
 "Nothing of the sort! Do you hear, Selwyn? I 
 won't have anything at all. I must say, if anyone 
 did that in my house " 
 
 "Cheer up. No one would do it in your house. 
 Amateurs are safe. But Eve is a freeman of the 
 Republic of Art, to which in my humble way I also
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 9 
 
 belong the beautiful communion of one faith, 
 one hope, one toothbrush anathema in all ages 
 to you of the unthinking bourgeoisie " 
 
 Dent perceived that Meredith was making himself 
 ridiculous : perceived too that the Leander blazer had 
 salted his chaff with truth. Meredith was distin- 
 guished from the other men, even young Selwyn in 
 his slim black and white, by the want of some quality 
 they had in common : what was it? perhaps a common 
 outlook, the direct simplicity of men who keep in their 
 pockets a private standard of values. And observant 
 and reflective, though enveloped in good will, Dent 
 sat and listened to their conversation, from which 
 an impression of Evelyn gradually disengaged itself, 
 familiar though elusive. 
 
 "Shut up, you two, you're always sparring," came 
 the goodhumoured voice of the elder man. "You 
 might shift over a bit, Wright, and let the rest of us 
 see the fire. Rotten weather I call it for the begin- 
 ning of September! But wasn't the Hall packed? 
 Bless 'em, they'd come to hear old Eve play if it 
 rained cats and dogs. Paris, Rome, Munich, Zurich 
 there's not one of 'em all so reliable as good old 
 London. We don't know much about music, but our 
 heart's in the right place." 
 
 "Were you looking at Eve's portrait?" this was 
 young Selwyn returning, a little out of breath. He 
 came up with his engaging smile and stammer and 
 took it out of Dent's hand. "L-like him isn't it? How 
 long is it since you've seen him? Oh, a t-twelvemonth ! 
 But Eve never alters. Oh!" in a voice suddenly 
 raised and shrill with indignation, "good God don't 
 put your nose in it! It isn't meant to be s-smelt!"
 
 10 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 "Am I looking at it too close? I don't know any- 
 thing about Art," Dent said humbly. He looked 
 round at the black and gold cloak with some vague 
 idea of drawing her into the conversation, but in- 
 stantly felt his mistake, just as he had felt the ab- 
 surdity of addressing the older man as "sir" ; if she 
 remained silent it was from preference ; she could have 
 come in whenever she liked. He fell back on the safer 
 subject of the portrait, which young Selwyn was hold- 
 ing out at arm's length with an expression half pleased 
 and half dissatisfied. "I'm sure it's uncommonly 
 clever." 
 
 "Y-yes it is," agreed the boy gravely. "It's Eve all 
 over, he so often looks as though if you t-touched him 
 he wouldn't be there. I've never done anything bet- 
 ter." Dent looked up in surprise. "Oh, you didn't 
 know? That was r-rather a shame, to ask you how you 
 liked it without telling you it was mine. But fellows 
 often do seem to know me." He paused a moment 
 and then added "S-somehow," in a deprecating voice. 
 
 "Ah, but I don't know anyone," said Dent, smiling 
 at him. "I'm a country cousin. I only turn up in 
 town once a twelvemonth to go to an Agricultural 
 Show. It must be a good ten years since I've been 
 to the Academy." 
 
 "Better introduce ourselves, shall we?" said the 
 elder man. "The young ? un is Selwyn Yarborough." 
 Dent opened his eyes ; even he, though his views were 
 bounded by Burlington House, had heard of Selwyn 
 Yarborough, Tennant's favourite pupil, and so a spirit- 
 ual grandson of Carolus Duran, whose work at twenty- 
 two had been hung on the line at the Autumn Salon. 
 "And Wright and I are Messenger men." Now the
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 11 
 
 Messenger was the illustrated paper that Dent read 
 over his breakfast table every Friday morning. "I'm 
 Hurst Cecil Hurst and Wright does rotten sketches 
 to illustrate my rotten stories." Another shock to 
 Dent's preconceptions ; but for the sparkle of sagacity 
 and courage in the light-blue dangerous eye, this 
 hard-bitten fighting journalist might have passed for 
 a prosperous grocer. 
 
 "And I'm only George Dent, and a hopeless duffer," 
 Dent said smiling, "though I've seen or heard of all 
 your things. I wish I weren't such an outsider. Oh ! 
 wait a bit, though, I'm indispensable after all I'm 
 the admiring public !" 
 
 "Well, and what about me?" the girl in the black 
 and gold coat raised her voice for the first time. 
 "Haven't any of you got enough manners to introduce 
 me to Mr Dent?" 
 
 Hurst turned round and smiled at her, a good kind 
 smile that touched his face with beauty. But no 
 one was ready with a reply, and there was time for 
 Dent to feel distressed again and uncomfortable, be- 
 fore he became aware that Evelyn himself was in the 
 room, appearing from nowhere with his usual belated 
 grace, and smiling down at Sophy with whimsical yet 
 melancholy eyes. 
 
 "You're the star to all our wandering barks," he 
 said in his pleasant voice, naturally soft, but the softer 
 for a tone of affection which struck strangely on 
 Dent's bewildered ear. "The rest of us play tricks on 
 platforms, George is the fat public in the stalls, and 
 you fling the laurel when we earn it : and that's all 
 the introduction you deserve."
 
 12 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 Dent would have liked to send the unseasonable 
 guests packing. But they were in no hurry, and after 
 all his errand could wait. The room was soon blue 
 with smoke and Sophy accepted a cigar from Evelyn. 
 By degrees Dent gathered that the pianist, fresh home 
 from a brilliant visit to Paris, had given that evening 
 a more than usually brilliant performance and had 
 been encored again and again by a Queen's Hall 
 audience full in spite of the wet weather : there was 
 talk of other men and comparison of other triumphs. 
 But there was no sign of elation in him, he was still 
 the same quiet easy-going Charles Evelyn as in old 
 days, and Dent, who had been feeling irritated, soon 
 found himself falling afresh under the old charm ; he 
 never had been able to be angry with Evelyn and 
 was not now. And by and by he began to wonder 
 whether this disability were not common to the rest 
 of the room, even Meredith in his detachment, even 
 the still anonymous Sophy : they were all very proud 
 of him, it was evident, and though they were not 
 all fond of one another, young Yarborough being much 
 inclined to fall out with Meredith, and Meredith with 
 the imperturbable Wright, for Evelyn their feeling 
 seemed to range between willing and unwilling 
 love. 
 
 Hurst said "Play us the Alkan again," and without 
 affectation Evelyn sat down at once to the piano and 
 began to play, keeping his wrists low with little move- 
 ment of the shoulders : "Alkan's Le Vent, The Wind," 
 as he explained to Dent, whose French was of the fur- 
 thest end of Norfolk. And very queer music Dent 
 thought it, and (privately) much like that mythopoeic 
 tune that the old cow died of. A run of infinitesimal
 
 CLAIE DE LUNE 13 
 
 unstressed notes flying up and down the treble octaves, 
 separate notes no longer but indistinguishably 
 mingled like the wail of a violin : a lull and break of 
 sun and blue sky : the roar of a gale rising to thunder 
 in a spinney of fir trees : and then again the run and 
 ripple and cold ceaseless crying of wind on a thymy 
 moor. . . . 
 
 "Not so bad," said Hurst frowning, as Evelyn let 
 his hands lie on the keys, prolonging the last faint 
 vibrations which were just not silence, and then were 
 silence. "But I don't hold with programme-music 
 all the same. And what business have you to make 
 the piano do the job of a violin eh, Sophy? Tell me 
 that, young Evelyn." 
 
 "But that's what the B. P. like," said Wright. "No- 
 body wants to hear a penny whistle. But all London 
 would go miles to hear a chap who could make a trom- 
 bone sound like a penny whistle." 
 
 "Oh you be quiet!" said Evelyn, getting up from 
 the piano. "I've got to master my tools, haven't I?" 
 
 "And earn a living like the rest of us," put in Mere- 
 dith from before the mirror in which he was calmly 
 examining the sit of his coat. 
 
 " 'Like the rest of us !' " Wright pointed a derisive 
 finger. "Now then, lily of the field !" 
 
 "We are not all so innocent as you are, my dear 
 Wright," said Meredith with the neatly genial smile 
 which so often gave to his acidities a delusive aspect of 
 compliment. "This flat is extremely comfortable, and 
 I don't suppose Evelyn could pay the rent of it out of 
 his unearned income. For my part, if I were he, I had 
 rather play Pomp and Circumstance into a gramo- 
 phone than retire to a garret in Bloomsbury."
 
 14 GLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 "Ah ! but there speaks the gross soul of the unthink- 
 ing bourgeoisie " 
 
 Dent perceived that Meredith did not, no, he really 
 did not like that joke about the 'bourgeoisie. 
 
 "I don't care a button for any one of the lot of 
 you," said Evelyn pettishly. "I only want to be let 
 alone. I do hate being worried!" He brought both 
 hands down on the keys again in a crash of chords 
 which made Selwyn jump, but he was not allowed 
 to proceed, for before a dozen bars were over Fraser 
 hurried in Fraser, once defined by Leslie Wright as 
 "one of those faithful servants whose service is per- 
 fect freedom." 
 
 "Mr Efelyn will remember that he promised not to 
 make a noise after elef en o'clock !" 
 
 "Oh bother!" said Evelyn piteously. "I forgot the 
 people downstairs. Oh Fraser, I haven't done it for 
 ever so long ! They ought to be able to stand a little 
 noise now and then?" 
 
 "That iss fery well, but it iss not six months since 
 we were turned out of our last flat, and it iss not 
 easy to find rooms that will suit us." He shut the 
 piano: Dent was only surprised that he did not lock 
 it. "An<l it iss not true to say it wass only a little 
 noise. It wass a fery great deal." 
 
 It was impossible not to feel abashed as Fraser 
 withdrew, dignified, and casting a reproachful glance 
 on Sophy, who had been seized by irrepressible laugh- 
 ter. But Evelyn, though he joined in the universal en- 
 suing merriment, continued to look a little harassed, 
 as though the world were too much for him. He flung 
 himself anyhow into a chair by Dent, his legs over 
 one arm of it and his hands clasped behind his
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 15 
 
 rumpled head. "You can't imagine, George, what a 
 nuisance it is having to live in town! One o' these 
 days I shall make hay of my rooms and take off all 
 my clothes and go to Central Africa where there 
 won't be any people downstairs!" he finished with a 
 ferocity which quite startled Dent, to whom the pro- 
 vocation seemed inadequate. A little out of his depth, 
 Dent suggested the soothing influence of complimen- 
 tary tickets. "No good," Evelyn shook his head. 
 "The Hippodrome's their fancy." 
 
 "Poor wretches," said Selwyn, genuinely compas- 
 sionate. "One ought to feel s-sorry for them. How 
 aw-awful it would be to be like that!" Lying back 
 in his chair before the fire, he stretched himself on his 
 cushions with a little shiver of distaste and flung 
 out one hand to Sophy as if for consolation : and as 
 she leant forward smiling at him, her coat slipping 
 from her shoulders, their youthful slenderness and 
 satin texture gleaming under the transparent black 
 gauze of her dress, again Dent found himself wonder- 
 ing who she was and what had brought her to Hever 
 Street. He thought her not exactly pretty, but at- 
 tractive; her eyes were thoughtful, her lips sensitive, 
 and the young figure flowering out of her open bodice 
 was grace itself. Too graceful for Dent : and too free 
 in its grace. 
 
 "There now," her roving fingers brushed across 
 Selwyn's lashes, "look what you've done!" 
 
 "Never?" said Evelyn, diverted. But it was true, 
 there were tears in Selwyn's eyes. "Well, you're what 
 I call an audience worth playing to! Now what's 
 the matter?" Selwyn had sprung to his feet, abashed 
 and glowing. "Don't blush, young 'un not but
 
 16 CLAIE DE LUNE 
 
 what that sunset shade is rather becoming to you " 
 
 "Do shut up !" said Selwyn crossly. He wandered 
 away and stood with his back to the room. "C-catch 
 me crying over anything you ever play again !" This 
 time Evelyn's freakish malice widened suddenly into 
 a broad grin. 
 
 " 'Bet you an even tenner you can't hold out through 
 half a dozen Songs Without Words!" 
 
 "Peace, Faun/' said Hurst with his paternal kind- 
 ness, "don't meddle with the bloom." 
 
 "Hurst's right, you are a bit of a Faun, you know," 
 said Sophy. She got up and leant over the back of 
 Evelyn's chair, winding her arm round his neck and 
 gazing down at him with an infinity of tender and 
 uncritical sweetness. Dent did not know where to 
 look, but no one else seemed to feel any surprise. 
 "We all love you better than you love us. But 'tisn't 
 fair to tease the baby-boy. Besides, it's dangerous, 
 Selwyn's pretty safe to get his own back " 
 
 "Hallo !" Selwyn in all innocence was in the act of 
 doing so. "Eve, you've got a new photograph! Oh, 
 how v-very pretty ! I should like to paint her. Would 
 she let me? I would paint her for nothing. Is 
 she a 1-lady?" 
 
 "Put it down, old fellow," said Hurst gently. 
 
 "Here, you let me see!" said Sophy. She took the 
 photograph out of Selwyn's hand. 
 
 Dent glanced at Evelyn : an Evelyn less serene than 
 usual and less competent to control the situation. He 
 looked as though he would have liked to regain pos- 
 session, if he could have done so without giving the 
 incident an unwelcome significance. Among so many 
 portraits Dent had not noticed this one, could not
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 17 
 
 see it from his chair by the fire, and was not interested 
 in it, except that on general principles he felt a vague 
 reluctance, perhaps in sympathy with Evelyn, to 
 leave it for Sophy to comment on : but, though indif- 
 ferent to the portrait, he could not, for reasons of his 
 own, remain indifferent to Evelyn's connection with 
 it or with Sophy. 
 
 "I wish she weren't a 1-lady," lamented Selwyn. "I 
 do want to paint her !" 
 
 "What do you want her for," said Sophy, "a figure 
 model?" 
 
 Hurst glanced at Dent out of the tail of his eye 
 and was not surprised to find that the country squire 
 Hurst's rapid summing up of him was growing 
 restless. And Evelyn, who should have intervened, 
 was standing with his back to the fire, sipping an 
 innocuous French sirop and apparently paying no at- 
 tention to Selwyn or Sophy either. Then Sophy turned 
 to Meredith : "Isn't this a pretty woman, Meredith ?" 
 
 Meredith was perfectly willing to look at the photo- 
 graph, but before he had time to do so Hurst got up 
 and took it out of Sophy's fingers. He bent them 
 over so that the pictured face was turned down out 
 of his sight, but Sophy tried to turn it up again 
 and between them they let it drop. It fell near Dent's 
 chair. The country squire uttered a slight exclama- 
 tion, then, as Hurst stooped to pick it up, forestalled 
 him with an extremely quick and quiet movement 
 and slipped it into his own pocket. 
 
 "It is my sister," he explained. 
 
 "O Lord !" said Sophy. 
 
 Hurst straightened himself rather stiffly. "I beg 
 your pardon, sir. I was going to put it back on the
 
 18 CLAIB DE LUNE 
 
 shelf." He glanced at Evelyn. But Evelyn was still 
 drinking his sirop and looking at no one. "Selwyn is 
 painting-mad," Hurst continued gravely. "Hey, Sel- 
 wyn? He never meant any harm in his life. No one 
 minds what he says." 
 
 "I certainly don't," said Dent smiling. 
 
 Hurst shrugged his shoulders and turned away, 
 pulling Sophy's hand through his arm. "I guess it's 
 time we all went to bed. It's after one o'clock and 
 Evelyn's tired you were looking fagged on the plat- 
 form, Eve: 'stands to reason it must take it out of 
 you, if it were only the physical effort and the strain 
 on the memory. Come along, Sophy, my dear, Eve's 
 had enough of us." 
 
 "Eight you are, ~bonpapa," said Sophy carelessly: 
 "good night boys good night, Charles." 
 
 Meredith brought her coat, and Hurst with his 
 deft strong hand, as pink and plump as a baby's, gath- 
 ered up her handkerchief and programme and gloves, 
 and Sophy went meekly with him to the door. But 
 on the threshold she turned, and then it seemed to 
 Dent that he saw her thoroughly alive for the first 
 time a strong little face, innocent yet reckless, with 
 what he termed to himself Old Nick's own smile on 
 her lips and in her eyes. 
 
 "Say, Mr. Dent, is your sister as nice as you are? 
 Nicer? And so pretty too? My! I don't call that 
 fair. But 'tisn't any good, he's a non-starter." A jerk 
 of the silken head indicated Evelyn. "Oh bless you, 
 yes, I know him better than he knows himself. He 
 wouldn't give that for any one of the lot of us, not if 
 it was Venus of Troy and Mrs. Beeton rolled into 
 one !"
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 TT IT THEN all the guests had departed Meredith 
 V^^ the last to go Evelyn stretched himself 
 with a frank yawn and gave a sigh of relief. 
 Then coming back to the fire he caught Dent by both 
 hands and stood before him swinging his arms to and 
 fro. "My dear old chap, I am so glad to see you! 
 Rather a bore having all that gang in just when I was 
 wanting to talk to you. But none of them would clear 
 out because none of them would want us to clear out 
 if they were in our shoes, except Meredith, and he 
 wouldn't care. All the same I'm glad you saw them. 
 Didn't you like Hurst? Interesting chap, Hurst: 
 he's been all over the world, he and Wright, opposites 
 and inseparables they haven't a thing in common 
 except goodness of heart. Sit down now," he pushed 
 Dent back into his chair, "and have another pipe. 
 Why didn't you let me know you were coming down? 
 And can you let me have a tip for the Leger?" 
 
 Dent had not come to Hever Street to discuss the 
 St. Leger prospects. But his business though import- 
 ant was not exactly pressing, and having waited so 
 long it might as well wait a little longer. He leant 
 back in his chair and examined Evelyn, on one knee 
 before the fire, his clear pale face faintly reddened by 
 its glow. 
 
 "I didn't know you had this photograph of Kitty." 
 
 "She only sent it me a few days ago. Very like her, 
 
 isn't it? I never meant to leave it on my table, but 
 
 19
 
 20 CLAIE DE LUNE 
 
 I liked looking at it and then I forgot. I'll put it 
 away now in a safer place." He stretched out his 
 hand for it carelessly, to all appearance. But Dent 
 continued to hold it on his knee, looking at it as if it 
 had been the portrait of a stranger always a difficult 
 criterion for a brother, but less so for Dent than usual 
 because this portrait had in it a quality of the univer- 
 sal which makes some faces the property of the world 
 and not only of their own families. It represented 
 Kitty Dent seated before a piano, her head thrown 
 back, her lips apart, her fingers leaning on the 
 keys: apparently she had just finished singing and 
 was turning round while the last faint vibrations 
 floated away. She wore a light dress, open at the 
 throat, and crossed in close, soft, Eomney folds over 
 her bosom : and an immense round hat of fine straw, 
 no trimming on it but a scarf, which made a slightly 
 tilted frame for her small face and liquid eyes. The 
 impression left by the absence of shading was one of 
 clear fairness and unusually delicate grain. 
 
 "Very like," said Dent. He ignored Evelyn's hand 
 and slipped the photograph again into his pocket. 
 
 "That's mine, you know," said Evelyn, getting up 
 to warm the backs of his legs at the fire. "By Jove 
 it is a cold night for this end of September! The 
 wind's Arctic. It's mine, George : and I want it." 
 
 "You should take better care of it then." 
 
 "Well, so I will in future." Evelyn gave his sweet- 
 tempered equable laugh. "But you can't have it. 
 It was given me for keeps. There's an inscription." 
 
 Dent had read the inscription : "With Kitty's love." 
 He was wondering whether that girl in the black and 
 gold coat had read it too. He sat back in his chair
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 21 
 
 and squared his shoulders, looking up at Evelyn with 
 a smile equally sweet-tempered and equally resolute. 
 "Kitty didn't bargain for such a lot of admiration." 
 
 "Marry come up is that because of Selwyn Yar- 
 borough? Oh, you don't understand. No one minds 
 Selwyn. In point of fact if he did paint Kitty it would 
 be a tremendous honour, he's all the vogue just now 
 and could paint peers and judges and Society beauties 
 all day long if he chose, but he won't touch sitters 
 unless he likes the look of them says he's out for 
 character as well as clothes, which naturally narrows 
 the field a good deal! He goes about with his head 
 in a bag and cares for nothing on earth but his art. 
 . . ." But it was plain that George Dent was thor- 
 oughly indifferent to Selwyn's art. "Oh, George, you 
 don't understand !" said Evelyn laughing. "Well, how 
 shall I placate you? Can't you see how fond we all 
 are of him? except Meredith, and that's one up for 
 Selwyn : it's his innocence that annoys Meredith he 
 calls it affectation because he can't bring himself to be- 
 lieve that a young fellow of Selwyn's age can have 
 a mind so like a girl." 
 
 "I don't know that I did object to young Yarbor- 
 ough much." 
 
 "What then Hurst?" 
 
 "A very good sort, I'm sure." 
 
 "My own carelessness?" 
 
 "Not exactly a novelty, Eve." 
 
 "But you were peevish." 
 
 Dent took his pipe from his mouth to knock out 
 the ashes and put it back again. 
 
 "Sophy," said Evelyn after a short silence, "lives in 
 the flat above mine and is a great friend of us all."
 
 22 GLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 "So it appears," said Dent placidly. "By the by, 
 no one ever told me her name. It's awkward some- 
 times, not knowing what to call a woman when you're 
 talking to her. Miss Carter? Thanks. I wondered, 
 when she came in, whether she was Meredith's sister 
 or his wife or what. They came in together." 
 
 "He got to know her when she was a model in 
 Paris." 
 
 "Really? I don't know much about models but I 
 always fancied they were recruited from a different 
 class." 
 
 "Is this inquisition meant for Sophy or for me?" 
 
 "Oh, you, you, entirely you," Dent hastened to as- 
 sure him with a friendly wave of his pipe. "Needless 
 to say, Miss Carter's goings on, I mean her way of set- 
 tling her life, aren't the remotest concern of mine. 
 But as you're supposed, at some distant and uncertain 
 date, to be going to marry my sister, if neither of you 
 changes what you call your mind in the interval, I 
 must own, Eve, I couldn't quite make Miss Sophy 
 out." 
 
 "The passion for making people out," said Evelyn, 
 sitting down again and beginning to take off his boots, 
 "is strong in the bucolic mind. Where on earth are 
 my slippers? And what earthly business is it of 
 yours to try to make poor Sophy out? How would 
 you like it if a fellow that had never seen her but 
 once in his life set to work to make Kitty out?" Dent 
 was galvanised into indignation, but though he sat 
 up with his mouth open he was not given any chance to 
 remonstrate. "Oh my Lord, Caesar's wife!" As 
 usual, Evelyn's melancholy scorn put all disagreement 
 firmly in the wrong. It never made Dent budge one
 
 GLAIR DE LUNE 23 
 
 inch from his original position, but he felt safer so 
 long as he did not argue. "What ! isn't poor Sophy 
 good enough to be mentioned in the same breath?" 
 Evelyn demanded. He had found his slippers inside 
 the coal scuttle, and putting them on he turned side- 
 ways in his chair towards Dent, one long slim leg 
 thrown over the other, one hand propping his chin. 
 "Why can't you ask for your facts instead of nosing 
 round like a dog behind a dustbin? Sophy isn't Mere- 
 dith's ladylove. And she isn't Selwyn's either: he 
 hasn't one and never has had. Nor is she mine, which 
 is what you really want to know, isn't it? She was a 
 figure model in Tennant's studio. Her father was 
 an English submarine officer, and her mother was a 
 French waitress in a cracker-and-tinsel teashop on the 
 quay at Rouen, name of Chartier. It wasn't a misal- 
 liance because it wasn't a marriage at all, but she 
 was a beautiful woman and it was a serious tie, what 
 you call mutually exclusive. As long as he was alive 
 he kept her in a villa at Fontainebleau where he used 
 to spend his leaves, can't you imagine it? but he was 
 drowned in a collision at mameuvres, and though his 
 relations offered to take Sophy Madame Chartier 
 stuck to her child and her independence. Then she 
 died too and Sophy was in very low water for a time. 
 That was when Tennant got hold of her. Eventually 
 one of the English aunts left her a bit of money, and 
 she chucked studio work and turned over a new leaf. 
 Since then she has been highly respectable and I be- 
 lieve rather dull: that is an accident to which re- 
 spectability is liable." 
 
 "Thank you : I feel it." 
 
 "Any further information I can offer you?"
 
 24 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 "None," said Dent smiling at him. "And I beg 
 your pardon. But I'm rather out of my depth, you see. 
 I don't know much about painters or musicians ex- 
 cept that they generally seem to lead rather queer 
 lives. Oh yes, there is one thing more, which you 
 might tell me if, as I suppose, it's common knowledge 
 in all your set. Did you say there never was any- 
 thing between her and Meredith?" 
 
 Evelyn raised his eyebrows. "I understood you to 
 say you weren't interested in Sophy personally?" 
 
 "No more I am : but I felt sorry for her. It's a sad 
 little face." 
 
 "I have no idea," said Evelyn shortly. 
 
 "I see," said Dent, dismissing the subject with a 
 nod. 
 
 He put his pipe in his pocket and drew in his legs, 
 turning squarely towards Evelyn as if he were brac- 
 ing himself to a delayed and disagreeable duty. 
 
 "Well, Eve, it's very good of you to have put up with 
 such a catechism. But London hasn't altered you, 
 you're just the same old Eve you used to be when we 
 played cricket in the field behind the house. In those 
 days you didn't often answer questions and never 
 asked any, and you haven't done it now. Weren't 
 you surprised at my turning up in your rooms with- 
 out warning at ten o'clock at night? No? Well, 
 I suppose midnight and mid-day are all one to you. 
 But they ain't to me, I like my regular hours. I 
 shouldn't have come round so late, in fact I shouldn't 
 have come down to town at all at this time of year, 
 if I hadn't had an uncommonly serious reason." 
 
 "Serious?" 
 
 "Yes, I've got a bit of bad news for you."
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 25 
 
 "Not Kitty ill?" said Evelyn, half rising. 
 
 "No: I shouldn't have left her if she were. No, 
 it's bad news for you alone. Sit down, old man." 
 He threw his arm round Evelyn's neck. "It's about 
 Philip. No, not ill. Worse than that. Dead." 
 
 "Dead! Philip?' 
 
 "M'm." 
 
 "But how awfully sudden!" said Evelyn. Dent 
 felt him shivering. He kept his arm over Evelyn's 
 shoulders and said no more till the difficult, self-con- 
 tained, but nervous nature got its poise back : then rose 
 and leant his elbow on the mantelpiece, standing with 
 his back to Evelyn and the other hand thrust deep 
 into his pocket. "But I had a letter from him two days 
 ago!" said Evelyn in a dazed voice. "Are you of 
 course you are sure. Was it was it an accident?" 
 
 "Yes, and a bad one." 
 
 "Oh ... go on." 
 
 "He was out riding on a young mare, schooling 
 her about the lanes, and they came suddenly on a 
 motor lorry. You recollect the railway arch up by 
 Green's Farm? It was round that sharp corner 
 where the road's narrow. There was a train going by 
 overhead, and apparently he was coaxing the mare 
 along and never heard the lorry till it was on top 
 of him. Then the double fright was too much for 
 her, and she backed up against the wall, crossed her 
 legs and fell with him. The men on the lorry couldn't 
 stop it in time. He was badly crushed. No, not his 
 head: the off fore wheel went over his loins. They 
 got a gate off its hinges, put him on it and carried him 
 home. He lived about six hours, just breathing." 
 
 "When?"
 
 26 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 "Yesterday, between seven and eight in the evening ; 
 too late to wire to you. The first we heard of it was 
 Cotton coming round to ask me to go up at once. I 
 was out, but Kitty flew across " 
 
 "Kitty did?" 
 
 "Of course she did. She was alone with the serv- 
 ants and doctor from eight o'clock till close on ten. 
 It was a good job, because Philip was conscious enough 
 then to talk to her from time to time. When I saw 
 him, speech was gone. But there was no pain." 
 
 "Why wasn't I sent for sooner?" 
 
 "There are no trains in the middle of the night, old 
 fellow, and I couldn't come off the first thing this 
 morning because it was cattle-market day and I'd 
 arranged to meet a Cumberland man who was only 
 in Cambridge between trains. We might have got 
 through on the telephone, but it'd have been too late 
 in any case. We all knew that from the first." 
 
 "So you determined to wait till you could break 
 the news in person and soften the shock? That's 
 like you," said Evelyn with a shade of ambiguity in 
 his manner. "Well, I won't deny it is something of 
 a shock. Were you there when he died?" 
 
 "Yes : it was difficult to tell when he did die. One 
 minute he was breathing and the next he wasn't, that 
 was about all." 
 
 "Not disfigured?" 
 
 "Hardly. A bit of a mark on his face, I think the 
 mare's hoof must have touched him as he fell: but 
 it's impossible to get anything like a straightforward 
 account out of the men on the lorry. They don't seem 
 to have taken in what was happening till till it was 
 over."
 
 GLAIR DE LUNE 27 
 
 "But his body. . .?" 
 
 "Well. . . ." 
 
 "No pain? His back was broken, I suppose. What 
 happened to the mare?" 
 
 "She had to be shot. Do you really want to know 
 all these details, Eve? Don't they only make you 
 sick?" 
 
 "I don't know what I want to do. I believe I want 
 to cry, like Selwyn," said Evelyn. He dropped his 
 face on his hand, but only for a moment. "That's no 
 good, I couldn't if I tried. I say, George, old man, 
 this is a rotten business. I wish I hadn't had such 
 a lot of rows with Philip. I wasn't a bit fond of him, 
 you know ! Or was I?" He looked wistfully up into 
 Dent's kind, distressed eyes. "I've never done any- 
 thing but have rows with Philip from earliest infancy 
 when they couldn't even put us in the same perambula- 
 tor, but then I never thought of his going and dying 
 before I did. Let me see, how old am I? Twenty- 
 eight then Philip was only twenty-nine. There were 
 barely eleven months between us." 
 
 "I fancy if you had been further apart you would 
 have got on better. There were faults on both sides, 
 Eve, don't you go blaming yourself unduly. I was 
 awfully fond of Philip and so was Kitty, but he never 
 could forget he was the elder brother, and he did try 
 to ride you on too tight a rein. I've often told him it 
 couldn't be done on eleven months' seniority. He 
 used to behave to you as if it were twenty years !" 
 
 "He used to tell me I was careless and extravagant : 
 and so I was." 
 
 "Aye: you were." 
 
 "I've always lived up to my allowance and a bit
 
 28 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 beyond it. . . yes, even now, though I've made a lot of 
 money these last five years. But do you know what 
 this flat stands me in?" Dent had no idea. "And I 
 shan't tell you," said Evelyn. "You're my future 
 brother-in-law, and I suppose now Philip's dead you'll 
 take on his job." He leant back in his chair, his 
 hands in his pockets, both legs stretched out before 
 him. "The last letter I had from him was to warn 
 me that I was overdrawn at the bank. I tore it up 
 and chucked it into that paper basket. I dare say 
 it's there now. Oh, this is a rotten business ! It never 
 entered my head that Philip would go before I did: 
 his was a much better 'life' than mine. Bar accidents 
 he'd have lived to be ninety : I shan't." 
 
 "Why do you say so? there's nothing the matter 
 with you, is there?" 
 
 "No: but the Evelyns never make old bones. 
 Philip wasn't a bit of an Evelyn ; he was a Masson 
 he took after my mother's family. Do you know if 
 he left any message for me?" 
 
 "His love." 
 
 "Oh. . . ." 
 
 "And there was more than that : but Kitty can tell 
 you better than I can. Don't take it so to heart, Eve. 
 There were faults on both sides: if it had been you 
 that were killed, Philip would have had just as good 
 cause to repent, or more." But Philip, Dent reflected, 
 would not have wasted many minutes on repentance ; 
 when did Philip ever act on impulse, or regret an 
 action? The narrow inflexible nature was strong 
 where Evelyn was weak, and respected, by inevitable 
 corollary, where Evelyn was loved ; though George and 
 Kitty Dent had loved Philip too for old sakes' sake,
 
 GLAIR DE LUNE 29 
 
 because they had been brought up with him, and it 
 was not in their conservative souls to be a man's neigh- 
 bours all their lives and not his friends. But if they 
 had loved Philip well they had loved Evelyn better. 
 George Dent could not bear to see Evelyn unhappy. 
 In the lifelong disagreement between the brothers, 
 his sympathies had always gone out to Evelyn, even 
 when his judgment occasionally sided with Philip, 
 and he would have said so much more emphatically 
 but for the certainty that he would only anger 
 Evelyn. Timidly he touched Evelyn's shoulder. 
 "Eve, there's so often trouble of this kind; 
 pretty nearly always when death comes suddenly and 
 there isn't time to to make friends." Evelyn stirred 
 impatiently, shaking off Dent's hand. 
 
 "I know all that. Don't prose, George ! and don't 
 tell me I'm an ungrateful ruffian, because I know 
 I am. I say, what ought I to do? Pack some clothes 
 and go up to Temple Evelyn, I suppose; there'll be 
 any amount of business to attend to. Besides, I want 
 to see Philip. Oh but it is a nuisance ! I don't want 
 to leave town just now, I'm up to my eyes in work. 
 . . . Now have I shocked you? No : you and Kitty al- 
 ways understand." 
 
 "Yes, old man, I think we do." 
 
 Dent strolled over to the window and flung it wide, 
 letting in a chill breath of riverside night. Below lay 
 a broad dark road not much frequented by traffic, 
 and beyond it the trees of a square, their foliage, 
 after the heat of August, already beginning to rust 
 and fall. Away on his left the river rolled its dark 
 waters under Chelsea Bridge and down to the sea. 
 Through the gloom he could tell it was the river only
 
 30 CLAIE DE LUNE 
 
 because here and there from its further bank a lamp 
 was reflected along it in a ladder of yellow light, which 
 when it reached the current was broken into a thou- 
 sand stars that danced on the tops of a thousand 
 little waves ; for out of the North a strong wind was 
 blowing, heaping up and driving before it tumultuous 
 flights of cloud. And beyond the leafy square the 
 forms of buildings loomed up huge and dim, the 
 people in them all asleep, while now and again over 
 their roofs and between their chimneys a star showed 
 flying, winterpale in an interstice of the cloudy chase : 
 like a star over a hill on the other side of a wood. 
 Like most people who love the country and cannot 
 be happy for long out of it, Dent had known what it 
 was to feel frightened in it. But there are night 
 hours in London that produce as vivid an impres- 
 sion of hostile life and dangerous forces as any wood 
 full of snow or fiery sunset burning itself away on 
 the edge of a moor. Dent shivered: he was not a 
 fanciful man, but he had had no sleep for thirty-six 
 hours and he was not accustomed to the sight of death. 
 How cold it was! he felt as though he were stripped 
 to that dark wind. And how lonely ! Charles Evelyn 
 seemed far away, much nearer to him was Philip, 
 his old friend, the flitting of whose soul he had 
 watched barely twenty-four hours ago. When a young 
 active man is struck down without warning and with- 
 out time to wean himself from his human interests, 
 it is difficult not to think of his spirit as lingering 
 in the places and among the people it knew when it 
 was alive. The rushing wind made the curtain shake 
 and the candle shiver. What was that story of the 
 voice that cried "Let me in" ? Dent shut the window.
 
 CLAIB DE LUNE 31 
 
 Strange Low such childish superstitions linger in 
 some parts of the country! Dent of course was not 
 superstitious. . . . He drew the curtain. 
 
 For Evelyn, a townsman, night and wind were night 
 and wind and nothing more. He leant forward to 
 rake the fire, sending a stream of golden sparks up 
 the chimney. "George, it was good of you to come 
 all this way to break the news to me. Where are you 
 staying?" 
 
 "Where I always do, at the Liverpool Street Hotel, 
 so far as I'm staying anywhere. But I shall go back 
 to-morrow to-day, that is. I should like a few hours' 
 sleep, we none of us had much last night, and I've 
 been on the go ever since. There's an express at ten- 
 five if you would care to travel up with me. Kitty's 
 going to drive in and meet it. I said I should come 
 by it if I could. She's dreadfully sorry about this 
 business, Eve." 
 
 "Very disinterested of her, seeing that I shall come 
 into Temple Evelyn now. Not much money, however : 
 unless I sell the place." 
 
 "Sell it!" George Dent echoed, horrified. "You 
 never would do that, surely?" 
 
 "I must either sell it or let it. I could never afford 
 to live in it." 
 
 "Philip did." 
 
 "Yes, by pinching and screwing in every direction. 
 Do you see me doing that? Philip was a Masson: 
 I'm not. Besides, Philip hadn't any debts. I owe a 
 devil of a lot of money. And they'll make me pay 
 up now," Evelyn added petulantly : "they always do ; 
 directly one comes into a little property they flock 
 round like so many old carrion crows!" He strolled
 
 32 GLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 over to the piano and struck half a dozen chords, de- 
 sisted and let the lid fall with a slam. "George, I 
 do hate it all so! What on earth was Philip such 
 an ass for? It's not as if he couldn't ride! He could 
 sit any horse that ever went on four legs: and he 
 had beautiful hands too beautiful hands. Which 
 day is the funeral?" 
 
 "We naturally left that for you to fix." 
 
 "Oh! much obliged! I'd rather fix my own. 
 There'll be any quantity of people to interview and 
 papers to sign and legal forms to fill up, and I hate 
 Hanmer and Hanmer hates me. For two pins I'd 
 go to France by the morning boat and leave no ad- 
 dress." George Dent made no attempt to argue these 
 futilities, the expression partly of a genuine and nat- 
 ural incapacity and partly of a repressed wayward 
 grief which found no outlet except ill humour. "And 
 there isn't a decent piano in the place, there never 
 has been since Kitty and I upset the claret-cup into 
 the intestines of the Erard in the library. That was 
 Philip all over to refuse to get another one, he hated 
 to hear me touch a note." He laughed out and ran 
 his hand through his thick brown hair till it stood on 
 end in a plume. "Quite so, I am eminently unreason- 
 able and deplorably childish and all the other things 
 that you so nobly haven't called me. I'll play up 
 when I get to Temple Evelyn. But it's a cruel 
 business." He ended with an irrepressible, suffocat- 
 ing sob. 
 
 "M'm," said Dent, staring into the fire. 
 
 "I'll meet you, then, at Liverpool Street at ten 
 o'clock this morning." 
 
 "Do. And try not to be late, Eve, for once; the
 
 GLAIR DE LUNE 33 
 
 place is at sixes and sevens without you, and though 
 I took a good deal on myself there were a great many 
 orders I can't give." 
 
 "Late!" said Evelyn impatiently, "is it likely I 
 should be late?"
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 DENT thought it more than likely that Evelyn 
 would be late: in fact so nearly certain that 
 he cut short his own sleep, breakfasted at 
 eight, and drove round to Chelsea to fetch him. But 
 even these firm measures were vain, for he learnt 
 from Fraser, stiff with a sense of grievance, that Eve- 
 lyn had left the flat between four and five in the 
 morning and had not returned. He had dragged 
 Fraser out of bed to pack him a bag, but had given 
 no hint of his intended movements, though when Dent 
 began to look anxious Fraser condescended to smile. 
 He was not anxious. Nor, on second thoughts, was 
 George Dent; there really would have been more 
 cause for anxiety if Evelyn had done anything so 
 uncharacteristic as to catch a train. 
 
 Dent gave a philosophic shrug. It would have been 
 idle to wait, and after keeping a look-out for Evelyn 
 on the platform till the last minute he got into a third 
 class smoking carriage and travelled up very comfort- 
 ably by himself. It was barely half past eleven when 
 he carried his suit case out of Cambridge station to 
 a high dogcart which stood waiting in the dusty yard. 
 The tenant of the cart was his sister, Kitty Dent. 
 She was all in grey, from her tiny scarfed cap to her 
 thick gauntlets and fringed suede shoes : a small lithe 
 creature of a deceptive delicacy of aspect, supple 
 as a wand of steel, yet decked with the freshness and 
 bloom of a China rosebud. She smiled down at Dent 
 
 34
 
 CLAIB DE LUNE 35 
 
 with a mild brightness of interest as he climbed into 
 the seat beside her, leaving her the reins. 
 "Well, have you seen Eve?" 
 
 "Yes, last night," said Dent briefly. "He was to 
 have travelled with me but he didn't turn up so I 
 came on ahead. He'll probably follow by the next 
 train." 
 
 "Did you arrange with him to travel with you?" 
 "I suggested it. Why not? It was the natural 
 thing to do." 
 
 "Did you tell him I was going to meet you?" 
 "Did I?" The hesitation was disingenuous. "I be- 
 lieve so yes." 
 
 Kitty gave a little carefree laugh. "George, didn't 
 you know your Evelyn Charles Evelyn better than 
 that?" 
 
 "As a matter of fact," Dent said more cheerfully, 
 as if pleased with Kitty's way of taking the defection 
 of her lover, "it did occur to me that he might fight 
 shy of that arrangement. But I didn't think it would 
 be good for him to be left alone. You were quite right, 
 old girl, he was very much cut up far more so than 
 I expected. I suppose he was fond of poor Philip 
 though one never would have known it. After all, 
 your brother's your brother. It can't count for noth- 
 ing to have been stable companions for fifteen or 
 twenty years." 
 "Besides. . . ." 
 
 "She's pulling a bit, isn't she? Shall I drive?" 
 "Oh no, thanks. Tell me more about Eve." 
 "There isn't much to tell. Besides what, were you 
 going to say?" But Kitty intimated that the end 
 of her valuable observation had escaped her memory.
 
 36 GLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 If Dent had not yet found out that Evelyn's airy 
 manner covered a nature sensitively affectionate and 
 dangerously amenable to pity, it was not for her to 
 enlighten him. "He was playing at the Queen's Hall 
 last night/' Dent went on. "I've just read a notice of 
 it in the Telegraph, cracking him up for a second 
 Pachmann. But that new flat of his must run him into 
 a lot of expense." Here it was Dent's turn to prac- 
 tise economy, for he did not think fit to tell Kitty 
 that Evelyn had owned to being in debt. "Beautiful 
 rooms they are and close to Grosvenor Road, which is 
 a dear neighbourhood ; and everything very well done 
 a nice old Adams chimney-piece in carved marble, 
 and furniture to suit. Several other fellows came in 
 with him after the concert, chiefly newspaper men, 
 and queerlooking, some of them, but nice chaps. Oh, 
 and Edmund Meredith was there too. It seems he's by 
 way of being rather a pal of Eve's, but he didn't 
 mix well with the writing and painting crowd." Dent 
 would have been cut to pieces sooner than mention 
 Sophy to his sister. "You recollect Meredith? he 
 asked after you. Said he met you in town." 
 "Ye-es, I remember Mr. Meredith." 
 "He didn't want to marry you, did he?" 
 "I do not know, dear," said Kitty laughing. "I did 
 not refuse him and no woman ever will. He would 
 never commit himself unless he were sure of his 
 ground. So you couldn't break it to Eve till after 
 these men were gone? How how did he take it?" 
 She meant "Tell me what he said and the way he said 
 it, describe him feature by feature and the clothes 
 he wore and the chair he sat in," but she knew that
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 37 
 
 Dent could not satisfy her hunger for detail. No one 
 ever can. 
 
 "He didn't say anything in particular. He seems 
 to hate it all, even the prospect of coming in for 
 Temple Evelyn," said George Dent, watching his sis- 
 ter's tiny wrists with admiration. "I'm sure she is 
 pulling too hard for you, isn't she? I thought he'd 
 like that, but it seems only to weigh on him and de- 
 press him. He talks of selling it." 
 
 "That would be a pity." 
 
 "A pity? It would be a crying scandal! I can't 
 understand how he could dream of such a thing! 
 Imagine an old family place like that going to the 
 hammer! They've been at Temple Evelyn longer 
 than we've been at the Manor Farm. But of course 
 he'll never do it when it comes to the point ; Eve starts 
 a lot of plans that never come to anything." 
 
 "Marrying me, for example. Did he refer to me at 
 all?" 
 
 "Yes. I felt rather cross with him. You sent him 
 your new photograph, didn't you, a few days ago?" 
 
 "Why has he lost it?" 
 
 "No : but last night one of the men that were there 
 young Yarborough, the painter chap found it on 
 Eve's writing table and it was passed round for ad- 
 miration. I don't mean that any of the men said any- 
 thing you wouldn't have liked: and Eve apologised 
 afterwards said he left it out by mistake, stuck it 
 up there and forgot about it. But they were all 
 so free and easy that I felt rather cross with him, 
 and I collared it and wouldn't give it back to him. 
 Here it is. He'll probably come to you for it now."
 
 38 CLAIK DE LUNE 
 
 Dent took it out of his pocket and laid it on the 
 cushion between him and Kitty. "If he does you can 
 give it to him if you like but I'd rather you didn't. 
 Eve doesn't mean any harm, but he's a bit too care- 
 less." 
 
 "Rather careless, certainly, to forget about it. And 
 it was such a pretty photograph too !" Kitty gave a 
 burlesque sigh. "I fully expected him to sleep with 
 it under his pillow. Eve is the most unsatisfactory 
 lover I ever had or dreamed of having. But one can't 
 be hard on him now." She slanted her whip, pointing 
 sideways up the long low slope of white road and 
 woody hill. "How would you like it, George, to 
 come home to Temple Evelyn and find no one to wel- 
 come you but the dead?" 
 
 The mare, three parts thoroughbred out of a 
 Newmarket stable, dropped to a walk as they breasted 
 the last steep rise, and Dent turned in his seat to 
 glance all round him. Cambridge, which in every 
 direction ends abruptly like a fortified city, was al- 
 ready four or five miles away and indistinct under 
 a haze of smoke in the faint red of its old brickwork 
 and the grey of turret and spire. Elsewhere the sky 
 was autumn-blue and flecked with a few clouds that 
 lay on it like patches of snow on blue ice, so pale 
 it was, and so soft they were with their light and 
 lilac shadows. And under this opal gleam, out of the 
 pale Cambridgeshire countryside in its water-colour 
 tinting silver-gilt of stubble, verdure that had been 
 sainfoin or clover, purple-dark of fallow land their 
 hilltop rose up like a wave, its lift of a couple of 
 hundred feet setting them high over the plain : carry- 
 ing on its chalky crest a march of beechwoods, still
 
 GLAIR DE LUNE 39 
 
 summer-coloured, and the bend of an ivied wall of 
 black and white flint, the park wall of Temple Eve- 
 lyn. The house was hidden among the trees; but 
 here were the gates of graceful ironwork and the 
 square stone lodge : and as the mare paused to breathe 
 a moment, before breaking into a trot again for the 
 long, slow descent, the chiming of a clock in the 
 Temple JSvelyn stables musically told them it was 
 noon. Methodical Philip Evelyn had wound that 
 clock every Monday morning: to-day was Friday: 
 before it next needed winding, the hand whose im- 
 pulse it was now fulfilling would be in the grave. 
 Dent shivered, though the sun was hot. 
 
 Then the mare, young and fresh, darted away down- 
 hill again, and for the next five minutes Kitty's at- 
 tention was devoted to keeping her in hand, while the 
 stone wall chequered with tods of ivy under its march 
 of beech trees flew by at a rapid rate. The wall ended 
 where the garden of the Manor Farm began: a low, 
 square, white house set well back from the road 
 across a shady lawn, the chalk downs and their beech- 
 wood bosses rising up behind, the farm-yard and its 
 thatched barns and honey-coloured ricks only half 
 hidden behind an evergreen oak. They turned in at a 
 white gate and drew up accurately within an inch of 
 the steps, and Dent, getting down, was immediately 
 enveloped in dogs a flood of dogs which poured out 
 of the hall door and fell over one another in emulous 
 desire to lick his nose. He beat them off and turned 
 to help his sister, taking her fingertips while Kitty 
 came to earth with a light spring. "A little tired, ain't 
 you, Kitty?" He kissed her cheek, a demonstration 
 neither habitual nor rare. "You've been on the go
 
 40 CLAIE DE LUNE 
 
 ever since Wednesday evening. Did you have a good 
 night last night?" 
 
 "So-so," said Kitty smiling at him. "As good as I 
 wanted." 
 
 "Terrible thing, poor Philip's death. I can hardly 
 believe he's gone." 
 
 "I caught myself this morning on the brink of tell- 
 ing Annie to bake some more gingerbreads, in case 
 Mr. Philip came in to tea." 
 
 She went slowly indoors accompanied by her own 
 devoted collie, the other dogs remaining with their 
 master. When Dent turned to follow her, after linger- 
 ing a moment on the steps to glance round him with 
 the quiet satisfaction which he always felt on return- 
 ing to his own roof tree, and to distribute pats at ran- 
 dom, he noticed with a faint vexed frown that the 
 palms of her gloves were cut to ribbons. 
 
 Charles Evelyn could not go up to Cambridge by the 
 ten o'clock train from Liverpool Street, because he 
 had previously caught the eight forty-five from King's 
 Cross. While Kitty and George Dent were driving 
 from the station, he had already reached Temple Eve- 
 lyn on foot, covering four miles of dusty road with 
 the cool unhurried stride learnt in a country boy- 
 hood. Where the long slope began to rise towards the 
 hills, by Charles Burnage's lonely inn crouched like 
 a grey cat under its tall sign and sheltering sycomore, 
 he got over a gate and struck into a footpath across 
 the fields which were now his own, though he won- 
 dered if there would be enough money to pay Philip's 
 death duties without selling some of the land. 
 
 The park wall was too high to be vaulted. But
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 41 
 
 here in a bend of it was the old garden gate, its key 
 hanging on a nail which only the initiate could find. 
 How often had Evelyn let himself out that way in 
 his boyhood, when he was in such a rage with Philip 
 that he could not bear to stay within earshot ! Many 
 a fit of fiery temper he had walked off along the Roman 
 Road over the tops of the hills, where flax and scabious 
 blossomed in the sere September grass. . . . And so 
 across a belt of beechwood, and brushing through a 
 young quickset hedge which Philip would have re- 
 spected, into sight of the house, large, and loosely 
 built, and dignified, if a little faded by wind and 
 weather : a square Georgian house in stucco like the 
 farm below, with a Georgian portico and suavely 
 moulded bays. It gave Evelyn a shock to find the 
 blinds drawn at every window. But of course it 
 must be so ! Temple Evelyn was dead like its master, 
 though the garden was still so vigorously and richly 
 alive. 
 
 How they shone, the scarlet geraniums in their 
 stone urns on the lawn ! How gay the borders were 
 with sunflowers and hollyhocks and the late pink 
 Caroline roses! It was exquisitely kept up, not a 
 bent nor a dandelion on the turf nor a weed in the 
 brilliantly patterned carpet flowerbeds; Philip had 
 been a careful householder, and Button's catalogues 
 were the one lure he never could resist. But it w r as 
 not exactly habitable. It was for show. Dearer to 
 Evelyn were the oldfashioned grounds at the back 
 of the house with their cut-and-come-again luxuriance. 
 Here in front, within range of the drive, the edict 
 "Thou shalt not pick" had always been enforced with 
 all the rigour of nursery law. As late as seventeen
 
 42 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 he remembered to have received half a dozen sting- 
 ing cuts across the palm from his mother's ruler, for 
 being caught redhanded, or rather lilac-handed, with 
 a bunch of heliotrope stolen for Kitty Dent. 
 
 And suddenly in the remembrance of old obligations 
 Evelyn realised that he had no business to be com- 
 ing home on foot with the dust of the road on his 
 boots. He ought to have made a grave ceremonial 
 entrance, driving in through the lodge gates, the sound 
 of wheels bringing the servants out to meet him with 
 suitably distressed expressions; and then it would 
 have been his duty to shake hands with old Malyon 
 the butler, and attend to his narrative of the sad fa- 
 tality, leading up to a "This way, sir," and the fling- 
 ing open of a locked door. . . . But he could not, no, 
 he could not face that locked door and Philip's dead 
 face under the aegis of old Malyon. An adept at not 
 doing his duty, Evelyn sneaked back into the beech- 
 wood and slipped along to the library, which faced 
 north and could not be seen from either drive or gar- 
 dens. Here if anywhere he might find an open win- 
 dow, and this if any room in the great house was his 
 own. He had never felt more than a guest's right in 
 his bedroom, very large, stiffly furnished with immense 
 pieces of mahogany furniture, and shared with Philip 
 for the first twelve years of his life. 
 
 Yes, the library window was open, and thankfully 
 he flung his leg over the sill and got in as he had done 
 hundreds of times in his boyhood, when on his way 
 back from some expedition of which his mother or 
 Philip would not have approved. The shadow of his 
 boyish sense of guilt and fear fell on him now. He had 
 always disliked and dreaded scoldings, though they
 
 CLAIE DE LUNE 43 
 
 had never deterred him. A caning broke no bones, 
 but one of his mother's religious lectures would find 
 out every tender spot in him, not because she did not 
 understand him but because she understood him too 
 well. Ah well ! neither his mother nor Philip would 
 ever scold him again. For Philip after their mother's 
 death had been very nearly as bad. How well Eve- 
 lyn remembered his last interview with his brother 
 one of those irritating, disagreeable interviews of 
 which Temple Evelyn had seen so many ! Philip had 
 refused to increase his allowance, and they had parted, 
 outwardly civil, inwardly exasperated, Philip raging 
 against his extravagance, Evelyn shrugging his shoul- 
 ders over Philip's nearness : and certainly Philip was 
 near: he would spend on the upkeep of Temple Eve- 
 lyn but on nothing else, and when he went about in 
 his shabby corduroy breeches, and a tweed coat with 
 a hole in the elbow, strangers occasionally took him 
 for a gamekeeper. Still one had to be thick-skinned 
 to make that mistake. All the Evelyns had looks, 
 but Philip was the most goodlooking of two genera- 
 ations: taller than his brother, and dark as a Span- 
 iard, with a princely way of bearing himself that 
 drew men's eyes to him in great cities. And now he 
 was dead, and had left the tradition of Temple Eve- 
 lyn to Charles Evelyn's careless musicianly hands. 
 
 It was still early, and Evelyn was supposed to be 
 coming by the later train with Dent, and theoreti- 
 cally could not be here for another half hour. He 
 flung himself into a chair and shut his eyes, but he 
 was too tired to sleep almost too tired to know that 
 he was tired. He had had a heavy strain the day 
 before; never since entering on his musical career
 
 44 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 had he confessed to feeling shy before an audience, 
 but the truth was that he turned horribly nervous 
 every time he had to go on a platform, and the fact 
 that no professional pianist nowadays can afford to 
 put up a sheet of music before him made matters 
 worse. Not that Evelyn ever looked at the notes he 
 was playing still he would have liked to know they 
 were there, even as there are many middle-aged clergy- 
 men who like to have a Prayer-Book open on the 
 desk before they begin on "Dearly beloved brethren" 
 or even the Lord's Prayer. Once launched Evelyn was 
 safe and could have played the clock round without 
 glancing at a printed page, but every time he under- 
 took an important engagement he had to go through 
 twenty -four hours of preliminary anguish in the cer- 
 tainty that this time when he sat down to the piano 
 every note he had ever played would go out of his 
 head. Such a panic is a wearing strain. To be 
 encored half a dozen times by a packed Queen's Hall 
 audience is a strain too though of a pleasanter nature, 
 for after the flame of excitement has died down one 
 is left feeling chilly and depressed. And then Philip's 
 death. ... It was no wonder Evelyn was tired. 
 
 And giving himself up to daydreams he lost him- 
 self in sensuously vivid memories of childhood and 
 youth, golden moments, a touch, a scent, a phrase of 
 music, pink roses on a blue sky, the silken chill of 
 running water, a stolen night on the grass of the 
 Roman Road but not of George Dent or the servants 
 or the lawyer or the thousand and one duties that 
 patiently awaited his attention. . . . 
 
 "Good morning, Eve, I hoped I might find you 
 here."
 
 GLAIR DE LUNE 45 
 
 "Kitty !" exclaimed Evelyn, starting up and rubbing 
 his eyes. Miss Dent dropped her hands on the win- 
 dow sill and swung herself in over it with the easy dex- 
 terity of a boy. Seen on her feet she was a small 
 creature, her head not quite on the level of Evelyn's 
 shoulder, though Evelyn was no more than of middle 
 height. She had taken off her cap, and into the dark 
 room, lined with books from ceiling to floor, her thick 
 fine hair of a shade that Evelyn called silvergilt 
 brought a spark or two of sunshine. She had not 
 seen Evelyn for a twelvemonth, but without delay 
 or confusion she came to him and held up her cheek 
 for a kiss. Few men would have disdained this privi- 
 lege. Her face and throat were milkwhite, except 
 where they were dyed with the carnation stain of 
 perfect health, as evenly and delicately ingrained as 
 the pink shading in a flower petal. But Evelyn kissed 
 her lightly and almost like a brother. "O Kitty, you're 
 as clever as ever and ten times prettier! How on 
 earth did you guess where I was?" Kitty gave him a 
 fleeting smile and silently drew herself out of his light 
 clasp. "Come and sit on my knee," said Evelyn, hold- 
 ing out his arms to her. But she shook her head 
 and subsided into a chair opposite an immense arm- 
 chair with comfortably broken springs. "But, Kitty- 
 wee, have you come up alone? Isn't George back?" 
 
 "George is back, and has gone out to see how the 
 young pigs have got on since he went away. No, you 
 need not apologise for throwing him over; it occurred 
 to him afterwards that you wouldn't care to travel 
 up with him and be met en famille. He was really 
 rather glad because he doesn't like the back seat in 
 the dogcart."
 
 46 CLAIE DE LUNE 
 
 "But it wasn't that at all," said Evelyn discon- 
 certed. "It simply was that I suddenly remem- 
 bered" 
 
 "Yes, darling, I know." 
 
 " that I couldn't go off without seeing Dimmie. 
 Now you see you don't know, and there was a real 
 reason. I had to cut round in a taxi and it took me 
 half an hour to get him out of bed." 
 
 "Yes, darling, there always is a real reason. This 
 is quite a good one. Who is Dimmie ?" 
 
 "Dimsdale Smith, my my impresario" 
 
 "So, as you were too late to catch the ten o'clock, 
 you caught the eight forty-five. It is a thing that 
 might happen to anyone; except of course that very 
 few people have an impresario. No, now I won't tease 
 you any more. Dearest Eve, how tired your eyes look ! 
 But how little you've changed! how little you ever 
 change, considering that you've grown into a famous 
 man since I saw you last ! Yes, really : a twelvemonth 
 ago you were in the second flight and now you're in the 
 first. I was sorry you had to be away when I was 
 in London, but that Continental tour did great things 
 for you. Did you bring any luggage or any other 
 clothes besides what you have on?" Evelyn had left 
 his bag at the station. "We must tell Malyon to send 
 for it. Have you seen him yet?" 
 
 "Not yet. I haven't been here long." 
 
 "Oh well, you must. And you will have to arrange 
 about the registration and the funeral. There are a 
 heap of things to be done." It was not for want of 
 imagination or sympathy that Kitty Dent had set her- 
 self to reduce the tragedy of death to terms of the 
 commonplace. "You see George and I are up in all
 
 GLAIR DE LUNE 47 
 
 these tiresome practical details because it isn't so 
 very long since Father died. There must be an in- 
 quest, Dr. Leigh says. Purely formal, of course, still 
 you will have to see the police about it. But first 
 you had better see Philip himself." She rose. "Come, 
 and I'll take you to him." 
 
 "Where is he?" 
 
 "In his own room." She smiled at Evelyn, who was 
 inclined to hang back. "Are you frightened, Eve? 
 I'm not, and you won't be when you've seen him. Some- 
 times death is terrifying, but Philip only looks as if 
 he were asleep. Still there's always a strangeness. 
 Let's hold hands." And with her small hand, so full 
 of life, she drew him on half against his will into the 
 shuttered hall, where only a few pin-size rays of au- 
 tumn sunshine, like burning wires, shot aslant through 
 a green twilight: up a wide staircase under darkly 
 blinded windows : to the door of Philip's room. 
 
 It was locked, and when Kitty unlocked it Evelyn's 
 surprise and relief were so great that he forgot to be 
 frightened. Philip's room faced due south. It was 
 very large, and lit by three tall croisee windows, and 
 these had all been thrown wide open on a flowery bal- 
 cony. Across worn carpet and dark carved furniture 
 a mellow glow of September sunshine came streaming 
 in, and with it a scent of heliotrope and petunia and 
 drifted leaves from the garden and from all the blue 
 and brown distance of beechwood and valley. In this 
 golden haze candles were burning, tall wax candles in 
 tall silver candlesticks, two at the head and two at the 
 feet of the dark carved bed ; and between them Philip 
 Evelyn lay at ease, dark and stately, a fine linen 
 sheet drawn up to his breast, a sheaf of brown and
 
 48 CLAIB DE LUNE 
 
 red and golden chrysanthemums strewn round his 
 head and over his serenely folded hands. 
 
 "Who put the flowers and lit the candles?" Evelyn 
 asked after a long silence. 
 
 "I did." 
 
 "Naturally. Anyone but you would have put white 
 flowers." 
 
 "Philip wasn't a child," said Kitty. Closing the 
 door behind her, she stole to the bedside and knelt 
 down, and after a moment of shyness Evelyn followed 
 her. There was not the vestige of a prayer in his mind. 
 Capricious and even grotesque fancies flitted through 
 it, the most persistent, and one that made his blood 
 run cold, an idea that his brother was still breathing : 
 he could have sworn the sculptured lips quivered, and 
 the chest, partly uncovered, rose and fell in a faint 
 respiration. But it was not so, and he knew it: for 
 Philip Evelyn the end had come. 
 
 And gradually, when Kitty in her cool monotone 
 began to murmur a Latin prayer for the dead, he felt 
 calmer, as if soothed by being brought into communion 
 with so many others who had suffered the same ache 
 of pity and irremediable regret. Locum refrigerii, 
 lucis, et pads. . . truth or fable and by Philip Eve- 
 lyn, born a Conservative and a churchman, it had 
 never been called in question this fellowship of 
 prayer at least took from death the terror of its lone- 
 liness. 
 
 "Kitty," said Evelyn under his breath, "I wish I 
 cared more. If I did I shouldn't care so much." He 
 rose to his feet and slowly bent to touch the waxen 
 forehead with his lips. "Poor old Phil ! Bough luck, 
 isn't it? oh, how cold!"
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 49 
 
 "I expect you care as much as Philip would have if 
 it had been you," said Kitty drily. She too rose from 
 her knees, with a certain briskness of manner. "Don't 
 let's stay any longer now, Eve. This that's left is 
 not Philip." She lingered to draw the sheet an inch or 
 so higher, taking care to touch the chill breast without 
 shrinking, and then, slipping her arm into Evelyn's, 
 made him go out of the room before her. The living 
 are of greater importance than the dead, and Kitty 
 Dent had not engaged herself to marry an Evelyn 
 without coming to understand an Evelyn tempera- 
 ment. She breathed more freely when they were safe 
 outside and the door was locked once more. 
 
 "Eve, I want you to make me a promise. Will 
 you?" 
 
 "If I can." 
 
 "Not to go into Philip's room again." Evelyn 
 started. "There's no need. I watched with him all 
 last night" 
 
 "You did what?" 
 
 "I kept watch over him. What is there in that to 
 surprise you? Aren't we his oldest friends? George 
 had to be away and there was no one else. I never 
 left him from the time George went till I had to drive 
 in to the station to meet you. Afraid ! no, why should 
 I be afraid? I never can understand that terror of 
 death, which is the one thing that's certain to befall 
 every one of us. I was glad to be with him ; it's so 
 quiet at night, and one can think such long thoughts 
 and see all one's life so clearly when there are no 
 interruptions. But, dearest, I don't want you to go 
 in without me. I've a fancy that I should like to
 
 50 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 have been with you the last time you saw him. Will 
 you promise?" 
 
 "For no reason?" 
 
 "For a whim." 
 
 Evelyn thought it a strange whim. But he could 
 not refuse her ; and when night came, though it never 
 crossed his mind that Kitty had deliberately protected 
 him from himself, he was glad that her whim defended 
 him from an impulse to go in and find out if Nature's 
 inexorable law had worked any change as yet in Philip 
 Evelyn's carven beauty.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 far as I can see," Charles Evelyn was saying 
 with his good-humoured smile a fortnight later, 
 "when the death duties and Hanmer's bill are 
 paid, and when I've cleared off my own debts, I shall 
 have about 300 a year to live on. I don't see myself 
 at thirty-five or so riding to hounds and giving notable 
 decisions on the Bench at Quarter Sessions, but even 
 if I were cut out for the career of a country gentleman 
 it would be difficult to make ends meet. Philip did 
 it. But a good slice of his money has gone to line the 
 pockets of the Chancellor of the Exchequer. And 
 besides I'm not Philip." 
 
 "The last argument of the learned counsel," said 
 Kitty Dent, "appears to me to be conclusive." 
 
 Attired in sympathetic mourning, a black and grey 
 striped voile dress and the wide round hat of her pic- 
 ture scarfed in black, she was sitting on the turf in the 
 rear garden of Temple Evelyn, while its master, in 
 white flannels and a straw with a Queens' ribbon on it, 
 lounged at her feet. Evelyn was in no mourning at all, 
 but his defiance of convention was tranquilly innocent. 
 Fraser was still in London, and left to himself it 
 did not occur to Evelyn to make any change in his 
 dress or even wear a, black band on his arm. George 
 Dent had entreated Kitty to give him a tactful hint 
 "Why can't he do as other people do?" but Kitty had 
 only laughed and put him by. 
 
 "What shall you do let the place?" 
 
 51
 
 52 CLAIB DE LUNE 
 
 "Or sell it. I shouldn't get much for it if I let it. 
 The shooting isn't good, and the house is oldfashioned 
 and rather inconvenient. Two bathrooms and twenty 
 bedrooms! But a man who wanted a background 
 might like to buy it and put it into repair. You can't 
 deny that it has atmosphere. And they say people 
 will pay any amount for atmosphere nowadays, espe- 
 cially the the Johnnies that don't inherit it; I'd 
 rather have fresh air myself." 
 
 "Munitions?" 
 
 "Or margarine. Not but what I'd rather keep it 
 in our own class," Evelyn added, with a shade of 
 unintentional arrogance which brought her familiar 
 teasing smile to Kitty's lips. But this time the joke 
 was mainly against herself. "Our class?" George 
 Dent with his uncompromising stern humility had 
 never let her forget that she was not by birth of 
 Evelyn's class. "Far rather. And it might be done," 
 Evelyn pursued the devious path of speculation. 
 "There's Edmund Meredith now, he's looking out for a 
 house within an hour or so of town : you recollect 
 Meredith? I should rather like to do a deal with him, 
 it's so much nicer dealing with a man you know, that 
 you can be sure won't try to cheat you. It's an econ- 
 omy too, because then you aren't let in for an agent's 
 five per cent or a pestilent lawyer's bill. Lawyers 
 simply eat into money. Why, it costs you sixpence to 
 stamp an agreement!" 
 
 "Whereas if you let it to Mr. Meredith you could 
 dispense with an agreement. Oh, I see," said Kitty, 
 reflective. "That would be a wonderful economy. 
 All you would need would be half a sheet of note- 
 paper, 'Dear Meredith, You can have Temple Evelyn
 
 CLAIB DE LUNE 53 
 
 for 500. Ever yours, E. C. E. P. S. But I don't 
 want to sell the furniture.' Or would you throw the 
 furniture in?" 
 
 "Flea!" 
 
 "Me flea? Why?" 
 
 "Because you're small and irritating. I'd throw you 
 in for two pins if I dared indulge the hope that Mere- 
 dith would take you." He discerned a silent sparkle 
 in Kitty's eyes. "Hallo! what's this? Kitty, you 
 don't mean to tell me ?" 
 
 It was not Kitty's way to tell tales out of school. 
 She turned her head to look up at the house, which 
 smiled down at them in the misty brightness of a 
 September morning, white and friendly in its coat of 
 stucco, three storeys and a pillared Georgian prome- 
 nade between dark belts of beechwood. All along 
 it there stretched a flight of steps, wide and shallow, 
 and at either end a pair of carved urns overflowed 
 in a stream of nasturtiums, jade and brick-red and 
 lemon-yellow, blackish-red and peach-colour, a tangle 
 of leaf and flower from stone to stone and on over 
 the turf. Such was Temple Evelyn in the morning 
 sun. The other way, down the slope of the lawn they 
 were sitting on, blue and yellow butterflies hovered 
 against an immense wall of yew, cut into arches under 
 which one could see the tops of an orchard gleaming 
 with half-ripe apples. And all round, protected by 
 shrubberies of beech and ilex and spring-coloured 
 acacia, there were beds full of summer flowers, the 
 sort of flowers that can be picked from one year's end 
 to another: there was not a month, there was scarcely 
 a day in the hardest winter when one could not find 
 blooms in those high sheltered borders, violets in
 
 54 CLAIK DE LUNE 
 
 woody walks, late rosebuds tinder a fending box grove, 
 snowdrops that pricked up in January, geraniums 
 that struggled on till December. 
 
 "It would be a pity to sell it. Do you know, Eve, 
 you're curiously wanting in the sense of association? 
 Most men would sooner cut off their right hands than 
 give up a place like Temple Evelyn, and I'm not sure 
 but what when it was too late you would be sorry 
 yourself. Of course you can't live in it now. You 
 have your profession, you'll be in London or on the 
 Continent for twenty or thirty years to come. But 
 you'll grow old one day, even you, and then you'll want 
 to rest. Besides, a place like Temple Evelyn isn't 
 yours alone. It belongs to those that are gone before 
 and that will come after. You're only a link in a 
 chain." 
 
 "Oh, my children, if I ever have any, will have to 
 shift for themselves," said Evelyn carelessly. 
 
 Kitty, like her brother, could preserve silence. She 
 did so in answer to this observation which, in the 
 circumstances, was not exactly felicitous with the 
 result that it lingered in the air and presently came 
 back to Evelyn by a different avenue. He glanced 
 sidelong at her and sat up, his arms round his knees. 
 "Kitty, what size do you take in gloves? Twos? Or 
 is that shoes? You haven't said good morning to me 
 yet. You turned up when I was knee-deep in ac- 
 counts and I couldn't attend to you properly, but now 
 I can, and I suggest that you should say good morn- 
 ing." 
 
 "Dear Eve, the servants can see us from the win- 
 dows!" 
 
 "They have seen us before. Considering that we
 
 CLAIE DE LUNE 55 
 
 began it when we were in long clothes, they must be 
 inured to envy by now." He wound his arm round 
 her waist and touched with his lips her cheek as soft as 
 a flower, which was all she permitted him. "Miser !" 
 said Evelyn in her ear. 
 
 "Evelyn : if I ask you a question, will you answer 
 it?" 
 
 "Certainly." He relapsed on the turf, stretching 
 himself indolently at full length, one arm thrown 
 over Kitty's knee. "The record of my past life is 
 open to your inspection. It happens to be depress- 
 ingly blameless I do hope you won't mind !" 
 
 "It happens to be your future that interests me," 
 said Kitty drily, "considerably more than your past. 
 I want you to be perfectly frank, and, if you can, 
 straightforward. No, you are not: not as a rule. 
 You mean well, but you live in a mist and I want 
 you to come out of it. Here's my question, and please 
 take time over it : do you or don't you want to marry 
 me?" 
 
 It was not what Evelyn had anticipated. He sat 
 up again as if galvanised. "Kitty! what an extraor- 
 dinarily maladroit lover I must be!" 
 
 "Evasion No. 1," said Kitty, laughing. 
 
 "Evasion ? I don't follow. Haven't we been for- 
 mally engaged with bell, book, and candle for the last 
 eighteen months, and haven't we both of us known 
 for the last eighteen years or so that we were going 
 to marry each other when we grew up? Even you 
 would hardly have the impudence to throw me over 
 at this time of day, I should hope!" 
 
 "Evasion No. 2." 
 
 "Kitty! is there any other fellow in the field?"
 
 56 CLAIB DE LUNE 
 
 "I had better say it again," said Kitty with a little 
 resigned shrug, "because by now you must have for- 
 gotten what it was. Do you or don't you want to 
 marry me?" 
 
 "Of course I do!" 
 
 "I said you were to take time to think it over." 
 
 "How long should I take if you asked me whether 
 the sun rises in the East? Of course I want you to 
 marry me! Not that I'm half such a brilliant match 
 as you deserve ; if you knew your own value you would 
 throw me over and stand out for a duke, or a motor 
 char-a-bancs proprietor I believe they're financially 
 a sounder proposition nowadays. But I shan't offer 
 to release you from your plighted troth. Try to cut 
 and run, Kitty, and see how fast I'll hold you." 
 
 "Rather loose, to be candid," said Miss Dent, exam- 
 ining her lover with her faintly derisive smile. "I'm 
 not jealous, and I certainly am not exacting, but it is a 
 fact that since we parted in town last October I've 
 written to you every week, and I've only heard back 
 eight or ten times in reply. It doesn't signify, I 
 don't live for your letters, but I should like to know 
 exactly how we stand. You say we're betrothed with 
 bell, book, and candle, but do your friends in London 
 know you're engaged to me?" 
 
 Evelyn had not the slightest idea. 
 
 "And if I gave you a ring you would drop it when 
 you washed your hands, or give it to a waitress for a 
 tip next time you happened to leave your pocketbook 
 at home. It is a most amusing experience being en- 
 gaged to you, Eve. But don't apologise, we never were 
 on sentimental terms, were we? Even when you asked 
 me to marry you it was an extremely cool, quid pro
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 57 
 
 quo sort of bargain to keep George quiet, and to keep 
 Philip quiet, and because so far we had neither of us 
 seen anyone we liked better. And, yes," she touched 
 his arm with the tips of her fingers, "I do believe you 
 would hang on to me if I tried to run. I've grown 
 into a habit, a bit of background, like an old pipe or 
 an old coat, and as you're a born Conservative, like 
 Philip, it would fidget you to lose me. You would put 
 your hand out for me and not find me and say 'Hallo, 
 Where's Kitty gone? Bother, I must have dropped 
 her!'" 
 
 "Kitty," said Evelyn, exploding, "you are an idiot !" 
 
 "I think so too, darling," said Miss Dent sweetly. 
 "Girls often are. But never mind, I shall pay my 
 own bills: I'm no one's enemy but my own." Faint 
 and far beyond beechwood and apple orchard, her 
 eyes were fixed on the spot where the vague blue of the 
 sky melted into a blue ring of plain. "So you propose 
 to sell Temple Evelyn? How cross George will be! 
 He'll implore me to use my womanly influence. Let 
 us hope no one will buy it. Dear old place ! but you 
 never loved it as I do." 
 
 "I was not happy here," said Evelyn briefly. 
 
 He was glad to follow Kitty's fresh lead; she had 
 been serious or half serious under her raillery, and 
 when that happened (which was very rarely) she fret- 
 ted him with a demand no, not a demand: never 
 was any woman less exacting: but at all events she 
 fretted him and he winced under an indefinable 
 strain. "It'll sell," he said. "It could soon be made 
 habitable if one spent four or five thousand on it. 
 And some of the New Rich would buy it for the Hunt- 
 ing Tower alone. It isn't every day that a genuine
 
 58 CLAIB DE LUNE 
 
 fourteenth century hunting lodge comes into the mar- 
 ket. Did you know Henry V slept there? That beats 
 Queen Bess. Besides, he really did. George and I 
 came across a record of it in the strongroom the other 
 day, in Chancery hand that I couldn't read a word of, 
 but George made out a bit of it and it turned out to 
 be bills for the Royal party, item one dozen plovers 
 and a pipe of Malmsey. Tell you what, let's go and 
 look at it now." He sprang up in his quick vagabond 
 way and offered a hand to Kitty. "I haven't been in 
 since I was ten, when I swarmed up the ivy and 
 crawled through a window. But we still have the 
 original key, if you can call it a key it's more like 
 a bent skewer. Wait while I fetch it." 
 
 Kitty was inured to Evelyn's unexpected sallies. 
 Docile, she strolled on under the clipped yew arches, 
 down through the orchard where windfallen apples 
 dotted the turf with yellow gleams, and up again into 
 a slope of wood. Here the trees grew thick and the 
 ways were dark and tangled. Blackberry brambles 
 caught at her skirt, every glade was over-run with 
 clematis and briony, in every ditch the lords-and- 
 ladies drew their pale cowls over their red spikes 
 of poisonberry ; and the stems of the trees and bushes 
 were powdered with a dry green mould, which gave 
 to every vista a singular woodland glow. But Kitty 
 was not afraid of Natura Maligna. Her small face, 
 so politely sweet in the frame of her wide hat, ex- 
 pressed nothing but a happy freedom from personal 
 care. There were no shadows on her forehead, not a 
 wrinkle round her lips and eyelids or on the white 
 throat which her net ruffle veiled from the sun. She 
 walked with the smooth free swing of a tall woman,
 
 GLAIR DE LUNE 59 
 
 and these miniature strides carried her over the 
 ground more rapidly than one would have thought 
 possible to a lady of five feet nothing who never seemed 
 to be in a hurry. She was half a mile deep in the 
 wood, near the green pond where rushes grew and 
 waterhens nested, before Evelyn caught her up and 
 claimed a lover's right by putting his arm round her 
 waist. They were engaged to be married: had been 
 half-engaged as far back as Kitty could remember. 
 George Dent, fond as he was of Evelyn, but fonder of 
 his sister, had recently asked her when the marriage 
 was to come off. She had with difficulty prevailed on 
 him not to put the same question to Evelyn. 
 
 Buried deep in the wood stood the Hunting Tower, 
 where Henry V had passed a couple of nights when 
 Lacy Evelyn offered his sovereign a day's hawking 
 over the half -reclaimed fen-land from Babraham to 
 Ely. There were rare wildfowl still on the river, 
 hawk and heron, mallard and snipe. But the present 
 Sovereign would not have cared to be accommodated 
 in the present Tower. A tall round shaft of stone, 
 loopholed for arrows, it had once risen clear on a spur 
 of the Downs, but was now muffled in a dense under- 
 growth of beech and hazel saplings, while the soil, 
 centuries deep in leafmould, had drifted up and up 
 round the walls till there was hardly room enough 
 left to scramble in. There was no need of a key, 
 however, for the door was open. Evelyn, with the 
 energy which lazy men reserve for unimportant occas- 
 ions, lay down flat on his stomach to examine the in- 
 terior, then reversed himself and slid through feet 
 first. A hollow voice floated out again, "Come along, 
 Kitty-wee, there aren't any ghosts."
 
 60 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 Miss Dent gave a pensive shrug. Her pretty dress, 
 her pretty shoes ! But it would have been against her 
 principles to retreat, and hanging her hat on a branch 
 she wriggled in and jumped down. To her surprise 
 it was not a very long drop. Within as without, the 
 ground had silted up, though not as far; an accumu- 
 lation of dead leaves had drifted in and the floor was 
 paved with them, so deeply that when she stood up the 
 top of the archway was not much above her waist. It 
 was incredibly dark. The wall was four feet thick 
 and had no windows, and what little light struggled 
 in from the door, through undergrowth and ivy, was 
 all thrown down. She could see her own legs and 
 Evelyn's, but from the knees up they were invisible to 
 each other. Evelyn struck a match. Fitfully it irrad- 
 iated an octagonal chamber of stone, fifteen or twenty 
 feet high, and empty except for the drifted leaves and 
 a quantity of loose dry straw. 
 
 "Some tramp has been dossing in here," said Evelyn. 
 "That accounts for the open door. He must have 
 forced the lock and sneaked the straw out of one of 
 my ricks. Confound him, weren't three feet of dead 
 leaves soft enough for him?" The match went out and 
 once more darkness fell on them, a velvet dark that 
 felt thick to the touch. "He must have had strong 
 nerves. I couldn't sleep in here, could you?" 
 
 "But where are the loopholes?" 
 
 "All on the second floor. I expect they had that for 
 the best bedroom." 
 
 "I didn't remember there was a second floor." 
 
 "Didn't you? It's solid enough, patched up at a 
 later date, Tudor or Stuart : hus^e beams thrown across 
 and socketed in the stone. There used to be the re-
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 61 
 
 mains of a staircase and trapdoor." He struck a sec- 
 ond lucifer. 
 
 "Mind the straw," said Kitty. 
 
 "Here you are!" It ran up the wall, a winding 
 wooden stair to which clung a few fragments of carved 
 balustrade, little left of the rail, many of the steps 
 worn away at one end and some broken down alto- 
 gether. Evelyn instantly blew out his match and 
 began to climb up it. Kitty did not warn him that 
 the woodwork was probably rotten or that in any case 
 it was a risky scramble in the dark. She waited till 
 he was well ahead of her and then she began to climb 
 after him. "Hallo, are you coming too?" Evelyn 
 hailed her cheerfully. "Mind the tenth step, there's a 
 crack right across it. Don't throw your fourteen- 
 stone weight on it. Miss it and put your foot on the 
 next." 
 
 "I can't." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "I can't reach," Kitty explained. "My legs are too 
 short. Just lend me a hand, that is if you've anything 
 to hang on to yourself." Precariously clinging to a 
 broken baluster, Evelyn stooped to pull her after him. 
 "It'll be rather difficult getting back," Kitty mur- 
 mured. "Down's always worse than up." 
 
 "Wait while I reconnoitre, there seems to be a gap 
 here." He lit a third match, taking good care to ex- 
 tinguish it before letting it fall. "There is a sort of a 
 gap, but after that the steps go on pretty regularly 
 to the top. Hold on till I get over this difficult bit, 
 then I can attend to you." He swung himself up by 
 both hands and one knee. "Now can you get along if
 
 62 CLAIK DE LUNE 
 
 I give you one hand? Then I can hang on with the 
 other." 
 
 "I I think so," said Kitty, a little out of breath. 
 The spirit was willing, the flesh was agile and wiry, 
 but her legs were undeniably short and the flounced 
 skirt was modishly tight round her knees. But it was 
 dark in the Tower. . . . Kitty seized the black and 
 grey frills and the white frills underneath them and 
 bundled up all her petticoats not only round her waist 
 but over her shoulders. It was far too dark for Eve- 
 lyn to distinguish the slim legs in their pretty green 
 breeches. . . . The last round of the ascent was com- 
 paratively easy. Evelyn flung up the trapdoor, 
 emerged, produced an end of candle from his pocket, 
 lit it, and drew Kitty after him a Kitty enveloped 
 in a shower of flounces, which fell lower and lower 
 as she rose out of the hole till the green legs disap- 
 peared altogether with a little twist and shake. 
 "There isn't much to see, is there?" said Evelyn : which 
 was, Kitty reflected, precisely what he would say. 
 "I wonder why we came up." 
 
 They were in a second octagonal stone chamber the 
 counterpart of the first, equally bare except for masses 
 of cobweb which hung like flags in every corner, and 
 almost equally dark, for there were only three deep 
 and narrow loopholes, and over all a dense mantle 
 of ivy hung like a black blind. In the shadows of 
 the raftered roof a bat colony, disturbed after years 
 of peaceful habitation, turned their shrivelled necks 
 and blinked down with cold snaky eyes at the tiny 
 flame which Evelyn cherished in his hand. 
 
 "It was fun coming up anyhow," said Kitty sweetly. 
 "Especially the last step but nine the step that
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 63 
 
 wasn't there." She gave her little musical laugh. "I 
 really thought we should both have rolled off together. 
 I should have fallen soft on all those leaves, but I 
 reflected with dismay that you would fall on top of me. 
 We never shall get down oh ! Oh dear me, what in 
 the world do you think you're doing?" 
 
 "Now say good morning !" 
 
 Setting the candle on the floor, deftly and daintily 
 he had lifted Kitty, a hand under either arm, to the 
 level of his own eyes. It was like lifting a child, she 
 was so tiny and light but a vexed child who tried to 
 push him away. "No, Kitty, not your cheek. Hang 
 it, I'm not George ! One little kiss for good morning 
 no, the varlet isn't going to unhand you, and you 
 can't run, this floor is pretty solid but I doubt if it 
 would hold out under hide and seek. Besides, I'm 
 holding you too fast. Didn't I warn you I'd hold you 
 fast if you tried to run?" 
 
 "No ! no !" said Kitty vehemently, struggling to re- 
 lease herself, "let me go this instant, Eve ah ! there 
 now!" Either she or Evelyn had knocked over the 
 end of candle, which instantly left them again in 
 Egyptian darkness. "Oh mind, Eve, mind the trap- 
 door!" 
 
 Evelyn had set her free the moment the light van- 
 ished. "Stand still; don't move while I strike a 
 match." He struck three or four at once and held 
 them up like a torch. Kitty had her back to the wall, 
 one arm still raised to fend him off; in the wavering 
 tawny glare her eyes shone wide and startled. "Why, 
 Kitty -wee, what is it? One would think you had 
 seen a ghost!" 
 
 "So I have."
 
 64 GLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 "Henry V's?" 
 
 "The ghost of happier things," said Kitty under 
 her breath. 
 
 "Bless her, isn't she oracular? On my word, if I 
 were of a jealous disposition, I really should conclude 
 there was a second Hector in the field. You may 
 thank your small stars I'm not !" The lucif ers were 
 by now burning Evelyn's fingers, and with a hurried 
 "Bother!" he blew them out and threw them away. 
 "Let's go down, this place is triste Hallo !" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Did you happen to notice what became of the 
 candle?" 
 
 "No, why, haven't you any more matches?" 
 
 "Plenty. But wait half a second, darling, don't 
 stir. . . ." 
 
 Kitty watched him go over to the trapdoor. Now 
 that her eyes were used to the gloom there was light 
 enough for her to see how his face changed when he 
 reached it. Before he opened his lips, a wavering ruby 
 ray of light reflected up as if out of a well over the 
 whiteness of his face and hands, and striking on to- 
 wards the dark height of the roof, told her in one ap- 
 palling second what had happened. The candle that 
 they had knocked over between them had rolled to 
 the edge of the trap and fallen on the floor below. 
 Nine times out of ten a candle goes out in falling, but 
 this was one of the tenth times when it remains alight, 
 and the loose dry straw was already in a blaze. 
 
 Kitty shook from head to foot. Her instinct was to 
 make a dash for the staircase. She curbed it and was 
 master of her own soul before at length after an end- 
 less moment Evelyn shut the trap and held out his
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 65 
 
 arms. "Kather alarming, isn't it? But there's no 
 danger so long as we keep quiet till that little fuss 
 downstairs has burnt itself out. Would you rather 
 cut and run? I did think of it. But it took us five 
 minutes to get up, and as you justly observed going 
 down is always worse. Ten to one we should tumble 
 off one of the broken steps and get rather badly 
 scorched before we could crawl out of that narrow 
 archway. Whereas we're perfectly safe up here 
 these beams are far too solid to burn." 
 
 "I can feel your heart going like a hammer." 
 
 "Hey?" said Evelyn, disconcerted. 
 
 "Feel," said Kitty. She seized his hand and pressed 
 it against his thin shirt. "Oh, I know you're not 
 afraid for yourself! After all these years, should I 
 think that?" And what a pretty fellow a man would 
 be, Evelyn reflected with a wry smile over the top of 
 Miss Dent's head, if he were what a woman thinks 
 him ! Evelyn was most dreadfully frightened. He 
 had the incontinent courage of the imaginative man, 
 which is always getting him into hot corners and 
 then deserting him; literally hot in the present in- 
 stance, for between the solid joints underfoot there 
 were innumerable cracks, through which an infernal 
 rosy glow mounted brightening every moment. He 
 would have given worlds to be out of the Tower. But 
 he tried to look more heroic than he felt, though 
 he really was not so well trained as Kitty, an out- 
 of-door lady who had ridden to hounds since she was 
 fifteen. 
 
 "There is danger, isn't there?" said Kitty. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Rather bad danger?"
 
 66 CLAIB DE LUNE 
 
 "Less since you're so cool. Dare yon be left for a 
 minute?" 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because what I really fear is that the flames may 
 catch from stair to stair till they reach this floor. 
 They never would shoot up twenty feet, and the walls 
 are stone, and the loopholes will give us a breath of 
 air. But all the woodwork is wormy and as dry as 
 tinder. Will you shut your eyes and not stir till I 
 come back?" 
 
 "What are you going to do?" 
 
 "Break away as many steps as I can to widen the 
 gap." He was scrambling through the trapdoor as 
 he spoke. "By Jove, they're already alight at the 
 bottom ! Shut the door quick, darling, we don't want 
 the place full of smoke." 
 
 "But if I shut it," Kitty objected, "while you're 
 on the staircase, you'll be suffocated and fall." She 
 knelt by the edge and peered down. Evelyn was al- 
 ready far below her, tearing away broken bite of stair 
 and balustrade. The tower shaft was no longer dark. 
 The floor was a whirl of fire : smoke was pouring up 
 in blinding gusts right into the roof, stupefying the 
 bats, which let go their hold and came swooping and 
 fluttering down through the rafters: across a sullen 
 universal glow of burning straw and leaves, arrowy 
 sparkles that crackled and spat showed where the 
 woodwork had caught in flaws of a keener flame. Eve- 
 lyn raised his pale face for a moment. 
 
 "Do you mind shutting the door, please?" 
 
 "What, and shut you out?" 
 
 "The privilege of going first, my dear, is the only 
 one we still claim."
 
 CLAIK DE LUNE 67 
 
 "But you'll be stifled if I do. While it's open it 
 draws up the smoke like a chimney." 
 
 "Oh for goodness' sake don't stand arguing, 
 Kitty !" 
 
 "I can't," Kitty gasped, choking in the fumes that 
 half hid him from her. "Oh Eve, come back would 
 you mind? I'm very sorry but I I can't stand 
 this" 
 
 Drilled in a hard tradition, she did feel it her duty 
 to let him die for her if he liked, but it was a duty 
 too hard for her. What ! crouch by the shut door and 
 listen for a fall cries perhaps? the cries that no 
 fortitude can repress. . . . 
 
 Evelyn dashed the smoke out of his eyes. It was 
 rapidly thickening, as the fire, from a mere surface 
 blaze, took deeper and deeper root among the drifted 
 heaps of leaf. His own attitude was almost unten- 
 able : indeed when he tried to recall it later he could 
 not imagine what attitude it had been. He could not 
 in cold blood see how a man could cling on head down- 
 ward and lean across a gap to wrench the steps out 
 of a stone wall ; or how, having done it, he could ever 
 get up and get back again. But the swirl of flames 
 in the tower shaft would have lent a cripple wings. 
 And there was Kitty piteously calling him, "Oh, no 
 more, Eve, I can't, I can't bear it. . . ." 
 
 It was time. He could do no more. Blinded, suf- 
 focating, Evelyn turned to clamber back; but when 
 he reached the trap he would have fallen off if Kitty 
 had not seized him. Her arms under his shoulders, 
 he crawled over it, shut it, and clung to her half faint- 
 ing. He dared not let himself drop on the floor. 
 Waifs of smoke were curling up over it, and through
 
 68 GLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 its interstices the fierce furnace below shone as the 
 waters of a river shine through a loose-built bridge. 
 It was becoming intolerably hot and the chatter of 
 leaves and the sharper crackling of woodwork were 
 merging into one loud continuous roar; and in the 
 middle through every wider crack could be seen 
 orange-coloured tongues darting along the sides of 
 the Tower, yellow whips of flame that struck up and 
 up how far? Impossible to judge: they might have 
 been ten feet below, or not ten inches. 
 
 "Come over here," said Kitty, and in her arms Eve- 
 lyn staggered over to a loophole. It was the barest ar- 
 row-slit and sunk four feet deep in the wall, but in its 
 embrasure the air was comparatively fresh and the 
 floor was solid underfoot. Kitty tried to tear away 
 the ivy. She could reach it only with her fingertips, 
 but she broke off a leaf or two. How strange to see 
 pale autumn sunshine gleaming on a green branch! 
 
 "Suppose the floor doesn't catch, how long will the 
 fire take to burn out?" 
 
 Evelyn had no idea. "Oh, no time: a bonfire of 
 leaves is soon through, and the lower strata must be 
 practically sodden with last winter's rains. I should 
 think only this summer's leaves will burn. Let's see 
 if we can make anyone hear." 
 
 They called again and again, but through such a 
 deep loophole and the dense ivy beyond it no voice 
 could have carried, and in a little while they desisted 
 by common consent, exhausted, and chilled by an in- 
 creased sense of loneliness, like a man frightened 
 by the sound of his own voice in an empty house. "No 
 use," said Evelyn. "No one ever comes this way." 
 
 "No : or if they did they would see the smoke before
 
 GLAIR DE LUNE 69 
 
 they heard us calling. ... I wish I could have said 
 goodbye to George." 
 
 "Kitty! don't talk like that," said Evelyn, shudder- 
 ing. "You mustn't die. You're too young." 
 
 " 'Queens have died young and fair,' " Kitty mur- 
 mured with a gleam of mischief. "These things do 
 happen. Shipwrecks, train disasters and always, 
 I suppose, the people in them have this silly feeling 
 of surprise, not to say indignation. . . . But what a 
 headline for the evening papers! 'Famous Pianist's 
 Terrible Fate/ We ought to be praying. I wonder 
 if we shall find Philip. Are you afraid?" 
 
 "Bather, for you." 
 
 "I'm not." 
 
 "But it was my fault I brought you here." 
 
 "No, I came for the fun of it. Oh, thank heaven 
 I did come!" 
 
 But if she had not come Evelyn would have run 
 for it when he first saw the fire. It was the remem- 
 brance of Kitty's light inflammable flounces that had 
 held him back not to say the shortness of her legs. 
 Besides, he was a man, and could not help taking the 
 practical view that it was a pity two lives should 
 be lost in place of one, instead of the sentimental 
 view that it was consoling to die together. It was 
 no consolation at all to Evelyn to have Kitty with him 
 if he was going to die, he would really rather have 
 been free to be as much of a coward as he liked. For 
 his life he could not help smiling at her "I'm not a 
 bit glad you came, darling." 
 
 Blind to shades of dramatic irony, Kitty raised her 
 face, pearl-white under grey smears of smoke and 
 dust. "Eve, look down there. The flames are aw-
 
 70 GLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 fully near now and there are any quantity of sparks 
 flying about ; and there's more smell of burning wood 
 too. I believe this floor is beginning to char." He 
 thought so too and was silent. "May I hide my eyes?" 
 
 "Here," said Evelyn, taking her to his heart and 
 straining her to him in a passion of remorseful pity. 
 "Oh, Kitty, if I could die twenty times over to save 
 you !" She gave a soft sigh and nestled her head down 
 like a child preparing to sleep. 
 
 "Then you do love me?" 
 
 "What do you say?" 
 
 "What I asked you in the garden half an hour ago. 
 Don't laugh at me; I've always wondered and never 
 known, and this was my last chance, if we're going to 
 die. Don't, don't laugh ! you're not quite like other 
 men, and I I'm sentimental at heart like all women. 
 But you do love me : if we had lived you would have 
 married me, and not only to satisfy George you 
 would have liked to be married to me?" 
 
 Then he lied to her. "I would give my soul to be 
 married to you now." 
 
 And till that moment he had never known it was a 
 lie : but he knew it then. He loved her as the dearest 
 of friends and comrades, more to him than any man, 
 infinitely more than any other woman : she fascinated 
 him, lying in his arms in her fresh and pale beauty, 
 serene on the brink of death with her cool high-spirited 
 temperament, the counterpart of his own. But he did 
 not want to marry her, or anyone, and in his clasp 
 there was no passion, nothing but tenderness and pity : 
 he had drifted into his engagement without looking 
 to its end or his own limitations, but now he realised 
 that the ties of human union were not for him. All
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 71 
 
 the bent of his nature turned towards solitude and 
 freedom. Even his friends tired him when they came 
 too near his mother, Philip, George Dent, even Hurst 
 and Meredith, he could not bear them to watch him ; 
 his instinct had always been to glimmer and evade. 
 Was that why Hurst called him a Faun? . . . What 
 covert of the wild woods is left to a Faun entrapped 
 in a mortal marriage? 
 
 He might have been warned. A man to whom 
 women were gracious, Evelyn had sought pleasure now 
 and again, but it had never pleased him ; those experi- 
 ments had always begun in good nature and ended 
 in disgust. All his life he had remained essentially 
 cold to women, and he was ice-cold now to Kitty Dent ; 
 for all her beauty, Evelyn half hated her for begging 
 from him what he had not to give. But one must ful- 
 fil the obligations of a gentleman. 
 
 "If we escape, I shall never dare to let you out of 
 my sight again. You won't put me off?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 But with a smile full of irony Evelyn reflected 
 that they were not likely to escape. He hated himself 
 for lying to Kitty, and yet was cynical enough to run. 
 up a deeper debt because the bill would never be pre- 
 sented for payment. "It'll be white satin and orange- 
 blossoms for you the day after to-morrow, and then 
 no more goodbyes. I, not love you, Kitty? If we 
 escape you'll soon learn whether or no I want to 
 marry you. I Hallo !" 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "I thought I heard some one shouting," Evelyn ex- 
 plained with a complete change of manner and a drop 
 of some twenty degrees in the emotional temperature.
 
 72 CLAIK DE LUNE 
 
 "Hang out of the window, darling, you're smaller 
 than I am and I can give you a leg up." 
 
 He lifted Kitty into the arrowslit and made her 
 wave her handkerchief while they both shouted to- 
 gether. Faint and far off over the roar of the flames 
 an answering cry reached them George Dent's voice, 
 the words indistinguishable, the tone cheery : and with 
 it, drowning it, a tremendous hiss of water, volumes of 
 smoke and steam. . . . 
 
 Twenty minutes later the adventure was over as 
 abruptly as it had begun. Pails of water fetched from 
 the neighbouring pond had put the fire out almost in- 
 stantly. The drenched leaves were still smouldering 
 underneath, the walls were blackened, the stair was 
 consumed, part of the ceiling had begun to char 
 but when a farm ladder had been reared up to the 
 trapdoor, and Dent's head and shoulders rose over 
 it, Evelyn still had enough energy left to carry Kitty 
 over the scorching beams, though before he reached 
 Dent he was so faint that he fell with her in his arms. 
 Dent caught her from him, got her into the open air, 
 and returned to help Evelyn down; and by the time 
 Evelyn had been half led, half lifted through the 
 hurriedly excavated doorway, Kitty was sitting up 
 and trying to smooth her hair. 
 
 "But what on earth were you two idiots doing up 
 the Tower?" demanded George Dent. He had been 
 frightened out of his life and his tone was almost as 
 warm as the whitehot stones of the doorway. "You 
 ought to be locked up each in a separate lunatic 
 asylum! If I hadn't happened to cut through the 
 wood and catch sight of all that smoke ! And even
 
 CLAIR DE LtJNE 73 
 
 then I only thought it was some fool of a tramp. 
 When I saw Kitty's hat you could have knocked me 
 down with a feather! Deaf as two posts, too, I've 
 been shouting for half an hour " 
 
 "Dearest, why spoil the flavour of a good action by 
 doing it ungraciously?" Kitty murmured. "You en- 
 joyed rescuing us and we enjoyed being rescued, so 
 what more do you want? You're so captious. Keally 
 we found it all very pleasant, didn't we, Eve?" 
 
 "Not all," said Evelyn. "I wasn't happy when I was 
 hanging on to nothing head downwards. I was dread- 
 fully afraid I should fall off and burn my hands." 
 He examined his fingertips regretfully. "As it is, 
 they're so scratched I shan't be able to touch a note for 
 a fortnight. No: it was a tophole adventure with a 
 thrilling climax, but a trifle too expensive for a pro- 
 fessional man like me."
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 "My sister?" 
 
 "Eve is coming round to-morrow morning 
 to have a little chat with you unless he forgets." 
 
 George Dent, who was sitting in a leathern arm- 
 chair with his feet in the fender, holding up the Tele- 
 graph between him and an autumnal fire, lowered the 
 paper to look over the top of it. "Unless he forgets, 
 hey?" 
 
 "Which I don't think he will," said Kitty. The 
 mistress of the Manor Farm never lounged; she sat 
 erect, her knees crossed, her fingers flying round the 
 heel of a silk sock, her silvergilt hair tied with a silver 
 fillet which harmonised with a lilac-coloured gauze 
 dress and silver buckles on lilac shoes. George Dent, 
 though his dinner jacket was much the worse for 
 wear, had the same well-washed and well-brushed ap- 
 pearance as his sister ; different in all else, they were 
 alike in a military neatness and precision. 
 
 The Dents came of old yeoman stock, and George, 
 when he had to state his profession, still wrote 
 "Farmer" in his thick, small, black writing, clear as 
 print. The Manor Farm was a very different place 
 from Temple Evelyn. It was a middle-sized house of 
 no architectural pretensions, the greater part of it 
 Victorian roughcast under a tapestry of Virginian 
 creeper, Dijon roses, and wistaria. A couple of dor- 
 mer windows, a patch of old tiles, and some oak- 
 
 74
 
 GLAIR DE LUNE 75 
 
 beamed ceilings on the first floor were all that was 
 left of the original building. GeorgetDent's father had 
 thrown out wide sunny bays and a porch, and George 
 himself had reduced the lawn to velvet, while Kitty 
 clipped yews and planted roses on either side of its 
 flagged pathway; but no attempt had been made to 
 screen off the mossy barns and golden hay-ricks that 
 lay behind the house, clustered under golden beech- 
 woods on the chalky slope of the Hills. 
 
 The Dents had risen in the world. John, the father 
 of George and Kitty, had "married a lady," as people 
 used to say even as late as the nineties, and a lady 
 who brought him wealth and a strain of beauty as 
 well as her love and her crystalline delicacy of taste. 
 He sent his son to Rugby and his daughter to Girton. 
 But John Dent himself had had to be content with a 
 local grammar school, and Henry, two generations 
 ago, had learnt his three R's with the village boys, and 
 touched his cap to the Evelyn family to his dying 
 day. The young Dents were well off now and could 
 have lived at ease in idleness, but George kept on the 
 farm because he loved the work of it, and when at 
 home Kitty for the same reason tied herself into a 
 blue overall every morning wet or dry, and laboured 
 like Fair Margaret of Freshingfield in chicken run or 
 dairy. Indeed she was happier there than staying 
 in Kensington with her mother's family. 
 
 As commonly happens in such cases, the brother and 
 sister had made as many friends as they cared to 
 know, at first among people whom they met away from 
 home, and later by reflex action in Cambridge and their 
 own neighbourhood. The last barrier had fallen when 
 the wife of a war millionaire referred to Kitty Dent,
 
 76 GLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 in the hearing of a great lady of the countryside, as 
 "only a farmer's daughter." Mrs. Blundell had never 
 called on Kitty, but this temerity of the New Rich 
 awoke in her gentle bosom the defensive instinct of a 
 feudal lord. The next day her pony carriage trotted 
 up to the Manor Farm gates. 
 
 The Dents had risen in the world while the Evelyns 
 were standing still. The roll of Evelyn names was 
 long and not undistinguished, but the Victorian era 
 chronicled no courtier-politician like Lacy Evelyn, no 
 soldier like Ralph the hero of Marston Moor, no wit 
 like Lawrence the poet-friend of Charles Sedley, nor 
 even such a beau as Robert, ame damnee of the Regent. 
 Perhaps in the close atmosphere of Victorian respect- 
 ability their genius was not adapted to flourish. They 
 had lost money too, partly through depreciation of 
 land values and partly through foolish speculation. 
 Geoffrey Evelyn dropped big sums on the Turf, his 
 son Edmund burnt his fingers over the Jameson Raid. 
 There never was a man of Evelyn stock that could 
 refuse a bet or a loan, till Philip Evelyn who was a 
 Masson came into the estates. 
 
 The Masson blood, his mother's blood, had brought 
 in an acquisitive strain, and during Philip's long mi- 
 nority, while Mrs. Evelyn held the reins, her son had 
 gone heart and soul with her in her struggle to clear 
 off the mortgage which her husband, before breaking 
 his neck in the hunting field, had laid on the land. It 
 was done before Mrs. Evelyn's death. Philip at 
 twenty-four was master in his own house. But a good 
 deal of Mrs. Evelyn's own money had gone in the pro- 
 cess, and there was not enough left to keep up Temple 
 Evelyn except by rigorous care. A never-ending cause
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 77 
 
 of dissension between her sons had been the inability 
 of the younger to keep within what the elder called a 
 generous allowance. Philip was in the right, for he 
 gave his brother more than he kept for himself. But 
 then, as the exasperated Philip was eternally forget- 
 ting and eternally being forced to remember, Charles 
 was incapable of seeing straight in money matters. 
 For him, two and two always made three and a griev- 
 ance. 
 
 After his mother's death, Philip showed less com- 
 mon sense in objecting to Charles Evelyn's passion 
 for music, which Mary Evelyn had fostered. Herself 
 a keen musician, she was delighted when the boy 
 learnt his notes before he was out of petticoats, and 
 began to play sonatas and compose waltzes at the 
 innocent age of five. She taught him by the oldfash- 
 ioned drastic method that she had learnt in Germany 
 in 1850-60, Kalkbrenner's method, a rod to enforce 
 wrist and finger action by keeping down the forearm. 
 She put him through the books that had formed her 
 own musical library Catel's treatise on harmony, 
 Cherubini's on counterpoint, Mozart's Succinct Thor- 
 oughbass. At sixteen in the teeth of Philip's grumbles 
 he was taken from Rugby to become one of Letchet- 
 izsky's piano pupils in Vienna, two years later he went 
 to Petrograd to study composition under Rimsky- 
 Korsakov ; and the single bond of union between him 
 f.nd his mother was her joy in his early triumphs 
 his first appearance on a Leipzig concert platform, a 
 kindly letter from Troldhaugen, a May term produc- 
 tion to her most precious of all , by the veteran 
 conductor of the C. U. M. S., of a Rhapsody written 
 when he was twenty and under the spell of Brahms.
 
 78 GLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 But even this tie was weakened after a year at 
 Cambridge and a second year in Paris, when the 
 young man began to strike out on a path of his own, 
 turning from "the Lorelei of the Rhine and the Sirens 
 of the Mediterranean" towards the verve and gaiety 
 and impeccable art of France. Mrs. Evelyn consid- 
 ered Massenet shallow, d'Indy grotesque, and Pelleas 
 simply immoral. "This makes me regret the money 
 spent on Evelyn's musical education," she said to 
 Philip, after trying over a couple of exceedingly 
 French duets. "There's no doubt that God has given 
 him a great talent. But what is the use of it if it's 
 to be frittered away on foolish and wicked songs like 
 these?" Philip's shrug was tantamount to an "I 
 told you so." 
 
 In Philip's opinion the most sensible thing his 
 brother ever did was to get engaged to Kitty Dent. 
 The Manor was the largest of the Temple Evelyn 
 farms, and held on immemorial leasehold; and per- 
 haps one might have expected Philip, a Conservative 
 through and through, to look down on the children of 
 his father's tenants. But there had never been any 
 feeling of disparity between them. The relations be- 
 tween the houses had altered in the course of years, 
 Edmund Evelyn had borrowed money and listened 
 occasionally to good advice from John Dent, the 
 exquisite and whimsical Lucilla Dent had from the 
 first found her best friend in grave Mary Evelyn, 
 and so in the present generation the three boys and 
 the one girl had all grown up together, and it was 
 George and Kitty who kept the smouldering feud be- 
 tween the Evelyn brothers from flaring into an open 
 quarrel.
 
 GLAIR DE LUNE 79 
 
 George Dent alone of the four did not forget that 
 his grandfather had touched his hat to Charles Eve^ 
 lyn's grandfather. For himself he did not care, he 
 had no pride, or too much pride : but he was sensitive 
 for his sister. 
 
 "Just tell me how the land lies, Kitty." 
 
 Kitty waited to turn, her needle before giving the 
 required information, but when it came it was clear. 
 "He wants to settle the day for our marriage. I sug- 
 gested next spring, but apparently our ridiculous ad- 
 venture in the Hunting Tower this morning has fright- 
 ened him, and he doesn't want to wait more than a 
 month or six weeks. Just time for me to buy my 
 clothes." 
 
 "And what do you say?" 
 
 "Oh ! I don't want to wait either. We've been en- 
 gaged such a long while, and it's not as though there 
 were anything particular to wait for. I should like 
 a day late in November or early in December. Then 
 we could get over the honeymoon and be back in Lon- 
 don by the New Year." 
 
 "So then if that's what he suggests I'm to agree?" 
 
 "Please." 
 
 But George Dent was not altogether pleased. He 
 dreaded losing his sister, for he was a sociable man 
 and the Manor Farm would be lonely to him when 
 she was gone; and he was not sure that marriage tx> 
 Charles Evelyn would make her happy. He repressed 
 a sigh and turned a leaf of the Telegraph. "There's 
 no man I'm so fond of as I am of Eve. It's a great 
 thing to have known each other all your lives ; there's 
 not much chance for either of you to get let in. It's 
 a bit awkward all the same. There are such things as
 
 '80 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 settlements, but I don't know what Eve's got to settle 
 on you. If he were to die without issue, the estate 
 would all go to the Hampshire lot, and there's precious 
 little personal property. He ought to insure his life, 
 but unless it was done through his bankers he'd never 
 remember to keep up the payments, and my impres- 
 sion is that he's always overdrawn. I said a word 
 about it to Fen wick* one day Fen wick knows I know 
 more about Eve's concerns than Eve does himself: 
 he wouldn't commit himself, but he made a wry face 
 and murmured something about stretching a point 
 for old and honoured clients like the Evelyns that had 
 banked with them for over a century. And then they 
 say there's no sentiment in business !" 
 
 "I had rather you didn't talk to Eve about settle- 
 ments." 
 
 "It's usual, Kitty: though perhaps I oughtn't to 
 talk about it to you. But you've got such a sound 
 head, more like a man's than a woman's, one forgets 
 you're only a woman after all." 
 
 Knit seven, knit two together, turn your needle. 
 "This is precisely why I spoke to you beforehand. 
 You may tie up my own money as tight as you please 
 I'd like you to: tie it up to me and my children 
 so that Eve can't touch it and I can't touch it for 
 him ; but don't try to make Eve settle any money on 
 me. Don't raise the subject with him at all. He cer- 
 tainly won't if you don't, because it won't occur to 
 him. If you try to bully him, George, you'll make 
 me very unhappy." 
 
 "I bully Eve?" 
 
 "It'll come to that if you worry him about his duty 
 to me. It's no use pretending that Eve is like other
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 81 
 
 men. He isn't ; and the ideas that occur normally to 
 other men never seem to come near his horizon. 
 That's one of the joys of marrying a genius. But then 
 it cuts both ways; a great many men would resent 
 the tying up of my own money, whereas Eve, if it 
 ever dawns on him at all, will be charmed. But if 
 you bully him you'll make him miserable, and " she 
 lingered over her work. 
 
 "Go on, my dear," said Dent, watching her kindly. 
 
 Purl seven, purl two together, turn your needle. 
 "You'll make him not want to marry me." 
 
 "Kitty?' 
 
 "Oh! he will marry me," said Kitty with a faint 
 ironical smile. "He won't throw me over. Eve would 
 never break a promise or let a woman down. But I 
 shall represent a duty to him ; and I'd rather represent 
 a pleasure." 
 
 "He'd be hard to please if you didn't," said her 
 brother shortly. 
 
 "He is exceedingly hard to please." 
 
 "Well, I wish you were going to marry an ordinary 
 man. I couldn't be fonder of Eve if he were my own 
 brother, but there are times when I should like to 
 take a stick to him. Don't talk to me about genius ! 
 Genius is neither here nor there when a fellow's go- 
 ing to marry your sister. What I should like to see 
 in your husband is good firm solid character and a 
 grasp of principle. I should just like to know what 
 sort of comfort you'll get out of Eve when you've 
 got six children all down with whooping-cough !" 
 
 "Oh," Kitty smiled again at her flitting needles, 
 "his children, if he ever has any, will have to shift 
 for themselves."
 
 82 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 George Dent cleared his throat. "Do you are you 
 very fond of him, my dear?" 
 
 "Yes, very," said Kitty without emphasis. "Much 
 too fond of him ever to marry anyone else. You know 
 I've always liked adventures, and Eve makes other 
 men seem so tame and ordinary. It's far more in- 
 teresting never to know what's going to happen next. 
 Besides, I'm used to the idea of marrying Eve, and 
 I'm too much of a Dent and a Conservative to change 
 my mind." 
 
 "H'm ; well, one of these days I shall take a stick 
 to him," said George Dent. 
 
 Evelyn did not forget. He appeared next morn- 
 ing at eleven o'clock with a gun under his arm, dressed 
 in a very old shooting suit which he had unearthed 
 from the wardrobe where it had lain since his brief 
 University days. Vaulting in at the library window, 
 he found Dent writing letters in a revolving seat be- 
 fore an American desk full of orderly files. Evelyn 
 dropped across a chair and flung his legs over the 
 arm of it, and Dent, his pipe in his mouth, got up 
 and took his gun away. "It was at half-cock," he 
 explained resignedly. "You're not fit to be trusted 
 with a gun license." Evelyn said "Oh bother," and 
 reached for a cushion. "Have something to drink?" 
 Evelyn shook his head. "Have an apple," Dent then 
 suggested, pushing over a bodge basket full of russets 
 which was not so full as it had been an hour ago. 
 
 Evelyn took a large one and bit into it. He was 
 looking, not exactly shy, but coy and perverse : like a 
 thoroughbred, Dent reflected, sidling before a fence 
 which it knows it will have to take by and by. Dent
 
 CLAIK DE LUNE 83 
 
 got up and stood before the fire with his hands in 
 his pockets, the smile on his firm lips tinged with 
 sadness. He was so very fond of Evelyn in any 
 other capacity than that of a brother-in-law! Dent 
 had known him too long to have any illusions left, 
 but he still had much love, infinite tolerance, and, 
 strangely dashed across, that haunting memory of 
 the relations between their fathers. Evelyn was still 
 the lord of the manor and Dent the yeoman farmer, 
 though Dent had fagged Evelyn at school and stood 
 between him and Philip's wrath at home. After all 
 one had no right to expect from that finer stock the 
 plain common sense of common men. . . . Somewhere 
 at the back of Dent's mind there lingered, defiant of 
 Democratic Progress, an idea that the chief duty of 
 an Evelyn was to exist gracefully. 
 
 "That's a nice suit, Eve: where did you get it 
 from?" 
 
 "Out of my wardrobe," replied Evelyn innocently, 
 and in absence of mind: "it's an old one." 
 
 "No, is it? But I thought it might be, because 
 you've got a hole in your trousers." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 Dent indicated the locality with the stem of his 
 pipe. 
 
 "Oh bother ! I shall have to go home and change." 
 
 "Unless you would like Kitty to lend you a pina- 
 fore." 
 
 "Are you being amusing by any chance? So sorry, 
 if you would warn me beforehand I'd try to be amused. 
 Hand me over that Telegraph.'' 1 Evelyn disposed the 
 newspaper in front of him. "That's in case Kitty 
 should come in. All the same I wish moth and rust
 
 84 CLAIK DE LUNE 
 
 wouldn't corrupt, it's so ruinously expensive to be 
 always buying clothes. I'd borrow yours if you 
 weren't so wide in the beam." Dent smiled serenely, 
 pulling up his coat tails to feel the warmth of the 
 fire on his legs. He was broadshouldered and thick- 
 set, but lean from much riding and as hard as nails. 
 "I really must have Fraser up, he can always find 
 me something to put on, which is more than I can. 
 I've just had to buy some pyjamas in the village, 
 I don't seem to have any." 
 
 "No pyjamas?" 
 
 "Well, I can't see any. There aren't any in my 
 drawer." 
 
 "You don't want me to come over and look for 
 your pyjamas, do you?" Dent asked, not entirely iron- 
 ical; he had done odder jobs than that for Charles 
 Evelyn from time to time. "Anyhow I can tell you 
 where they are without going round. You've forgot- 
 ten to send them to the wash and consequently they 
 haven't come back from it. You'll find them lots of 
 them in your clothes basket. It's not the slightest 
 use expecting Malyon to valet you because he never 
 even valeted Philip. You'd better wire to Fraser at 
 once. Then he'll come up in a puff -puff and put them 
 in a bag and by and by you'll get them back nice 
 and clean." 
 
 "That'll do," said Evelyn. "I'm too depressed to 
 hit you except in self-defence, but I shall have to do 
 it if you go on much longer. Human nature cannot 
 stand the strain of George Dent trying to be witty. 
 I came to have a business talk with you and you've put 
 it all out of my head." He paused to fling the re- 
 mains of his apple violently out of the window. "I
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 85 
 
 do wish you wouldn't give me apples that have mag- 
 gots in. I've eaten two-thirds of it." 
 
 "Two-thirds of the apple?" 
 
 "No, of the maggot. And I want to talk about 
 Kitty." 
 
 "I know," said Dent quickly. He had not been 
 Evelyn's friend for nearly thirty years without com- 
 ing to understand when Evelyn's waywardness was 
 mere waywardness and when it covered some sort of 
 distress, shyness or modesty: and Dent's instinct 
 like Kitty's w r as to soothe that distress at any cost. 
 "I know, old man Kitty told me. You're going to 
 carry her off. I shall hate losing her, but I'd rather 
 give her to you than to anyone else." Face to face 
 with Evelyn he could say it sincerely. 
 
 "I fancied you didn't much care for me in the 
 quality of Kitty's husband." 
 
 Well, who would have suspected Evelyn of guess- 
 ing that? There were no limits either to his stupidity 
 or to his shrewdness. Dent could have sworn that he 
 had never betrayed his qualms before Evelyn; how 
 could he have done so, when in Evelyn's presence he 
 ceased to feel them? He shrugged his shoulders. 
 "Don't be fanciful. I can't imagine Kitty's marrying 
 anyone but you." 
 
 "Nor can I," said Evelyn candidly. "But the in- 
 evitable isn't always the ideal. I'm not. . . I 
 shan't. . . ." 
 
 "Take your time, old fellow," said Dent smiling at 
 him. 
 
 He liked the quiet dignity of Evelyn's answer, so 
 frank and grave under the visible nervous strain. 
 There must be better stuff in him than one sometimes
 
 86 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 gave him credit for: less childishness, harder fibre, 
 greater self -control. 
 
 "I love Kitty, and I know she loves me, and I mean 
 to do my best to make her happy. But there is some 
 ground for your fears. Artists and I am one if I'm 
 anything at all are a self -centered lot. I don't think 
 much of myself as a husband for any woman." 
 
 Dent turned round with his back to Evelyn and fixed 
 his expressionless, clear, blue eyes on the fire. 
 "There's only one question I should like to ask you. 
 May I?" 
 
 "Anything." 
 
 "Are you in any way entangled with any other 
 woman?" 
 
 "Now or in the past?" 
 
 "Now," said Dent hastily. 
 
 "No, on my honour." Dent raised his head with a 
 quick sigh as if relieved of a weight. "Not a soul 
 now or for two or three years gone by. In fact so 
 far as that goes there hasn't been much at any time 
 that I shouldn't care to tell Kitty ; and I did offer to 
 tell her what there is, but she declined to listen. No, 
 that's not where I'm so conscious of shortcomings!" 
 He raised his eyes, the eyes of Selwyn Yarborough's 
 painting, melancholy and wistful, clear yet veiled. 
 "But what's the good of my saying this to you? 
 Haven't you known me all my life and better than 
 anyone else does? You've always known what a fool 
 I am. I ought to drop it 'that sort of thing ceases to 
 have any charm when you're nearing the thirties but 
 I can't, I always forget. Look at my taking Kitty up 
 into the Hunting Tower yesterday !" 
 
 "She took herself," said Dent drily.
 
 GLAIR DE LUNE 87 
 
 "I ought to have stopped her." 
 
 "Ought you? well, we all of us ought to do a lot 
 of things we don't do. It's no use crying over spilt 
 milk ; and on my conscience, Eve, I don't believe you 
 can help it or Kitty either; it's six of one and 
 half a dozen of the other, and no power on earth 
 would put sense into either of you or keep you out 
 of mischief. So long as you do nothing worse than 
 risk your own life or Kitty's I shan't grumble. Be- 
 sides, you can't always be such a lunatic as you are 
 now ; when you have Fraser to send your shirts to the 
 wash and Kitty to darn your breeks and six children 
 all down with measles to teach you the value of 
 money " he paused : this was trenching on forbidden 
 ground. "I've no doubt the pair of you will sober 
 down after a bit. So long as you aren't unfaithful to 
 her: that's what would hit her hardest, and that's 
 what I most fear in you." Evelyn smiled. It was a 
 piece of life's irony that Dent's fears should concen- 
 trate on the one risk Kitty would never run. "Oh, 
 you may laugh now ! But you're such a scatterbrained 
 chap: and everyone knows that artists are a loose- 
 living lot. You don't mind my speaking out? We've 
 come pretty close together before now : and so did our 
 fathers before us." 
 
 "A link in the chain?" 
 
 "Chain, what chain?" said Dent, at fault. 
 
 "That's what Kitty said. You and she are alike 
 at times for all your thick head. I wish I had the 
 same picturesque sentiment, but I'm as indifferent 
 to my fathers as to my children! However, I'll try 
 to take care of the Kitty-wee if you'll give her to me?" 
 
 "With all my heart," said Dent without conscious
 
 88 GLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 inconsistency. He stretched out his broad palm, and 
 Evelyn, still thrown anyhow across his chair, put his 
 thin fingers into it and smiled up at his friend. He 
 was less shy with Dent than with anyone else. The 
 restless mind found rest on the bosom of that thought- 
 ful, calm, shrewd, and unimaginative loyalty. Blessed 
 are the friends who neither fail us, nor understand ! 
 
 Dent too was moved by his own evocation of the 
 past with all that it implied, the grace and delicacy 
 of the younger man pointing a distinction of which 
 the elder was in that moment piercingly aware. He 
 held Evelyn's hand lightly and respectfully. "It's a 
 bit of a come-down," he said without affectation, "for 
 an Evelyn to marry a Dent." 
 
 "Oh, la-la! Oh, by Jove!" 
 
 Evelyn's gravity put on for the occasion gave way 
 before this unexpected turn. He got up out of his 
 chair, instantly letting fall the Telegraph, and sat 
 on the windowsill laughing at Dent with every feature 
 of his handsome, careless face. "Mon petit bonhomme 
 de Georges, you and your feudal tradition! I wish 
 you would inoculate Kitty with it, wouldn't she be a 
 pearl among wives?" 
 
 Dent patted him on the shoulder. "You run home 
 and change your trousers."
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 EDMUND MEREDITH, who was the most inti- 
 mate of Evelyn's London friends, had a service 
 flat in Streets Mews, where he lived in what 
 he described as modest comfort. He had no profes- 
 sion, but did a good deal of musical criticism for 
 various journals a column of London notes for one, 
 foreign critiques for a second, and so on; and pos- 
 sessing a knack of style, masculine and polished if 
 a trifle precious, and a wide acquaintance with music 
 and musicians, he could always find a market for 
 his wares. He called himself an amateur penman 
 "a mere dabbler," but "You, an amateur?" was the 
 proper reply. Unfortunately, for some reason which 
 he never could fathom, veteran journalists like Wright 
 and Hurst showed an inclination to take him at his 
 word ! Wright's chaff was merely irritating, because 
 he did not like Wright; but he did wish sometimes 
 that old Hurst would not eye him with such a kindly 
 tolerant smile. Meredith liked Hurst, and would 
 have given a good deal to be on even terms with him. 
 But there seemed to be a barrier, impalpable, impass- 
 able: strange! 
 
 Meredith's rooms were wide and warm and not, like 
 Evelyn's, overcrowded with furniture. With their 
 parquet floors, their white walls and ceilings, and the 
 absence of carpet or curtain, they suggested a good 
 deal of foreign, possibly Spanish experience. Any 
 edge of English chill was taken off by the glow of
 
 90 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 hammered brasswork and the red of stamped leather 
 and the agreeable duskiness of books on oak shelves. 
 On a wet October evening it was pleasant to come into 
 them out of wind and rain and find Meredith alone 
 by the fire with a morocco volume on his knee and a 
 box of cigars on the revolving bookcase beside him. 
 Entering" unannounced and without even the formality 
 of knocking, Evelyn sat down cross-legged on a Per- 
 sian rug and stretched out his hands to the warmth 
 of the flames. He had come without an overcoat; 
 the rain glittered on his tweed suit and a drop or 
 two shone on his hair. 
 
 "Hallo !" said Meredith, observing with dry internal 
 amusement that Evelyn's clothes were untouched by 
 conventional signs of mourning, "where do you 
 spring from? I thought you were still in Cambridge- 
 shire." 
 
 "No, I'm in town for a day or two, buying things. 
 I've got to go to my tailor's. And to Manton's. Are 
 you doing anything to-morrow? If not I do wish you 
 would come with me." 
 
 "To your tailor's?" 
 
 "No, to Manton's. I don't feel up to it." 
 
 Now Man ton was a Regent Street jeweler of world- 
 wide fame. "I will with pleasure, but why?" 
 
 Evelyn threw himself into a chair, crossed his legs, 
 and took a cigar. "Jolly comfortable rooms these are : 
 plenty of space in them. Mine are too full of furni- 
 ture. I've a good mind to scrap the lot. I hate feel- 
 ing overcrowded." 
 
 "Match?" suggested Meredith. "Overcrowding 
 is more a matter of persons than of furniture. I 
 like to be able to move about without knocking over
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 91 
 
 a table, but the main thing is having the place to 
 oneself." 
 
 Evelyn moved restlessly. "Shall you never marry 
 then?'* 
 
 Meredith's smile broadened. A sheet of plate glass 
 would have been more opaque to him than Evelyn at 
 that moment. So the boy was meditating matrimony? 
 And at close quarters apparently if he was in town 
 to buy wedding presents. What a pity ! It is always 
 a pity, in Meredith's opinion, for a man of Evelyn's 
 temperament and profession to put his neck into the 
 noose ; an artist needs freedom the mental and moral 
 elbowroom that the best of wives will deprive him of. 
 
 "By the by, I wrote to you at Temple Evelyn a 
 few weeks ago, but you never answered. I hope you 
 had my letter? I was so sorry to hear of your trouble." 
 
 "What trouble?" 
 
 "Your brother's death." 
 
 "Oh, that !" Evelyn's tone was certainly inimitable 
 in its detachment. The fraternal tie often means 
 little or nothing, and Meredith remembered to have 
 heard rumours that no love had been lost between 
 the Evelyn brothers, yet most men, he thought, would 
 have made some concession in manner to the etiquette 
 of bereavement. Evelyn himself after a moment 
 seemed to become aware of a deficiency. "Yes, it 
 was a cruel business. Thank you so much for writ- 
 ing. I had your letter; I forgot I never answered it. 
 I've had my hands full these last few weeks, what 
 with lawyers and other worries. I had to cancel 
 some of my autumn engagements, too. You must for- 
 give me, I am a careless chap but I'm not really un- 
 grateful!"
 
 92 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 He smiled at Meredith and Meredith returned Ms 
 smile with an involuntary softening of his rather 
 cold blue eyes. A man of many acquaintances and 
 no friends, Meredith kept for Evelyn a warmth of 
 feeling as near affection as it was in his nature to be- 
 stow. "It's that dash of the woman in you that makes 
 you so attractive," he said to himself, definite as ever 
 in his analysis of life. "Hang it, I've known many 
 a woman that hadn't a tithe of your charm! Well, 
 what is it you want? Evidently you've come here 
 for what you can get, and it suits my humour to 
 oblige you. Let's listen to the boy's confidences, they 
 may be amusing and they're safe to be pretty. What 
 an innocent face it is for eight and twenty !" Aloud 
 he said, "And what might you be doing cliez Manton, 
 young Evelyn?" 
 
 "Oh, buying things." 
 
 "Naturally. I did not suppose you were going to 
 make him a present!" 
 
 Evelyn turned his face towards the fire, whose glow 
 was reflected on it in a faint redness. His conversa- 
 tion was not much more disconnected than usual, but 
 his eyes betrayed him at every turn. "Are you never 
 lonely, Meredith?" 
 
 "Never. This life suits me. I can go out when 
 I like and stay in when I like. To-night you find me 
 sitting over the fire with a book, to-morrow night I'm 
 doing a dinner, a play, and a dance. Shall I never 
 marry? Well, one of these days I may. In the forties 
 or fifties one begins to want a home and youngsters 
 growing up in it. But you're not thirty yet, are you?" 
 
 "Have you ever seen a woman you would like to 
 marry?"
 
 CLAIE DE LUNE 93 
 
 Meredith shifted in his chair. "Yes," he said with 
 easy emphasis. "Half a dozen." 
 
 "Six, but not one?" 
 
 "I don't say that." He leant forward to shake the 
 ash from his cigar, a nervous movement: the spark 
 of excitement under Evelyn's shy manner had com- 
 municated itself to the elder man, and on his face 
 too there was a slight glow. "One's had one's dreams 
 perhaps." 
 
 "Wouldn't she have you?" 
 
 "My friend, that is one of the questions that aren't 
 asked!" 
 
 "I beg your pardon ten thousand times!" Evelyn 
 exclaimed, coming out of his abstraction. "I never 
 meant to say it." 
 
 "I do not mind, because in point of fact I never 
 gave her the chance. The . . . affair . . . such as it 
 is, hasn't matured yet. I may ask her next year or 
 I may not, when I meet her in town again, or it's 
 barely possible I may run across her this winter; she 
 may have gone off, in which case I shall consider that 
 I've had a lucky escape, or she may have come on, and 
 then. . . . But this is all absolutely in the clouds." 
 It had been, till now : and he marvelled at himself for 
 letting slip a hint of it, but after all Evelyn was evi- 
 dently in the same boat and could not chaff him. And 
 this first confession of a modest secret disengaged a 
 faint yet distinct perfume of sensuous pleasure, as if 
 the scent of roses were diffusing itself through one's 
 bachelor cigar-smoke. 
 
 "What is she like?" 
 
 "Not so tall as I am," the soft accent of a caress
 
 94 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 was just perceptible in Meredith's voice: "very fair, 
 very slight." 
 
 "Well, that might be a description of the girl I'm 
 going to marry," said Evelyn slowly, raking the fire 
 into a twinkle of flame. "How hot you keep your 
 rooms on a warm night like this ! You never knew I 
 was engaged, did you? I have been for years oh, 
 ages: practically ever since we were in petticoats. 
 Since my brother died we've come to the conclusion 
 that we may as well bring it off now as later on, so 
 it's to be the first week in November. What I want 
 to do at Manton's is to buy her a wedding present. 
 I thought of diamonds women generally like dia- 
 monds, don't they? She's got a dressing case already 
 and all those sort of things. But I can't afford more 
 than two or three hundred, do you think I could get 
 her anything really decent for that?" 
 
 Meredith arched his eyebrows. Two or three hun- 
 dred pounds! Wasn't that Evelyn all over? He was 
 a far richer man than Evelyn, but fifteen or twenty 
 would have been his own idea of a suitable price. 
 "Oh, certainly! If you are hard up," he said quite 
 gravely, "you might even cut it down to a hundred 
 and fifty." 
 
 "Do you really think so? It runs into a frightful 
 lot of money, getting married ; there's the journey you 
 see I suppose we shall have to go somewhere for a 
 week or two, though I do very badly want to get to 
 work again, this has all been a great interruption. 
 And hotel bills for two cost more than they do for 
 one. Besides, if I were by myself I should stay at 
 places that one couldn't take a lady to."
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 95 
 
 "Unfortunately one can't go for a honeymoon by 
 oneself." 
 
 "No: so that I should be glad to get off for 150 
 if I could. Only I do want it to look good. I'd have 
 made it a fender if I could have run to it. You will 
 come round with me, won't you? I haven't the re- 
 motest notion what girls like." 
 
 Meredith contemplated him as if he were an inter- 
 esting natural specimen. "I wonder whether you'll 
 turn up in time for the ceremony. Who's going to 
 be best man?" 
 
 "I thought perhaps you wouldn't mind." 
 
 /f 
 
 "Yes : you'd do it so awfully well." 
 
 "I accept with pleasure," said Meredith after a 
 momentary pause. "Although for a naturally in- 
 dolent person like myself the prospect bristles with 
 alarming contingencies. Let me review my duties: 
 item No. 1 will be getting you out of bed and attend- 
 ing to your toilet. You can brush your own teeth, I 
 suppose, and say your own prayers, but -I wonder if 
 you can be trusted not to show up in a blazer and a 
 smoking cap? Oh, I forgot Fraser will be there to 
 dress you. Well, that lightens my burden. But I'm 
 to choose the wedding present for the bride, it appears, 
 and have you given her an engagement ring?" 
 
 "Not yet." 
 
 "Not yet? I understood you to say you had been 
 engaged for years. Well, we'll get that too at Man- 
 ton's to-morrow. It's a pity, for at your rates it'll 
 cut into another 50, but it can't be helped. Perhaps 
 I had better take my own cheque book along?"
 
 96 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 "Happy thought," said Evelyn with levity, "then I 
 can make it a fender after all !" 
 
 "Then there's the license to be obtained : or are you 
 going to be married by banns?" Evelyn had not 
 considered the point. "Nor you haven't settled where 
 you're going for your honeymoon? Has the lady no 
 views? Better say the South of France, then, or the 
 Italian Riviera; I know half a dozen jolly little 
 places that will suit you to a T. You can't go for 
 less than a month, and you can't stick it out in Eng- 
 land in November, it is trying enough one's told 
 at the best of times, but honeymooning in a frozen 
 drizzle would quench the ardours of a Romeo. Yes, I 
 know you have a playful way of losing your connec- 
 tions and your luggage. It's a pity I can't escort you, 
 at least till the the first stage of the journey is safely 
 accomplished. But don't be downcast, I'll look up 
 your trains for you and take your ticket ; leave it all 
 to me you'll be safe in my hands." 
 
 "That's exactly what I hoped you'd say," said Eve- 
 lyn gratefully. "I felt sure you would know all 
 about it and so you do: anyone would think you'd 
 been married half a dozen times yourself!" 
 
 "It'll be a useful rehearsal for me. Not the first: 
 I've officiated at other weddings besides yours." Mere- 
 dith stretched himself indolently and luxuriously in 
 his chair. Evelyn was not apparently an ardent lover, 
 but the subject in itself was one that fired Meredith's 
 imagination, strongly developed on the sensuous side. 
 He had never been married, but of unofficial relations 
 he had had a fairly wide experience, and his mind 
 warmed to an agreeable glow of memories mingling 
 with anticipations. He leaned forward and lightly
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 97 
 
 dropped a hand on Evelyn's knee. "You're not effusive, 
 are you? As a rule one has more than enough of 
 Komeo's raptures. But now . . . since we're shep- 
 herds both, you might expand a bit. Is she pretty, 
 Eve, old boy?" 
 
 "Very." 
 
 "By Jove, I envy you. You're a lucky chap. But 
 so you always were. ... By the by, what will Sophy 
 say?" 
 
 "Sophy?" 
 
 "Yes won't she cut up rather rough?" 
 
 Evelyn lifted his eyes, wide in non-comprehension. 
 "What on earth should Sophy have to say to my get- 
 ting married, one way or the other?" 
 
 "Haven't you told her?" 
 
 "No I haven't seen her since it was settled. I've 
 only been in town a few hours. Why should I see 
 her?" 
 
 "I think I would if I were you. Sophy has French 
 blood in her, you know: a quick temper and a devil 
 of a lot of temperament. She's a sensible girl and 
 I don't doubt it'll be all right if you put it to her 
 straight, but I shouldn't leave her to find it out by 
 hearsay if I were you." 
 
 "But, Meredith, I haven't an idea what you mean ! 
 You seem to be hinting " 
 
 "Should you call it hinting?" Meredith's voice was 
 suave. "I'm giving you good advice. For that's one 
 of the fences you must take for yourself the duties 
 of a best man don't include breaking the news to the 
 Sophy of the moment. If they did I should scratch. 
 Now shall we change the subject?" 
 
 "But, Meredith, Sophy is nothing to me!"
 
 98 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 Meredith laughed at him. 
 
 "But she is not!" said Evelyn. "Did you believe 
 that? Do the others think it Hurst, Leslie Wright? 
 Is it the common gossip? It is an insult to Sophy 
 and to me." He sprang out of his chair and stood 
 before Meredith, his eyes flashing in what Meredith 
 considered a very Evelyn-ish display of unnecessary 
 heat. "That poor little girl ! Because she lives alone 
 and because I go up to see her now and again, does 
 it follow that there's any beastly connection of that 
 kind between us? I know she went wrong in Paris. 
 But before heaven, since she's been in town, so far as 
 I know the child has kept absolutely straight." 
 
 Meredith eyed him long and curiously. "I beg your 
 pardon. I accept your word for it, Eve, of course: 
 at least so far as you're concerned. For Sophy. . . . 
 It's very difficult for a girl of that type to escape from 
 her associations. Once her passions are aroused, a 
 woman generally finds it harder to keep straight than 
 we do. That at least is my experience. And of course 
 there's no question of immaculate virtue in this case ; 
 I could name you half a dozen men who were her 
 lovers in Paris; Millerand for one, and for another 
 . . . Never mind that now. But I've always taken 
 for granted that you were her lover here. Why else did 
 she set up house alone in Chelsea? What sort of life 
 is that for a girl like Sophy, accustomed to any amount 
 of excitement and admiration? It seemed obvious 
 that she wasn't really living alone, and there was no 
 one else available but you. But apparently the idea 
 comes on you as a thunderclap! She followed you 
 from Paris, didn't she?"
 
 GLAIR DE LUNE 99 
 
 "She came over when I did. That's not to say she 
 followed me." 
 
 "And she camped in Endsleigh Gardens when you 
 were in Victoria Street, and moved her rooms when 
 you moved yours? Upon my soul, Evelyn, you are too 
 innocent for this world! How could you fancy it 
 wouldn't be said? And, for that matter, what on 
 earth does it signify?" 
 
 "Because I'm going to be married." 
 
 Meredith shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "Besides, and far more, there's Sophy to be con- 
 sidered. It's just this sort of thing that makes it so 
 hard for women to get back their self-respect to 
 escape, as you said, from bad associations. To my 
 mind, the man who lightly spreads a rumour like this 
 is not much less to blame than the man who originally 
 pushes a girl down into the mire." 
 
 He brought the colour into Meredith's cheek. 
 "Thanks, Eve!" 
 
 "Oh, Meredith, I didn't mean you!" Evelyn ex- 
 claimed remorsefully. He dropped back into his 
 chair, the shadow clearing from his eyes. "Of course 
 I know it wasn't you who started the gossip ! You 
 repeated it believing it to be true, and that only to 
 me, because you wanted to warn me. It's the other 
 men Oh, one knows them well enough, the sort of 
 fellows who enjoy inventing these beastly lies. But 
 if anyone repeats it in your hearing do hit him for 
 me, will you? or let me know and I'll hit him myself! 
 I should hate it if it came to Sophy's ears or Kitty's." 
 
 "Kitty's?" 
 
 "The girl I'm going to marry." 
 
 Meredith sat silent for a minute, then got up and
 
 100 CLAIB DE LUNE 
 
 poured some whisky into a tumbler. "By the by, you've 
 never told me her name," he said, standing with his 
 back to Evelyn and adding his soda water with a 
 sparing hand. 
 
 "Miss Dent Kitty Dent. You've met her, haven't 
 you? She was in London for last season." 
 
 Er yes, I've met her. I congratulate you." 
 
 "I've known her all my life. They live close to 
 Temple Evelyn, and her brother is a great chum of 
 mine, the best I've ever had. You saw him George 
 Dent the night he came round to my rooms to tell 
 me of Philip's death." 
 
 "I was at Cambridge with him. I know him well, 
 and Miss Dent too. But I never connected her with 
 you. Silly of me, because I knew she lived near Cam- 
 bridge." One of those odd lapses into which men fall 
 when their minds are riveted on one aspect of a 
 situation: all the links of the chain had lain before 
 him, yet he had never put them together. "Cer- 
 tainly she is very pretty, Evelyn. Yes, you're a lucky 
 devil." 
 
 And did not seem to appreciate his luck, Meredith 
 reflected, in a spasm of such grinding rage that he 
 could hardly keep a straight face. Till then he had 
 not known how much he wanted Kitty Dent. Kitty 
 had truly judged him as one of the men who never 
 risk the indignity of a refusal. His icy pride had 
 let her go, believing that he had made some impres- 
 sion on her but not enough, and that six months of 
 rural seclusion would do more for his cause than any 
 pressure he could yet bring to bear. He had meant 
 to go to Cambridgeshire in the spring if she did not 
 appear in town ... or perhaps earlier, in the winter,
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 101 
 
 instead of going to hunt with the Whaddon Chase 
 . . . and in one sickening flash after another it was 
 borne in on him that he had never meant to wait till 
 next season. He had been sub-consciously counting 
 the days to the limit he had set himself, November at 
 earliest. 
 
 Well, he had waited too long. He had reckoned on 
 the absence of men from the average English country 
 neighbourhood, and the result was that he found him- 
 self engaged to be Evelyn's groomsman at Kitty's 
 wedding ! 
 
 Nine-tenths of Meredith's mind was blinding storm, 
 the tenth was dispassionate enough to reflect that one 
 always wants a woman more when one cannot get 
 her. He had had so many agreeable but inexacting 
 liaisons, lightly formed and lightly broken, that it was 
 not likely he was so much in love as as he felt as 
 if he were; probably nine-tenths of it was jealousy 
 and irritation and a festering prick of shame. In 
 that case he would get over it the sooner. At all 
 events he had not given himself away! Suppose in 
 his imbecile confidences he had had the fatuity to 
 mention names? He had been on the brink of it: 
 and tremblingly Meredith thanked his stars that he 
 was spared that last appalling and irretrievable faux 
 pas ! Yes, it might have been a thousand times worse. 
 
 As for the wedding, if one could not get out of it, 
 one could always go through with it: yes, and would 
 do so, sooner than run the faintest risk of betrayal ! 
 Meredith knew his own powers of dissimulation, 
 which were considerable, and could trust himself to 
 play out any game without showing his hand. Yes, 
 he would choose Kitty's jewels and arrange her honey-
 
 102 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 moon, though at the moment he hated Evelyn as he 
 had never hated anyone before in his life. Arrange 
 her honeymoon! . . . Meredith poured out more 
 whisky and set the glass down empty. Absurd ! what 
 he felt was, must be, mainly jealousy of Evelyn and 
 injured pride, though it elected to masquerade as this 
 insufferable ache of desire. 
 
 He sauntered back to his chair and dropped his 
 hand again on Evelyn's knee. "Certainly I congratu- 
 late you, Eve. To get out of London in November is 
 jolly enough in any case, but to put in one's time at 
 Levanto in such agreeable circumstances is a fate 
 the gods might envy. Claret and roses and Kitty 
 Dent! Happy man." 
 
 "Luckier than I deserve," said Evelyn, looking up 
 at Meredith with his wistful eyes. "I'm not half good 
 enough for her. I suppose most men feel that when 
 it comes to the point, but I do wish I weren't such a 
 fool in some ways. I say. . . ." He hesitated. Mere- 
 dith wondered what was coming next. "About that 
 cheque book of yours. . . .?" finished Evelyn with a 
 graceful diffidence. 
 
 So that was what was coming next! Meredith had 
 lent Evelyn small sums from time to time, it was 
 a privilege that most of Evelyn's friends enjoyed: 
 they had all been repaid, or nearly all Meredith 
 was a better man of business than Evelyn and entered 
 every such transaction in his pocketbook, even down 
 to half a crown for a cab fare but at all events Eve- 
 lyn always paid unless he forgot. 
 
 "I know you were joking," Evelyn explained : "but 
 if you really wouldn't mind ? It is so beastly to be 
 short of money when you're traveling with a lady."
 
 GLAIR DEi LUNE 103 
 
 "How much?" 
 
 "A couple of hundred would raise me out of the 
 reach of want." 
 
 Meredith drew his hand away with a jerk. A ten 
 pound note now and again one didn't grudge, but to 
 be touched for 200, which one might never see 
 again ! 200? the precise sum that Evelyn proposed 
 to spend on Kitty's jewels ! Meredith perceived that 
 her diamonds were to come out of his purse. Born 
 to a keen sense of money values, Evelyn's airy reck- 
 lessness was incomprehensible to him. He laughed, 
 it was a scene from a musical comedy: even to him, 
 'its piquancy was well worth two hundred. Piquancy 
 with a relish of danger! 
 
 "Shall we make it guineas?" 
 
 Arithmetic was never Evelyn's strong point. 
 
 "That's 220, isn't it? Oh, Meredith, you're what 
 I call a friend worth having!" 
 
 Rising, Meredith leant his arm along the mantel- 
 piece and dropped his forehead on his hand. Yes, this 
 pleasant glow of condescension was well worth the 
 price! Yet, though his vanity was soothed and his 
 anger had begun to die down, he still felt the deadly 
 weariness that seemed to take all colour out of life: 
 for, lax or not, Evelyn was his friend, and the most 
 unsuspicious fellow on earth. "How young you are, 
 Eve," he said in his indolent voice, Just touched with 
 the affectation that was by now a part of his nature, 
 "and, confound you, how very disarming!"
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 "w -jr THAT a relic of barbarism is a wedding!" 
 \/ \f Charles Evelyn was saying a fortnight 
 * * later. "Here we are figged out in the very 
 best war-paint, with enough rice in our hair to make 
 a pudding for a family, and a white satin shoe tied on 
 behind to advertise to a jeering world that we're go- 
 ing to begin our married life in a rotten foreign hotel 
 where they feed you on pastry and you can't get a 
 coal fire! I hate pretending to be an agreeable rattle 
 when I feel hangdog. Kate ! when you got out of bed 
 this morning, didn't you wish you were going to be 
 shot?" 
 
 "O no," said Kitty, "I enjoyed it all very much." 
 On their expensive and (thanks to Kitty and the 
 best man ) faultlessly organised wedding the sun had 
 not shone. It was a mild, grey, sodden November 
 afternoon. "Rain before seven, fine before eleven," 
 Kitty had said when she awoke to weeping skies; 
 but they had wept without intermission till one 
 o'clock. At two, when she alighted near the church 
 door, their drizzle had subsided into a gloom, warm 
 but penetratingly damp, which reduced the whole 
 landscape to a uniform tinge of dim, dusky brown. 
 There was not a rift in the fawn-coloured marbling 
 of cloud to show where the sun's grave was; not a 
 breath of wind fluttered the last ivory leaf or two 
 that hung on walnut or lime: only now and again 
 one was detached by its own weight of raindrops, and 
 
 104
 
 CLAIB DE LUNE 105 
 
 fell almost vertically from wet branch into wet 
 meadow grass or weedy stream. 
 
 Sombre too the old church with its Perpendicular 
 traceries and faded brickwork, its hatchments that 
 hung over the altar promising "In Coelo Quies," and 
 its tomb, beloved of Kitty's childhood, commemorating 
 the virtues of a lady who died of a lingering distemper, 
 resigned to the will of God in spite of the tempta- 
 tions of a great Fortune, at the tender age of twelve. 
 Like the majority of English country churches, it was 
 steeped in the sentiment of the past, and for Kitty 
 on her bridal day the past was nearer than the present 
 it was almost an oppression: she could remember 
 so many Sundays when insecurely poised on three 
 hassocks in the high Manor Farm pew she had peeped 
 over it for a glimpse of Evelyn's bronze head, or 
 Philip's stately height and carven profile, in the even 
 taller pew that bore the Evelyn arms: while winter 
 rains washed the armorial windows, or the sun on 
 June evenings put out the pulpit candleshine. 
 
 But, once out of church, no November gloom had 
 been allowed to damp the spirits of the bridal pair 
 Evelyn correct, cordial, and gay, Kitty serene in 
 sapphires and Limerick lace, distinguished by her 
 rosebloom and her finished air as of a French minia- 
 ture, incapable of the agitations to which less discip- 
 lined brides give way. She had not wept, except two 
 little tears in the vestry, which Selwyn Yarborough 
 said made her "paintable"; he meant perhaps that 
 without them she might have wanted the last soften- 
 ing grace of womanhood. Now, sitting by Evelyn in 
 Meredith's car on her way to the station and the 
 Calais night mail, and dressed in pale grey cloth and a
 
 106 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 tiny chinchilla cap with a grey and silver traveling 
 veil flung over it, she retained her cameo delicacy, 
 her brightness, and her verve. 
 
 "I'm sorry if you would really rather have been 
 married at eight o'clock in the morning, but it would 
 have been a horrid scramble and you never would 
 have got up in time. Even Mr. Meredith never would 
 have decanted you at that hour for such a a an un- 
 congenial engagement." 
 
 "Kitty, have you rouge on?" 
 
 "A wee scrap. Can you see it? Dear, dear! and 
 I was so careful over it I quite thought it wouldn't 
 show." 
 
 "It doesn't, only your natural bloom is never the 
 same for two minutes together; you vary more than 
 any other woman I know. You couldn't go two hours 
 without turning either white or pink. Eub it off. 
 You've just promised to obey, so now you can begin." 
 
 Kitty, docile, put back her veil and rubbed her cheek 
 with her handkerchief. "It won't come off without 
 water," she said soberly, exhibiting the spotless cam- 
 bric. "It's the very best rouge." 
 
 "For two pins I'd lick it off," said Evelyn. "You'd 
 have to let me if I said you were to, even as Deborah 
 obeyed Abraham. Oh no, I've hit it, give me your 
 little nosewipe." He leant out of the car and dipped 
 it into a wet wayside tangle of clematis and briony, 
 scattering a shower of brilliant drops. "Soap out of 
 your dressing case. ..." He washed his wife's face 
 all over and firmly : it was none the paler for the re- 
 moval of her precautionary rouge. "Now Othello's 
 himself again," Evelyn finished, putting Kitty's damp 
 and pink handkerchief into his own pocket. "Pray
 
 GLAIR DE LUNE 107 
 
 what is the fun of taking all this trouble to get mar- 
 ried if I can't even make you blush?" 
 
 "Eve! Eve!" 
 
 "Yes indeed, it is Eve and no mistake," said Evelyn 
 gravely. "Did you think it was George? I say, Kitty 
 Evelyn, have I been a frightful brute to you to-day? 
 I seem to have neglected you somehow. One goes 
 through such a fuss getting married, one's inclined 
 to overlook the bride. But the next four weeks will 
 be devoted entirely to making amends. I do wish 
 we weren't going to the Riviera all the same. It's so 
 banal : and you can't pretend to be doing anything but 
 honeymoon, because no chap would have leisure to 
 go off there in November, unless he were an I. R. or 
 a cot case. Besides, I'm always sick for three days 
 after crossing." 
 
 "Well ! but it was you who proposed the Riviera 
 I didn't particularly want to go abroad, not a bit, I 
 like England better. Why didn't you tell me 
 before?" 
 
 "I didn't propose it. Meredith proposed it. He said 
 it was the proper thing after an orange-blossom show. 
 You none of you objected, so I let it go at that, and 
 he took the tickets for me (yes, I have them in my 
 pocketbook, antedated) , and wrote to an hotel. After 
 all I dare say it won't be so bad when we get there." 
 
 "But, Eve, don't let's go!" 
 
 "Not go?" 
 
 "Why should we if we don't want to?" 
 
 "Meredith said we were to. Wouldn't it look rather 
 queer if we didn't after all?" 
 
 "Queer? My dear child, some one has been putting 
 ideas into your head! When did you ever wait to
 
 108 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 think whether a thing was or wasn't 'queer' before?" 
 
 "I promised Meredith to get the honeymoon over be- 
 fore I went adrift." 
 
 "It isn't going adrift if you take me too," said Kitty. 
 "I didn't propose that I should go to the Riviera and 
 you stay behind !" She gave her clear silvery trill of 
 laughter. "That would be not only queer but dull. 
 But I can't have you feeling bound to do what you 
 don't want to do just because you've married me. 
 Don't let's cross if you're going to be sick; besides, 
 I've never crossed before I might be sick too !" 
 
 "In that case we could be economical, share a basin 
 and halve the tip." 
 
 "The baleful influence of matrimony! Oh, when 
 did you ever consider economy before?" 
 
 "But there isn't anywhere to go in England except 
 Brighton; and, besides, English hotel pianos are 
 worse than foreign ones. No one can call me faddy 
 but I do prefer the bass and treble to be in the same 
 key." 
 
 "You can't expect to find a hotel piano to your 
 liking. If you want to make music you had better go 
 home to Chelsea on the spot." An indefinable shade 
 flitted over Evelyn's face, "Oh, and I believe you do ! 
 You haven't touched a piano to speak of since you 
 came to Temple Evelyn." She lifted Evelyn's hands 
 and turned up the finger-tips. "Are they feeling hun- 
 gry? Poor hands! Evelyn, would there be room for 
 for me too in Chelsea?" 
 
 "Room, oh! oceans of room," his eyes had begun 
 to sparkle: "but, my darling, that's out of the ques- 
 tion. When I'm at Chelsea I work all day and all 
 night. That would be so exciting for you, wouldn't
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 100 
 
 it? No, we'll go to Levanto like good children and 
 you shall have your little holiday, all among the roses 
 and the lilies and the Canterbury bells " 
 
 "Give me the tickets," said Kitty. 
 
 She opened his coat, drew the Aladdin-carpets daint- 
 ily out of his waistcoat pocket, tore them into four 
 pieces, and tossed them through the window. "Now 
 you can tell Mr. Meredith it wasn't your fault." 
 
 Evelyn, being Evelyn, followed the fragments with 
 a regretful eye. "We should have had ripping weather 
 out there anyhow. It would have been a joy to get 
 away from this confounded rain." 
 
 Kitty laughed again, throwing back her small head 
 and exposing a throat as soft as a child's. "Incor- 
 rigible ! Will you never, never learn that in this life 
 you can't have your cake and eat it too? Cheer up, 
 we shall have a heavenly time in Chelsea. You can 
 make music all day long while I read or sew, and in 
 the evenings we can put on old clothes and have sup- 
 per in Soho, or go to a 'Prom.' in the two-shilling 
 seats where they won't know you. Wouldn't it be 
 fun to stand in a queue and pay at the door, just like 
 anybody else? Fraser will do for us he won't ap- 
 prove, but I'm convinced I can get round Fraser. 
 We can ask people in to coffee sometimes Mr. Hurst, 
 or that handsome painter boy, or any other men you 
 like that won't give us away. And sometimes before 
 breakfast we might hire ponies and ride in the Row. 
 It will be like the Arabian Nights." 
 
 "But you can't really like that so well as the 
 Riviera?" 
 
 "The Riviera was banal," said Kitty serenely. "I 
 felt that myself. This will be a far, far better thing
 
 110 CLAIB DE LUNE 
 
 to do. When it comes out everyone will say 'Just like 
 Kittyjust like Eve.' " 
 
 "Hang it!" Evelyn touched the white-rose-petal 
 throat with his finger-tips, "this is a way of going for 
 a honeymoon that takes my fancy." 
 
 She brushed him off as if it had been a tickling fly. 
 "Don't ! I mayn't be a great Grenadier of a person, 
 but I will not be chucked under the chin. Here's 
 the station. Oh! quick, Eve, the signal's down, get 
 hold of a porter, or shall I? perhaps I'd better. 
 There's the luggage to be labelled, and we do not want 
 to celebrate the occasion by missing our train!" 
 
 And in their reserved carriage Kitty read her Tele- 
 graph : produced it from her dressing-case and buried 
 herself in it under Evelyn's nose, and discussed items 
 of news in it that were of common interest, for all 
 the world as if they had been married ten years. Sit- 
 ting with half -closed eyes and a cigarette between his 
 lips, while the train rattled on through the ever- 
 darkening landscape and lights began to shine, Eve- 
 lyn tried to make himself believe that he was married 
 at last : that the years of bachelor freedom were over, 
 and his life henceforth was to be shared with the lady 
 opposite. But it was no use, he could not believe it, 
 or at least he could not realise it; he had travelled 
 with Kitty before, and he had smoked while she read 
 a paper: there was no difference. . . . True that on 
 those other occasions they had been expecting to 
 part in an hour or so, whereas now she was on her 
 way to Chelsea, and at Chelsea there would be no Tele- 
 graph between them . . . but, sufficient unto the 
 hour! He had so inexpressibly dreaded the ordeal of
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 111 
 
 their foreign journey, with the inevitable g&ie of its 
 prematurely forced intimacy, that for the moment he 
 could feel nothing but relief. 
 
 And then Kitty found his eyes fixed on her, melan- 
 choly captive eyes, eternally demanding more of life 
 than it can give ; and her own eyelids fell and her face 
 stiffened into a little polite gay mask, under which 
 her valiant spirit shivered in its nakedness, because 
 she. could scarcely hope that the mask would continue 
 to deceive him. But the train rolled on, with its pedal- 
 point of grinding wheels under the to and fro throb- 
 bing clank of the engine, bringing them every moment 
 nearer to the end of their journey, and still Evelyn 
 remained apparently blind mercifully blind : life for 
 Kitty Evelyn might continue to be endurable, so long 
 as he was unaware that she loved him. 
 
 For that was the secret hidden behind Kitty's mask 
 and her absorption in the Telegraph : not a mild wifely 
 tenderness, but one of those overmastering passions 
 that tear human lives to pieces and are to some extent 
 their own justification. Law itself has mercy on a 
 thief who steals bread when he is dying of hunger, 
 and Kitty at the Manor Farm had almost died of 
 her secret hunger of the heart; it was no more than 
 the bare truth that she had enjoyed her adventure 
 in the Hunting Tower; she could have imagined a 
 worse fate than to pass with Evelyn into oblivion of 
 the fever of living. Failing death, she had seized on 
 her chance of marriage ! She could not keep alive any 
 longer at the Manor Farm on a letter a month. 
 
 But with her ruthless perceptive faculty, always 
 keen, and keenest of all where Evelyn was concerned, 
 she had no delusions about this lover of hers who
 
 112 GLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 was now her husband : she knew that, if she was not 
 content to take much less than she gave, less and less 
 would be given, till in the end she would be nothing 
 more to him than a duty to be performed gracefully. 
 It was no consolation to Kitty to be certain that 
 there would be no failure either in the performance 
 or in the grace. He was incapable of discourtesy. He 
 had never been less than courteous to his mother, 
 with whom he never willingly stayed five minutes in 
 the same room. It was in his character to treat his 
 wife in the same fashion, picking up her handkerchief 
 for her and fetching her a cushion on his way to the 
 door. Kitty would rather have been beaten like a 
 fish-hag. Well, it should never come to that, for at 
 the first sign of weariness, or before it, she was pre- 
 pared to drop back into the terms of friendship, as 
 loose and easy as an old coat; otherwise she never 
 would have taken the risk of this marriage. And 
 yet it was a risk, for Kitty and for Evelyn too. 
 
 How heavy the strain was on Evelyn, Kitty had 
 not even begun to realise, for with all her shrewdness 
 she was unaware of his peculiar bent. He did not 
 love her as she loved him no : but most men not pre- 
 occupied elsewhere find pleasure in the possession of 
 a pretty and high-spirited woman, and on that half- 
 brutal instinct Kitty, scarlet and pale by turns, relied. 
 She was not vain, but a great many men had admired 
 her, and when Evelyn, in the Hunting Tower, gave her 
 to understand that he was one of them, it never 
 crossed her mind that she was listening to a Quixotic 
 lie. Friendship alone, or passion alone, would have 
 formed an unsafe foundation, but on the two together 
 Kitty saw no reason why, with a few common and ele-
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 113 
 
 mentary precautions, she should not build her house 
 secure. 
 
 And yet it was a risk : of her own danger Kitty had 
 been reckless, but now when they were in the train 
 together she began to realise for the first time that 
 in it Evelyn was irretrievably involved, since the most 
 profound and devoted love cannot stand between its 
 object and the working of natural laws. Marriage 
 never leaves man or woman where it found them. 
 Some change it must bring to Evelyn, however ruth- 
 lessly she effaced herself ; she might make no demand 
 on him, but life itself would inevitably present its 
 series of little bills, and in one coin or another Eve- 
 lyn would have to pay. . . . Silence, and the roar of 
 the train, to and fro with its romping excentrics, amid 
 the umber darkness of a moist November night. . . . 
 Ever nearer to the glowing clouds of London and to 
 the end of the journey . . . and in this panic realisa- 
 tion of the imminence of danger, and a danger that 
 she had never bargained for, Mrs. Evelyn clenched 
 her small hands and set her back to the wall. She 
 was a born gambler and high stakes only stiffened 
 her nerve. She was casting a great throw now: all 
 her possessions were risked on it: but it was not a 
 game of pure hazard much depended on chance, but 
 more on the penetration of her judgment and the 
 firmness of her wrist. Her eyes were on fire as she 
 tossed down the Telegraph, which had now served its 
 turn, and stood up to lift her chinchilla scarf from 
 the rack. 
 
 "There's the Lea ; I know that reach of black water 
 and the line of old houses along it. We shall be in 
 Liverpool Street directly. We had better take a taxi
 
 114 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 to Chelsea, drop the luggage, and get some dinner at a 
 restaurant. I shan't need a chaperon!" 
 
 "No, thank goodness!" 
 
 "How impatient you are of any sort of restraint! 
 So am I. I love my freedom, Eve. You never will 
 take that from me, will you?" 
 
 "Never," said Evelyn, feeling magnanimous, al- 
 though the idea had never entered his head and he 
 did not even know exactly what she meant. As no 
 more did Kitty, for that matter. 
 
 "Most men do: but you and I have too much in 
 common. I love to feel that if I chose I need not kiss 
 you. It makes me infinitely more ready to kiss you." 
 She flung her scarf over her slender shoulders. 
 "This is certainly a very easy way of getting married ! 
 I had so much rather be going to your rooms than 
 to an hotel." 
 
 "So had I," said her husband. She found his arm en- 
 lacing her and stood still, a little withdrawn figure, 
 dainty, sparkling, and ready to fly. "Kitty," said 
 Evelyn in her ear, "isn't this rather fun?" 
 
 "Immense if you won't untidy my hair," said Kitty. 
 
 Fortune favours the bold ! She was thrilling with 
 triumph when she sprang out on the platform. She 
 had not yet learnt that the dice were loaded. 
 
 Fraser was not pleased to see them and made no 
 pretence of it. He had planned to springclean the 
 flat during Evelyn's absence, washing the china, dust- 
 ing the books, and sorting the accumulated drift of 
 Evelyn's music into cruciform piles ; and now it could 
 none of it be done, and here was his new mistress 
 coming in on top of a London season's dirt, "for when 
 Mr. Efelyn iss at home there iss no cleaning done,"
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 115 
 
 said Fraser coldly, fixing his master with his reproach- 
 ful, Scottish, bine eyes. "In the circumstances I was 
 justified in hoping for full a fortnight. A body might 
 think he would put up with it for as long as that !" 
 
 "Put up with what?" Kitty asked, rather startled. 
 
 "Honeymooning, mem," replied Fraser with sim- 
 plicity. 
 
 But when Kitty had retired, as Evelyn said, "a 
 little the worse for wear," and the reproachful Fraser 
 had gone away to his own quarters, his mistress was 
 quite happy in roving round Evelyn's premises and 
 examining with candid boyish curiosity the pretty 
 things they contained. She laughed at the spoils of 
 his French and German and Russian wanderings, the 
 paintings that had scandalised George Dent, and the 
 countless photographs of ladies whom Fraser, if he 
 had not been taken by surprise, would certainly have 
 locked up out of the bride's path. They did not ruffle 
 Kitty. Instinctively she felt that not here her danger 
 lay. Evelyn, his back to- the fire that Fraser had 
 hurriedly lighted, watched her Sittings with sombre 
 eyes. 
 
 "Come out and get some dinner, Kitty, it's after 
 seven o'clock and you must be hungry. You've had 
 no tea." 
 
 "No; and I don't remember having any lunch 
 Oh! yes, I did, though, Mr. Meredith administered 
 chicken and champagne in the library before I changed 
 my dress. He explained that I hadn't eaten any- 
 thing at the breakfast and that it was part of his 
 duty to produce both of us in good form. He was 
 really rather charming. Where shall we go?" 
 
 "The Coin de Paris, it's the only place where you
 
 116 GLAIR DE LUNB 
 
 can get really pretty music, and I must have some- 
 thing to take the taste of the train out of my mouth. 
 It always reminds me of my mother." Kitty looked, 
 for once, entirely blank. "Didn't you know that all 
 trains play tunes?" said Evelyn smiling at her. "The 
 South-Western generally plays a waltz. But the 
 Great Eastern plays a horrible tune that my mother 
 used to play when I was a little boy, a Leech and 
 Tenniel polka tune: Dum, dum, de dum-dum-dum; 
 dum-diddle dum-diddle dum-dum-dum. I've had it 
 ringing in my head ever since. It'll take the Coin 
 de Paris to put it out." 
 
 "Oh ! the Coin de Paris by all means, in that case," 
 Kitty said, vaguely startled: unlike most of his fel- 
 lows, Evelyn rarely alluded to the musical side of 
 his life, and well as she knew him she never grew 
 used to the betrayal of his preoccupation with it. 
 "But that means dress, doesn't it?" 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose so. Don't 
 you want the bother of changing?" 
 
 "It won't take me ten minutes if Fraser has brought 
 my trunk up. But " 
 
 "But what?" 
 
 "Where shall I change?" said Kitty, composed but 
 scarlet. 
 
 "Oh, I beg your pardon!" said Evelyn, reddening 
 with a deeper flush. "I'm I forgot " 
 
 She was the quicker to recover herself. "How 
 quaint! I wonder whether all married couples go 
 through these trying moments? I dare say they do, 
 but, of course, one would always swear one never 
 did. I warn you, Eve, if you ever refer to it I shall 
 deny it."
 
 CLAIE DE LUNE 117 
 
 Evelyn held open the door of his room for her and 
 followed her in. Hastily set to rights by Fraser, it 
 was still a young man's room, airy and rather bare; 
 fencing foils hung crossed on the wall, and under 
 them on an oak shelf stood three or four silver racing 
 cups, some of which Kitty had watched him win at 
 Fenner's. Football and cricket he had forsworn in 
 his eternal fear for his hands, and the boats took up 
 too much time, but he was an exceedingly fleet runner, 
 and in those days lithe as a wand and hard as steel. 
 His body had lost a good deal of its spring by now, 
 Kitty thought, glancing at him from time to time as 
 he stood playing with various objects on the dressing 
 table, while his wife moved about the room taking 
 her evening clothes out of the trunk which Fraser 
 had dutifully brought up and unstrapped. But Eve- 
 lyn's head was bent. He was not watching Kitty. 
 She wondered what his thoughts were: but it was as 
 well for her that she could not read them. When he 
 had torn to shreds the violets that she had taken out 
 of her coat, and was in the act of breaking her tor- 
 toiseshell combs, Kitty came up to him and took them 
 out of his destructive fingers. 
 
 "Run away and dress now, Eve. I shan't be long." 
 
 He gathered her hands into his own and raised them 
 to his lips. "I'm not brilliant in my new r61e, it ap- 
 pears to me." 
 
 "No, dear." The derision in her eyes would have 
 piqued a duller man than Charles Evelyn. "I can't 
 say you are. Any ordinary John Smith would prob- 
 ably shine by contrast. Fortunately in this role it 
 isn't necessary for you to be brilliant. Oh dear me, 
 Eve, if I am your wife that doesn't alter the fact that
 
 118 CLAIB DE LUNE 
 
 we've played together since you were in petticoats! 
 You're only shy of me because you feel bound to live 
 up to Mr. Meredith's portrait of the Perfect Bride- 
 groom. But you needn't, because I don't even re- 
 motely resemble what Mr. Meredith would consider 
 to be the Perfect Bride. I don't feel anything ex- 
 cept the most deadly embarrassment, in fact to be 
 quite frank I don't feel as if you ought to be in here 
 at all. You run away and dress !" 
 
 "But, my darling girl !" 
 
 She stamped her foot. "Oh! don't be so consci- 
 entious ! . . . You wait and see, it'll all come right by 
 and by : you'll feel different when you've had a proper 
 dinner and half a pint of champagne." 
 
 "Kitty, of all the thorough-paced little cynics !" 
 
 "It isn't I that am cynical : it's the way of the world 
 and the men in it. Lay the blame where it belongs, 
 dear; I dare say His shoulders arQ broad enough to 
 bear it." 
 
 She turned him out. Evelyn went into his dressing 
 room, but it was a long while before he found enough 
 energy to change into his evening clothes. He was 
 frightened : not of Kitty, but of himself and the web 
 into which he had unwittingly walked. There was 
 some devilish element in the situation that he could 
 not cope with or even lay his finger on. 
 
 Many a sensitive man marries a woman he does 
 not love because he has fancied himself in love with 
 her till it was too late to retreat. In such an event 
 one puts a good face on the inevitable, hopefully wait- 
 ing for habit to blunt the sharp edges. But how dif- 
 ferent it was between Evelyn and Kitty. He had 
 never seen a woman he preferred to her: she never
 
 CLAIE DE LUNE 119 
 
 bored him : her companionship was as loose and easy 
 as an old coat (Kitty's own simile!) : in her delicate 
 keen personality there was no trait that did not en- 
 chant his taste, from the fine fair curls of her hair to 
 the tiny foot so sure in the stirrup or on the braeside : 
 she was part of his life and he could not imagine 
 it without her part of his life, and every fibre in him 
 shrank from taking her into his life ! The deficiency 
 was in him not in her, but it was none the lighter to 
 bear for that. 
 
 Long he sat by his open window looking out into 
 the night, and wondering what on earth was the mat- 
 ter with him : whether it was only a nervous disorder, 
 which might pass, or the symptom of some obscure, 
 insidious, horrible trouble of the brain. ... It had 
 never been so bad, not even in the Hunting Tower; 
 it had gone off after that and he had not felt it, ex- 
 cept once or twice when he woke up to it, and even 
 then it had left him when he struck a light and read 
 a book ; once or twice he had thought of going to see 
 a doctor, but his confusion would have been very 
 great, and characteristically he had put it off and put 
 it off and shut his eyes and run away from his mys- 
 terious enemy and now it had him in its grip. It 
 was agony. With a paralysing sense of shame, an 
 overpowering shyness, a distress that try as he might 
 he felt helpless to conceal, Evelyn faced his married 
 life. 
 
 He thought of George Dent and wondered what his 
 brother-in-law would have said or done to him: of 
 Meredith's indolent banter: of Philip with his hard, 
 acquisitive, Masson blood. His cheek burnt at the 
 bare idea of being found out by any one of them,
 
 120 CLAIE DE LUNE 
 
 especially Philip, whose after-dinner talk, when there 
 were no ladies in the room, was occasionally free. 
 He had sickened at it in the old days, but now he 
 half envied the rough strong nature it sprang from. 
 
 Or Meredith and his portrait of the Perfect Bride- 
 groom ! Meredith had certainly made a Perfect Best 
 Man. Meredith it was who had ordered carriages and 
 bouquets, and tipped the verger, and produced a ring 
 from his pocket at the dreadful moment when it 
 dawned on Evelyn that he hadn't one and by the 
 by was it Meredith who had paid for that ring? Dear 
 old Meredith, the best of friends ! One would have 
 to settle up with him one of these days ; luckily there 
 was no hurry. . . . 
 
 "Eve's friendship," Meredith was at that moment 
 reflecting with his cynical smile as he sat by the fire 
 in Streets Mews jotting down the day's accounts in 
 his pocketbook, "is apt to be an expensive luxury. 
 Ring: flowers: tips: parson's fee: Kitty's necklace. 
 ... I wonder if she would have been quite so grate- 
 ful to Eve for those sapphires if she had known who 
 paid for them? But they looked well on her neck. 
 . . . H'm : rather a stiff price to pay for the doubtful 
 joy of packing those two off to the Riviera together. I 
 wonder if I shall ever see one penny of it again? Lots 
 of men pay their friends and diddle their tradesmen, 
 but Eve . . . How pretty she looked in those sap- 
 phires !" He glanced at his watch. "Half past seven : 
 ah well. . . . But I shall see her again in January." 
 He shuddered and dropped his face on his hands with 
 a deep sigh that was almost a groan. "No, no : not 
 Evelyn's wife. . . ."
 
 CLAIE DE LUNE 121 
 
 . . . and hadn't there been some talk at one time 
 of Meredith's admiring Kitty? Again in the dark- 
 ness Evelyn felt himself reddening. How Meredith 
 would have jeered at him ! Meredith was not afraid 
 of life; it had never yet offered him a situation that 
 he could not tackle with his capable strong hands. 
 Evelyn winced : face to face with the situation of to- 
 night, what short work Meredith's hardy manhood 
 would have made of it ! 
 
 Meantime one was in danger of keeping Kitty wait- 
 ing. Evelyn rose and stood for a moment by the 
 open window, abandoning himself to the beauty of 
 the glowing darkness of London and the chill of its 
 moist nocturnal breath. Amid many difficulties there 
 stood out one impossibility, that of letting Kitty read 
 his mind. She had not done so yet, he was convinced ; 
 she saw that he was shy, but it meant no more to 
 her than a touch of nerves. It must go at that if 
 he died for it. His wife was sensitive and he would 
 rather have shot himself than put her to shame. His 
 own mercurial temperament too would help him to 
 deceive her, for there was often a play of surface 
 fire over its dark seas; he had, yes, he had enjoyed 
 kissing her in the train! And deriving, like Kitty, 
 a certain courage from having his back to the wall, 
 Evelyn shrugged his shoulders and lit the lamp. One 
 could steel oneself to go through with it, since it was 
 inevitable: and perhaps after all Kitty was right, 
 and the privileges of the young husband would be 
 less uncongenial after supper at the Coin de Paris!
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 DURING the twelve months before Philip's death 
 Evelyn had reached that happy period of an 
 artist's career when the wind is blowing in 
 his favour; when Press notices are prompt and kind, 
 and people are saying to one another, "Have you 
 heard So-and-So yet?" One of the leading musical 
 journals had published an interview with "Charles 
 Evelyn at Home," a second had analysed his "Art and 
 Personality" under the title of "An English Cortot." 
 He had been beset with invitations professional and 
 social, the latter often very hard to refuse. Dimsdale 
 Smith his agent, a brisk dark man one of whose quali- 
 fications was alleged to be that he didn't know one 
 tune from another, had been anxious to fix up an 
 autumn provincial tour guaranteed to bring in a net 
 1500. Anecdotes about his absence of mind ran 
 through the Personal Columns from Queensland to 
 Singapore, and when, at the ^Bolian Hall, he took 
 his fingers off the keys in the middle of Barlumi, Dims- 
 dale Smith said his innocent "O Lord, I can't remem- 
 ber how it goes on !" was worth a dozen posters. He 
 was a popular favourite : one of those spoilt children 
 who can take liberties with their public, which for- 
 gave him all shortcomings when he bowed to it with 
 his charming smile, so gay and friendly. 
 
 But before the end of March Dimsdale Smith was 
 tearing his curly hair, while Evelyn remained imper- 
 viously bland. The provincial tour still hung in the 
 
 122
 
 CLAIR DB LUNE 123 
 
 wind, and even in London Evelyn instead of court- 
 ing engagements tried to get out of them. He played 
 once in Queen's Hall, attacked with all his old fire 
 an exceedingly brilliant Delius concerto, and was chid- 
 den by the critics for quite a little shower of wrong 
 notes in the Largo movement. Evelyn only laughed 
 and said he was out of practice. Since that is not 
 an excuse that a professional musician can afford 
 to offer, people shrugged their shoulders and the tone 
 of criticism began to change. Followed the inevitable 
 question, "Drinks, doesn't he or is it morphia?" 
 
 How unfair it was none knew so well as Kitty, silent 
 spectator of a transformed Evelyn who seemed only 
 anxious to work all day and all night. He was not 
 allowed to do it. As an Evelyn of Temple Evelyn 
 he had mixed all his life in a social set to which mere 
 talent gave no man entry, and he was weak and often 
 let his days go at the mercy of interruptions chance 
 callers who dropped in for a cigarette and stayed 
 half a morning, cards rained on him and Kitty by old 
 family friends for whom "the Season" was a career. 
 But he would come in at two in the morning and 
 work till he dropped asleep in his chair. Kitty often 
 wondered if she ought to let him do it, but she was too 
 young a wife to dare to interfere. Indolent? George 
 Dent was tough and energetic, but in the longest days 
 of harvest-home she had never seen him exhaust him- 
 self so unsparingly. She felt as though she had never 
 known Evelyn before. 
 
 Or as though she did not know him now: for he 
 puzzled her. Some fibre in him was steel-hard : she 
 put out her hand, touched it, and drew back, not sure 
 what it was but shivering from that cold contact
 
 124 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 Meredith enlightened her. In town for the season, 
 he was a frequent visitor at their flat, and would sit 
 and put up his eyeglass to stare at Evelyn as if he 
 too were puzzled. But one day, when Evelyn had la- 
 conically and ungratefully refused an invitation to 
 the opening day at Hurlingham, Meredith turned 
 towards Kitty with a teasing smile. "No good, Mrs. 
 Evelyn. We can twist nine-tenths of him round our 
 fingers, but there's always a residuum that won't 
 budge. You don't take me? Oh, come, come! But 
 then you're a woman, and Eve is the victim of one of 
 those male follies that women, being the practical 
 sex, never understand. Still you ought to know 
 what it is." 
 
 "What what is?" Kitty asked placidly over her 
 knitting needles. 
 
 "Art," said Meredith. 
 
 It was after midnight, and Meredith in evening 
 dress on his way home from some entertainment un- 
 specified had come up because in passing under their 
 windows he had seen lights burning overhead. He 
 lounged on a sofa sipping a cafe filtre, Kitty sat on a 
 high -backed chair knitting a tie for Leslie Wright 
 in recompense for a red one which she and her hus- 
 band had violently taken from him and burnt, and 
 Evelyn in a soft shirt and a white and green blazer 
 stood at the window with his hands in his pockets and 
 his back pointedly turned on the room. Dimsdale 
 Smith, having argued himself into a state of exhaus- 
 tion, had given Evelyn up and was on his hands and 
 knees under the table looking for Kitty's ball of silk. 
 He came out backward and with a rumpled head. "It 
 isn't anywhere, really, Mrs. Evelyn !" he said piteously.
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 125 
 
 "It is," said Kitty. "I saw it drop. It must have 
 rolled right along under that bookcase." She could 
 never resist the temptation to torment Dimsdale 
 Smith. Meredith put up his eyeglass to contemplate 
 the dwindling stern which was all that was left vis- 
 ible of Evelyn's impresario as he crept back among the 
 legs of the table. It sank flatter and flatter till Dims- 
 dale was entirely prostrate, his cheek on the nig, his 
 arm stretched out and fumbling amid invisible flue 
 . . . Triumph! he came up flushed and dusty, and 
 rubbing his head, but bearing the ball in his hand. 
 "Thank you," said Kitty, tucking it behind her. "You 
 had better go and brush yourself, Dimmie, you're all 
 fluffy." 
 
 "Come along and I'll brush you, Hercules," said 
 Evelyn. 
 
 He led his friend into the next room, where ap- 
 parently Dimsdale had to be rubbed down like a 
 horse, for there came out a sound of hissing. 
 
 "Do you call that thing an artist?" Kitty asked, 
 pointing with a knitting needle over her shoulder. 
 
 "Well, what would you call him :" said Meredith, "a 
 business man?" 
 
 Kitty laid down her work. She was reluctant to 
 discuss her husband, but she needed advice, for she 
 was anxious, and her own judgment was handicapped 
 by her ignorance of the musical world. Marriage 
 alters the point of view; Evelyn's incompetence in 
 dealing with servants and porters and tradesmen had 
 amused Kitty Dent, but it frightened Kitty Evelyn, 
 who felt that such simplicity however lovable would 
 be out of place among contracts and guarantees ! She 
 had to talk to some one, and to whom more confi-
 
 126 CLAIE DE LUNE 
 
 dentially than to Meredith? for Evelyn was most care- 
 lessly open about his own affairs, and probably an old 
 friend like Meredith would already have heard all 
 there was to know. 
 
 On her own score too she liked and trusted him: 
 liked his obvious liking for Evelyn, and trusted his 
 judgment, so shrewd under its veil of affectation. She 
 trusted Dimmie too, but then he had no influence, 
 whereas Meredith could manage Evelyn if anyone 
 could. She had almost forgotten that Meredith had 
 once admired her. It was so long ago, and what had 
 there ever been in it after all? Nothing: the merest 
 flirtation. 
 
 Kitty in her way was as unsuspecting as her hus- 
 band, but indeed it would have needed a keen eye to 
 penetrate Meredith's mask when it was a mask; he 
 was so fond of Evelyn and so hopeless of Kitty's loy- 
 alty that nine days out of ten the mask was second 
 nature. The tenth day? On the tenth day Meredith 
 simply suffered and did not reflect. 
 
 Kitty sighed as she laid down her work. "I wish 
 I knew more about business. Dimmie says you can't 
 even Evelyn can't go on taking liberties for ever: 
 that, if you refuse engagements when they're offered, 
 very soon they won't be offered when you want them, 
 and that it's folly to trust to what he calls B. P. mem- 
 ory for a second chance. If that's true it's serious, 
 because after all Eve does want to be successful and 
 to make money he would hate to be overtaken in 
 any race. At least I used to think so. But some- 
 times now it seems as if he really didn't care." 
 
 "No ambition?" 
 
 "No. Last night we went to hear that new young
 
 CLAIE DE LUNE 127 
 
 Jewish pianist that people are making such a fuss 
 over, and Evelyn was quite simply delighted and went 
 up and shook hands with him, and said he only wished 
 he could play the Appassionata like that. But of 
 course that boy doesn't come near Eve when he's 
 in form?" There was a question in her voice. Mere- 
 dith's eyelids dropped. 
 
 "Are you doing me the honour to consult me seri- 
 ously? Then, frankly, it's an open secret that Eve- 
 lyn owes some of his success to his personality." In 
 saying so he tasted the pleasure of a deliberate stab. 
 But Kitty only nodded. "He's a brilliant pianist. 
 But not more so than others who aren't half such a 
 draw. Why? because they haven't Evelyn's looks 
 and Smith can't circulate little pars, about the family 
 seat in Cambridgeshire. And of course Eve's little 
 confidences are very effective." 
 
 He had risked a snub, but none came. "Thank you," 
 said Kitty soberly. "I can take quinine from a 
 friend. Indeed I wish you would give Evelyn a dose 
 of it ! I'm a little worried. I hate to worry him, but 
 I do mistrust both his judgment and my own. I know 
 as little about music as he does about business ; mean- 
 time one must live, and he can't afford to retire." 
 
 "Retire! at his age?" 
 
 "It'll soon come to that." 
 
 "But what is he doing then? He never was an 
 idler. Why won't he work?" 
 
 Kitty glanced at the closed door. "He said I 
 might tell you but not Dimmie. It appears that Dim- 
 mie's criticisms get on his nerves. Promise !" 
 
 "Silence till death !" 
 
 "Writing an opera."
 
 128 GLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 "Oh, my dear friend," said Meredith, dropping his 
 eyeglass, "this is serious !" 
 
 "Very," said Kitty drily. "Especially when he 
 sticks fast. Then there are damns and bits of music 
 paper all over the floor. Of course I can't tell if it's 
 any good, and no more can he, apparently his affec- 
 tion for it seems to fluctuate with the weather and 
 his digestion. But what I principally want to find out 
 is whether there's any money in it ! As you know, Eve 
 has been writing music on and off all his life, but he 
 doesn't seem to have made much out of it so far. Hav- 
 ing a low, practical mind, as you justly observe, I'd 
 rather he would make hay while the sun shines, and 
 not take to composing till he loses his hair." 
 
 "What's it like?" 
 
 "From what I've heard it seems to be rather French 
 in style; but I was so beaten and harried for saying 
 that a trio in the Second Act reminded me of the 
 Puck music in Berlioz's Midsummer Night, that I 
 have grown shy of expressing an opinion." 
 
 "I should like to hear it." 
 
 "I should like you to hear it. I do want your criti- 
 cism, and so I think does Eve; he is so self -distrust- 
 ful." 
 
 <r With gentle handling, if we can get rid of Smith, 
 we may induce him to let me look at the score. 
 French, you say? Yes, Eve is French : he hasn't much 
 in common with the modern British group. Oh, by 
 the by, Smith," as Dimsdale returned followed by his 
 grinning host, "have you five minutes to spare? I've 
 written a little song that I want you to place for me. 
 I'll send it in, shall I?" he strolled towards the piano,
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 129 
 
 "or we might try it over now if Mrs. Evelyn would 
 give us leave " 
 
 Dimsdale Smith made some of his living by plac- 
 ing little songs on a ten per cent basis, but it was no 
 part of the bargain for him to listen while the infat- 
 uated composer tried them over probably over and 
 over in Dimmie's play-time. He gave a start of 
 alarm. "Oh, I'm awfully sorry, I'd love to, but I can't 
 stop now. Eoll it along to-morrow and I'll have a 
 look at it." He was already on his feet. "Good night, 
 Mrs. Evelyn, I must be off. I didn't know it was so 
 late. Thanks so much for letting me drop in in this 
 informal way, it is so jolly knowing you like this. 
 And you will," quite unconsciously he was clasping 
 Kitty's hand, knitting pins and all, "you will use 
 your influence with your husband, won't you? Make 
 him see how important it is, how fearfully, vitally 
 necessary, to keep in the very middle of the B. P.'s 
 eye" 
 
 "Yes, Dimmie, I will," said Kitty, smiling up at him 
 tenderly. 
 
 "Kitty," said Evelyn, as the door shut on Dimsdale, 
 "you tipped that ball of silk under the bookcase on 
 purpose." 
 
 "Oh no I didn't," said Kitty serenely. "It rolled. 
 I've been telling Mr. Meredith about Clair de Lune. 
 You said I might. He's promised not to tell Dimmie." 
 
 Evelyn incontinently fled. Pursued and captured 
 on the stairs, he was tucked under Meredith's arm and 
 put back into a chair. "My dear friend, where is the 
 score?" Meredith enquired as languidly as if he had 
 never scuffled in his life. 
 
 "Over there. Bureau."
 
 130 GLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 It would have been cruelty to comment on his scar- 
 let face, and Meredith contented himself with lifting 
 out the score. He sat down again on the sofa holding 
 it open on his knee. No one spoke. Kitty continued 
 to knit swiftly, Evelyn lay at full length in his low 
 chair, his hands in his pockets, his legs extended and 
 wide apart at the knees. Across the room's hush, 
 nocturnal murmurs of London drifted in at the open 
 window, cling-clang of brougham bells, moan of a 
 siren far off on the river, rumble of hoofs in a brew- 
 er's dray. Suddenly Meredith began to whistle an air 
 under his breath : an elfin air, the spirit of moonlight 
 imprisoned in a little cold dancing tune. Evelyn 
 shivered and drew in his legs. 
 
 "Shut up !" he said softly, as though the little tune 
 set his teeth on edge. 
 
 Meredith turned a leaf, turned back, whistled the 
 little tune again, and put the score down. "I wish 
 you would run it through for me on the piano. Where 
 did you get that tune?" 
 
 " 'Came into my head one day while I was watch- 
 ing Kitty." 
 
 "Oh." 
 
 Volunteered criticism would have goaded Evelyn 
 into madness. But when none came he was naturally 
 no less annoyed. "Well, why can't you say what you 
 think of it?" he demanded angrily. "What's the use 
 of letting you see the score? I thought you called 
 yourself a musical critic !" 
 
 "I cannot judge till we've tried it on the piano. For 
 one thing I never was trained to decipher a palimpsest, 
 and I cannot read much more than one bar in three. 
 Your Schrift at the best of times, my dear Evelyn,
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 131 
 
 suggests the meanderings of an intoxicated pin, and 
 most of this seems to have been produced in a gale 
 of wind and a violent temper." He relented. "It 
 sounds pretty fresh and original." 
 
 "Original you call it?" 
 
 "So far as I can judge. Rather French in style: 
 certainly far more French than English. I see no 
 trace of Worcester influence." He laughed in Evelyn's 
 vexed face. "No, be at ease: it isn't too French. It 
 is original." 
 
 "She said it was borrowed." 
 
 "I did not!" 
 
 "You did, you said that trio in Act II was cribbed 
 from Mendelssohn's Midsummer Night/' 
 
 "Berlioz's," amended Kitty mildly. "Dearest, if 
 you say what is not true, you will not go to heaven 
 when you die." 
 
 "The Lord forbid !" said Evelyn with levity. "I hate 
 a male chorus." 
 
 "Peace, Faun!" Meredith interposed. "Where did 
 you pick up your libretto?" 
 
 "Wrote it myself." 
 
 "Oh, come, come!" 
 
 "I did!" said Evelyn, sitting up indignant and 
 amazed. "It's only roughed in, some one else will 
 have to lick it into shape, but, such as it is, it's mina 
 I took it from one of the Folies Amoureuses of Catulle 
 Mendes a rum little tale about two people who were 
 in love and parted and met again and wished they 
 hadn't." 
 
 " 'II ne faut pas jouer avec la ccndre.' I thought 
 it seemed vaguely familiar. Now I understand what 
 you mean by saying you wrote it yourself. Mrs. Eve-
 
 132 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 lyn, what's the odds that if Catulle were alive to hear 
 it he would say he wrote Evelyn's opera?" 
 
 "As a matter of fact, what price me?" said Kitty. 
 "I lent him the Folies. And it was one of my mother's 
 books, so now where are you?" She rose, stuffing her 
 tie into a silken workbag. "Good night, Mr. Mere- 
 dith, I'm going to bed. I suppose you and Eve will 
 sit up all night trying over the score on the piano. 
 We've rented the flat below as well now, so it doesn't 
 signify how late we play." 
 
 There was a momentary silence, then, "And what 
 about the flat above?" asked Meredith. 
 
 "Oh ! the flat above seems to like it," said Kitty on 
 her way to the door. "There's only one woman in it. 
 I don't know her, but she looks rather pretty and 
 forlorn. At all events she is delightful about our play- 
 ing. I met her in the lift one day when Mr. Hurst 
 and Leslie Wright had been warbling Pinafore till 
 two in the morning, and apologised, but she said it 
 didn't signify a straw that she could sleep through 
 any quantity of noise, or if it was Eve playing she 
 loved to lie awake. She said she was used to his music 
 and had missed it horribly while he was away." 
 
 "Charming of her," said Meredith. He opened the 
 score on the desk without glancing at Evelyn. 
 
 It was to be hoped that Miss Carter had been sin- 
 cere, for dawn was in the sky before Meredith with 
 a prodigious yawn got up from the piano. He had sat 
 by Evelyn hour after hour, almost continuously fling- 
 ing over the leaves, often turning back, while Evelyn, 
 tireless, threaded his way through the maze of a full 
 orchestral score, whistling strains for flute or clari- 
 net, humming the solo voice parts under his breath
 
 GLAIR DE LUNE 133 
 
 or nasalising them in his soft falsetto. The fire had 
 gone out and the room had grown cold. Meredith 
 moved to a side table and without formality mixed 
 himself a drink to his liking, set down the empty 
 glass, and turned again to Evelyn. "You won't get 
 that produced in England." 
 
 "No, I know I shan't," said Evelyn without hesi- 
 tation. "Not in my lifetime." 
 
 "You might in France or Italy. Dresden would 
 have jumped at it before the war." 
 
 "Great nuisance, the war." 
 
 "Yes," said Meredith, accepting the point of view 
 without irony. "It did knock things to pieces for 
 Pantaloon and Harlequin. Have you the rest of 
 this in your head? I suppose so, or you wouldn't 
 have let me see what's done." 
 
 "Yes : I know what I want and how to get it. If 
 one could only write as fast as one thinks ! There's 
 a scene in Act IV I do want to get on to oh, and 
 a Chorus of Flames in Act V. . . ." His voice died 
 away: his eyes, too brilliant for health in that cold 
 London dawn, dwelt on Meredith without seeing him. 
 The elder man gave an irritated laugh. 
 
 "Calm yourself, my dear fellow, there are no ladies 
 present !" Evelyn obviously missed the jibe. He was 
 listening, not to Meredith, but to the harmonies in 
 his own brain. Meredith shook him sharply by the 
 arm. "Come, rouse up 
 
 "Confound you, Meredith, let me alone!" 
 
 He wrenched himself free. Meredith for once was 
 not offended. He mixed a second drink and carried 
 it over to Evelyn, who had gone to the window and 
 flung up the sash. "Take it, it'll do you good. Your
 
 134 GLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 nerves are all on edge. You're drunk with want of 
 sleep, aren't you? and no wonder, after getting 
 through the greater part of four Acts since December ! 
 You'll feel better when it's all roughed out on paper. 
 But, my friend, you should go slow ; no work of genius 
 however immortal is worth a nervous breakdown." 
 
 Evelyn mechanically drank his brandy and soda but 
 paid no other attention to Meredith's warnings: in- 
 deed he hardly seemed to hear them. "Do you think 
 Millerand would take it? I'd rather burn the score 
 than hear it badly produced. I should shoot myself 
 in the composer's box. Do you think Millerand 
 would?" 
 
 Meredith nodded. "That's the worst of our trade; 
 in painting or sculpture one has control over one's 
 medium, but a musician's always at the mercy of his 
 second fiddle. But I shouldn't wonder. It's pretty 
 good stuff." 
 
 "Do you think so do you?" 
 
 No, Evelyn had not much self-confidence; was in- 
 deed rather more dependent on another man's approv- 
 al than a craftsman should be. Meredith shrugged his 
 shoulders. He was not naturally generous, and 
 his instinct was to grudge praise and bestow it 
 the more sparingly in inverse ratio to the apparent 
 need of it. How childishly Evelyn had behaved! 
 scribbling away for dear life at dead of night, till 
 his temper was frayed and his nerves were in fiddle- 
 strings, as if he could not have got on as fast or faster 
 by working from ten till one and from two till four ! 
 
 "I don't say it's Prometheus, or even Louise! It's 
 over-written: weak too, shockingly weak in many 
 places. That quartet in Act I might have come out of
 
 CLAIE DE LUNE 135 
 
 Maritana. Your orchestration of course is always 
 clever, you picked up the knack of that under old 
 K.-K., but some of the themes However, I don't for- 
 get that it's in the rough, thrown off at top speed and 
 never polished. When it's done I dare say it'll be 
 less reminiscent of Offenbach!" 
 
 "Think so?" said Evelyn dully. The light and life 
 and colour had faded out of his face. "Offenbach? 
 I didn't think it was much like Offenbach." 
 
 How soon his spirits were dashed ! He was a spoilt 
 child no doubt, and too much sugar was not good for 
 him ; and yet the change in him made Meredith feel 
 uncomfortable. 
 
 "But I'll do my best to smooth your way with Mil- 
 lerand. He's the man for you, no one else would do 
 it such thorough justice." Meredith whistled the 
 delicate melody that foreshadowed the steps of the 
 heroine. "Charming little air that, so fresh and 
 haunting." Evelyn's face had begun to brighten 
 again, and Meredith was glad of it. "How long do 
 you reckon it will take you to finish?" 
 
 "Six months." 
 
 "Six months during which you won't take any con- 
 cert engagements? Whew!" Meredith's eye roved 
 round the expensive flat. He was not acquainted with 
 Evelyn's money affairs except so far as they impinged 
 on his own, but it seemed natural to conclude that for 
 a young professional man just married six months' 
 holiday might prove an expensive luxury. "What 
 will Smith say?" 
 
 "Dimmie will raise a dust. But Dimmie's not the 
 point." Evelyn gathered up the score, shuffling the 
 loose leaves into place. He handled it as if he loved
 
 136 GLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 it. "This must come first. From what you say it 
 evidently wants a lot more work put into it, even 
 more than I knew. I don't get half enough time for it, 
 you see, nor enough quiet, I'm always being called 
 off by some damned irrelevance. It's all so difficult, 
 working under present conditions. ..." He checked 
 himself, repressing a sigh. "No, I know it won't 
 pay Dimmie's old tour would bring in ten times what 
 I shall ever get from Clair de Lune. But what concern 
 is it of Dimmie's if I choose to go out into the wilder- 
 ness?" 
 
 "H'm : no." Meredith was longing to put a ques- 
 tion. It might pass for an impertinence, but couldn't 
 one trust Charles Evelyn not to detect any dash of 
 curiosity that mingled with friendly regard? "What 
 about Mrs. Evelyn will she want to go out into the 
 wilderness too?" Evelyn looked up with a start. 
 His wife's name seemed to rouse him at last, and 
 Meredith was the annoyed spectator of a transforma- 
 tion which had taken place once or twice before in 
 his presence, but never as the result of an indiscre- 
 tion of his own. The careless expansive Bohemian 
 dislimned and in his shoes stood the country squire 
 entrenched in courteous and easy reserve. 
 
 "My wife? You must hear her sing one of these 
 days. I never let her perform except before good 
 judges It's a small little voice, but you would appre- 
 ciate her style." 
 
 Regret, it has been said, is the last grace of good 
 breeding; but Meredith had never apologised in his 
 life. In the war he had acquired an unwelcome Mili- 
 tary Cross by sticking to a theoretically untenable 
 position, and his instinct was to defend by attacking.
 
 CLAIR DE LUKE 137 
 
 "Thanks, I should love to. Oh by the by, do I 
 gather that Sophy still has the flat overhead? Last 
 time we met, soon after your marriage, she talked of 
 shifting her quarters, but it struck me then that when 
 it came to the point she would stay on." 
 
 "She has stayed on." 
 
 "How awkward!" 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 Meredith shrugged his shoulders. "Do you cut 
 her when you're with your wife?" 
 
 Evelyn waited to shut the window and to remind 
 himself that everyone knew Meredith had a queer 
 temper and a rough side to his tongue. The old good- 
 humoured smile was on Evelyn's lips when he turned 
 round. "Thanks most awfully for listening to all my 
 feeble stuff, I never meant to keep you up all night." 
 
 Meredith moved towards the stairs. But with his 
 hand on the rail he hesitated. They were old friends, 
 he was genuinely fond of Evelyn, the snub, if it was 
 a snub, had been deserved, and persistently his con- 
 science pricked him for a want of candour in his 
 praise of Clair de Lune, that stinted praise that com- 
 monly betrays the working of some obscure under- 
 ground jealousy. Most of his criticisms were true, 
 but what had they left out? "The greatest gift of all, 
 that of life, which the public always recognises." 
 This gift Clair de Lune possessed ; thougli it was un- 
 equal and full of faults, now dull and now over-writ- 
 ten, it was written with a full pen. All that marriage 
 had done for Evelyn had gone into it the bad and 
 the good, the interruptions and irritations, the moods 
 of depression and gloom, but also the harrowing of 
 soil long fallow and the upturning of instincts which
 
 138 GLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 when denied other outlet found vent in work. 
 Was he really such a curmudgeon as to be jealous 
 of Evelyn? Would he have said more, and more 
 warmly, if his secret soul had not persisted in drawing 
 comparisons between the power, the freshness, the 
 fascination of that rough MS., and the deskful of deli- 
 cate lifeless stuff at home, which his refined taste had 
 first polished out of all inelegance and then condemned 
 for the poverty of the raw material? 
 
 A latent generosity in Meredith was ready to meet 
 Evelyn halfway. But Evelyn, white with fatigue and 
 disappointment, had apparently forgotten his exist- 
 ence. Dropping with sleep, one hand already raised 
 to unfasten his collar, he moved towards Kitty's door 
 and softly turned the handle without knocking. 
 
 Something in the simplicity and familiarity of that 
 action seemed to take Meredith by the throat. He 
 let himself out of the flat and walked home. A fine 
 rain was falling and the clouds were the colour of 
 smoke. A yellow steam pressed against the windows 
 of his rooms in Streets Mews, so cheerless with their 
 layer of dust and the ashes of last night's fire. Some 
 men have all the luck Clair de Lune and Kitty's 
 love . . . and what on earth had Evelyn ever done to 
 deserve it? Wasn't he even half inclined to regret 
 his marriage? "Hang it," Meredith reflected with a 
 touch of brutality under his amusement, "before go- 
 ing into the wilderness, my friend, you might have 
 paid for those sapphires !"
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 ONE warm May night three weeks later Kitty 
 came out of her bedroom between two and 
 three in the morning and softly opened the 
 drawingroom door. She had thrown on one of those 
 Chinese wrappers that remind one of peacock but- 
 terflies or stained glass, her feet were bare, and her 
 fair hair hung down her back in two pigtails and 
 made her look like a child. She had altered little 
 since her marriage. There were still no signs of care 
 on her face, and London had not begun to fade her 
 bloom. 
 
 She stole through and closed the door behind her. 
 The windows were open and the fresh river-scent of 
 Chelsea breathed in out of a glimmering dusk : it was 
 hardly dawn yet, but there were among the clouds 
 pale fingerings of light, the prelude of dawn to come. 
 In the room it was dark but for a couple of electric 
 candles at the piano where Evelyn was toiling over 
 the score of Clair de Lune. 
 
 Kitty sat down on the windowsill and waited for 
 him to notice her. Bufr he did not notice her because 
 he never raised his head, and an alarm of fire would 
 hardly have penetrated to his brain through the flood 
 of silent harmony that beat on it: 
 
 Music heard is sweet, but sounds unheard 
 Are sweeter, 
 
 139
 
 140 CLAIB DE LUNE 
 
 and the strings and harps and clarinets that filled 
 Evelyn's ear were those of the Dance of Flames in 
 his Fourth Act, which was later to become so famous 
 as to be played on barrel-organs and in bar parlours 
 and by the jaded orchestras of fivepenny cinema-shows. 
 It was no wonder that he did not hear the entrance 
 of his wife. 
 
 He was still working day and night, at tension: 
 refusing all professional engagements, and social so 
 far as what he called a gross want of moral courage 
 allowed : never willingly leaving the flat unless Kitty 
 or Hurst or Meredith drove him out of it. He was in- 
 capable of rudeness in his own house, and when people 
 came to see him he was charming to them, and when 
 his friends laid violent hands on him he yielded, under 
 pressure, with a grateful apologetic smile, for just 
 so long as the pressure was maintained; but when 
 they grew tired or were called away he reverted auto- 
 matically to the piano. He got to sleep when he could 
 not keep awake, now for four or five hours in the 
 night, now for odd moments by day. It was in April 
 that he suggested, or Kitty suggested she never knew 
 exactly how it came about putting up a bed in his 
 dressing room so that his irregularities might not dis- 
 turb his wife. Kitty acquiesced as she did in all 
 his wishes ; which was not going far, for during those 
 months of travail he rarely expressed any wish at 
 all. 
 
 He was not irritable, except under criticism, and 
 even Hurst, an apostle of the decent and orderly 
 (Wright's epigram deserved its circulation by its 
 truth at least: "Don't talk to Hurst about tempera- 
 ment. It's a red rag to a John Bull"), had to own
 
 GLAIR DE LUNE 141 
 
 that he seemed able to survive a life which would 
 have killed most men. To Kitty he was uniformly 
 kind and charming. Gossip said it was a household 
 in a thousand one of those marriages that reassure 
 those who despair of marriage. The only sceptics 
 were Kitty herself and George Dent, who used to 
 frown with a bewildered expression over Kitty's can- 
 did, cheerful letters, and the affectionate half-sheets 
 that came now and then from his brother-in-law, 
 scribbled all over, round the sides and across the 
 corners, with saucy vignettes of "the Kitty-wee." 
 
 Kitty sat and watched him for a long while. She 
 was a born tease and loved to watch people at un- 
 awares a trick that has for some of us the illicit 
 lure of a private letter that has come innocently into 
 our hands. Evelyn evidently had not one thought 
 to spare from his work. He had dragged up a table 
 to the piano and sat brooding in a crumpled attitude 
 over the score of that famous Fourth Act. He had 
 one leg tucked up under him, his collar and tie were 
 on the floor, and his shirt was unbuttoned at the 
 throat, while the damp waves of hair were going this 
 way and that without trace of a parting. Once, when 
 he had to turn back to Act I and the pages stuck, Kitty 
 saw him first scuffle them over at a rate of impatience 
 which tore their edges, and then facilitate the pro- 
 cess by licking his fingers. She smiled: the eternal 
 schoolboy ! 
 
 The clock struck four, and Evelyn gave a great 
 frank yawn and put his head down on his arm. Kitty's 
 eyes were full of a profound maternal tender m-< 
 Was he going to sleep where he sat? Just like him ! 
 but not good for him, and not to be allowed, for she
 
 142 GLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 had some difficult news to break, and this, the interval 
 between knocking off work and falling into bed, was 
 the only hour in the twenty-four when she could fairly 
 count on gaining his undivided attention. 
 
 She slipped across the room like a ghost, the Chi- 
 nese coat half open over the Saxon fairness of her 
 shoulders. Her instinct was to take him in her arms. 
 She curbed it because he disliked any sudden touch, 
 and contented herself with saying his name softly 
 and clearly and in her most commonplace tones: 
 "Evelyn, dear 
 
 "Good God!" Evelyn leapt to his feet overturning 
 the music stool, "is there no peace ?" 
 
 There followed a moment of complete stillness dur- 
 ing which Kitty stood before him like a figure of 
 marble, not one thread waving in the gilt plait drawn 
 forward over her neck, and then Evelyn came to her 
 and kissed her hand. 
 
 "Dear, I'm so desperately sorry ! I didn't mean it 
 for you. I was just trying to work out a stiff bit of 
 counterpoint in my head." 
 
 "I thought you were asleep." 
 
 "Evidently I ought to be ! Here's a pretty state of 
 things, isn't it, when the Kitty-wee gets her little 
 velvet paw slapped? Cheer up! quite soon Glair will 
 be finished, and then you'll have a husband again, and 
 then in half no time you'll be sighing for the happy 
 days of grass widowhood. Heigho !" He yawned 
 afresh, but discreetly, behind his hand. "What's 
 o'clock? After four? My word, Kitty, what are you 
 doing out of bed at this hour? Go back at once! 
 what would George say?" 
 
 "You're not going to work any more?"
 
 CLAIE DE LUNE 143 
 
 "Not to-night. I shall now turn in and sleep like 
 a top. My head is spinning! Seriously, I do begin 
 to feel as if the long strain were telling on me ; I have 
 worked pretty hard ever since December." Kitty ex- 
 pressed no sympathy. She had never before heard 
 Evelyn complain of his health ; he and she had been 
 bred in the same Spartan tradition of ignoring the 
 body so long as one could stand on one's legs, and if 
 he now began to pity himself it could only be by way 
 of taking cover from a more serious admission. She 
 returned to the window and wrapped herself more 
 closely in her coat ; the dawn air had no chill in it but 
 Kitty was trembling. 
 
 "Don't go yet, I came in to talk to you. At break- 
 fast people will be in and out, and directly after you'll 
 be at the piano again, and you really are no use to 
 anyone when you're once drowned in Clair de Lunc." 
 
 "I'm so sorry," said Evelyn, smiling broadly. 
 "Write a book and call it The Composer's Wife, or, 
 Repenting at Leisure. But the sooner I get it done, 
 darling, the sooner I shall be able to return to concert 
 work and bring in the dibs : and we do want the dibs." 
 He sat down by Kitty. "Very badly we da I had 
 a painful shock to-day. A letter from the bank. It 
 seems I'm overdrawn. There's nothing new in that, 
 I generally am ; but the nuisance of it is that they've 
 a new manager vice Fenwick retired, and he doesn't 
 seem to want me to overdraw any more! Would be 
 glad if I could, etc., etc. Dashed impudence I call 
 it, considering that we've banked with them ever 
 since they were founded. Someone must have been 
 putting the wind up him." 
 
 "How exceedingly trying!"
 
 144 GLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 **It is, because what with death duties and legal 
 expenses I'm run up so short just now. If I could 
 either let or sell Temple Evelyn it would oil the 
 wheels, but it's a bad season, so house agents tell me, 
 for that sort of property: nobody wants to buy a 
 big old-fashioned place now because servants won't 
 stop unless they can have all the modern improve- 
 ments. So that funds really are low for the minute. 
 In fact I shouldn't have known where to lay my 
 hands on the rent last Lady Day if but that's neither 
 here nor there." 
 
 "You never told me you were so hard up!" said 
 Kitty, startled. "Indeed, Eve, I wish you would 
 have warned me. I would have been more economical 
 if I had only known. Look at that fur coat of mine 
 and those new evening dresses! You said 'Go to 
 Lucille,' so I did, but I could just as well have gone 
 to Kensington, and they ran into a lot of money." 
 
 "Your own money, my dear." 
 
 "What does that signify? I suppose I am your 
 wife!" 
 
 "Yes, adored one : but for all that you are not go- 
 ing to pay my rent out of your allowance from George. 
 Oh, it's only a temporary embarrassment; it'll be all 
 right as soon as I get back to concert work and there's 
 some cash coming in. It was Philip's dying so inop- 
 portunely that let me down. Not that I blame Philip 
 if he could have foreseen what was going to happen 
 I don't doubt he would have made arrangements ! 
 It must have been an awful blow to him to reflect 
 that he wasn't leaving enough ready money to pay 
 for his funeral." 
 
 "Oh well, I suppose it'll all come right," said Kitty
 
 GLAIR DE LUNE 145 
 
 vaguely. She really did not care enough for the 
 topic to pursue it. Except for an inborn horror of 
 debt, she was indifferent to money, and her solution 
 of a financial difficulty would have been as simple 
 as Evelyn's: his was to borrow, hers to stop spend- 
 ing. Meredith had taken for granted that the shrewd 
 business head was allied to a commercial spirit, but 
 he was wrong, for Kitty would have been quite ready 
 to go out into the wilderness and live on twopence- 
 halfpenny a day; where she drew the line was at 
 running up bills, the bills of an expensive double flat, 
 without the means of paying them. "But never mind 
 that now," she went on, "there's something more 
 serious I want to say to you." She sat looking out 
 of the window, presenting to him her face in profile, 
 delicate, blooming, a trifle stern. "It isn't easy." 
 
 "Mon Dieu, I guess!" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "You're going to have a baby." 
 
 "Should you be glad ? It would be a fresh expense." 
 
 "Kitty, I'm shocked." Evelyn picked up one of 
 her plaits and wound it round her throat. "Expense 
 is no longer an object. You look such a dear little 
 girly-wirly with your hair down. But I don't call it 
 proper for you to be indulging in such luxuries when 
 you're only half out of the nursery yourself 
 
 "No, no!" She turned to him, smiling yet wistful. 
 "You've guessed wrong. If you're disappointed I'm 
 sorry, but it's early days yet, and perhaps when 
 when you come back to me ... my dearest. ... It 
 isn't that at all." Evelyn's features showed an in- 
 distinct relief, though he was too polite to express it. 
 
 "That was a complete sell, darling, but it was your
 
 146 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 fault. The mise en scene was ideal." He waved his 
 arm to indicate the breaking dawn, the sepia clouds, 
 the sepia woods of Chelsea. "And you look a little 
 piano too, as if you were feeling modest. Well, if it 
 isn't that, what is it?" 
 
 "I feel pianissimo. I feel ashamed. I ought to have 
 been more cautious, but somehow I never thought of 
 it." Evelyn looked mute interrogation. "I have been 
 obliged to tell Mr. Meredith not to come here any 
 more/' said Kitty soberly. 
 
 "Kitty!" 
 
 "I am so very sorry and ashamed." 
 
 "Do you mean he turned up drunk?" said Evelyn, 
 incredulous. "Edmund Meredith? why, he scarcely 
 ever touches anything stronger than soda-water!" 
 
 "My dear Eve, if he had done that I should have 
 told him to go home and go to bed. Why, I've seen 
 George drunk once! No, he had not that excuse." 
 
 "But what then did you have a quarrel with him?" 
 
 "You're not quick to understand, are you? He 
 made love to me." 
 
 "Made love to you?" Evelyn echoed stupidly. 
 
 "You are not under the impression, are you, that 
 no one has ever fallen in love with me but you? 
 The strange thing is that I never saw it till now : he 
 has been here time after time, when you were in and 
 when you weren't, and I've always liked him so much 
 and trusted him so absolutely! With an innocence 
 which really ought to have disarmed him, I liked him 
 because he was more your friend than mine ! But it 
 seems he has been falling, or rather crawling into 
 love with me all this spring. Earlier, too : before we 
 were married. He declares he never recovered from
 
 CLAIB DE LUNE 147 
 
 his little fit of fascination last summer. At all events 
 there was no doubt about it when it came. He was 
 extremely frank." 
 
 "He made love to you? Meredith? When?" 
 "This afternoon, while you were out with Mr. Hurst. 
 He came in to tea. We were sitting in the window, he 
 was smoking and I was knitting, when without warn- 
 ing ... I was almost as slow at understanding him 
 as you were at understanding me. But in the end 
 he lost his head and behaved very badly." 
 "He insulted you? What did he do?" 
 "Oh! he didn't do anything," said Kitty with a 
 faint shade of irony: "what can a man do in those 
 circumstances? But he said a great deal. No, don't 
 cross-examine me; however wrong it was of him I 
 shall spare his sensitiveness. You would not like it, 
 would you, if you gave yourself away before a woman 
 and she gave you away to another man? All young 
 married women have worries like this now and again, 
 and I never should have said anything about it if 
 it weren't that I was obliged to tell him not to come 
 any more. I was sorry for him and I still am. When 
 he sits down and reviews the scene in cold blood it 
 will be punishment enough." 
 
 "So you turned him out? the hound!" said Evelyn. 
 He stood by the open window, his pale face raised 
 as if he liked the wind on it. "The cowardly hound ! 
 He deserves to be shot." 
 
 "But you don't propose to shoot him, I hope?" said 
 Kitty, startled. In his preoccupation with Clair de 
 Lune Evelyn was so careless that she had scarcely 
 expected him to feel any anger at all. She had hoped 
 he would. Even an artist ought to remain jealous
 
 148 GLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 for the honour of his wife! But there seemed to be 
 something deeper than anger working in him; she 
 was perplexed by this white heat of scorn. 
 
 "To shoot him? No. . . . What sort of balance does 
 George generally keep at the bank?" 
 
 "As low as he can. Why?" 
 
 "I owe Meredith two hundred pounds." 
 
 "Two hundred pounds!" 
 
 "And more. I was so hard up at the time of our 
 marriage." 
 
 "You've owed him this sum ever since we were mar- 
 ried? What for?" 
 
 "Manton's, chiefly. Part of the rent, too, last Lady 
 Day; but Manton's accounted for most of it the 
 time I took him round to choose your present. He 
 knew I was run up short and he offered to settle for 
 me, sat down and wrote a cheque then and there; 
 said after our years of friendship he should feel hurt 
 if I didn't give him the preference over the Jews." 
 This was not a deliberate gloss. It was what had 
 happened, as seen across the refracting glass of Eve- 
 lyn's memory. "He made me take it." 
 
 Kitty felt a benumbed sensation creeping over her. 
 "Do you mean that it was Mr. Meredith who chose 
 and paid for my sapphires?" 
 
 "Rather. That was your price, Kitty." 
 
 "I am certain you're wrong," said Kitty in a low 
 voice. She was : fresh from the scene of Meredith's 
 distress and passion, nothing would have made her 
 believe that he had done it on purpose. He had made 
 love to her because he loved her, he had lent Evelyn 
 money because he loved Evelyn ; such inconsistencies 
 of conduct are not uncommon, though they wear an
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 149 
 
 ugly look when held up together to the light of day. 
 But Evelyn did not seem to hear her plea, still less 
 to be moved by it. 
 
 "I must get the money to-day. Intolerable!" He 
 glanced at his watch. "Half past four, and there'll 
 be no business doing till ten. Six hours to wait!" 
 
 "Are you going to the Jews after all?" 
 
 "I must get the money, and at once." 
 
 "Won't you use mine? If I telephoned to George 
 he would advance it." He stopped her by a gesture. 
 "But why why not?" 
 
 "What, borrow your money to pay my debt to a 
 hound that has insulted you?" 
 
 She was unable to follow his train of thought. "But 
 if it comes to that the sapphires are mine! It is as 
 much my debt as yours. Oh, Eve, I don't think you 
 ever quite realise that I am your wife! Don't go to a 
 money-lender. Let me give it you, or lend it you if 
 you like; you can pay me interest on it if that will 
 content you." He stopped her again. 
 
 "Understand once and for all, Kitty, I will not 
 touch your money. I'll settle my own scores." 
 
 "Are you going to quarrel with Mr. Meredith?" 
 
 "Not till I've paid him." 
 
 "You won't make a scene a scandal?" 
 
 "You can be certain that I shall keep your name out 
 of it." 
 
 "Are you angry with me?" 
 
 "With you? no! why should I be? It isn't your 
 fault." 
 
 But if he was not angry he was very, very cold. It 
 was for his own honour that he was jealous, not for 
 hers. The quarrel lay between him and Meredith,
 
 150 CLAIB DE LUNE 
 
 and Kitty was only an outsider. She felt as though 
 a film of ice had formed between them, and relentlessly 
 her young bosom was pressed against it till she was 
 almost dying of the chill of it. 
 
 "Perhaps it was, partly. I'm used to a certain 
 amount of admiration; I've had it all my life, even 
 from you till after we were married. Mr. Meredith 
 said I had led him on, and perhaps I did unconsciously 
 show that I liked his pleasant manners and the at- 
 mosphere of compliment that he throws round one. 
 I haven't had it from you, Eve, these five months 
 since we were married. You're always charming 
 when you remember my existence, but I believe you 
 forget me as soon as I'm out of the room." 
 
 "No, I never forget you," said Evelyn, looking at 
 her strangely. 
 
 A film of ice: one must break it or die. Kitty 
 flushed. Moment by moment the silver currents of 
 dawn were beginning to run among the black and 
 brown clouds of night over London. "Eve, come 
 here." He came to her with his swift courtesy. Kitty 
 had risen. "Can't you remember me and forget Mr. 
 Meredith? Oh, Eve, life's too short for quarrelling! 
 Take my money and pay him and let him go. He is 
 frightfully unhappy already, and your repayment will 
 cut him very deep. He'll probably leave England. 
 Let him go! Why should we trouble about a third 
 person an outsider? We have each other." She 
 opened her coat and drew down Evelyn's head to her 
 breast. "Dear, don't be so restless ! You're overtired ; 
 you wouldn't be so hot and impatient if you weren't 
 almost worn out for want of sleep. Oh come to me, 
 Eve! can't I make you forget?"
 
 GLAIR DE LUNE 151 
 
 "Don't hold me. . . ." the cry rose to Evelyn's lips, 
 he crushed it down with difficulty. It was long since 
 Kitty had wooed him in this fashion, and with his 
 dangerous talent for living in the present he had hoped 
 she never would again. After the intense mental 
 fatigue of his long travail over Glair de Lune the fresh 
 strain tried him almost beyond endurance: he could 
 just bear it, and no more. Response was impossible. 
 
 "How white you are!" said Kitty in an altered 
 voice. "Aren't you well?" 
 
 "Yes, darling, only fagged out. Too fagged to ap- 
 preciate my privileges! Not now. . . ." He raisedj 
 himself out of her arms and mechanically paid her 
 some compliment, the silver coin which was all he' 
 had to give in exchange for her gold. Kitty had begun 
 to tremble again. He saw it, and without in the least 
 understanding what he had done tried languidly to 
 satisfy her. It was a degree less difficult whenever 
 he was released from immediate physical contact. 
 "Cover yourself Tip, my darling, this night air coming 
 in feels chilly. Ought you not to go back to bed now? 
 You're losing all your beauty sleep. Oh, your little 
 bare feet on these polished boards ! Kitty, you'll catch 
 a most awful cold, and then George will blame me. 
 Come, put your little paws round my neck and I'll 
 carry you." He lifted her in his arms, still as light 
 and soft as a child, and as pliant, and as rosy, and 
 yet in some indefinable way withdrawn out of his 
 reach. "Do you remember that morning in the Hunt- 
 ing Tower? How long ago it seems ! . . . Perhaps I 
 won't have a row with Meredith after all. I expect he 
 couldn't help himself, you're so sweet." 
 
 "Are you are you coming with me?"
 
 152 GLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 "Rather!" He would have given a year of his life 
 to refuse. 
 
 "But I would rather not not now. . . ." She 
 slipped out of his clasp at the threshold of her room 
 and held up a small hand, defending it. "You're so 
 tired: and I'm tired too. And you're so restless 
 when you're tired." 
 
 "Just as you like," said Evelyn. He was too tired 
 to be able entirely to conceal the relief he felt under 
 the relaxation of insufferable strain. "Good night, 
 then, my sweet one." He kissed her tenderly ; would 
 have kissed her lips, but Kitty turned her head slightly 
 to offer him her cheek. Evelyn in his dumb gratitude 
 laughed as he touched it. "You little shy rosebud, 
 if I forget now and then that I'm your husband, do 
 you ever remember that you're my wife? You em- 
 brace me as if we had just got engaged! Kitty, you 
 deserve . . ." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "A husband less tired than I am. Heigho!" He 
 stretched himself with another yawn. "Never mind, 
 wait till Glair's cleared out of the way and we'll have 
 a second honeymoon." This was a prospect that he 
 could face cheerfully in the remote future: events a 
 month off never troubled Evelyn : anything may hap- 
 pen in a month. "Good night, my sweet." 
 
 "Good night, Proteus." 
 
 "Hey? What's that?" 
 
 "Proteus," said Kitty, shutting the door between 
 them, "was an accomplished amateur actor."
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 GEORGE DENT missed his sister. He was not 
 the man to be bullied by his servants, and 
 the domestic staff at the Manor Farm con- 
 tinued to make him comfortable partly because he 
 gave them good wages and partly because he had the 
 knack of getting good work out of people; but the 
 house felt quiet, the meals were dull and the evenings 
 long unless he went out to dinner somewhere, and 
 going out to dinner was what he called a fag after a 
 long day in the saddle. Indifferent to the opinion 
 of his neighbours, in the spring after Kitty's marriage 
 he was often to be seen working on the farm in his 
 shirtsleeves, through sun and wind and rain ; he loved 
 the land, its labour as well as its fruit; not one of 
 his own ploughmen could drive a straighter furrow 
 than their master. 
 
 One May morning he rode down to Bird's Pastures 
 to see how the hay harvest was coming on. It was 
 one of those days of very early summer when the land- 
 scape is painted chiefly in the colours of mediocrity, 
 blue and green : a sky of pearl and forget-me-not gleam- 
 ing over wide acres of soft, springing grass, watered by 
 little brooks that ran and chattered and flashed in 
 the sunshine, so shallow that the wagtails came down 
 to bathe in them, darting arrowy sparkles this way 
 and that with every flirt of their tails. Perfume after 
 perfume, in layers, pervaded the countryside as Dent 
 rode along: spicy in the village full of wallflowers in 
 
 153
 
 154 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 cottage gardens: honied almost beyond the pleasure 
 of mortal sense under the ivied wall of an orchard rosy 
 with apple blossom ; fresher and fainter beside a field 
 of clover; honied again in open fallows dedicated to 
 
 The beanflower's boon, 
 And the blackbird's tune, 
 And May, and June. 
 
 And everywhere in upland and water-meadow the 
 mays were out, the citadel-mays of Cambridgeshire, 
 branches embossed in dense bloom, ramparts and 
 towers of snow. 
 
 Dent loved it all. His immediate mission was to 
 rate George Basham, aged fifty-eight, for omitting to 
 oil the new hay-cutter. The elder men among his 
 Midland farm-hands were inclined to mistrust machin- 
 ery, and consequently to neglect it. He waged a 
 constant war against their indifference, which if his 
 eye were not on them would leave a costly installa- 
 tion uncovered in the yard during a night of rain. 
 Basham, said Dent, would not have thought of ask- 
 ing his horses to work unless they were properly fed ; 
 and how could he expect the new mower to get along 
 unless it received equal care? Machinery was just 
 as delicate as horses. Basham touched his straw hat 
 and grinned, privately regarding the new mower as 
 a bag o' tricks and the old mare it had supplanted as 
 a human being . . . and Dent, whose sympathies were 
 secretly with Basham, fell back and trotted off to 
 the upper side of the field to to inspect the crop, of 
 course: perhaps also to escape from every human
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 155 
 
 discord and taste the wide lonely sweetness of May- 
 time, but one was not going to acknowledge that weak- 
 ness even to oneself. 
 
 He took off his cap and turned his face, burnt to a 
 beautiful, uniform red bronze, towards the sun. How 
 Kitty would have enjoyed these first warm days! If 
 she had been at home she would have had her hands 
 full in dairy and fowl run, but she would have found 
 time to ride with him on his rounds now and again : 
 and, yes, he would have liked her to be there, a thor- 
 oughly sympathetic companion, who would grumble 
 loudly, like him, about Basham, and pretend, also like 
 him, not to love every sight and sound and scent of 
 May in Cambridgeshire. But Kitty was in Chelsea 
 with Evelyn, and having a very good time, no doubt 
 a much better time than at the Manor Farm; he 
 seemed fond of her, and Lord knew she was fond 
 enough of him. . . . 
 
 Then under the sun's eye he saw some one com- 
 ing across the fields, a woman in a harebell-coloured 
 dress and a wide straw hat: not the kind of woman 
 that would bring Basham a hot lunch tied up in a red 
 handkerchief, nor that other variety, in suede gloves 
 and fringed shoes, irritating yet attractive, that has 
 to be politely shoo'd out of standing hay, but one 
 who walked dutifully up the hedges, chess-board fash- 
 ion, as Kitty would have done. Yes ! and from a long 
 way off her movements reminded him of the familiar 
 small trimness of Kitty. He touched his horse with 
 his heel and cantered towards her. 
 
 "Kitty! what's up? Anything wrong?" 
 
 Kitty stood by his horse's head, turning her face 
 up to him with a smile : her complexion as white and
 
 156 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 pink as ever, her eyes profound and clear. But there 
 was a change in her. 
 
 "Good morning, George. They said you were gone 
 to Bird's Pastures so I followed you. I came by the 
 8.30 from Liverpool Street. How are the crops? 
 The hay looks well, and I saw a lovely show of apple 
 blossom in the orchard on my way down." 
 
 "What's wrong?" 
 
 "How men jump to conclusions! Mayn't I come 
 and see you now and again? Isn't there room for 
 me?" 
 
 Dent got off his horse and began to walk slowly 
 back towards the Manor Farm, drawing Kitty's hand 
 through his arm. On one side of them stretched away a 
 wide hay -meadow, a green tissue inwoven with var- 
 nished gold and white and Tyrian dyes, buttercups 
 and daisies and the purple undergrowth of clover: 
 and, on the other, great branches of wild roses broke 
 out between spires of may, while tangled below in 
 an ivy-net celandines darted their gold rays among 
 the purple turrets of ground ivy. Unorthodox farm- 
 ing : but Dent declared that these high Midland hedge- 
 rows were Nature's provision against the eternal tor- 
 rent of Midland wind. "You may as well tell me 
 the truth now as later," he said soberly but with a 
 friendly pressure of the arm. "Has Eve chucked 
 you?" 
 
 "No, dear : I've chucked him." 
 
 "Has he been unfaithful to you, Kitty?" 
 
 "H'm : what is faith? I do share his heart, but the 
 other lady can't be dragged into a divorce court. 
 You've heard of her before. She's called Clair de 
 Lime."
 
 CLAIE DE LUNE 157 
 
 Dent did not enquire what Kitty meant. He walked 
 on in silence, so deep in thought that if Kitty had 
 not deflected him he would have taken a short cut 
 through the garden, without asking himself how 
 Black Beauty, walking patiently at his heels, was to 
 get over the wishing gate under its cut arch of yew. 
 But when they reached the house he turned into his 
 own study, sat down in his own oak chair, lit a pipe, 
 and quietly but firmly pulled his sister on his knee. 
 "Now, Kitty, you go on and tell me all about it. And 
 don't you try to shield Evelyn. If you were to take 
 your Bible oath you wouldn't make me believe that 
 whatever's gone wrong isn't his fault. At the same 
 time I don't suppose he's altogether to blame. He 
 can't always help himself. There's a queer strain in 
 a lot of these old families; one can't exactly call it 
 a deficiency, but it certainly does produce want of 
 balance. Of course I don't know whether there's any 
 definite misconduct this time anything he could have 
 helped. But for all you look as though butter wouldn't 
 melt in your mouth, my dear, when you're crossed 
 you can be as stubborn as Carter's mule. So that 
 I'm prepared to believe it was six of one and half a 
 dozen of the other. It mostly is when people are mar- 
 ried. Now go on and let's have the truth out of you. 
 It'll save time because I mean to have it in the end." 
 Kitty shivered. 
 
 "The truth, George, is that my marriage has been 
 all along a mistake. I thought it was an experiment, 
 but now I know it was foredoomed a foregone con- 
 clusion. It wasn't my fault, I did my best; and it 
 wasn't Eve's fault either, he never has been less thnn 
 perfect in his manner to me which by the by ought
 
 158 GLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 to have warned me : when people are happily married 
 they aren't eternally on their best behaviour." 
 
 "I haven't a notion what yon're talking about. Pre- 
 sumably you didn't leave Evelyn because he was po- 
 lite to you?" 
 
 "Since you will have the truth yes, I did." 
 
 Dent looked at her with a bewildered expression. 
 "Hang it, there must be an end hanging out some- 
 where! Begin at the beginning. When did you go?" 
 
 "At eight o'clock this morning. When I left my 
 husband's roof it was to place myself under the protec- 
 tion of my brother. Wasn't that the proper thing to 
 do? You ought to be pleased as pleased as one can 
 be in such a melancholy situation ! I hoped you might 
 have missed your little sister and would be glad to 
 have her back." 
 
 "Drop it. This is a bit too serious for your best 
 style of persiflage. When did you make up your mind 
 to go?" 
 
 "Last night: no, this morning, between four and 
 five o'clock." 
 
 "What did Evelyn say when you told him you were 
 going?" 
 
 "I didn't tell him : I went. I shall write to him to- 
 night, but this morning I I wasn't up to it: it'll be 
 a difficult letter, and I couldn't have got anything on 
 paper then except undignified wormlike writhings. 
 For I do feel like a worm, it's no use pretending I 
 don't ! indeed I don't want to pretend before you. I'm 
 not intentionally brazening it out. I'd cry if I could, 
 but I can't." Dent cleared his throat. 
 
 "Has he neglected you, Kitty?" 
 
 "Oh! shamefully. Works at his old opera all day
 
 CLAIB DE LUNE 159 
 
 and half the night. Scarcely ever comes punctually 
 to meals; neglects all his social duties won't even 
 return calls with me or take me to church " 
 
 "Kitty, try not to be more of an idiot than you 
 need!" 
 
 Kitty slipped from her brother's knee and stood 
 by the open window, her small hands lightly clasped 
 behind her waist, her face in profile but not concealed. 
 What was there to conceal? Her delicate features 
 were as impassive as those of a nymph in a cameo. 
 "It's no use, George: I cannot vivisect my own feel- 
 ings even to please you, or betray the intimate pri- 
 vacies of our married life. It wouldn't be fair to Eve- 
 lyn. I can give you the beginning and the end of it 
 in two sentences, and you must be content with them. 
 I won't stay with Evelyn because Evelyn does not 
 love me. That's his only fault if you can call it a 
 fault and there's no other reason." 
 
 "Well, I call that a rotten reason," said Dent. 
 
 He too got up and stood with his back to the bare 
 hearth. From the brother and sister, so fond of each 
 other, physically so different, yet akin in that curious 
 family likeness which comes out in expression and 
 movement and texture of mind as well as body, a 
 faint atmosphere of hostility disengaged itself. "I 
 said it was safe to be Evelyn's fault, but if that were 
 all it's yours. What on earth does it signify whether 
 he's in love with you or not? I suppose you mind 
 more because you're in love with him." He paused : 
 the brutality of this speech struck him after he had 
 uttered it. But facts are facts, and Dent never minced 
 his words. "Still that's all rubbish. Being married 
 hasn't got anything to do with being in love. I never
 
 160 CLAIB DE LUNE 
 
 heard such rubbish. Like a schoolgirl with an album. 
 You had better go back by the next train." 
 
 "Not by the next train, not the next after that nor 
 any other train." 
 
 "But you can't play fast and loose with a fellow in 
 this way ! Do you tell me you went off without even 
 leaving a message for him? Why, he won't know 
 what's become of you !" 
 
 "Oh ! that will be all right," Kitty explained with- 
 out perceptible irony. "Eraser will be there to get him 
 his meals. And he'll have my letter to-morrow morn- 
 ing. I doubt if by then he'll have found out I'm 
 gone." 
 
 "You're separated?" Dent asked bluntly. "Whose 
 doing was that?" 
 
 "Mine. No : Evelyn's." Her hands stiffened as she 
 schooled herself to endurance : it was anguish to have 
 these details torn out of her, but in a breach so serious 
 and permanent, and one in which his own conduct was 
 involved, Dent had a right to examine her. He did 
 so, ruthlessly. "No: he never would have proposed 
 it," Kitty said in her clear, low voice. "But I did, 
 because I saw it would be a relief to him." 
 
 "And I suppose you think it'll be a relief to him 
 when he finds you've left him?" 
 
 "I'm sure it will." 
 
 "You don't know what you're talking about. Men 
 don't feel relieved when their wives go off. No, my 
 girl, they don't: not even when they're sick of them. 
 However badly a man may hate his wife, he don't want 
 other men to know she hated him. What Eve will feel 
 is uncommonly mortified and sore. How do you sup- 
 pose the gossip will go when this prank of yours comes
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 161 
 
 out? First of all, that you've run off with another 
 chap. Then when people hear where you are the 
 women will say Eve's been deceiving you with a chorus 
 girl and the men'll say he wasn't man enough to hold 
 you. Think he'll like that?" 
 
 "No : but it will be a pinprick compared with the 
 enormous relief of having got rid of me. You must 
 give me credit for a certain amount of intelligence 
 and and affection. I'm very fond of him. Fond 
 enough to stay with him on any terms, so far as my 
 own preferences go : too fond to inflict myself on him 
 when the tie between us has become an ever-increasing 
 constraint and gene. Try to imagine the torment of 
 having to be eternally polite to your wife! It is a 
 fate that no woman could have the heart to inflict on a 
 young man so easily bored as Evelyn." 
 
 "But you knew all along that Evelyn wasn't quite 
 like other men : a queer chap sensitive shy 
 
 "Did you?" 
 
 "Lord, yes ! haven't we knocked about together all 
 our lives? I know Eve upside down and inside out." 
 He believed it. 
 
 "Why didn't you warn me?" 
 
 "You've eyes in your head and you've known him as 
 long as I have." 
 
 "I can't remember now what I knew or didn't 
 know," Kitty said with a little despairing movement 
 of the hands that touched her brother against his will. 
 "I knew it was an experiment, but I never dreamt 
 it would fail. Don't scold me any more, I'm so tired! 
 I'm sorry you're cross about it. Of course I knew 
 you wouldn't like it, but I hoped you would let me 
 stay with you till the first storm had blown over. But
 
 162 GLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 since you disapprove so strongly I won't drag you 
 into it. I'll go into rooms by myself for the present 
 in some suitable resort, Brighton or the Channel 
 Islands. Only don't discontinue my allowance, there's 
 a dear! because I should make a pitiful governess, 
 and I can't take any more money from Eve." 
 
 Dent ignored these suggestions, which perhaps were 
 not seriously meant. That there should be a home 
 for Kitty at the Manor Farm so long as he stayed in 
 it was a law of life and unaffected by fraternal tiffs. 
 He came to her and put his arm round her waist. 
 "Now, Kitty, own up: this is all rot, isn't it? You 
 always were obstinate but you were never silly, and 
 this is too silly for words. There is something behind, 
 isn't there? You can tell me: I'm too fond of you 
 both not to be able to make allowances. These genius 
 chaps with a kink in their temperaments ! You've 
 found him out in a scrape, that's the top and bottom of 
 it, and you're shielding him because you're afraid of 
 me. But I ain't given to violence ! Least of all with 
 Eve, because, though he maddens me when I'm not 
 there, face to face with him I'm pretty nearly as weak 
 as you are. It's not as though he weren't the soul of 
 honour ! He's excitable, that's all : and some Jezebel 
 has got hold of him. You don't know, old girl, how 
 difficult it often is for a man to break away." He 
 was tenderly stroking Kitty's hair. "Makes you feels 
 such a brute, unkind, and, what's worse, discourteous. 
 And Eve's one of those fanciful, chivalrous chaps 
 . . . You're my sister and I've got to back you, but I 
 couldn't be hard on him. I've done things I was 
 ashamed of myself, you see. ... It isn't that girl 
 Sophy by any chance, is it?"
 
 GLAIR DE LUNE 163 
 
 "Sophy?" 
 
 "The girl that lived in the flat overhead. I saw 
 her the night I went down to break the news of Philip's 
 death." 
 
 "You met her in Evelyn's rooms?" Kitty asked after 
 a moment. She had never heard Sophy's name before, 
 but her mind worked swiftly. "But she was not was 
 she? living with him then." 
 
 "No, there was nothing wrong then; I know that 
 because Eve gave me his word for it. She was with 
 him that night, but not alone ; if you remember, I told 
 you there were other men with him. I didn't mention 
 her to you because, if it was straight between them, 
 that was all that signified." 
 
 "You certainly are quick at jumping to conclusions ! 
 Why should you suspect her?" 
 
 Dent did not know. "I don't. She lingered in my 
 mind, that was all. More her manner to Eve than his 
 to her but I'll guarantee there was nothing in it. 
 All my point is that if it had been her, or anyone 
 like her, you had better by half forgive him. Facts 
 are facts ; and she was hot stuff the sort that carries 
 a man off his feet. There's propinquity too 
 
 Kitty disengaged herself. "I ought not to listen to 
 you. I've seen her, she still has the rooms overhead ; 
 Eve has never mentioned her name to me and I hadn't 
 the faintest idea he knew her, and they could have 
 met over and over again when I was out of the house. 
 But for all that I am as certain of Evelyn's constancy 
 as I am of my own. I am not jealous, George: oh, 
 I wish I were ! I'd rather have a living rival than 
 than Clair de Lunc." 
 
 Dent laid his firm hands on his sister's shoulders
 
 164 GLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 and looked down into her eyes as if he would have 
 read her very soul. "Is this the truth, Kitty?" 
 
 "It is, on my honour." 
 
 "That you've left your husband, at a moment's no- 
 tice, without one syllable of explanation, for no reason 
 on earth but that he's not so fond of you as you are of 
 him?" 
 
 "Yes, dear." 
 
 "I'm ashamed of you," said Dent. "I thought you 
 had more pride. Better come to lunch now."
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 IN an immense height of blue air, clear as a dia- 
 mond, radiant from brim to brim, a hawk hung 
 immovable as if tied by a thread. Under him lay 
 winter, with summer at its foot : foothills all aglow in 
 grass and flowers, and jewelled with steep brooks that 
 ran in one slant of foam from glacier to valley : ravines 
 of birch, and alder, and sweetbriar, breaking down in 
 a cool emerald shadow over water-gleaming rocks; 
 middle heights of wild red and brown cliff, or velvet 
 of fir forest; in every patch of plain, a red-brown 
 hamlet asleep behind sun-shutters under the knees of 
 an apsed and fortified church ; but dominant eternally 
 over all, remote as though they belonged to another 
 planet, Polar in black and white while the foothills 
 were Southern in green and gold, the towering fron- 
 tier between France and Spain the rampart of the 
 Pyrenees. 
 
 The hawk swooped. A thousand feet down he had 
 marked his prey, and fell on it like a stone from his 
 airy citadel. Now there was not a speck in all the 
 blue firmament, through which the eye could look 
 up and up imagining Platonic sphere beyond sphere 
 and almost able to trace them in those miraculous 
 gradations of azure which seemed to deepen rhythmi- 
 cally in layer after layer of light. All the landscape 
 except the black and white Pyrenean chain reflected 
 this light and glowed with it, for France was in high 
 summer and the immense plain from Perpignan to 
 
 165
 
 166 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 Bordeaux quivered under a haze of heat; but in 
 mountain and foothill the air was still fresh, it was 
 fiery, saturated in sunshine, yet had in it a sparkle 
 from unsunned snows. 
 
 A pastoral country : here a farm and there a farm, 
 linked only by footpaths vagrant over wild hillsides : a 
 population strangely scattered, each family living 
 mainly on the produce of their own plot of soil, and 
 turning wistful eyes towards London or America 
 those lands paved with gold as the French labourer 
 sees them : meeting one another after Mass, or on festal 
 evenings in the roughly-paven courtyard of some up- 
 land hamlet, where to the tune of an accordion, and by 
 the light of an oil lamp nailed to a plane-tree, the boys 
 and girls danced mazurka or chaloupe; doors left un- 
 locked at night, and no hedges to guard the purple 
 treasure of the vineyards, or the silvery olive-groves 
 twisted and bent in every w^rinkled branch ; here men's 
 lives flowed on in patient simplicity, very near to the 
 earth out of which they sprang. 
 
 Lonelier and wilder than any neighbouring dale was 
 the Val d'Evol 1 into which the hawk had dropped. 
 Austerity was the mark of it, the austerity of wine- 
 dark rocks and thin pastures and grey heights that 
 had been left to sleep in the sun since the creation of 
 the world ; austerity and solitude and a Pagan harsh- 
 ness of nudity stripped to the very bone. Along it 
 
 iThe places are real places, but their relative situations are al- 
 tered. All however are within walking distance of the Hotel Sicart 
 at Olette: prix de pension 20 frs. par jour, cuisine vraiment supe"- 
 rieure. ... I wish to put on record that when we reached this inn 
 without warning, at 8.45 p. m. on a pouring night in May, before 
 the season began, Mademoiselle served to us within some twenty 
 minutes a dinner of soup, trout, sweetbreads, veal cutlets, Roque- 
 fort cheese, and white wine. ... It is a grateful memory.
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 167 
 
 for the sixteen kilometres from Ria there was neither 
 highway nor hamlet, nothing but a rough corniche 
 cart track, which forsook the tiny towns beaded on 
 the railway to wind upward into the hills in alternate 
 promontory and bay. Soon the last stripe of tillage 
 faded out, and the last noise of human habitation. 
 Cliffs of rust-red limestone, bare but for an occasional 
 slant of turf, towered on either hand to a height 
 of four or five thousand feet, breaking overhead into 
 peaks dark with mountain-bloom, and underfoot into 
 pale crags washed by a torrent so blanched in the foam 
 of a thousand rapids that it shone like a vein of snow. 
 And midway over it, like a hillside girdle, the cart 
 track went on ever higher and higher, opening out ever 
 fresh glens of violet valley and pale foreheads of 
 crossed and receding cliff, till without warning one 
 came round a bend on the lateral ravine of Evol a 
 crevice of emerald, a stream of waterfalls, and an inn. 
 A white building with faded grey sun-shutters, the 
 cafe of Evol stood turning its back on the mountain 
 side, fifteen hundred feet above the torrent in the val- 
 ley, and raised off the road by a flight of worn stone 
 steps. On either side of the bay that sheltered it a 
 copse of fir trees lifted their straight, dark, and deli- 
 cate tracery into the morning blue, then came red rock 
 covered with a low growth of cistus and the spires of 
 black hollies, and then, sloping in and out of the 
 brook's precipitous channel, a lawn of silken pasture 
 shadowed by the moister growth of hazel and ash- 
 slender saplings ankle-deep in tine turf thicksown 
 with mountain pink and wild sweetwilliam and hot- 
 scented purple orchid. It was very early. The 
 sun had not been up for long, and in every patch of
 
 168 CLAIB DE LUNE 
 
 shade the dew lay thick and grey. Only the hawk and 
 the dragonflies and the butterflies were awake : from 
 brim to brim there was no other sign of life to be seen, 
 nor so much as a shepherd's hut to send up its waif of 
 smoke into the stainless air. 
 
 At length the inn door opened and a young man, 
 barefoot in white flannel trousers and a white shirt, 
 came out on the flagged terrasse at the top of the 
 stone stair. He stood for a minute sunning himself 
 in sparkle and glow, while gold rays, shooting almost 
 level over the Mediterranean ranges, painted the 
 shadow of a vine trellis on the bare arm and hand 
 thrown up to shield his eyes, then stepping delicately 
 for fear of gorse or thorns took a path which led 
 behind the inn and through the cistus bushes. Where 
 it began to be fledged with living stone he left it for 
 the wet turf, striking straight across to the brook at 
 a spot where it collected and deepened into a pool; 
 and there, after one cursory glance round him to make 
 sure that mountains, valley, and tributary ravine were 
 as empty as ever, flung off his clothes and plunged in. 
 
 Exquisite the bubbling chill of the water, fresh from 
 unsunned springs! It was a bath for a nymph: a 
 gush of crystal falling into a bowl of marble, and 
 coiled there in eddying amber between shade and sun, 
 before spilling itself again over a marble lip in a film 
 of glass so clear as to be almost invisible in its flow. 
 From the worn stones all round delicate ferns were 
 growing, and the slender tall shaft of an ash-tree. It 
 was not wide enough to swim in, but when Evelyn 
 stood upright in it the ripples lapped over his chest, 
 while against his thigh a spire of waterweed swayed 
 to and fro, green as moss and almost as impalpable
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 169 
 
 as a cloud. An immense dragonfly, more brilliant 
 than a lady's fan, alit on a plumy stem of grass to 
 watch his toilet. Near by in a miniature tract of 
 marsh grew a plantation of dwarf reeds, every dark 
 spear carrying as if impaled on it a motionless insect 
 no bigger than a pea and mailed in a coat of turquoise. 
 Lizards, running on their tiny brown hands, flickered 
 under stones on the brink when his shadow crossed 
 them, and in the densest foliage of the ash-tree a ci- 
 cada, with red-brown beetle's body and glassy wings, 
 accompanied him with its monotonous shrill stridula- 
 tion, hz-z-z, hz-z-z, vibrating in a spot of sunshine 
 among the grey, pointed leaves. 
 
 Washed clean in the living whirl of the water, he 
 flung himself on the turf to dry. The sun was hot 
 already : soon the moisture that covered his body con- 
 tracted into separate beads : and soon these too were 
 gone, dried up, exhaled into the blue abyss of air. 
 Evelyn rolled over into the shadow and lay face down- 
 ward, sensuously aware of the cool contact of scores 
 of tiny green blades, each suave as crumpled silk and 
 hung with its own chill drop ; he shivered from head to 
 foot, but he was not cold under his skin : as soon as 
 he began to be so he rolled back into the sun and 
 stretched out his limbs under it, enjoying the mere sen- 
 sation of nakedness in that vast and burning solitude, 
 where no one ever came unless it were now and again 
 a shepherd or goatherd, heralded far off by the tink- 
 ling of bells. "Off, ye lendings," cried Lear when 
 he went out heartbroken into the storm, and it was 
 the same instinct that now made Evelyn court Nature 
 like a lover, because after being forced into too close 
 and feverish contact with other lives it soothed him to
 
 170 GLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 lie on the breast of a chastity inviolate and inviolable, 
 savagely and coldly pure. 
 
 He dressed at length and returned to the inn for 
 breakfast, feeling very hungry he who in Chelsea had 
 had to be coaxed to every meal. He flung the inn 
 door wide open, flung open the shutters (unlike the 
 Pyrenean native, Evelyn was not afraid of the sun), 
 flung open the doors through parlour and kitchen 
 so that the breath of the mountains blew in and out 
 of the house. There was no one in it but himself. 
 Before catching his eve it had stood for years deco- 
 rated with a fading ""PROPRIETE A VENDRE" 
 notice : an estaminet to which custom never came be- 
 cause the building of another road had diverted all 
 traffic except an occasional pack-mule. Monsieur 
 Henri Blanc was only too glad to remove with his 
 family to Olette and be rid of a bad bargain. No one 
 troubled Evelyn ; though he kept on his shelves a few 
 litres of the smooth wine of the country, a flagon 
 of cognac, a flagon of anisette, a flagon of Byrrh, and 
 some sweet sirops, in case a traveller came his way. 
 
 There were two living rooms below and two bed- 
 rooms above, airy and spacious with their wavy 
 wooden floors and their pale distemper, in spite of 
 small windows deepset in thick walls, and deep alcoves 
 where one was intended to sleep behind curtains out of 
 the way of a draught. The groundfloor furniture, 
 bought in Perpignan or taken over with the house, 
 consisted mainly of wooden chairs and tables and a 
 hanging mahogany clock with an inlaid dial. The 
 .kitchen fireplace was a wide brick hearth under an 
 .open chimney, where Madame Blanc had dressed 
 savoury meat in a saucepan hung gipsy-fashion from
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 171 
 
 an iron tripod over a handful of sticks; the parlour 
 possessed one of those immense foreign stoves which 
 burn anything and everything from charcoal to rabbit 
 skins. Evelyn was equally incapable of coping with 
 either of them. He had written for a Primus stove 
 from England and cooked on that. He had not much 
 to cook, in point of fact : once a week a cart from Ria 
 came up to bring him provisions from Ria's one and 
 only shop, and between whiles he made do with Mad- 
 ame Blanc's vegetable garden, and eggs and milk from 
 a farm two miles away. 
 
 Coming in glowing from head to foot and famished 
 from his bath, Evelyn could not sit down to breakfast 
 directly. He had to light the Primus first, husband- 
 ing his matches because he had forgotten to put any 
 down in his last Ria order, and while a kettle boiled 
 on one extension, and a potful of eggs on the other, 
 he turned to and swept out the parlour with a wet 
 cloth tied over a mop. By the time this job was done 
 his coffee was ready, and he sat on the doorstep to 
 drink it, and to wolf down four eggs and half a loaf 
 of dark warbread and a pat of butter as pure as thick 
 cream ; there should have been jam, but that too had 
 been forgotten. There were still gaps in Evelyn's 
 economy, though not so many as a twelvemonth ago ; 
 painful experience had taught him not to forget par- 
 affin, bread, or meat, nor yet to fill the Primus brim- 
 ful of oil and leave the pumprod sticking out, an in- 
 discretion which had more than once produced a mag- 
 nificent blaze and stunk the house out and all but 
 burnt it down. 
 
 And even after breakfast he had to make his bed 
 and tidy his room, fetch water from the stream and
 
 172 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 wash up and shave himself, dig and peel potatoes and 
 set them on to boil, and decide between the rival 
 charms of baked rice and semolina; most men would 
 have lunched off cold beef and cheese, but Evelyn 
 had an intemperate passion for milk puddings, and 
 baked himself a large one three or four times a week. 
 He could eat rice-milk nearly raw faute de mieux, 
 when, as occasionally happened, the Primus, owing 
 to an unfortunate misunderstanding, sulked and went 
 on strike. Take it by and large there was plenty 
 to do, even on a theory of existence which cooked 
 everything in an earthenware casserole till it broke 
 and then bought a new one (no power on earth would 
 have induced Evelyn to handle an iron pot) ; for one 
 must eat, and sweep, and wash up, and once a week 
 scrub the floor. And that, Evelyn reflected, is where 
 civilised man labours under a disadvantage. Your 
 primitive savage would not have had to wait till ten 
 o'clock before addressing himself to Evelyn's one 
 reckless imported luxury, a concert grand piano that 
 had come at untold expense by rail and motor lorry 
 all the way from Toulouse ; on the other hand the poor 
 Indian, when at length free to sit down before it, 
 would not have been literally trembling with delight 
 as Evelyn was, his eyes lit with desire, his fingers 
 caressing the keys as a man caresses his mistress. 
 
 The day wore on. Towards noon the sun drew up 
 out of the melting snows a weft of cloud, an ethereal 
 mosaic patterned into innumerable shell-shaped rip- 
 plings, which instead of dimming his glory were first 
 transfigured by it into the prismatic brilliance of a 
 halo as bright as a rainbow, and afterwards absorbed 
 without leaving any stain. Later, at sunset, they came
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 173 
 
 again for an hour, or the low light revealed their un- 
 suspected and swiftly fading presence: mists flying 
 in a garland of vermilion, fairy girls with twisted 
 petticoats and arms lifted sideways in a long dance 
 round the west, while down the very middle of the sky 
 the breast-plume of an osprey, with rosy spine and 
 fringe of fire, lay floating over gentian-blue, sea-blue, 
 amethyst, and gold. . . . These were the events of 
 Evelyn's day. 
 
 It was twilight when he shut the piano. Twilight 
 as one reckoned twilight at that height and in those 
 latitudes, ten o'clock by Evelyn's watch but not yet 
 dark, the hollow of the west still green from sunset, 
 the stars twinkling and sparkling with a brilliancy 
 which in England would have threatened frost. He 
 closed the shutters, closed the window, lit a candle, 
 and blew out his lamp ; then before going to bed lin- 
 gered in his open doorway, at the top of the high per- 
 ron, looking up into the immense, ray-strewn, wind- 
 less vault of a Pyrenean night. 
 
 The breath of it was clear and sparkling, yet so 
 mild that in his shirt and trousers Evelyn was quite 
 warm. He rarely wore anything more unless he 
 went down to Ria, when he flung on a blazer and im- 
 patiently put his feet into socks and London boots. 
 Now, standing on bare stone, he was barefoot, and 
 liked the crisping chill of it. In all his life Evelyn 
 had never experienced such a glow of health as had 
 come over him in his mountain eyrie. All the coun- 
 tryside for ten miles round knew that a mad English- 
 man had bought the inn of 6vol and was alone in 
 it day and night, far out of earshot of his nearest
 
 174 CLAIE DE LUNE 
 
 neighbour, but Evelyn never locked his door. Nor had 
 he a revolver; nor a stick even, except one cut with 
 his own pocket-knife from a Ria holly. He slept every 
 evening- from half past ten till five, deeply, dreamlessly, 
 drenched in repose : such sleep as he had not enjoyed 
 since his childhood. 
 
 Lighting a cigarette, he sat down on the doorstep 
 to listen to the noises of the night, so much louder and 
 more distinct than the same noises are by day. All 
 sounds were either a pleasure to him or a pain, from 
 the metallically orchestral whirr of a dynamo to the 
 acid whine of a gnat ; and all to-night were pleasure. 
 In a continuous weaving of harmony he could distin- 
 guish several different streams; the laughing chatter 
 of the brook behind him, with one deep sob in it where 
 it formed his bathing pool: the roar of the glacier 
 torrent in the valley bottom : the slender and evanes- 
 cent murmur of a distant cascade : the lisp and chuckle 
 of runnels buried out of sight under a coverture of 
 grass. Then intermittent came the hunting cry of 
 an owl flying among the crags far off under his feet, 
 and the chirp, chirp, chirp of a cricket on the Blancs' 
 cold hearth, and the wire-twanged squeak of a bat, 
 and the rattle of leathern wings as it flickered off 
 again, startled to come unexpectedly on this member 
 of the enemy race; and presently a rustling among 
 the cistus bushes hard by but what that was he could 
 not tell, there are so many small and shy animals 
 that go about their affairs quietly after dark. . . . 
 
 And after that, when he had just risen to return 
 to the house, a different sound which was neither 
 brook, nor owl, nor field-rat, nor any other noise of 
 animal life or nature. Evelyn stiffened and stood to
 
 CLAIE DE LUNE 175 
 
 attention, straining his ears, which were naturally 
 very keen. It came again apparently from a distant 
 winding of the Ria track. Evelyn relit the lamp and 
 came out holding it above his head. "Hoik !" he called, 
 standing at the top of the steps. Instantly the cry 
 was repeated, and now very much more clearly, as 
 if the wayfarer had doubled the last bluff: soon foot- 
 steps became audible, a long ringing stride, not to 
 be mistaken for the free, flat, soundless tread of a 
 peasant's espadrilles. Evelyn continued to stand 
 holding up the lamp, whose light fell over his head and 
 lifted arm. He was blinded by it and could see noth- 
 ing, not even when the stranger came into the direct 
 circle of its rays. "You've missed your way?" he said 
 in his clear, pure, idiomatic French, the language of 
 Paris and the accent of a musician. "It's a lonely 
 road, and you might easily have had to sleep under 
 the stars. But fortunately I can give you a shake- 
 down for the night 
 
 The stranger was as much blinded as Evelyn. 
 
 "Bon soir. Je ne parle pas beaucoup f ran^ais. Si 
 ceci est iDvol, voulez-vous dire le monsieur anglais 
 qui vive qui vit iciqueje suis ici, s'il vous plait?"
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 EVELYN gave an irrepressible start. 
 "George?" 
 "Hullo, Eve! is that you?" 
 
 "Is my wife with you?" 
 
 "No, I left her at Perpignan." 
 
 "Oh, you did, did you?" said Evelyn smiling. 
 "Well, come in, come in ! since you've run me to earth, 
 I can but make you free of my burrow. Pity you 
 never sent word you were coming or I'd have got in a 
 beefsteak Primus and I shine at a beefsteak." 
 
 He held open the door while Dent mounted the 
 steps. "Are you alone here?" Dent asked frowning, 
 his observant eye roving round the parlour and taking 
 note of its bare simplicity. "Very dangerous. Any- 
 body could break down that door. A couple of 
 determined men could rob and murder you and be over 
 the frontier into Spain before the crime was dis- 
 covered." 
 
 "You have such a rich inventive faculty," Evelyn 
 remarked, on one knee before the Primus, which he 
 was trying to light, "that you ought to earn your 
 fortune by writing dime novels. If I sat down and 
 thought for a fortnight these ideas would never come 
 into my head, whereas your fertile fancy produces a 
 whole crop of them at five minutes' notice. Oh! 
 Blow!" In his impatience he had lit the stove too 
 soon, and a gush of yellow flame shot up, volleying 
 smoke, in a hopeful effort to singe his hair. "I always 
 
 176
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 177 
 
 forget how long you have to go on saying your prayers 
 to this beastly thing before you begin to pump. Do 
 you know anything about a Primus? You do? The 
 Lord be praised ! Now I really do begin to feel glad 
 to see you. Go on and contend with it, my blue-eyed 
 lad, while I lay the table." 
 
 Dent set himself to soothe the little stove's ruffled 
 feelings while Evelyn went about his domestic duties. 
 Dent was tired from a long railway journey in great 
 heat and a long uphill walk from Ria where he had 
 left the train. Ten minutes ago he had been hating 
 Kitty's husband from collar to shoelace, but from the 
 first moment of meeting Evelyn his anger had been 
 miraculously dissipated, as if charmed away by the 
 mere renewal of contact with his old friend. How 
 well the fellow looked, confound him! How alert 
 and active! there were a spring in his step and an 
 elasticity in his movements which he had not possessed 
 in London. He had no business to be cheerful, and 
 yet it was pleasant to find him looking so well; 
 pleasant also to eat the excellent supper that Evelyn 
 set on the table, fried ham and eggs and Roquefort 
 cheese washed down with the white wine of Ronciaulx 
 and crowned with a Benedictine; and pleasant after- 
 wards to sit on the doorstep and light a pipe, and listen 
 like Evelyn to the mysterious and peaceful -murmurs 
 of the night. 
 
 But now came a moment which was not so pleasant, 
 and which perhaps Evelyn too would have been glad 
 to defer. He lingered long over the washing up of 
 Dent's plate and tumbler and knife and fork. But 
 he had to come out at length and sit down ly his 
 brother-in-law, leaving the door open behind them
 
 178 CLAIE DE LUNB 
 
 and no light but a candle burning in the white and 
 brown parlour. There was no green glow of sunset 
 now. Unshadowed stars triumphed over a deepening 
 hush, through which it seemed one could almost hear 
 the very dew distilling on grass blade and flower petal. 
 An immense moth came sailing by on broad wings 
 freakishly patterned in scarlet and black and grey, 
 their thick down tipped with iridescence as it fluttered 
 in the ray from Evelyn's door. Evelyn fanned it away 
 with his handkerchief, a characteristic action; a law 
 of the universe to which in thirty years he had not 
 grown resigned was Nature's careless and cruel waste 
 of life, and the singed bodies of flies would distract 
 him even from Clair de Lune. When the wanderer 
 fluttered back he went in and blew out the candle. 
 Now all was dark but for the dim glow of Dent's pipe. 
 Evelyn returned to his seat on the doorstep. Silently, 
 without turning his head, Dent flung an arm over 
 Evelyn's shoulders. 
 
 "It isn't war then?" 
 
 "No," said Dent with a heavy sigh, "no. I never 
 can keep it up when I see you, Eve." He straightened 
 himself, sitting easily with knees apart and his free 
 hand dropped between them. "But I haven't felt very 
 warm towards you these thirteen months since you 
 disappeared. What have you been doing with your- 
 self? you haven't been in this outlandish pothouse all 
 the time?" 
 
 "Practically. I've lived here for a twelvemonth." 
 
 "What, all through the winter?" 
 
 "All through the snows ; and with no hot water laid 
 on, think o' that now ! Primus and I and a charcoal 
 brazier did the trick between us."
 
 GLAIR DE LUNE 179 
 
 Calling to mind the redhot winter temperature of 
 Evelyn's rooms in Chelsea, Dent was confounded. 
 "But why? What do you do with yourself all day?" 
 
 "Work at Clair de Lune. I've re-written three- 
 quarters of it since I came out here. I sent off a 
 batch of it to Millerand a fortnight ago. He talks of 
 producing it next season in Paris if the rest of it is 
 up to sample. And it will be. It's good work," said 
 Evelyn with simplicity. "Far and away the best 
 thing I've ever done. Meredith said a lot of it was 
 weak and imitative, when he tried it over in town, 
 and so it w r as, and no wonder; over there one can't 
 hear oneself think. But it's all different now 
 fresher stronger. See there." He pointed with his 
 hand to the Pyrenean rampart that loomed up, high 
 above the high cliffs opposite, obliterating the horizon 
 stars. Over one black eastern tower, too steep for 
 snow, too cold for vegetation, every cavern and 
 precipice standing out on it darkly clear as if etched 
 on steel, a profound glow was beginning to be dif- 
 fused. "Moonrise," said Evelyn. 
 
 "The moon . . . peak" 
 
 " 'The moon put forth a little diamond peak.* " 
 She did so ; a keen spark like a fire on the rocky rim. 
 "I've watched that night after night, and I've tried to 
 put some of the magic of it into my tunes, and I've 
 partly succeeded. Of course not wholly, no one but 
 God the Father ever looked on the work of His hands 
 and saw that it was all good, but Clair de Lune is as 
 good as I can make it, now or ever; it'll be putting its 
 magic over people long after I'm in my grave."
 
 180 GLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 And this was the fretful genius who had winced 
 and sulked under Meredith's criticism? Though 
 Dent had not been present at the scene, it had been 
 described for him by Kitty's lively pen. What a 
 change ! Evelyn was not shy now nor irritable either ; 
 in his mountain eyrie he seemed to have acquired the 
 more mature and serene temper of the artist whose 
 final standard is "his own solitary reperception and 
 ratification of what is fine." Dent felt the change 
 though he could not have defined it. 
 
 "You're a strange fellow, Eve." 
 
 "Now tell me how you found me." 
 
 "I didn't. Meredith found you." 
 
 "Edmund Meredith? But I haven't written to him 
 since I left England !" 
 
 "No, but he got your address out of that chap Miller- 
 and you were talking about just now. He runs some 
 sort of musical show in Paris, doesn't he?" Evelyn 
 assented smiling. "Well, Meredith was over in Paris 
 a few days ago, and he wrote and told me that he had 
 heard a thing by an anonymous composer which he 
 was absolutely certain was yours, and recently 
 written ; it seems he recognised the style, or the tunes : 
 anyhow it was this chap's band that played it, and 
 Meredith suggested that he would be able to give 
 information if I authorised him to bring pressure to 
 bear." 
 
 "So he got my address from Millerand, did he? 
 And that is even more singular because Millerand 
 never had it. Not a soul had it till this April, when 
 I had to get in touch with him for Glair de Lune; and 
 even then our business was all done through a third 
 party, an agent in town whose discretion I could trust,
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 181 
 
 or thought I could. What? Oh! no, not Dimsdale 
 Smith I knew Kitty could wind him round her finger. 
 Someone as close as wax and right out of the track 
 of enquiry or so I thought; but no doubt Meredith 
 has his own means of getting information." Evelyn's 
 tone was dry. "So it was my Suite Pyr6n6enne that 
 gave me away? I knew there was danger in it, but 
 Millerand was keen on producing it, and Paris seemed 
 pretty safe as you and Kitty never go abroad. I 
 forgot that Meredith was intimate with Millerand. 
 For that matter I forgot the existence of Meredith. 
 Where did you run across him? Kitty knew him but 
 you never did." 
 
 "Haven't you heard that it was he who rented 
 Temple Evelyn?" 
 
 "Meredith rented Temple Evelyn? Meredith did?" 
 "Aren't you in touch with anyone in England?" 
 "Remotely. I get letters from my lawyer now and 
 again. They lie at Perpignan, poste restante, till I 
 call for them. I had heard that a tenant had turned 
 up, but wished to withhold his name. So long as he 
 paid in advance it was all one to me so I asked no 
 questions. Was it really Meredith? What an extra- 
 ordinary thing for him to do! Of course Hanmer's 
 knew who it was. 'Had a banker's reference and \\ crc 
 prepared to guarantee him 'a client of unexception- 
 able standing but who preferred to remain anony- 
 mous', that's what they wrote. I recollect now that 
 Meredith was on the look out for a place in the 
 country, but it never crossed my mind that he was the 
 unexceptionable gentleman." Evelyn's face was dark 
 and vexed, and Dent wondered why his voice stiffened 
 when he pronounced Meredith's name. But the cloud
 
 182 CLAIK DE LUNE 
 
 lifted, or he flung it off. "And he came to live there? 
 I dare say then you've seen a good deal of him." 
 
 "Pretty fair," said Dent. Evelyn watched him 
 keenly, but there was no trace of confusion or second 
 thought in his manner. "Never mind about Meredith 
 now." Dent waited to knock the ashes out of his 
 pipe. "You and I must come to an understanding, 
 Eve." 
 
 "Muy bien. Ask what you will and don't be afraid 
 of hurting my feelings ; there's no spot so insensitive 
 as an old scar." 
 
 "I don't know about that," said Dent slowly, "if 
 you rip it open. I don't want to hurt you. I don't 
 even know who was to blame. Unless Kitty had 
 grounds of complaint that she's never disclosed to 
 me . . ." Again he waited. But Evelyn remained 
 silent, a profile impenetrable in starlight under a dark 
 trellising of vine. "Which isn't likely: in fact she 
 gave me her word for your innocence, and I've never 
 known Kitty tell a lie in her life. If you were 
 innocent she had no right to leave you." 
 
 "Hear, hear ! and I hope you told her so." 
 
 Dent resumed, patient, unmoved by Evelyn's levity. 
 "I was cross enough when she turned up at the Manor 
 Farm. But women are fanciful; and Kitty was a 
 young wife, and there are elements of trouble in most 
 marriages. I made sure you and she would come 
 together again after a bit. When I went to Chelsea 
 and found you gone, you could have knocked me down 
 with a feather." 
 
 "What a bold and original metaphor! But so all 
 your metaphors are, old George. After you with that 
 match I forgot to order any in my last Ria cargo,
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 183 
 
 and there's only half a box to last till Saturday. 
 Primus lives on matches. Phew! Bother these 
 French rockets, the sulphur's gone up my nose." He 
 sneezed, petulantly. "Well, go on. What did you 
 do?" 
 
 "Rounded up your bank: but they refused, quite 
 properly, to pass on a client's address. Then I tried 
 the agents who were handling Temple Evelyn, but I 
 soon found that door was locked. You covered your 
 tracks well." 
 
 "A private enquiry agent would have run me down 
 in a jiffy." 
 
 "Yes, my boy, but Kitty blocked that move. I had 
 no scruples, don't you think it, but she was as stubborn 
 as Carter's mule." 
 
 "By the by, there was no child, I suppose?" 
 
 "Whose child?" 
 
 Evelyn arched his eyebrows. "Mine!" 
 
 "Oh ! No," said Dent disconcerted : "was there any 
 likelihood? I hadn't heard" 
 
 "Not so far as I know," said Evelyn with his slow, 
 pleasant laugh. "But these things do happen. What 
 an old bachelor you are, George ! or should I say an 
 old maid? Well, well, I won't pretend I was glad 
 when you ran me down." He smiled into Dent's eyes. 
 "But I am uncommonly pleased to see you all the same. 
 Once or twice lately I've had a queer sensation which 
 I think must be what they call feeling lonely ; I never 
 had it before, but it was quite painful while it lasted. 
 So I shan't vanish again. Here I am, at your servi<r, 
 for Little Johnny's catechism. And to begin : What 
 is your name? 'Evelyn Charles Evelyn/ Were you 
 faithful to your wife? I know you must want to ask
 
 184 CLAIB DE LUNE 
 
 me this : you seem uncertain whether Kitty might not 
 lie to shelter me, but I know you won't believe I should 
 lie to shelter myself. 'Yes, I was faithful.' In all 
 our married life I haven't wronged Kitty in act or 
 word : I never had even a thought that was untrue to 
 her. You accept Little Johnny's assurance?" 
 
 "Yes," said Dent on a dropped breath and tightening 
 his grip on Evelyn's shoulder. 
 
 "Now shall I describe the crisis as Little Johnny 
 saw it? Deuced piquant it was; if it had happened 
 to any other man I should have been amused. My 
 wife kissed me good night at five one morning and fled 
 at eight. Nothing could have happened in the interim 
 and I had no warning. Her letter, which I didn't get 
 till the day after and, by the by, thanks for your 
 wire : it spared me twenty-four hours of anxiety her 
 letter when it came wasn't illuminating. You know 
 what was in it?" 
 
 "No: she never let me see.it." 
 
 "I burnt it on the spot, but I can give you the 
 substance of it because it wasn't long and it was 
 damned easy to remember. She wrote : <I have left you. 
 I have gone home to George and I am not coming 
 back. There is no law that can make me, or if there 
 were I had rather shoot myself. I hope you will be 
 happy. I know you will be glad/ " He did not add 
 that on her dressing table he had found the case con- 
 taining her sapphires and an even more laconic 
 message: "Please sell these and pay Mr. Meredith. 
 They aren't your gift to me, if they weren't yours to 
 give." 
 
 "Kitty wrote like that to you?" 
 
 "Definitive, wasn't it?"
 
 GLAIR DE LUNE 185 
 
 "Was she out of her senses?" 
 
 "It was lucid enough," said Evelyn drily. "Lucid 
 and uncompromising. When I read it, England 
 didn't seem wide enough to hold the two of us. To 
 be frank, that cinema-touch about the law put me 
 off it wasn't worthy of Kitty. If there is one 
 principle on earth that I stand for, it's a deep and 
 unswerving regard for personal freedom. Granting 
 that I was insupportable, she needn't have run: she 
 had nothing to fear from me." 
 
 "That also I accept." 
 
 "Mind, I won't have Kitty rowed. Marriage isn't 
 a unison. It's a duet, and a stiff one ; and Kitty tried 
 her hardest to match her darling little pipe to mine. 
 It wasn't her fault if we were out of tune from the 
 beginning. So there must be no fraternising with the 
 enemy, old man ; she's your sister, and right or wrong 
 you'll have to stand by her. For I must have made 
 her suffer, and cruelly I must have been mercilessly 
 blind. I feel this so strongly that if you really were 
 my brother instead of hers, which somehow I often feel 
 as if you were, I shouldn't have tried to justify 
 myself I should have let judgment go against me by 
 default." 
 
 "No fear," said Dent, perfectly understanding his 
 friend's attitude. "I'll back her up through thick and 
 thin. But it was a rotten letter." 
 
 He sat silent awhile, meditating on Evelyn's tale. 
 There was a link wanting in it, for Kitty must have 
 had some motive for flight: the explanation that. 
 cleared up Evelyn's conduct left hers a darker mystery 
 than before. But the relationship of marriage is so 
 delicate, and its web is interwoven of so many small
 
 186 CLAIE DE LUNE 
 
 and tender filaments, that when it tears no onlooker 
 can ever tell precisely at what point it has given way. 
 "Thank God," Dent reflected, "there's nothing really 
 wrong ! Of course one can't expect Eve to behave like 
 an ordinary sensible chap." Eemembering his anger 
 when he found that Evelyn, thirty hours after Kitty's 
 desertion, had fled in his turn, disappearing like a 
 comet into space, he was glad he had not crossed Eve- 
 lyn's tracks at once. Time had cooled his judgment 
 and he had come to Evol prepared to hear Evelyn 
 out before bringing up his own heavy guns, and now 
 they were put out of action ; Evelyn had behaved boy- 
 ishly, but some latitude would have been due to any 
 man after reading that letter from a six-months' bride. 
 The shame and distress of the young husband must 
 have been very great. 
 
 "What did you do then?" 
 
 "I haven't an idea. I recollect taking her note 
 from Fraser and tearing it open to read it, and striking 
 a match to burn it, and scattering the ashes out of my 
 window. After that a blank till my wits came back 
 to me on the deck of a Channel steamer. I had a 
 rough crossing and I was most miserably ill." Evelyn 
 laughed. "Unromantic, wasn't it? But the sickness 
 must have done me good and cleared my head, for I 
 can remember how things began to take shape again 
 bit by bit as they do when one's coming round after an 
 anaesthetic. I'd had a good deal of over-strain all 
 the spring, grinding at Clair under difficult conditions, 
 and I suppose I wasn't far off a break-down when this 
 blow came and knocked me silly." 
 
 Clear over mountain and valley the moving moon 
 was going up the sky. Fifteen hundred feet below,
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 187 
 
 the glacier torrent and its border crags lay drenched 
 in gloom: but the cliffs behind stood up striped in 
 great patches of shade and shine like black and white 
 marble, and behind again, flung back by the interven- 
 ing haze of light into a ghostly distance, height after 
 height of the Pyrenean range stretched out shadowy 
 wings under ineffable lustres. Among the low-grown 
 cistus bushes and in the saplings that overhung 
 Evelyn's tributary stream, every sprig and leaf stood 
 up immovable like filigree, darkly and delicately clear, 
 while the lawns that sloped in and out of its falling 
 channel, short turf sprinkled with the shut buds of 
 flowers, were whitened by a mingling of dew and 
 moonshine. Yet, though it was lighter than many an 
 English winter's day, Dent could not read Evelyn's 
 features, or the melancholy smiling eyes which at once 
 disarmed him by their frankness and baffled him by 
 their reserve. But he had his own barometer: his 
 arm was still over Evelyn and through its firm, warm 
 pressure he was able to maintain communications 
 with the difficult shy nature, last scion of the old stock 
 to which his fathers had sworn fealty. That was a 
 fact Dent never forgot ; and he understood facts and 
 knew how to deal with them. Three hundred years 
 ago another George Dent had ridden over Marston 
 Moor knee to knee with Ralph Evelyn, a sober trooper 
 who conceived it his chief military duty to look after 
 his rather rakehelly Captain: and, since benefits 
 conferred form a more lasting tie than benefits re- 
 ceived, it was still a Dent's mission to look after an 
 Evelyn and to keep him out of scrapes as well as out 
 of danger. Ralph's sergeant had not scrupled to chide
 
 188 CLAIE DE LUNE 
 
 his officer when Ralph wished to get drunk at inop- 
 portune moments. 
 
 "It was rotten for you. I can't think what made 
 Kitty write it ; she must have had some maggot in her 
 head, because she always was so fond of you fonder, 
 if anything, than you were of her. No wonder she 
 never let me see it. She knew I never should have let 
 her send it." So much for the sugar coating, and now 
 for the pill. "But all the same, my dear old 
 man, you shouldn't have gone off like that ! It looks 
 to me like a misunderstanding, but if it wasn't if you 
 and Kitty really did come up against some shut door 
 you ought to have been able to get along on second 
 best. As I said to Kitty, marriage doesn't begin and 
 end with falling in love ; if it did there'd be precious 
 few marriages that survived the honeymoon. But the 
 world doesn't come to an end directly two people 
 realise that one of them snores and the other sniffs, 
 which I suppose was about the size of it in your case. 
 It's not as if there'd been no foundation of respect or 
 affection to build up your lives on ! The bloom might 
 have got a bit chipped, well, you know what I mean, 
 but there'd have been plenty left to go on on." Dent's 
 voice, deep and musical, always had a soothing effect 
 on Evelyn ; from no other lips would he have listened 
 to these ill-expressed, trite, and disconnected moral- 
 ities. 
 
 "And even that isn't all," Dent resumed when 
 Evelyn continued silent. You'd have had children 
 after a bit to bind you together. I know you're not 
 a religious chap, and marriage to you isn't a sacra- 
 ment. But you do believe in God, don't you?" 
 Evelyn gave an inarticulate assent. He had a faith
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 189 
 
 of his own, and though he would have been puzzled 
 to define it, and neither churchman nor sceptic would 
 have thought much of it, he found in it all that his 
 spirit needed to rest on a rule of conduct and a vision 
 of beauty. "And in doing your duty by other people? 
 You wouldn't say, would you, that a man was entitled 
 to go slap across country for what he wanted without 
 minding riding off other fellows on his way? Well, 
 what I mean is, our lives are all tangled up. You're 
 not only the individual Charles Evelyn, but your 
 father's heir, and Philip's brother, and Kitty's hus- 
 band, and the potential father of Kitty's children. 
 Kitty was built to be a mother of sons. But she won't 
 have any if you don't come back to her." 
 
 But still there came no reply from Evelyn. "Will 
 you come down with me to Perpignan," Dent said 
 presently, "and see Kitty?" 
 
 "I shall always be delighted to see Kitty when she 
 wants to see me." 
 
 " i. e. you'll come if she asks you. Now I don't 
 deny, after her letter, that you've a right to hold off. 
 But do let's get beyond the stage of talking about 
 rights and wrongs. You ain't a Trades Union, old 
 chap ! You're a man, and Kitty's a woman and your 
 wife, and the best right that gives you is the right to 
 have more sense than she has and more generosity 
 too, if you come to that. Do do the generous thing, 
 Eve!" But the smile that flitted over Evelyn's lips 
 was not encouraging. The old fashioned argument 
 missed fire because he had never regarded himself as 
 Kitty's protector. He, protect Kitty? She needed 
 no protection. She was master of her own spirit and 
 her own fate, to stand or fall by her own firm will.
 
 190 CLAIE DE LUNE 
 
 "Has Kitty sent me any message?" 
 
 "No, I don't bring an olive-branch. But she's there 
 at Perpignan and she knows I'm here with you, and 
 isn't that as good as a message? You don't want her 
 to go down on her knees, do you? Little hussy! she 
 always was as proud as Lucifer, and she's come more 
 than halfway to meet you. Mind, I can't think why 
 she left you. It looks like a genuine misunderstand- 
 ing that could be cleared up in ten minutes if you 
 came face to face. But, whatever her reason was, I 
 fancy she's begun of late to feel it wasn't good enough. 
 I've seen signs of coming off her high horse. You 
 ain't going to stick on yours, are you, old man? . . . 
 What's at the bottom of nine broken marriages out 
 of ten is selfishness. You never were selfish, but 
 you're a bit too much of an individualist. That 
 personal freedom you're so keen on ... You were 
 saying just now that your tunes would put their magic 
 over people after you were dead, which means, I take 
 it, that if you write a jolly good March, next time 
 there's a war on it'll be playing fellows into foreign 
 transports and helping them to stick their tails up, like 
 Tipperary or The Girl I left behind me. Doesn't that 
 prove we're all links in a chain that's for ever passing 
 on? 'No man liveth to himself.' You go back to your 
 wife." 
 
 "No, I won't." 
 
 Evelyn sprang up flinging off Dent's arm. "Don't 
 press me so hard, George ! You've often made me do 
 things I didn't want to do, but I won't do that. I 
 didn't desert Kitty. She deserted me. I will not 
 force myself on her." 
 
 "It's your duty, Eve."
 
 GLAIR DE LUNE 191 
 
 "It isn't." He pointed indoors towards the piano 
 where lay the score of Glair de Lune. "There's my 
 duty." 
 
 "Well, but Kitty wouldn't meddle with your music, 
 would she?" Dent said, reddening in slow irritation. 
 "Why, you were always at it ! Meredith said all that 
 spring you were at it all day and half the night !" 
 
 "Meredith said? I've no desire to hear what 
 Meredith said .... There now, I haven't been 
 angry since I left England!" He backed away from 
 Dent, throwing up one arm as if to fend him off. "I 
 do wish you'd let me alone! Can't you understand 
 that the job I've got to do is to make music, and I can't 
 do it if you come and upset me like this? Look at all 
 the time you've made me waste to-night! Probably 
 I shan't be able to do a stroke of work to-morrow 
 morning. I'm all out of tune !" There was terror in 
 his eyes now, the wild terror of an unbroken horse 
 when it feels the bit : they turned towards the night, 
 that June night with its heaven of stars, 
 
 The mighty marching and the golden burning, 
 
 as if in search of escape from the chains that he had 
 thrown off and which Dent was trying to fasten on him 
 again. 
 
 As indeed he was. All his life in London had come 
 back to him, hot days when every street smelt of gas or 
 asphalt, fleeting crowds full of pale faces and avid 
 eyes, the jar of traffic and the trampling of steps, 
 crowded rooms, shops, theatres, callers, and, what was 
 far worse, the remorseless pressure of the second life 
 close at his side, Kitty's quick wits and friendly
 
 192 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 sympathy by day, and by night the contact of her 
 beauty, to which he was not at all times indiffer- 
 ent. . . . 
 
 Once and again that Saxon fairness of hers had set 
 him on fire. Happy moments for Kitty in her blind- 
 ness ! but most unhappy for Evelyn, who came out of 
 them bewildered and aching. They shamed him 
 because he had never yet reconciled in himself the 
 warring elements of sense and spirit ; all he had ever 
 achieved was to narcotise the one while the other 
 rioted. But it was not so with the savage beauty of 
 moon and stars and mountain solitude; in that cold 
 embrace he could lie down and be tranquillised, every 
 nerve in his body and every faculty of his mind drawn 
 into one strong harmony which created harmony. 
 From discord only discord could spring ! The artist 
 in Evelyn stood passionately and jealously on guard 
 to defend his work. 
 
 "Let me alone, George! Kitty has her freedom, let 
 her keep it, and I'll keep mine. I can't stand that life 
 in town. I I can't work with other people in the 
 room !" 
 
 "Quietly, quietly, Eve!" 
 
 "Well, leave me alone, then." 
 
 Dent was frightened. Fragments of popular sci- 
 ence, to which he had systematically turned a deaf 
 ear, were running in his head that fellow Nordau and 
 his rotten book, and those addle-headed modern psy- 
 chological Johnnies that would pop you into an 
 asylum before you knew where you were. He was the 
 more startled because he had never gauged the strain 
 of his own influence. He got up and stood with his 
 hands in his pockets, towering over Evelyn and watch-
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 193 
 
 ing him with an alarmed, steady eye. "No one's going 
 to make you do anything you don't want to do. Hold 
 on, old man : you've been alone here too long." 
 
 "I'm all right when I'm alone. That's gracious, 
 isn't it?" said Evelyn smiling, as with the lightening 
 of the pressure of Dent's strong personality the tension 
 of his own resistance relaxed as well. "So sorry! 
 I'm all right when I'm let alone. But go back to 
 Kitty I won't." 
 
 "Why did you ever marry her?" Dent asked sadly. 
 
 Evelyn was too generous to answer that dangerous 
 question. "Look here, it's all hours and you've had a 
 long journey. You must be dead tired and so am I. 
 Hadn't we better turn in now? There are two rooms 
 overhead and most of the furniture of the house is in 
 the second one. I can find you sheets and a pillow- 
 case, and if you want a blanket you can take a table- 
 cloth out of the press I never sleep under anything 
 more than a sheet myself, and half the time out of 
 doors. There's no means of washing except the river, 
 unless you like to heat some water on Primus; I do 
 that for shaving but I get my bath in the brook. I'll 
 show you my tub in the morning." He sighed ; he had 
 no wish to let Dent or anyone into the secret of his 
 naiad's pool. "If you had warned me I'd have made 
 the place more habitable." 
 
 "Would you?" Dent muttered, turning to follow him 
 into the house: "not if I know you!" 
 
 "Hey? W T hat's that?" 
 
 "You would have decamped, old man. I should 
 have put my hand on an empty nest."
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 EVELYN took Dent upstairs. Boxed between 
 kitchen and parlour, a dark staircase gave an 
 a small landing boxed between two bedroom 
 doors. He did not take Dent into his own room 
 because he was impatient of Dent's presence in the 
 house; he had so loved the solitude of Evol that he 
 felt it profaned by the coming of a second person, 
 especially of an Englishman and yet he was glad to 
 see Dent too, in a way; he was very fond of George 
 Dent. But he did not offer to show Dent over his 
 domain. 
 
 Opening the opposite door, he pushed his friend into 
 a wide, raftered chamber, the walls white, the floor 
 uneven and so full of lumber from other rooms that 
 Dent could scarcely pick his way over it to the bed 
 in one alcove or the massive wooden washstand in the 
 other. Sheets and towels were forthcoming from a 
 press, ice-cold brook water from a bucket in the 
 kitchen; they made the bed between them, Evelyn 
 grumbling because Dent's fingers were all thumbs; 
 Dent produced a toothbrush from his coat pocket, and 
 Evelyn a piece of hard yellow soap with instructions 
 to be sparing in the use of it; Dent, left alone, heard 
 the key turn in Evelyn's lock. 
 
 Dent was tickled by this precaution, but it was with 
 a sad heart that he betook himself to bed. He cared 
 little who was to blame, but he did most earnestly 
 wish to find a way out of an impasse which seemed to 
 him intolerable. Here were two people who had 
 
 194
 
 GLAIR DE LUNE 195 
 
 known each other all their lives, bib frock and sailor 
 suit, jersey and Eton jacket, and now after six months 
 of married life they must needs fly apart at a moment's 
 notice and for what? For nothing! Neither could 
 put finger on a tangible grievance, and yet their life- 
 long friendship, their married tenderness, their solemn 
 vows must all be torn like a cobweb why? Simply 
 because they could not live together. Sad, absurd, 
 and terribly wrong, w r as Dent's reflection as he lay 
 down between Madame Blanc's reluctantly sur- 
 rendered handwoven linen sheets, embroidered with 
 the entwined initials of her maiden and married 
 names, while June moonlight fell like snow over the 
 slope of cistus bushes, green leaf and withering lilac 
 flower, steeply banked up behind his window; but 
 though he saw it all so clearly he had had no power to 
 enforce common sense on Kitty at Perpignan, nor now 
 on Evelyn though against this gipsy life of Evelyn's 
 every sane instinct in him rebelled. Now, in high 
 summer, for a fanciful romantic chap like Evelyn the 
 remote and wild loveliness of Evol might have a 
 charm ; but what must it have been in winter, or when 
 "the storm of the swallow" massed its drifted snows 
 against the door? Who but a madman would will- 
 ingly endure the arctic cold, the gales, the terrifying 
 solitude of those interminable nights? 
 
 Yet Dent next morning found himself on the road 
 for Perpignan, his mission unaccomplished. Evelyn 
 was up first and had set breakfast going before he 
 roused his brother-in-law; over their coffee and eggs, 
 and the fretfulness of Primus, which according to 
 Evelyn had got out of bed the wrong side, there was 
 no opportunity for serious discussion (Evelyn saw to
 
 196 GLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 that) ; and as soon as breakfast was over it seemed to 
 be taken for granted that he would return to Per- 
 pignan. Evelyn offered to stroll with him as far as 
 Eia. Sixteen kilometres down hill and as many back, 
 with not a mile of smooth or level going in the twenty : 
 it amazed Dent that Evelyn should make light of such 
 a walk. His pace too was startling, it was all Dent 
 could do to keep up with him. Their start in the 
 early morning was touched with a chill, the sun before 
 they got to Ria was burning like a furnace ; attired in 
 a wide and disreputable straw hat, thin flannels, and a 
 cotton shirt, Evelyn remained indifferent to either. 
 
 But when they came in sight of Ria Dent resolutely 
 pulled up. "If you don't mind, Eve, we'll call ten 
 minutes' halt. I can't talk at this pace." He sat 
 down on a wayside stone and mopped his brow, while 
 Evelyn, his hat tipped to the back of his head, stood 
 before him like a saint in a halo, leaning on his holly 
 stick. At their feet the Evol valley dropped down to 
 meet the main valley, torrent falling into torrent 
 through heights clothed in ash and lime and silver 
 birch, and low green lawns where from dawn till 
 twilight butterflies hovered like rich tropical flowers 
 come alive and dancing in the sun. Runnels diverted 
 from the main stream and led along slender half- 
 natural aqueducts, their water fleeting in loop below 
 silver loop down foot-wide channels between banks of 
 flowery turf, kept all these grassy slopes, even in June, 
 as green and cool as April. Far up the main valley- 
 head the brilliant snows of a late spring lingered on 
 more than one dark peak, and out of them, from the 
 high frontier-citadel that Vauban built for his master 
 the great Louis, one of Napoleon's roads came down
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 197 
 
 under cliff and precipice and between crossed profiles 
 of naked rock towards the sultry plains of Perpignan. 
 Ria itself was full of river-murmurs : a tiny and sleepy 
 old French town, white and golden houses stretched 
 out on a hillside under a firwood, and a church with a 
 spire of open ironwork telling every hour twice over 
 to an irregular cobbled Place under rows of shady 
 plane trees. Dent was near enough to it to dis- 
 tinguish every steep roof and painted wall, and the 
 green of sunshutters, and the stripes of black velvet 
 that were shadows, and the twinkle of bead portieres 
 swinging over cool doorways, and the trellised 
 gardens, and the pink, blue, and green washing hung 
 out in them and fluttering for sun and wind to dry. 
 
 It was a landscape less wild and austere than Evol, 
 but intensely Southern; water-fresh even under the 
 torrid June sunshine, and glowing with the most burn- 
 ing contrasts of moist colour. There was room in it 
 for the urbane civilisation of France : for the Maine's 
 gilt staff and tricolour flag, and for the long glitter of 
 a steel curve on the railway, and for the throb, throb 
 of a stationary engine, which whistled to itself from 
 time to time in the preoccupied and meditative manner 
 characteristic of Continental trains. 
 
 "But have you anything fresh to say?" said Evelyn. 
 "I haven't." Nor had Dent, but that did not prevent 
 him from saying it. He went over his old ground, 
 while Evelyn stared wearily at the fleshy limbs of a 
 cactus and listened to the lute-note of a nightingale in 
 a Ria garden full of roses and quarantaines and green- 
 clustered vines. But in the end Dent had a surprise 
 for him after all. 
 
 "It's no good, old fellow," Evelyn said, holding out
 
 198 GLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 his hand. "I'm glad to have seen you, and you know 
 now where to find me; if I move I'll send you my 
 address." He sighed, feeling an immense disinclin- 
 ation to give anyone his address; there was no denying 
 that Dent's coming had brushed some of the bloom 
 from his peach. "My love to Kitty." 
 
 "I'll give no such message," said Dent roughly. 
 "Come and give it yourself if you want to." Har- 
 boured anger broke out at last, and he dragged his 
 hand away. "Of all the careless, cold-blooded ! 
 Haven't you any manhood in you?" 
 
 Evelyn glanced at the sun. He rarely carried a 
 watch at fivol. "Hadn't you better be getting on? 
 It must be close on one o'clock and the train goes at 
 the hour. It isn't always nice for a girl as young as 
 Kitty to be staying alone at a French inn." 
 
 "She's not alone." 
 
 "Well, even with a maid " 
 
 "Maid, she hasn't any maid. Meredith's there." 
 
 Dent was surprised to find that it cost him an effort 
 to say these words, and that they lingered in the air 
 as if they required an explanation. He glanced 
 sharply at his brother-in-law. Evelyn was all polite 
 attention. Yet it irked Dent to find that he could not 
 divest his manner of a shade of constraint. Why? 
 He knew not : he had never expected to feel impelled to 
 apologise. Perhaps it was because he had not 
 happened to mention Meredith the night before, so 
 that it was like letting slip a confession. ... A con- 
 fession, nonsense ! the most natural thing in the world. 
 
 "He offered to come with us because neither 
 Kitty nor I knew our way about, not having been out 
 of England before. I don't speak much French ; and
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 199 
 
 you can't get a Cook's tour not up here you can't 
 and I never can get the hang of these foreign time- 
 tables." Evelyn's eyes were dancing. 
 
 "So you engaged Meredith for a courier? Happy 
 thought ! I'm sure he'd make a very good one." He 
 threw back his head and laughed out. "And he stayed 
 with Kitty while you came on after me? Happy 
 Meredith ! No, no," as Dent started, "that's a joke, 
 and rather a rotten one. I do honestly call it a top- 
 ping idea ! Comme vous dites, George, vous ne parlez 
 pas beaucoup f rangais, and the Lord knows where you 
 might have fetched up without the admirable Edmund 
 to look after you. Still, if I were you, I'd run back 
 to Perpignan now." 
 
 "If if you don't like it, why don't you come too?" 
 "Dear fellow ! that might look as if I didn't like it." 
 "Oh, you idiot !" Dent faced him, very hot, rather 
 red, his square shoulders held back with their old 
 military set. What right had Evelyn to put him in 
 the wrong? Dent angry, once in ten years, was 
 formidable: but Dent merely out of temper was as 
 impatient and indiscreet as a schoolboy. "Well, if 
 you won't, don't blame anybody but yourself if some 
 one else nips in that has more guts than you have, and 
 wipes your eye." 
 
 "The postscript of a lady's letter!" smiled Evelyn. 
 He too was angry by now, but he did not show it 
 except by a touch of polite frost in his voice. "But 
 I'm afraid my trust in Kitty is incorrigible. Give my 
 love to Edmund, will you?" 
 
 But he was angry. He trusted Kitty, but he did not 
 trust Meredith ; he had not forgotten Meredith's lapse
 
 200 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 from the code that bids a man respect the wife of a 
 friend who owes him money, and reluctantly he 
 wondered how Kitty came to forget it. Was that quite 
 fair dealing either by him or by her brother? Dent, 
 one might be sure, knew nothing of that lapse had he 
 done so he would have shut his door on Meredith. 
 Kitty then was keeping Meredith's secret. Good! 
 so far Evelyn went with her, holding that a man's 
 follies are better forgotten. But if she kept a secret 
 from Dent she was in honour bound to respect Dent's 
 principles. She ought not to have placed him inno- 
 cently in a false position. His oldfashioned and strict 
 rules might be defied, but they should not have been 
 evaded. And reluctantly Evelyn found himself con- 
 demning Kitty she ought to have been more careful. 
 On his own account Evelyn was not alarmed. His 
 faith in his wife was too firm ; he would scarcely have 
 believed her own word against her perfect purity. 
 The stars might fall, but not Kitty Dent ! ( It was as 
 Kitty Dent that he thought of her nine times out of 
 ten.) But he was offended: his pride was stung. 
 Evelyn possessed no historic sense, would have sold 
 Temple Evelyn without a pang, and after one moment 
 of irritation did not even resent the news that 
 Meredith was his tenant, but his moral delicacy was 
 fastidious in a high degree. It was rarely touched, 
 but Batty had power to touch it. She had done so 
 when he learnt from her of his betrayal by a man to 
 whom he was under an obligation. The hours had 
 seemed long to him till he could clear that debt; it was 
 four in the morning when he heard of it, and his 
 cheque was in Meredith's hands by noon. This 
 "chastity of honour, that feels a stain like a wound,"
 
 GLAIR DE LUNE 201 
 
 felt itself stained by Kitty's coming with Meredith 
 to Perpignan. People are so quick to think evil! 
 And even if one could afford to turn a deaf ear to the 
 world's misjudgment as who can? Few of the reck-' 
 less, and fewer of the wise there was one person 
 whom it was exceedingly dangerous to mislead, and 
 that was Meredith himself. And in slow still anger 
 Evelyn turned back towards vol : Kitty should have 
 been more careful of that one trust she still held for 
 him an honourable name. 
 
 But when Ria was left behind, and forsaking even 
 the mule-track itself lonely enough and hard to 
 follow, as Dent had found the night before he 
 plunged into a mere thread of path over the hills, he 
 soon began to feel soothed again, as the last faint wail 
 of the train died at a bend of the valley, and the peace 
 of those great upland solitudes shut him in. Ria 
 glowed in green and gold, in lawns and flowery 
 orchards : but Ria was soon far away : high mountains 
 enfolded him in the sweep of austere wings, wine- 
 dark, streaked with snow : longer than the road, and 
 steeper, his path went up and down, now fledged with 
 living stone, now forcing him to wet his feet in the 
 ford of a brook, now going all ways in a pasture strewn 
 with boulders mantled in wild maidenhair, while 
 pink under their grey shadow the sweetwilliams lifted 
 their tiny starry heads. By one lonely pool, clear as 
 a diamond in its cup of marble, Evelyn undressed to 
 cool his limbs in its rippling water. Why not? He 
 was tired after the long tramp of fifteen or twenty 
 miles; and there were no spectators except the brown 
 lizards and the sapphire dragonflies that hung poised 
 over him on their whirring wings like an incarnate
 
 202 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 flame. When the sun had dried him he put on his 
 clothes again and plunged into a fir forest, a dimness 
 of sepia shadows on a red pavement ; then down into a 
 defile where dawn came at ten and gloom at half past 
 three; and thence up to a col from whose rocky top, 
 over peak after peak, crossed like the waves of a purple 
 sea, one could discern a June-blue rim of the sea's 
 self, that eternal summer-blue of the Mediterranean. 
 
 And soon after that he saw far off but clear, a toy 
 on the vast sunset-reddened mountain-side, the inn of 
 Evol which was now his home. Yes, it was his home 
 again now Dent had gone: and oh the peace of the 
 high sierras, the brimming cup of solitude! It had 
 never tasted so sweet to Evelyn as to-day when Dent's 
 coming had for a moment broken its delicious 
 monotony. 
 
 The sun had set when he came down his own ravine 
 and his own slope of cistus bushes. No one was in 
 sight on the cart track, nor had he met anyone during 
 the last five miles except a couple of Catalan lads who 
 wished him good night in their harsh, half-Spanish 
 dialect as they ran on to their own metairie. He had 
 had nothing to eat since breakfast except a lump of 
 bread and cheese and a handful of figs, and he was 
 hungry and tired, but not beyond that prickling glow 
 of fatigue which makes it exceedingly pleasant to sit 
 down to a large meal. There is a happy temper proper 
 to eighteen, and rarely prolonged after four and 
 twenty, when one never remembers that one has a 
 body, unless the cisterns overflow in sheer riot of the 
 joy of life. Evelyn was thirty, but to-night he was 
 near enough to that puppy condition to come down the 
 steep hillside at a run, and leap the brook in a splash
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 203 
 
 of spray, and vault a stone wall into the yard which 
 had originally enclosed Madame Blanc's pig. His 
 door stood open, it had been open all day; the only 
 thing Evelyn ever locked up was the MS. of Clair de 
 Lune. He ran up the steps into the parlour and 
 stopped : stopped dead, his fingertips and the muscles 
 of his chest tingling, and his hair stiffening like the 
 coat of a frightened dog. In the dark of the shuttered 
 parlour a motionless figure waited for him : it was in 
 white from head to foot, tall, straight, and featureless 
 as if it wore a mask or a shroud. 
 
 "What ?" Evelyn began, and could not go on. 
 He was frightened to his very soul, with the fear that 
 comes recurrent like the pain of a scald: a horrible 
 shock, a benumbing arrest, and then a fresh heartshake 
 of panic when he remembered that there was not 
 another house within two miles of him. But his re- 
 action was as rapid as his fear. It had to be mastered 
 or it would have mastered him: and though every 
 nerve in him crawled and shrank he forced himself 
 to go on and touch the vague shape. 
 
 "Good God ! It's a woman !" 
 
 She pushed up her veil. "Say, Charles, what did 
 you take me for a ghost?" 
 
 "Sophy!" Evelyn articulated with difficulty. His 
 fear was gone as if it had never existed, but his 
 astonishment was profound. No ghost could have 
 surprised him more than this apparition of Miss 
 Carter, at nightfall, in his remote mountain eyrie. 
 
 "Sophy ! is it really you?" 
 
 "Looks like me, doesn't it?" said Sophy with hoi- 
 carefree laugh. 
 
 Pulling off her glove, she put her bare hand into
 
 204 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 Evelyn's and held up her face. "Kiss me. I haven't 
 seen yon for over a year and I've come a long way to 
 see yon. Jolly well the least you can do is to kiss me." 
 
 Evelyn yielded. The sensation was strange: her 
 lips burnt. He had not felt the slightest desire to kiss 
 her, but it would have been churlish to refuse, and in 
 some puzzling way that fevered yet fresh and soft 
 touch gave him pleasure. He stood back and stared 
 at her in profound curiosity, while Sophy sat down 
 again in the wooden armchair out of which she had 
 got up to meet him. Now that his eyes were ac- 
 customed to the gloom of indoors, he saw that there 
 was really nothing remarkable in her toilette. She 
 wore a white dress, and over it a long white motor 
 cloak and veiled hood: white boots, white stockings, 
 thick white suede gloves that wrinkled on her arm. 
 Her clothes were probably French, but apart from 
 their colour and he remembered that Sophy had 
 always been fond of wearing white there was in them 
 no incongruous association of the Boulevards : no dis- 
 harmony between them and the rough surroundings of 
 an Evol inn. She carried no bracelet nor ring, nor 
 even a brooch at her throat, and the thick silken folds 
 fell plainly round a figure which had always been as 
 slim and straight as a boy's; even her white suede 
 boots were boyishly strong and thick-soled. 
 
 "But, Sophy, how did you get here?" 
 
 " 'Came up in a farm cart from Kia. Lord, what a 
 road! I thought the rocks would come down on top 
 of me. All the way up I said to the mountains 
 'Don't fall on us !' " 
 
 "You came on purpose to see me?" Evelyn brushed 
 back his hair as if his head needed clearing. "My dear
 
 CLAIB DE LUNE 205 
 
 girl, how very charming of you ! But you can't stay 
 here, you know. Yes, of course I'm pleased to see 
 you rather so as pleased as Punch! But there's 
 absolutely no accommodation for ladies. Why on 
 earth didn't you let me know you were coming? 
 You're my second unexpected visitor in twenty-four 
 hours, and my brain is reeling under the shock. I 
 haven't a thing in the house to feed you on but eggs. 
 If you had only written !" 
 
 "I did write to tell you about Millerand." 
 
 "I never had it 
 
 "No, because I never stuck it in the post. I wrote it 
 and I folded it and put a seal upon it and then I 
 chucked it into my bureau and came off in a hurry. 
 If Fifine finds it she'll post it, and you'll get it, and 
 it'll tell you I'm going to a Queen's Hall concert to- 
 night, but I'm not. I'm here. I couldn't wait. Not one 
 single second longer, except to go and see Millerand on 
 my way through Paris, and that was a bit of an effort, 
 I can tell you. Who was your other friend?" 
 
 "George Dent, my brother-in-law. He slept here 
 last night and ate up the last of my bacon. By Jove, 
 it would have been funny if you had run into him!" 
 Evelyn chuckled; but he soon grew grave again. 
 "Sophy, I am so attired in wonder that I can't be 
 polite. You did not come over to admire the scenery, 
 did you? What on earth do you want?" 
 
 "You." 
 
 "Me?" 
 
 "Just you. No, you didn't know, did you? and I 
 never meant to tell you. 'Dare say I never should 
 have if you hadn't started writing to me about Miller- 
 and. That woke it all up again just when I thought
 
 206 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 I was getting over it, so I collapsed and came off to 
 find you. Come here." Evelyn, who had been sitting 
 on the edge of the table swinging one foot, slid off it 
 and approached her. "Kneel down," said Sophy. 
 She put her arms round his neck as he dropped on one 
 knee. "Oh ! how good that feels ! I've waited so long 
 for it. ... I'll go away again as soon as you like. I 
 know you aren't fond of me. You aren't ever fond of 
 women, are you? some men are like that. I'll go 
 to-morrow if you like, but I just had to come. D'you 
 mind?" 
 
 "Little Sophy. . . !" 
 
 "You aren't angry with me?" 
 
 "No, but I'm not I can't" 
 
 "Lord, as if I didn't know that!" She laughed, 
 pulling down his head on her shoulder. "There, there, 
 don't you be shy there's nothing in me for a man to 
 feel shy about. You don't have to treat me with any 
 ceremony. I expect Meredith told you as much as 
 that, didn't he? he knows all there is to know, and 
 that's a good lot. I've had a lot of lovers. I'm only 
 a guttersnipe out of a French studio. I'm just dirt 
 really, and that's the way you can treat me if you like. 
 Oh, I do love the feel of you !" 
 
 "May I ask you one question?" 
 
 She had wound her arms under his arms, and under 
 his cheek he could feel the rise and fall of her breath. 
 "Don't I keep telling you you can do as you like? 
 D'you think I've got any pride left in me or any 
 other little fads? Fire away." 
 
 "Was Meredith your lover?" 
 
 "Yes my first, years ago in Paris, when I was a 
 girl. He didn't behave well to me, Edmund didn't.
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 207 
 
 Isn't that ugly English? when I'm excited I forget to 
 talk like a lady." 
 
 And all the while she was flinging 1 these confessions 
 at Evelyn with her strange fiery recklessness, she 
 retained in externals her old modest grace, her finished 
 delicacy of dress and pose and bearing, and the refined 
 soft voice to which her French breeding had given a 
 tinge of foreign charm. Still on one knee before her, 
 Evelyn raised himself and held her away. "Sophy, 
 you're not to say things like that I won't have 
 it!" 
 
 She uttered a little laugh of delight. "Give a man 
 an inch and But you do look so awfully well, 
 Charles ! quite different from the way you used to look 
 in town. It was too much for you, all that London 
 racket, I shouldn't have let you do it if I'd been your 
 wife. You ought to have lived in the country where 
 you could get along with your old ops. without being 
 bothered. You used to look so tired and delicate and 
 jumpy, especially of evenings; you didn't sleep well, 
 did you? But now you look as if you slept like a top 
 and lived on beefsteak and beer! Well there, you 
 can't have it both ways you wouldn't like it if your 
 wife knew as much about men as I do. Anyhow 
 you've got a place that suits you now !" 
 
 "It's the heavenly solitude Evelyn began, and 
 checked himself, flushing; but Sophy only screwed up 
 her features into a fleeting grimace. 
 
 "Well, of all the rude! No, bless you, I don't 
 mind: I never spoil anybody's solitude. I'm not 
 spoiling yours, am I? No more than a fly on the 
 windowpane. You don't feel a bit the less alone 
 because I'm here."
 
 208 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 "Honestly, I feel as if I were in a dream," said 
 Evelyn slowly. "All this may be familiar to you, but 
 it's absolute news to me. You're not playing off an 
 elaborate hoax, are you? No? Well, it's a queer 
 world. What on earth made you take a fancy to me, 
 little Sophy? I don't deserve your kindness." He 
 rose and stood looking down at Sophy, his hands in his 
 pockets; it was true that he felt at ease before her, 
 though he ought to have felt shy. 
 
 For it was evidently true that she loved him, and 
 with a love that made no demands on him; and if 
 there is one atmosphere which more than any other 
 sets a man at ease it is that of a love like Sophy's, 
 shameless and contented. She asked no questions, 
 required no sacrifice, held up no code of morality or 
 even of manners : he was free to follow his own inclin- 
 ations, as free as if he had been alone. The strange 
 thing was that he felt as free to leave her as to take her. 
 He perceived that she never would refuse him any- 
 thing, and yet she gave him, strongly and strangely, 
 the impression of one who would be as well or better 
 pleased if no more were asked than she had already 
 given. 
 
 "People are often kinder to me than I deserve," said 
 Evelyn between humour and sadness. "But why were 
 you?" 
 
 She fingered his sleeve. "Nothing on but that thin 
 shirt! Aren't you cold? It's pretty near night. Put 
 on your coat." He had left it flung over the back of 
 a chair when he went to Ria, and Sophy caught it up 
 and came behind him. "Put it on." Evelyn slipped 
 his arms into it. "That's better," said Sophy, button- 
 ing it for him like a nursemaid. "Men never remem-
 
 CLAIE DE LUNE 209 
 
 ber to take proper care of themselves. But you do 
 look ever so much better than you used to. You're 
 getting quite stout!" She felt his ribs. "Fat, I call 
 it." 
 
 "Look here, that tickles drop it ! And I'm not fat 
 either, I'm in topping form," Evelyn's tone was 
 indignant. "How long have you been here?" 
 
 "Since five o'clock in the afternoon. I thought you 
 never were going to turn up !" 
 
 "What, and no tea? You poor, wretched infant, 
 you must be famished! And weren't you frightened 
 out of your little wits, to be up here all alone in these 
 trackless solitudes when it grew dark?" 
 
 "Well, I was, rather. Do they have wolves in the 
 Pyrenees now? Oh, not even in winter? Well, that's 
 what the man said in Ria, but you never know. It's 
 just the sort of place where they would have wolves. 
 And there are wild boars and snakes, he said so. I 
 was afraid to stop out of doors because of them, and 
 I didn't like it much indoors because a roomful of 
 furniture always makes me feel like seeing ghosts. 
 If I ever do see one it'll be the finish of me. You 
 thought I was one, didn't you, when you came in? 
 You made me jump too, giving such a start." 
 
 Evelyn had begun to lay the table, and Sophy rose 
 to help him, taking the cloth from his hand and shak- 
 ing it out and pulling it even and smoothing it down 
 with more care than its rather tumbled condition 
 deserved. "No, I took you for one of those unpleas- 
 ant objects that appear to people to warn them they're 
 going to die within a twelvemonth, you know the 
 style of thing, horrid, Scottish, coffined-looking bogies 
 with veiled eyes. That motor hood of yours looked
 
 210 GLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 just like a winding sheet drawn up over your Hallo, 
 what is it now?" 
 
 Sophy with a little shriek had clapped her hand 
 over his lips. "You be quiet ! I tell you ghosts, give 
 me the creeps," she said, recovering herself with a 
 visible effort. "Lots of things do : I'm an awful cow- 
 ard. Most girls like me are. But I've always been 
 afraid of the dark, all my life, even before . . . and 
 of nasty, wild, uncanny-looking scenery, too. I was 
 funky coming up in the cart, this place is so awfully 
 lonely and stern; and it gets worse after sunset. Of 
 course it really is as steep as a roof, if you once started 
 to roll down off that road you wouldn't ever fetch 
 up till you got to the bottom, and then what was left 
 of you would be drowned, but it isn't that. I do hate 
 the dark, I just can't stand it. Not so much when 
 it's really black and you can't see anything at all 
 what's worst is those half-lights when there are beastly 
 shadows in the corner of the room." 
 
 This confession touched Evelyn, himself not al- 
 ways valiant, and accustomed to be outdone in cool 
 daring by Kitty. He lit the lamp. "Let's chivy the 
 ghosts and the shadows away." 
 
 "Oh, I'm not afraid of anything now you're here!" 
 said Sophy.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 BUT all the while they sat at supper together, 
 drinking coffee and eating boiled eggs and 
 bread and butter ( much the same fare, less the 
 bacon and the Benedictine, as had been set before 
 George Dent), Evelyn's mind was occupied with the 
 insoluble problem that Sophy's presence offered him. 
 Bit by bit her story grew clear to him, a simple story, 
 bewildering only to his want of vanity. This strange 
 love, pure in essence, had been at his service for years, 
 though he had never known of it; during the winter 
 of his life with Kitty it had survived the fiery pangs 
 of jealousy ; during twelve months of separation and 
 silence it had lain self-enfolded in a bitter patience, 
 rather gathering than losing force apparently by con- 
 stant dreaming over the beloved image, till when Eve- 
 lyn gave her the clue she had seized on her way of 
 escape. Evelyn wondered now why he had given it 
 her. But it had seemed a very simple, a very natural 
 thing to do. 
 
 At the time when Evelyn came out to 6vol, all 
 the money he had on him was the balance of the sum 
 which he had raised in Fetter Lane to repay his debt 
 to Meredith. The timely letting of Temple Evelyn, 
 on terms of a year's rent and a heavy rent in ad- 
 vance, had enabled him to get clear of the Jews and 
 establish himself and his piano in Monsieur Blanc's 
 inn, but there remained the rent of his Chelsea flat 
 to be found, and an allowance to be paid through his 
 211
 
 212 CLAIB DE LUNE 
 
 lawyers into his wife's account. He would sooner 
 have shot himself than leave Kitty dependent on 
 her brother. He would as soon have sold her sap- 
 phires. It was therefore not many months before he 
 began to want money. 
 
 How to get it without returning to life was the 
 difficulty; and then it was that after long rumina- 
 tion he remembered Sophy. To give his address to 
 Dimsdale Smith was probably tantamount to giving 
 it to Kitty; his bank and his lawyers were safe but 
 as musical agents incompetent; of the men of his 
 acquaintance, some were lazy and others indiscreet. 
 But Sophy was as close as wax, knew Millerand, had 
 the etiquette of professional Paris at her fingertips, 
 and would always take any quantity of trouble for a 
 well-deserving friend. "Dear Sophy," such was the 
 informal style of Evelyn's letter to her, "will you 
 see if Millerand would care to produce the enclosed 
 Suite? It's jolly good and just the sort of stuff he's 
 always looking for. Tell him I didn't forget to give his 
 old lutes a chance in the Source qui tombe sur un 
 gazon fleuri. Sell it outright, get the best terms out 
 of him you can, and pay the cheque into my bank, 
 but don't give him or anyone my address, there's a 
 dear girl. I know you'll do this for E. C. E." 
 
 This was in the April after Evelyn's disappearance. 
 The production of his Suite 1 , rushed through by forced 
 marches, was the most notable event of the close of 
 Millerand's musical season. It had set the composer 
 once more safely on his financial legs, for Sophy was 
 a shrewd hand at a bargain, but he was not sure 
 whether Millerand's cheque had not been dearly 
 bought at the price of Sophy's coming to Evol.
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 213 
 
 For when the agreement had been signed and the 
 royalty advance paid down (Sophy taking French 
 leave to negotiate on a sounder basis than parting 
 with his copyright), and when further tentative and 
 delicate overtures for the production of Clair de Lune 
 had been carried as far as the high contracting parties 
 (Sophy and Millerand) considered mutually safe (in 
 view of their both being such extremely downy birds, 
 and Evelyn so shy), Sophy had simply packed a 
 suitcase and come off without reflection or delay. 
 "I just had to see you," she explained, fondling Eve- 
 lyn's hair. The very force and na'ivet6 of her love, 
 together with his own guiltlessness, saved Evelyn 
 from discomfort. She made him feel sad and occas- 
 ionally silly but never awkward. He was at ease 
 with her as he had never been with Kitty; and his 
 honest distress was shot with an irrepressible thrill 
 of gratified vanity, for Sophy, even though when ex- 
 cited she sometimes lapsed from the King's English, 
 was not one of those women who weary men to whom 
 they drop the handkerchief. And yet what was he 
 to do with her? For he did not love her. 
 
 No, he did not love her: all her young slenderness 
 and grace were at his mercy, yet neither her beauty 
 nor her love quickened in him one pulse of desire. 
 Indeed what she did rouse when she put her arms 
 round his neck was the protective instinct. Vainly 
 his mind argued that a girl like Sophy could not 
 desire protection and would not know what to do 
 with it; instinct, deeper than reason, pierced to a 
 purity of spirit that does sometimes underlie irregu- 
 larity of life. Doubtless Sophy would not have put up 
 any defence against him, and yet her embrace felt
 
 214 CLAIB DE LUNE 
 
 half maternal and more than half innocent. But all 
 the more for that, if he did not intend to profit by it, 
 her presence at Evol was a mad indiscretion and a 
 gratuitous insult to his wife. When he remembered 
 the pledges that he had given to George Dent, Evelyn's 
 face grew hot. Yet he could not turn her out into 
 the night! He was guiltless to the point of fatuity, 
 but that would not save him from being ludicrously 
 compromised if any hint of Sophy's presence got 
 about. 
 
 Sophy herself tackled the knot. She lit a cigarette 
 and sat back in her chair, one knee swinging over 
 the other, her narrow ivory hands folded idle in 
 her lap. ''Well, Charles, what are you in such a 
 brown study for? Bothering about me, eh?" She 
 blew out a mouthful of smoke. "I never ought to 
 have come, ought I? And the worst of it is I'm not 
 a bit sorry! I just had to come. But I'll go to-mor- 
 row if you like. 'Can't very well go to-night." 
 
 "This place is so awfully rough for a lady," Evelyn 
 apologised. He felt rude and ungrateful and not a 
 little absurd. How forcibly Meredith would have 
 handled such a situation! "If I'd only known you 
 were coming !" 
 
 "Ah! what then?" said Sophy. She laughed. 
 "Never mind what then. That's one of those incon- 
 venient questions that sensible fellows like me never 
 ask. But you are a queer chap, aren't you now? 
 It's a case of Get-thee-behind-me, isn't it? Don't you 
 worry, because it doesn't worry me, I rather like it. 
 'Makes you seem so different from all the others. 
 Only I should rather like to know why. Have you 
 got dandy moral principles?"
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 215 
 
 "No!" said Evelyn violently, as if the imputation 
 had been an insult. Sophy laughed again and arched 
 her eyebrows at him, or rather slanted them : she had 
 a trick of raising their inner corners which gave her 
 an enigmatic, Japanese air. 
 
 "Loyalty to your wife then? But that's queer too! 
 Most men don't care a hang: so long as their wives 
 don't know." 
 
 Evelyn wondered whether most men would have 
 let Sophy speak to them of their wives. But he was 
 not offended a result no doubt of his want of moral 
 principle. "No, it isn't that either. There's no credit 
 in it, dear. It's a a temperamental idiosyncracy." 
 As he said it he realised that he had never before put 
 his scruples into form. Doing so was a relief : though 
 he knew not why. 
 
 "Lovely long words," murmured Sophy. "But I 
 do understand. You're not keen on women, are 
 you? worse luck for us when we're donkeys enough 
 to be keen on you! Never mind. Only you must 
 give me houseroom for to-night anything will do, 
 I'm not faddy; when I was in Paris after maman 
 died, and had nowhere to go, our old concierge and 
 his wife took me in and we all three shared one room 
 for a long time. They were on one side of a curtain 
 and I was on the other. It didn't worry me, except 
 that he used to spit a good deal in the early mornings. 
 But you don't spit, do you? You're very refined." 
 
 "Don't laugh at me," said Evelyn humbly. "I 
 can't help it." 
 
 "I don't want you to be any different from what 
 you are. . . . It's all right, I'll move on to-morrow, 
 honour bright I will ! Not but what I do wish you'd
 
 216 GLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 let me stay a day or two. No one would be a penny 
 the worse or the wiser; and perhaps I shall never see 
 you again." 
 
 "I'd like you to stay a month," said Evelyn with 
 difficulty. "You never get in my way ; and you could 
 do my cooking too, which would save me no end 
 of trouble ! It would be jolly to have some soup again, 
 and tarts and other puddings besides tapioca and 
 rice. But all the same I can't keep you, Sophy. You'll 
 have to go : not to-morrow, because you can't walk all 
 the way to Ria, but the day after, Saturday, when 
 they bring up my week's rations. You'll have to go 
 back in the carrier's cart, I'm so sorry, dear! But 
 George Dent's still at Perpignan, and and my wife's 
 with him." Sophy uttered a small "Oh!" of pro- 
 found amazement and dismay. "He came here last 
 night and went away again this morning early. Odd, 
 isn't it, two people turning up within twenty-four 
 hours when I haven't seen a soul for a year? but 
 that's the way things always happen. And of course 
 it would be safe to happen directly I came to life 
 again. By the way, I'm rather curious to find out how 
 they got my address. You haven't betrayed it, have 
 you?" She shook her head. "Not by accident? No, 
 I never thought you would. You're sure Millerand 
 never had it?" 
 
 "Certain sure. Why, it was only yesterday he was 
 at me for it! I stayed three days in Paris on my 
 way out on purpose to see him about you and CMr de 
 Lune, and he was as keen as mustard, trying all dodges 
 to get it out of me : said people had been asking him 
 for it, and anyway he preferred to deal with his 
 principal direct: you bet he does he knows I'm a
 
 GLAIR DE LUNE 217 
 
 better man of business than you are! No, wherever 
 Mr. Dent got it, it wasn't out of Millerand. No, and 
 I don't think it could have been out of me at all, 
 because no one's ever connected me with you why 
 should they? No one's ever asked me for it except 
 Millerand, and once, ages ago, Edmund Meredith : and 
 I told him I didn't know any more than the man 
 in the moon, because that was soon after you went 
 and you hadn't written to me then." 
 
 Evelyn was in the act of lighting a second cigarette. 
 He laid it down. "Meredith asked for my address 
 soon after I left? Why why should He think you 
 knew it?" 
 
 "He was always kidding me about you," Sophy 
 explained. Her voice was unresentful. "Pretending 
 to believe. . . . But he didn't, not really that's only 
 Edmund's chaff. Anyhow I soon let him see I hadn't 
 it. I let him see I wished I had." 
 
 "Suppose by any odd chance he found out recently, 
 from Millerand, that you had it now: suppose he 
 was the 'people' that Millerand said had been bother- 
 ing him : if he came round for it to Chelsea after 
 you left, could he have got it from Fifine?" 
 
 "How should she know it? I never told her, nor 
 I never left your letters lying about. I always carried 
 them on me," she blushed, and Evelyn glanced away. 
 
 "The label on your suitcase?" 
 
 "It was only labelled to an hotel in Paris. You 
 can't register through from London to any place 
 south of Paris on the Midi line ; you can on some lines 
 but not on that one. No, the only address Fifine 
 had was Poste Kestante, Perpignan, for my own 
 letters. I was jolly careful not to let slip anything
 
 218 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 about Evol. I don't see how he could have got it: 
 unless " Her face changed swiftly. 
 
 "Unless what?" 
 
 "Unless he went and rummaged in my bureau and 
 found that letter I wrote you and never posted. Lord ! 
 it was silly of me to leave it there. I never thought 
 of that!" 
 
 "Why on earth did you leave it when you were 
 coming out here in person? Why didn't you tear 
 it up?" 
 
 "Because it had a clean stamp on and I meant 
 to take it off with hot water when I got home." Eve- 
 lyn opened his eyes. If he had been reduced to his last 
 sou he would not have preserved an old envelope for 
 the sake of steaming off a threepenny stamp. "I hate 
 wasting stamps," said Sophy defiantly, scenting de- 
 rision. "Everybody's got their pet economy, and 
 stamps are mine. It's not as if there'd been any 
 danger, that I could see. How should anyone come 
 to me for your address? No one knew I had it ex- 
 cept Millerand, and he wouldn't do a thing like that. 
 But Edmund might." 
 
 "Rummage in your desk and read your letters ? No, 
 Sophy!" 
 
 She nodded. "Not read it : but read the envelope, 
 oh yes. And Fifine would let him. She's been with 
 me for years. She knows. W T hen you've been . . . 
 like that . . . with a man, you don't seem to care 
 much what he does, any more than if it were his wife's 
 desk." But nothing on earth would have induced 
 Evelyn to open one of Kitty's drawers, and his face 
 was as usual the candid index of his thoughts. "Oh ! 
 well, perhaps you wouldn't do it," Sophy conceded
 
 GLAIR DE LUNE 219 
 
 with a faint shrug. "But that's your dandy prin- 
 ciples again. Edmund knows better." 
 
 Evelyn picked up his cigarette, lit it, and smoked 
 for a few moments in silence. He knew that Meredith 
 had gone to Millerand for his address, and the two 
 were old cronies: what more likely than that Mere- 
 dith should have wormed out of Millerand the sex 
 and name of Evelyn's London agent? In the twink- 
 ling eyes of that stout and genial cynic of the Boule- 
 vards, such a mystery would have been a true Poli- 
 chinelle's secret. Then Meredith would have tried 
 on Sophy, or, failing Sophy, on Josephine, every wile 
 of which he was master. But he never would have 
 gone the length of searching Sophy's bureau. If it 
 really was in Sophy's flat that he had found his clue, 
 it could only have been by some unlucky fluke: and 
 gently Evelyn reflected that after such a life as she 
 had led one must not blame poor Sophy if sometimes 
 she failed to distinguish between what men do and 
 what they don't do. He looked up and found Sophy's 
 eyes on him, mournfully amused. 
 
 "No, I don't do Edmund justice, do I? He's really 
 no end honourable and straight. . . . Say, Charles, 
 Mrs. Evelyn oughtn't to let you go round by your- 
 self. I wouldn't if I were your wife. . . . Read what 
 you're thinking? of course I can! It's my trade to 
 read men's faces, at least it used to be, and that's not 
 the sort of trade one forgets. I'm always doing it. 
 I do it in trains and trams and any old where, some- 
 times I wish I could stop doing it but I can't It's 
 just as if people were made of glass. Lord, I do 
 get so tired of seeing inside them! and always the 
 same old thing, at least when they look at me. Not
 
 220 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 you. You're different. That's why I liked you all 
 along." She stretched out her arms to him and then 
 ^et them fall again. "No sit where you are." She 
 rose herself and went to the window, propping her 
 elbows on its high sill and her chin on her doubled 
 fists. "Don't come any nearer. Oh, what shiny 
 stars! Say, Charles: I don't want to bore you, but 
 I'd like you to know it wasn't altogether my fault the 
 first time. Oh, we always say that ! But it was true 
 of me: it often is true. D'you mind listening?" 
 
 "Go on, dear: tell me all you will." 
 
 "He said he'd marry me. I was only seventeen, 
 and he really was the first: though of course he 
 didn't believe that, because I was only a model, a 
 bit of Paris mud. I dare say he thought he was about 
 the twenty-first. But he wasn't. You see my father 
 was an officer in the Royal Navy, and my mother 
 well, she wasn't exactly married to him, but it was 
 as good as a marriage to her. After he died she kept 
 a pension, not much of a place it wasn't, I mean not 
 a swell place, but perfectly respectable she was most 
 particular about that. It wasn't till after she died 
 too, and the place was sold, and most of the money 
 seemed to get muddled away, it was then I got into 
 such low water and began sitting for Tennant. Mad- 
 ame Bigorre, that was our old concierge's wife that 
 took me in, her sister used to do Tennant's charring, 
 and she put me up to it. ... Well, how could he 
 tell? A figure model! Of course some of them do 
 keep respectable, but that's what Englishmen never 
 seem to understand. Oh, there were a lot of excuses 
 to be made for him! But still he didn't ought he 
 ought not to have said he'd marry me. But Meredith
 
 CLAIR BE LUNE 221 
 
 is like that, you can't trust him when it's a woman. 
 Poor devil ! he's paying for it now." 
 
 Evelyn remained very still. He was recalling a 
 conversation of more than eighteen months ago in 
 Meredith's rooms. "I could name you half a dozen 
 men who were her lovers in Paris. . . ." Perhaps 
 after all Meredith really had bribed Josephine and 
 ransacked Sophy's bureau! To take advantage of 
 Sophy's friendless youth was, even in Evelyn's eyes, 
 a cruel but not an uncommon misdeed, but to pelt 
 her with mud afterwards was one that he shrank from 
 characterising, since Meredith had been his friend. 
 And now he was at Perpignan with Kitty! True, 
 he had not betrayed Evelyn, for Dent evidently had 
 not heard that Evelyn was in communication with 
 Sophy and fleetingly Evelyn wondered what would 
 have happened if he had ; but perhaps Meredith was 
 only holding that weapon in reserve. If he struck 
 with it ... and if it brought Dent again to Evol 
 ... it crossed Evelyn's mind to wish the carrier's 
 cart came on a Friday. 
 
 "Sophy," said Evelyn after a long silence, "I don't 
 want to hear anything that Meredith said to you in 
 confidence, but if it's only your own intuition I should 
 like to know what you mean by 'paying for it now.' " 
 
 "He's in love with a woman that won't look at him : 
 at least I don't think she will." Evelyn shifted in 
 his chair. "She's not happy ; she's living apart from 
 her husband, and Meredith wants to profit by it. 
 But he won't: not unless she goes reckless and picks 
 him up as you'd pick up a dagger. That's all he 
 would ever be to her." 
 
 "She never would do that."
 
 222 CLAIB DE LUNE 
 
 "She? Who?" 
 
 "My wife." 
 
 "We don't want to talk of her," said Sophy on a 
 dropped breath. "Men always draw the line at that." 
 
 "Ah ! but I'm not much good at drawing lines." 
 
 "You did in Chelsea." 
 
 "Did that hurt? It wasn't so meant. It is an in- 
 stinct with me to keep places and people to myself ; 
 I hated George Dent's coming here, though I'm very 
 fond of him. I would most gladly have introduced 
 my wife to you if it had occurred to me that you 
 would care to know her, but it didn't. I'm very sorry." 
 Sophy bent down her head and furtively brushed her 
 wrist across her eyelashes. This tender unworldly 
 kindness was not what she had come to find at 6vol, 
 but it was inexpressibly sweet to her, sweeter far than 
 passion. "Are you under the impression that I don't 
 respect you because in the days of your forlorn youth 
 you went astray? All the more reason why the women 
 who never have been tempted should hold out a help- 
 ing hand to you. My wife would. One can't answer 
 for outsiders, but I can for her as I can for myself, 
 and if I were living with her I'd take you to her now. 
 But she has left me, as you know. Now tell me more 
 about Meredith. You say he's still in love with her, 
 and she has no protection. What's he after?" 
 
 "After her, of course. Meredith never lets go. He 
 counts either on your doing something silly and giving 
 her a chance to divorce you, or else on her getting 
 so sick of it all that she'll do anything to make you 
 divorce her. Meredith wouldn't mind being used as a 
 dagger. He doesn't care how he gets a woman. He 
 knows, once you've got her, you can suit yourself."
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 223 
 
 Evelyn smiled. "He had better not try that on 
 with Kitty." 
 
 "Oh, you don't understand," said Sophy wearily. 
 "When we're once in the same boat there's not a 
 pin to choose between us, or rather it's the nicest 
 women that come off worst because they suffer most. 
 Of course Mrs. Evelyn's not like me. Sorry, that's 
 trite, isn't it? If you were like most men, wouldn't 
 you curse me for saying it! but what I mean is, she 
 looks as if she could put up a stiffer fight than most 
 women can. She's got such a way with her! Still, 
 if Edmund's on the warpath, you ought to be looking 
 after her, Charles. I was so glad, when I heard her 
 call you Eve, that I'd always called you Charles." 
 This conclusion was unforeseen and reduced Evelyn 
 to silence. 
 
 Sophy took pity on him and gathered up her gloves 
 and veil. "Look here, I'm dog tired, and I'd like to 
 go to bed now, please. Is there any other room or 
 shall I curl up with a pillow on the floor?" 
 
 "There's the room Dent slept in last night. It's 
 wretchedly inconvenient and crowded up with furni- 
 ture, but he managed somehow." 
 
 "So long as there are no fleas I don't care," replied 
 Miss Carter composedly. "And there won't be, if 
 you've lived here for a twelvemonth. Last night I 
 caught five running. That's the worst of these half- 
 Spanish places! When they turn up in full force 
 Keating's isn't any good. Still they're not so bad 
 as bugs; we had bugs in Paris." 
 
 Evelyn ushered her upstairs ; and strange it seemed 
 to him to have to perform the same offices for her as 
 for George Dent the night before not entirely the
 
 224 CLAIB DE LUNE 
 
 same however, because Sophy made her own bed, 
 fingering the cold linen sheets with an appreciative 
 hand, and sniffing at her pillowcase, which Madame 
 Blanc had laid away in sprigs of wild hill lavender. 
 When the big untidy room was made as fresh and neat 
 as it could be, Sophy of her own accord came to Evelyn 
 and pushed him gently through the doorway. "Good 
 night, Charles, old fellow. Pleasant dreams!" 
 
 "I never dream." 
 
 "Don't you? I do like billy-ho, especially if I have 
 my supper late. So if I sing out in the middle of the 
 night you'll know what's up. Where d'you sleep? 
 Near enough to hear me if I called you?" 
 
 "Here's my door." 
 
 "Oh, only just across the landing? I'm glad. This 
 room is so big and so full of furniture to go to bed in 
 with nothing but a candle. Say, you might whistle 
 while you're undressing, it'll cheer me up to hear 
 you. Well, good night again, positively the last ap- 
 pearance." She threw her arms round him and drew 
 down his head. "Kiss me. Oh God, I wish it didn't 
 hurt so!" 
 
 He kissed her. 
 
 "There! clear out," said Sophy, pushing him to- 
 wards his own door. "Never you mind, it does hurt, 
 but oh, I love you, love you, love you for being good !"
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 IN the cool of that evening when Sophy canle to 
 vol, while out of the mountains the tramontane 
 blew down into Perpignan and stirred the dense 
 Southern dust in the streets of the little Southern 
 town, Meredith had gone out with Kitty for a stroll 
 among the neighbouring vineyards. The grapes were 
 not ripe yet, their clusters hung green among their 
 green and golden foliage, and forsaking the highway 
 Meredith and Kitty wandered in among their un- 
 guarded furrows, over which a faint sweet scent hung 
 like the scent of wine. Isolated like a city on a 
 marsh, the eyeless walls and towers of Perpignan rose 
 white and golden out of this leafy sea, and all round 
 them the plains of Southern France stretched away 
 illimitable under a blue evening sky, except on the 
 south, where in cliff and cape those wild half-Spanish 
 mountains lay unfeatured and faint as a cloud, stain- 
 ing, in their wan transparency of lilac shadow, the 
 low air thick with sunset light and flushed like a 
 fcweetpea. 
 
 In the open vine-fields the heat was still heavy, 
 the soil was burnt dry with it and struck warm under- 
 foot. But there was a cooler air in the clear-obscure 
 of the olive groves beyond, where the long rays that 
 slanted between the dark twisted branches fell dimmed 
 and silver-pale through clouds of thin leafage so fine 
 as to be transparent, every narrow leaf under-glossed 
 with silver, every point a star of silver fire. At the 
 
 225
 
 226 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 foot of a tree fantastically coiled on its own waist 
 like a dragon crawling out of a cave, near a shallow 
 brook whose fleet waters washed through stems of 
 scented watennint and carried away the scarlet petals 
 of a wild japonica, Kitty sat down on a patch of 
 turf, while Meredith, standing, lit a cigar and kept an 
 eye on the road by which they expected Dent to follow 
 them. At a distance of half a kilometre it would not 
 be difficult to recognise the thickset, well-drilled fig- 
 ure and English country clothes. The evening train 
 from Ria was already due and overdue, it would not 
 be long now before they learnt whether Kitty's olive- 
 branch had been accepted or rejected always sup- 
 posing it had ever been offered. 
 
 Meredith's own impression was that it would not 
 have been offered. He expected to hear that Evelyn 
 had been found living with Sophy. When he had 
 learnt from Millerand the name of Evelyn's London 
 agent, he had laughed, and Millerand with him, till 
 their sides shook. Inconceivable, by these two cyni- 
 cal wits, the innocence that had gone to Sophy as a 
 friend ! 
 
 For Meredith had always believed Evelyn to be 
 Sophy's lover. Evelyn's denial had staggered him, 
 but only for a moment ; naturally Evelyn, on the brink 
 of matrimony, would deny an indiscretion who 
 wouldn't? Meredith most certainly would not have 
 trusted any man with such a delicate confession. 
 That the connection had continued during Evelyn's 
 married life seemed to him improbable, that it had 
 ceased when Evelyn vanished he was certain, for he 
 had a way of dropping in to see Sophy now and again, 
 and he had pitied her, she was evidently so lonely
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 227 
 
 and sad; but when Millerand told him that Sophy 
 had sent him the Suite in April, Meredith remembered 
 that in April Sophy had suddenly cheered up. That 
 then was the date when communications were re- 
 sumed ! He went straight from Millerand to Chelsea, 
 and there found that Miss Carter, that very day, had 
 packed up her clothes and gone abroad without leav- 
 ing any address. His instant conclusion was that she 
 was joining Evelyn, and he went on to rummage among 
 her papers without the shadow of a scruple. Chal- 
 lenged for a defence, he would have replied boldly 
 that Sophy was more his property than Evelyn's. 
 He had never loved her; but she had loved him, and 
 had given herself to him in an undefended weakness 
 which conferred on him proprietary rights in her for 
 the rest of her life. He had unlocked her bureau 
 with one of his own keys, Josephine standing by half 
 scandalised and half tickled, and had been immensely 
 pleased when he found on the very top of her untidy 
 pile of correspondence an envelope addressed to "Mon- 
 sieur Charles Evelyn, Hotel d'Evol, Kia, Py. O." Just 
 like Sophy, to write a letter and forget to post it! 
 He had not read it. He had meditated doing so, 
 but from a sense of honour had refrained. 
 
 After all what need had he to read it, when he 
 learned from Josephine that Sophy's letters were to 
 wait for her in Perpignan? People do not stay at 
 Perpignan in June! Evidently it was only a step- 
 ping-stone to Ria; and for an hour Meredith sat idle, 
 his forehead on his arm, indulging his imagination al- 
 ternately in a vision of Sophy and Evelyn at JiJvol, 
 and in more practical thoughts of what their sinful 
 felicity might mean for him. For of course Mrs. Eve-
 
 228 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 lyn could not be left in ignorance. Directly or in- 
 directly he would have to open her eyes for her, and, 
 too bold for hypocrisy, he owned to himself that 
 he would rather like doing it. He was not gratui- 
 tously vindictive, but she had more than once stung 
 him to the quick, and with the excuse of doing it 
 for her own ultimate happiness he was not unwilling 
 to use the knife. 
 
 Still he was not anxious to be associated in her 
 memory with the surgeon's ungrateful office, and for 
 that reason he had not yet betrayed Evelyn. There 
 would be time enough when Dent came back from 
 isvol in redhot indignation to say "Ah, this is what 
 I've been afraid of all along." 
 
 "Who is Meredith?" Wright had once asked Eve- 
 lyn, and Evelyn had replied in all simplicity that he 
 hadn't the faintest idea. And yet no mystery hung 
 over Meredith's birth. It was only that he had 
 never seen much of his parents. He was the son 
 of a well-to-do Wiltshire squire, who had early handed 
 over the duties of his estate to an agent because they 
 bored him, and entered at Lincoln's Inn. Hubert 
 Meredith had in perfection the legal mind. He did 
 well at the Bar, took silk at forty-three, married at 
 forty-five the heiress of a Judge, and so united two 
 comfortable incomes. He was moderately fond of his 
 wife and she of him, but by common consent, after 
 Edmund's birth, they had no more children. An in- 
 come has to be very comfortable indeed before it will 
 cover the claims of half a dozen growing boys and 
 girls. 
 
 So the only child grew up in an agreeable freedom
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 229 
 
 from rivalry, petted in moderation by his mother, 
 and neglected by his father, whose energy and ambi- 
 tion were concentrated on his Chancery work. In 
 due course Meredith went to Sherborne (not Eton: 
 the K. C. had been at Eton, but in those days living 
 was not so expensive), and thence to Cambridge, 
 where a First in the Modern Languages Tripos made 
 his way superfluously smooth for him into the diplo- 
 matic service of the old easy, exclusive days. "My 
 boy has never given me a moment's anxiety," said 
 the elder Meredith proudly. 
 
 Then came the war, which cut across so many lives, 
 and Edmund applied for a commission not in any 
 unseemly hurry ; he loathed the thought of Army dis- 
 cipline, and it was late in 1915 before he began to 
 feel uncomfortable in civilian attire. Still, once in, he 
 did his duty well. But he hated taking an order and 
 was unaffectedly glad to be demobilised. He never re- 
 turned to his diplomatic career. His father had died 
 in the interval, and Edmund, now a rich man, had 
 had enough of harness. He had always had a turn 
 for literature and a taste for music, and between the 
 two he drifted gradually into the ranks of musical 
 criticism ; incurably an amateur, a dilettante, though 
 he had the technique of both arts at his fingertips. 
 
 He had been sorry when his father died, but not 
 too sorry. His mother was still alive, a mild old 
 lady who divided her year between Torquay and the 
 Cote d'Azur. Every autumn the Journal de Bordig- 
 hera chronicled the arrival of "Mrs. Meredith and 
 Suite," the suite consisting of a rather uppish maid 
 and a rather dejected companion, for Mrs. Meredith, 
 though always placid, was only just as kind as a pan-
 
 230 GLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 oply of egotism allowed. Her pleasant selfishness 
 became her as harmoniously as her jetted dresses and 
 floating veils became her comely, plump, and sedent- 
 ary body. She was fond of Edmund, and wrote to 
 him every Sunday; but "Your affectionate Mother" 
 was perfectly satisfied to hear back once or twice 
 a month from "Yr. affcte. Son." 
 
 An ordinary life and an agreeable: and Meredith 
 himself would have been the last to complain of 
 his lot. Yet there were two great agencies whose 
 operation he had never felt, love and sorrow. Begot- 
 ten and born of thin emotions, he had inherited his 
 father's brain and his mother's temper, but the gener- 
 ation of 1890 was not so tough as that of 1860, and 
 Meredith was weaker than they. Nor was he stiffened 
 as they were by the Victorian tradition of decency. 
 It was their safeguard. Meredith had none. Pleas- 
 ure was his law of life : hence his dealings with Sophy 
 which would have horrified the K. C. For all that, 
 1890 dreamed dreams to which 1860 was blind, and 
 there were forces in Meredith that might have raised 
 him above his parents' level if his life had called them 
 out. It had not done so yet. 
 
 Strangely enough, it had come nearest to doing so in 
 his pursuit of Kitty Evelyn, the first of his rather 
 frequent love affairs that had involved him in a con- 
 flict of principle. He was genuinely fond of Evelyn, 
 within the rather narrow limits set by his vanity. He 
 cherished for Evelyn the slightly supercilious affec- 
 tion of the disciplined mind for the undisciplined, of 
 the firm, deliberate, and consistent will for the will 
 that is rarely sure of its aims and never ruthless in 
 achieving them. It was because there had always
 
 GLAIR DE LUNE 231 
 
 been this vein of patronage in his feeling for Evelyn 
 that he had drifted unconsciously into conduct which 
 ordinarily he would have considered base. Evelyn 
 really wasn't good enough for Kitty and didn't even 
 appreciate her : who should blame Meredith for steal- 
 ing what Evelyn had never valued? In this way he 
 justified or rather disguised his treachery in Chelsea; 
 but he suffered in it. 
 
 Kitty too made him suffer. In his earlier love-af- 
 fairs it had been the woman who went to the wall. 
 Kitty, over whom he had no power, was the invol- 
 untary avenger of her sex. She did not even enjoy 
 tormenting him as she had enjoyed tormenting Dims- 
 dale Smith; Dimmie under the table was amusing 
 and she liked him, but Meredith, from the moment 
 when he threw off the mask, ceased to please her. 
 Lovers like poets succeed better in fiction than in 
 truth, and when he was in earnest he became indis- 
 creet and outspoken and the touch of his hot hand 
 offended her. Still, she was sorry for him; and 
 there was warmth in being loved as he loved her, after 
 the misery of Evelyn's coldness. 
 
 And when the household in Chelsea broke up it 
 was through this vein of sincerity in him that he was 
 able to regain his lost place in Kitty's friendship. 
 Meredith was not glad, as a more thoroughly common 
 mind might have been. He was profoundly distressed : 
 angry with Evelyn and grieved for Kitty, and yet 
 grieved for Evelyn too, and troubled by the knowledge 
 that Evelyn must have beggared himself to repay his 
 debt. It was an impulse of which Meredith was more 
 than half ashamed, a piece of boyish generosity, which 
 made him offer to become the anonymous tenant of
 
 232 CLAIK, DE LUNE 
 
 Temple Evelyn. Mixed motives as usual came into 
 play, for at Temple Evelyn he would be close to the 
 Manor Farm, but it was a wise philosopher who said 
 that we are entitled to be judged by the best of our 
 determining motives, and Meredith would have done 
 it in any event for Evelyn's sake. 
 
 Mixed motives then took him to Temple Evelyn, 
 but gradually, when no news came, the ties of friend- 
 ship began to weaken. What had happened between 
 husband and wife he knew no more than Dent did, 
 but, like Dent, he thought that nothing could condone 
 Evelyn's flight. He saw Kitty solitary and passion- 
 ately unhappy, deserted and without protection free 
 then, or in a fair way to be free to reshape her life, 
 miraculously placed within his reach again when he 
 had believed her lost to him for ever; and now came 
 the last turn of the wheel, when this man, who had 
 not cared seriously for a woman since his boyhood, 
 found out that the luxury and distinction which he 
 had prized so highly would be dust and ashes if he 
 could not soon or late win her for his wife. At once 
 his manner changed, and the lover whom Kitty had 
 pitied and disliked was transformed into a friend in 
 whom she could find no fault. There was much that 
 was chivalrous in his feeling for her now, and, since 
 he hoped to marry her, it was entirely respectful, for 
 his egoism came to her aid, throwing over her the 
 shield of his self-love. The woman who was to become 
 his wife must be untouched by suspicion. During 
 the twelve months of his stay at Temple Evelyn 
 and towards the end of the time he was meeting her 
 every day he had not once reminded her of the scene 
 in Chelsea,
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 233 
 
 Kitty supposed him cured. When he offered his serv- 
 ices as courier she hesitated, but only for a moment; 
 the long journey frightened her, George Dent was 
 openly relieved, and it would have been ungracious 
 to refuse. For Meredith knew the Continent from 
 Astrakhan to the Pillars of Hercules, and time tables 
 had no terrors for him ; his French was cosmopolitan 
 and he had enough Spanish to make a guess at Cata- 
 lan; porters fawned on him, and even the Parisian 
 taxi-driver subsided into moderation under that cold 
 blue stare. So Meredith and Kitty and George Dent 
 came out to Perpignan together. 
 
 But Meredith was only biding his time to strike, 
 and when Dent returned from Eia his chance came 
 and he took it. 
 
 "There comes George's train," said Meredith. 
 Along the branch line from Perpignan to Villef ranche 
 trains were not so frequent as to admit of a mistake. 
 "Twenty minutes behind time as usual. These French 
 railways are a disgrace. They want a few good Eng- 
 lish managers at the head of them. Hallo !" 
 
 "What, then?" 
 
 "The most beautiful butterfly in all the world has 
 settled on your hat. 'Knows a good thing when he 
 sees it, ce Monsieur-la." Kitty bowed her head and the 
 butterfly, drowsy after day-long sunshine, fluttered 
 languidly off to a stalk of yellow mullein and sat 
 there waving its orient wings. Heavy they were and 
 thick with iridescent down, flashing prismatically 
 from grass-green through gold into flame; their last 
 gleam before they furled was red as a winter sunset. 
 Kitty's face lit up but she crushed her hands together
 
 234 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 as if to repress the elan of pleasure. "How Eve would 
 love that!" 
 
 Meredith started. Since leaving Chelsea she had 
 not often of her own free will pronounced Evelyn's 
 name. "So he would," Meredith agreed tonelessly. 
 "He was fond of pretty things." 
 
 "It's so strange to know that he's only a few miles 
 away: watching the same sunset, from those very 
 hills that I can see. George might even bring him 
 back with him; there, the train's stopped perhaps 
 he's just getting out on the platform coming through 
 the Sortie. Now George is looking for Bartolome, 
 and Bartolome's telling him where I am. They would 
 be sure to follow us, wouldn't they? Eve would travel 
 light, or if he had any luggage Bartolome could take 
 it to the hotel." 
 
 Meredith occupied himself with his cigar. He 
 could not trust his voice to answer her. It was the 
 first time that Kitty had taken off her delicate but 
 impenetrable mask, and his own handsome face, gener- 
 ally immovable in cold good temper, betrayed strain 
 in a deepening of the lines from nostril to jaw, for 
 it is almost impossible to endure unexpected stab 
 after stab without flinching, and he was taken by 
 surprise; he had hoped and latterly he had allowed 
 himself to feel certain that pride had worn down 
 Kitty's love during a twelvemonth of desertion, but 
 here was love undying and as fresh as ever! Love 
 and sorrow, Evelyn's wedding gift. . . . Meredith had 
 already acquired generosity enough to forget his own 
 disappointment in painful anger. 
 
 Kitty scarcely noticed his silence. She was entirely 
 off her guard, every faculty absorbed in suspense.
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 235 
 
 "I ought never to have left him," she went on, more to 
 herself than to Meredith. "It has been my fault 
 far, far more mine than his. One does things in a 
 blind hurry, because one's life seems suddenly to be- 
 come intolerable, as if one had come to the very end, 
 but there is no end, only an anti-climax. One lives 
 on, and turn after turn of the road opens out as one 
 grows older. I see it all differently now. I ought 
 to have stayed. I hated hurting him. But that 
 was cowardly too." 
 
 Meredith blew out a mouthful of smoke and watched 
 it slowly dissolve away amid their canopy of pointed 
 olive leaves. "Since none of us asked to be born," 
 he said with deliberation, "I am of opinion that when 
 the conditions of life become intolerable one is en- 
 titled to change them. Necessity knows no law." 
 
 "Necessity is the cloak that we invent to cover 
 cowardice." 
 
 "You're in a very epigrammatic mood tonight, my 
 dear friend." 
 
 There was effort in his voice, but in her deep pre- 
 occupation Kitty, so sensitive as a rule, was blind and 
 deaf to it. "Don't scold me! It's a first offence." 
 
 "No, no," said Meredith smiling. "You have a 
 diamond wit." 
 
 "And you like me on condition that I never wear it. 
 Be at ease ! I'm only clever by inadvertence." 
 
 "Like you, do I? Yes, even when you're absent- 
 minded," Meredith murmured. "... But you're 
 too stern ; you're a Stoic. Or is it that you pre-sup- 
 pose a religious contract?" 
 
 "Between us and God?" said Kitty with a curl of 
 the lip. "No, there's no contract. There's no free-
 
 236 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 dom. One obeys because it is His will, and when His 
 hand is heavy one can only go on obeying. He's our 
 only true necessity. That's my creed. I didn't get 
 it out of a book." 
 
 Meredith shaded his eyes with his hand. "Well, 
 now's your chance to practise it." She had hurt him 
 so cruelly that he was more than half glad to hurt her, 
 but he had the grace not to watch her. "Here comes 
 Dent, and alone." 
 
 He waved to Dent, who left the road and came strid- 
 ing down a furrow between the vines, their green 
 tendrils catching at his knees as he brushed through. 
 Kitty stood up. By Dent's dark look and bent head 
 she saw that he was bringing bad news, and her cour- 
 age steeled itself to meet it. She was armed again 
 at all points before he reached the stream. 
 
 "Tired, George? We've had such a hot day here! 
 Mr. Meredith and I went out by tram to Canet and 
 sat on the sands. But it would be fresher in the 
 mountains." 
 
 "It was as hot as Hades in the train," grumbled 
 Dent, wiping his forehead. 
 
 "I'll go back to the hotel now," said Meredith. 
 "I've a letter I want to write; and Dent will bring 
 you in, Mrs. Evelyn." But Kitty put her hand on his 
 arm. 
 
 "No, stay ; George and I have no secrets from you. 
 Go on, George: it's understood that your mission 
 wasn't a success." 
 
 His feet rather wide apart and his hat tipped to 
 the back of his head, Dent stood digging a hole in 
 the turf with his walking stick : a solid English figure, 
 outraged common sense in every line. "Well, I've
 
 CLAIE DE LUNE 237 
 
 seen him. Slept last night at his place. It's an inn 
 up in the mountains, ten miles from Eia by a road 
 one could hardly drive, and it took me hours to walk 
 because I kept on missing it just the inn and nothing 
 else, not another house within sight, not a shop 
 and there lives my lord, winter and summer ' 
 
 "Alone?" said Meredith in his colourless voice. 
 
 "Lord, yes not a servant about the place: does 
 everything for himself with a Primus stove and a 
 piano. Works all day long at that rotten opera, never 
 stops except to boil an egg or knock off a hymn- 
 tune" 
 
 "A hymn-tune! Knock off a hymn-tune?" 
 
 "When he goes stale on the opera he knocks off a 
 hymn or a waltz by way of a change; that's how he 
 came to write that Sweet Pyrenees you heard, Mere- 
 dith. Suite Pyrenean, then, it's all one. Oh, he's 
 mad!" Dent burst out angrily. "Mad as a hatter. 
 There are lots of Johnnies boxed up in an asylum 
 that aren't half so mad as Eve." 
 
 "But what does he do for food," asked Kitty, "if 
 there aren't any shops?" 
 
 "There's a farm two miles off that he can get eggs 
 and butter from, and the rest of the vivers come up 
 from Eia once a week. You needn't get anxious, my 
 girl, he's not starving! On the contrary, he looks 
 better than I've ever seen him ; more flesh on him, 
 and a better colour than he used to be. / can't think 
 how he stands it ! I'm not faddy, but the loneliness 
 of that place would get on my nerves. He doesn't 
 even lock up at night! Shuts the shutters because 
 tlio chancy of temperature's bad for his beastly piano 
 and goes to bed with the door unbarred. Gets his
 
 238 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 bath in a brook kept that up all through the winter, 
 for I asked him, though he had to dig a hole through 
 the ice to get into it. If it were anything but a string 
 of cascades it'd be frozen solid. When he was at 
 Temple Evelyn he used to dust up the maids if the 
 water wasn't boiling. There's no getting even with a 
 chap like Eve, one day he wants a hot bath in August, 
 and the next he's rolling in the snow." 
 
 "Did he " Meredith waited a moment, choosing 
 his words "did he seem in any way to resent your 
 coming?" 
 
 " 'Don't know, didn't ask : I was too jolly glad to 
 get there. I tell you, Meredith, it's the most God- 
 forsaken spot you ever saw! Red cliffs a thousand 
 feet high, zig-zagging to and fro, and so steep that 
 if you fell over the parapet you'd never stop till you 
 got to the bottom. It was dark before I reached it 
 and I made sure I was off on the wrong track ; I could 
 not believe a chap like Evelyn would have stuck it out 
 for thirteen months in a beastly hole like that." 
 
 "Laying himself out for an interview," suggested 
 Meredith smoothly. "'Eminent Pianist's Mountain 
 Nook,' with photographic illustrations." He felt 
 Kitty stiffen, and retraced the false step. "But of 
 course Evelyn's always been incapable of posing." 
 He was raging inwardly ; it irked him to madness to 
 have to apologise to Evelyn under penalty of offend- 
 ing Evelyn's wife. 
 
 "And when is Evelyn coming to Perpignan?" Kitty 
 asked in her gentle careless voice. She knew the 
 answer beforehand by Dent's voluble, irrelevant irri- 
 tation. 
 
 "He won't come, old girl."
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 239 
 
 "Doesn't he want to see me again?" 
 
 "No ; I couldn't get him." 
 
 "Did you try hard?" 
 
 Dent, who was not stupid, shrugged his shoulders. 
 "Yes, I did: very hard. I said everything I could 
 think of. It ain't a case for standing on one's dignity. 
 I told him you were down and out and sorry you'd ever 
 left him" 
 
 "Oh !" 
 
 "Well, you are, aren't you? Hang it, you did leave 
 him! He stuck to you all right." 
 
 "Yes, I am sorry, and you did right to say so." 
 Kitty's voice was schooled again to composure, though 
 her cheeks were burning. "I was just owning to Mr. 
 Meredith that after thirteen months of reflection in 
 the wilderness I can now see and confess I was wrong. 
 Neither Eve nor I had the right to break the bond 
 because it galled us. But Eve evidently hasn't been in 
 the wilderness, and so he hasn't learnt his lesson yet. 
 You tell me he's growing fat!" She glanced down 
 at her own fine slenderness, and once again, as the 
 alteration in her looks came freshly home to him, Mere- 
 dith was swept by a rush of grief and anger. Kitty 
 had not grown fat during those months of separation. 
 "He's been letting out his coats while I've been taking 
 in my dresses!" 
 
 "I didn't tell him that," Dent said, digging his stick 
 deeper than ever into the river-side turf, which now 
 looked as though it had been undermined by worm- 
 casts. "I wasn't going to make a poor mouth." 
 
 The silence that followed was broken by Meredith 
 in his most detached and deliberate tone. "What 
 time was it when you got to
 
 240 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 "Between ten and eleven last night. Why?" 
 
 Meredith raised his eyebrows. "Well, one's natur- 
 ally interested in the details of such a curious house- 
 hold. Was Evelyn in bed?" 
 
 "No, he was smoking a cigarette on the steps. But 
 he was on his way to bed. He goes off at eleven and 
 gets up at six." 
 
 "And did you get up at six too?" Meredith enquired. 
 "I suppose not, since he was sufficiently hospitable 
 to keep you till the evening train." 
 
 "No fear! I was shot out soon after ten o'clock 
 this morning. Evelyn walked down with me to Ria. 
 I left by the middle-day train; but I stopped to get 
 some lunch in Villefranche, and lost the connection." 
 Meredith brushed away a smile. Dent, if he had 
 chosen, could have reached Perpignan by lunch-time. 
 For all his valiant manner, he had shirked breaking 
 the bad news to Kitty. 
 
 "Then you actually were not twelve hours in Evol? 
 You can't have seen much of it, but presumably there 
 wasn't much to see. One knows those upland metairies 
 so well, nice old places, solidly built, and quite pic- 
 turesque, with their thick walls and tiny windows, 
 but they haven't many rooms. Did Evelyn show you 
 over it?" 
 
 "Yes no : there was nothing to go over. Livingroom 
 and kitchen on the ground floor, and two bedrooms 
 above. I had the back room. It was comfortable 
 enough." 
 
 "And what was Evelyn's like? Luxurious, I'd 
 swear." 
 
 "I didn't see it," said Dent shortly. "I wasn't in- 
 vited to stay on and I didn't want to. Oh Lord yes,
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 241 
 
 we parted on friendly terms ! I wasn't going to quar- 
 rel with Eve after all these years. But I was angry. 
 I am angry. Not but what it was your fault to start 
 with, Kitty, you wrote him a beastly letter. It no 
 longer surprises me that you never would own up what 
 was in it. Just like a woman! you punch a man 
 under the belt and then you wonder what he's sulking 
 for. I should have sulked if any woman had written 
 me a letter like that, she might have whistled for me 
 to go back to her. Still thirteen months is thirteen 
 months, and so I told him." 
 
 "What an impressive argument ! And yet he wasn't 
 impressed? He's so obstinate!" 
 
 "Yes, I told him that too, that he was as" 
 
 " stubborn as Carter's mule? Georgy, I do wish 
 some day you would tell me who Carter was. Couldn't 
 you, for a Christmas present?" 
 
 Dent uttered a noise between a giggle and a snort 
 he did not wish to be amused, but Kitty could always 
 make him laugh and turned, cutting at the vines with 
 his stick. "Well, that's all. He won't come: sent 
 his love to you, which I told him was dashed impu- 
 dence and I shouldn't give it you : and now I'll go and 
 get some dinner. It's a quarter to nine and I want a 
 wash." 
 
 He swung off, leaving them to follow or not as they 
 liked. Kitty was doing so when Meredith seized her 
 arm. "Wait one moment," he said, with difficulty 
 controlling his voice. "There's something I want to 
 say to you. My turn now." 
 
 "Mr. Meredith!" 
 
 "Do wait. I won't say anything that Dent mightn't 
 hear. I'd as soon speak before him as not." He was
 
 242 CLAIE DE LUNE 
 
 still holding her arm. Kitty unlocked his fingers and 
 freed herself but without moving away. At last and 
 in the twinkling of an eye she had taken the measure 
 of his passion, and it frightened her, but she was 
 too proud to run from it: though he was different, 
 dangerously different from the Meredith of Chelsea 
 with his flushed face and hot eyes and fierce, un- 
 guarded manner. He was cold enough now ; his hand 
 was like ice. 
 
 "You can stop me directly I offend you, but if I do 
 it will be unintentional. I do love you." It was evi- 
 dent : the more so that he was fighting down with an 
 iron hand the agitation that threatened to overpower 
 him. "More than I did in Chelsea. I must own to 
 having deceived you when I asked leave to come out 
 to France as your friend. I'm not your friend. But 
 for all that, if there had been any prospect of a re- 
 conciliation with Evelyn, I should have dropped out 
 of your life without worrying you again. Now how- 
 ever it's clear that there will be none, for if Dent 
 couldn't patch it up no one else ever will unless you 
 went to him yourself, and you won't do that will 
 you?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "So that the position which you yourself call intol- 
 erable will continue indefinitely. What misery for 
 you ! Married, and not married : all your youth run- 
 ning to waste. Kitty, come to me!"
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 ET us understand each other," said Kitty 
 soberly. "Are you asking me to leave my 
 husband for you?" 
 
 Within the last half hour, low clouds had taken 
 shape along the sunset : mountain clouds, faint sculp- 
 turings of lilac mist and marble, into which the sun 
 had gone down early in a blur of faint red. All the 
 plain was beginning to turn blue under the incoming 
 tide of twilight, a tide that washed up and up like a 
 blue sea, shading with azure the green leaves of the 
 vines and the silver leaves of the olives and the 
 velvet spire of a cypress pricking an early star. Yet 
 the air was not cool, there was a weight of heat in it 
 and the tramontane had died down : it felt as though 
 between cloud and mountain a storm were brewing, 
 'high and far away. 
 
 "Let me put my coat under you," said Meredith 
 gently, "then you won't soil your dress." He spread 
 his coat on the riverside turf in the dense shadow of 
 a chestnut, feeling glad to be screened from the road 
 behind its droop of green fans. Ever since leaving 
 England he had ached to be alone with Kitty, and now 
 in the vague twilight he had his wish, but his manner 
 remained as gentle and formal as before. 
 
 "Let me first apologise for the way I behaved to 
 you in Chelsea. I am not going to repeat that of- 
 fence. I didn't love you so well then as I do now. I've 
 learnt to value your happiness more than my own, 
 
 243
 
 244 GLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 and if you really were happy But, of course, you 
 aren't." 
 
 "Quite true," Kitty smiled assent. "I am most un- 
 happy." 
 
 "Because English society doesn't provide for the 
 happiness of a woman who lives apart from her hus- 
 band. It allows you, at least while you're so young, 
 no life of your own. Now you're not the sort of woman 
 to be content with a Cambridgeshire village. You 
 want money and an assured position." 
 
 "I don't want anything except Evelyn." 
 
 He took that blow without flinching. "But, since 
 you can't have him, why not put up with second-best? 
 Oh, my friend, I've no illusions! not even about my- 
 self. I love you, but it won't last passion never lasts : 
 you care for your husband, but that won't last either : 
 indeed, to be brutally frank, it's probable that if you 
 came to me I could make you forget him and care 
 for me instead. . . . I may go on? . . . Nature makes 
 short work of our sentimentalities. She has her own 
 job to perform. That's why on an average the ar- 
 ranged foreign marriages turn out as well as ours 
 do. ... If you have ever visualised me as your lover, 
 you've always seen yourself shrinking from me. I say 
 you would not shrink. Not for more than a few min- 
 utes." He drew himself erect and held back his broad 
 shoulders as if to make her feel the force of manhood 
 latent in him. "Call me a materialist if you like, but, 
 with physiological laws behind me, I am certain that I 
 could substitute myself for Evelyn in your affections. 
 Even if that were not so. however, in three years' time 
 the romance would be out of both of us. but you would 
 still have the solid advantages I could give you."
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 245 
 
 "Money no doubt, but as to the assured position I'm 
 not so clear. Evelyn may be a halfhearted husband, 
 but after all I am his wife." 
 
 "Evelyn is practically dead." 
 
 "As good as dead?" Kitty murmured with her im- 
 perceptible irony. "Not in the eyes of the law." 
 
 "If he were dead you wouldn't hesitate to marry 
 again." 
 
 "No?" 
 
 "No, you're too sensible," said Meredith bluntly. 
 "A woman who loses her husband before she's twenty- 
 five always marries again if she gets the chance. Eve- 
 lyn is morally dead to you. If you came to me he 
 would divorce you, in a year's time you would be my 
 wife, in another six months or so we should be settled 
 in town, and who would blame you for it? You 
 know as well as I do that the stiffest households 
 overlook such necessary bits of reconstruction, which 
 are forced on people every day by our out of date 
 divorce laws. Before three years were up the story 
 would be virtually forgotten, and you would be in a 
 position to pick and choose your acquaintance!" 
 
 Kitty rose and stood facing him in the green shadow, 
 her hands clenched behind her waist over the ivory 
 stick of her parasol. The words that rose to her 
 lips were the cliches of helpless anger consecrated to 
 such a situation on the stage. But how unfair it 
 would have been to cry "How dare you?" to Meredith, 
 who was only infringing rights which there was no one 
 to defend! Evelyn's desertion left her exposed to 
 worse insults than the offer of an irregular marriage. 
 "Thank you," she answered, "you mean well, but I 
 am oldfashioned, and I should feel it a disgrace to be
 
 246 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 divorced. Oh, more than a disgrace! A sin you 
 know what a sin is? What you go to Hell for when 
 you die." 
 
 "Divorce him yourself then." 
 
 "For what? for desertion? you know he has given 
 me no other grounds." 
 
 "Has he not?" 
 
 "Explain, please," said Kitty, imperturbable ex- 
 cept for the flush that tinged her cheek. 
 
 Meredith stood for a minute or more silent, with 
 bent head. Now that the brink was reached he was 
 reluctant to take the plunge. It was against his 
 code to betray a man to a woman, and he had hoped 
 against hope that Dent would have the sense to come 
 on some damning evidence which would make Mere- 
 dith's testimony superfluous. But now there was no 
 other way of winning Kitty ; and Evelyn had betrayed 
 her. Meredith hardened his heart. 
 
 "You force me into an odious position, because I 
 used to be Evelyn's friend. But I am yours even more, 
 and I feel bound to tell you that I did not get his 
 address from Millerand, but from a woman of light 
 character, who was generally suspected of being his 
 mistress before he married you." 
 
 "She gave it you?" 
 
 "Millerand referred me to her." Meredith was not 
 ashamed of his treachery to Sophy a woman, and a 
 light woman at that: alas, poor Sophy! but he did 
 feel that it would be as well not to go into unnecessary 
 details which Kitty might misunderstand. "Miller- 
 and never had Evelyn's address. All the arrangements 
 for the production of the Suite passed through her 
 hands. I need hardly tell you what conclusion Miller-
 
 CLAIE DE LUNE 247 
 
 and had drawn. As Evelyn must have foreseen. One 
 supposes he didn't care." 
 
 "But where was she then this woman?" 
 
 "She has been living in Chelsea, in the flat above 
 Evelyn's She was in it during all the time of your 
 marriage." 
 
 Kitty had the sensation of having a dagger thrust 
 into her side. But it was no sooner driven home than 
 she wrenched it out again. Whatever else was or 
 was not true, the touchstone of an upright mind re- 
 jected this poisonous implication. "Sophy Carter? 
 Yes, I know her name. You hint that Evelyn was 
 deceiving me with her? He wasn't. Nor did he 
 leave me for her. But he might have gone to her 
 since." 
 
 "Or she to him. She left London a few days ago 
 for Perpignan. This morning after breakfast I went 
 the round of the hotels without finding any trace of 
 her." 
 
 "But my husband is alone at Evol !" 
 
 Meredith was silent. 
 
 "You forget that George has just been staying 
 there." 
 
 "Dent arrived after ten last night and left early 
 this morning; 'shot out' was his own word." 
 
 "However little time it was, he did stay there, and 
 one couldn't conceal a woman's presence in a cottage 
 like that ! Evelyn took him all over it " 
 
 "Did he?" 
 
 "Why, there were only four rooms! the parlour 
 and kitchen, and the room George slept in, and 
 
 Kitty stopped, and after a moment turned away. 
 She felt herself blushing like a young girl who has
 
 248 CLAIE DE LUNE 
 
 come unawares on a sight not fit for her, and she 
 could not endure Meredith's eyes. She had grown 
 weak and hot from head to foot, the trees and grass 
 began to change colour, then came a deadly sensation 
 of lassitude . . . and then Meredith's voice, low and 
 fierce, "Kitty! Kitty! damn him! what right has he 
 to make you suffer so?" 
 
 Languidly Kitty opened her eyes. She was lying 
 flat on the turf and Meredith was kneeling over her, 
 moistening her forehead with a wet handkerchief. 
 His keen handsome features were as white as her 
 own, his lips were parted, he looked like a man very 
 much in love and yet shaken by pity, as if he were 
 actually thinking more of her than of himself. Kitty 
 shut her eyes again. Her mind was working lucidly, 
 but a dire exhaustion weighed aown her limbs and her 
 voice. She felt Meredith's hand on her wrist, and she 
 tried to tell him that she was already better an J there 
 was no need for anxiety, but no sound came, and she 
 lay still, in a respite that was not unwelcome: too 
 tired to be angry, though she knew that Meredith in 
 spite of his genuine distress was enjoying the privi- 
 leges that her dependence conferred. A vein of cold 
 cynicism in Kitty was even grateful to him for enjoy- 
 ing them. 
 
 And rapidly and dispassionately she went over in 
 her own mind what had passed between them in the 
 last twenty minutes. Till near the very end his argu- 
 ments had left her untouched ; she had listened because 
 it was her habit to give a hearing to anyone who 
 asked for it, but for all the impression they made 
 she might as well have stopped her ears. Her prin- 
 ciples were fixed, oldfashioned and founded on relig-
 
 GLAIR DE LUNE 249 
 
 ious considerations; other women might run away 
 with their lovers if they liked 
 
 "Different people have different opinions" 
 
 but such things simply did not happen to Kitty Dent. 
 It was true that she had in imagination seen Meredith 
 as her lover, because when a subject is once started in 
 an active mind there are few thoughts that do not 
 cross it at one time or another, but these visions 
 were on a par with the daydreams of murdering our 
 nearest and dearest in which we all indulge now and 
 then. They had never produced anything warmer 
 than an amused smile. But and this time it was her 
 own hand that drove the "knife into her quivering 
 side and held and pressed it firmly home if Evelyn 
 had given her the right to divorce him it made a dif- 
 ference : yes, a profound and far-reaching difference. 
 
 For after all by what law was she bound to Evelyn? 
 Social? There is no social law that condemns the 
 re-marriage of the innocent party. Moral? Race 
 ethics would be better served by her union with Mere- 
 dith. Religious? Well! that bar held fast for a 
 High Anglican, but not for every school. Kitty had 
 been brought up to believe that divorce in itself was 
 shameful and re-marriage a mortal sin indeed rather 
 more damning for the innocent than for the guilty, who 
 were damned already! Such was George Dent's 
 simple creed, and from it nothing would have moved 
 him. But religion, the religion of principle and con- 
 duct, meant a great deal to George Dent, who was too 
 tough and self-reliant to care how lonely his path was 
 or how stony underfoot so long as it ran between the
 
 250 CLAIB DE LUNE 
 
 hedges of duty. Not all of us are called to follow 
 counsels of perfection. Kitty was not weak, but she 
 was practical ; nothing would have made her do what 
 she thought wrong, but she doubted whether Dent and 
 his High Anglicans had a monopoly of rectitude. "I'm 
 not so religious as George is, nor so old," she reflected. 
 And she blushed, remembering certain moods not of 
 the spirit that had come on her in her loneliness, and 
 which it had taken her last inch of strength to fight 
 down. Danger, the danger of presumption, lies in 
 nailing a middle-class mind to the cross of an ideal 
 too high for it. 
 
 But if she was not bound to Evelyn by laws social, 
 or moral, or religious, what link was left except what 
 Meredith had called sentimentality that sterile ten- 
 derness which clings to its past instead of turning to 
 meet the future? 
 
 Suppose she divorced Evelyn to marry Meredith: 
 the step would require courage, but in courage Kitty 
 had never been deficient. Faith too : but on that score 
 Kitty felt tranquil she was not of those women whom 
 men betray. As surely as she committed her honour 
 into Meredith's hands, she could trust him to cherish 
 it as the honour of his wife. So far as that went, she 
 could have trusted him even in an irregular connec- 
 tion ; if she had gone to him before securing legal free- 
 dom, she knew that he would have married her at the 
 first possible moment. And watching from under her 
 eyelashes that strained, quivering face, she wondered 
 what it would be like to become his wife : to exchange 
 this torturing devotion to the past, for a determined 
 grip on life's second-best. 
 
 Children the children of Meredith instead of the
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 251 
 
 children of Evelyn . . . strange idea! Almost beyond 
 imagination, yet not quite: she shuddered at it, but 
 there would be relief in it : the forces of nature pushed 
 her towards it, in their imperious need of fruition. 
 And a social place of her own that drew Kitty, who 
 in her young days had liked the prospect of ruling 
 Temple Evelyn. At what price? At the price of sub- 
 mission to an unsparing and dominant love. After 
 six months of marriage to Evelyn Kitty still felt like 
 a maiden, but she divined that Meredith would not 
 leave her one vestige of her innocent and delicate 
 reserve : nor would she, though absolved by every law, 
 cease to feel unchaste. What ! give herself to Meredith 
 while Evelyn lived? Oh never, never! . . . Yet sup- 
 pose one took this great step, what a change! How 
 swiftly one would be drawn out of one's torpid back- 
 water and flung down the main stream of life again, in 
 wind and sun ! 
 
 "Edmund. . . ." 
 
 "Kitty! my own! you will come to me?" 
 
 Still languid, she raised herself on one arm again 
 and pushed him away, her hand against his coat. 
 "Listen: don't touch me. I don't love you. I love 
 my husband. I always have loved Evelyn ever since 
 I was a child, and you never would make me forget 
 him : in your arms I should remember him and wish 
 I were in his. This is the truth, and it will always 
 remain true. If I come to you perhaps some day I 
 shall deny it and say you've made me forget him, but 
 I warn you beforehand that that won't be true: it 
 will only mean that I'm more fond of you and more 
 sorry for you then than I am now. I am Evelyn's." 
 
 "Wait till you've been mine a year
 
 252 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 Half sad and half mocking, the smile in her eyes 
 put him to silence. "Are all men children? Listen 
 again, and try to believe that I understand myself 
 better than you do ; I shouldn't like it if some day you 
 were to reproach me with not having warned you. 
 You never will? Oh! yes, you will, men always for- 
 get what they would rather not have heard. Listen, 
 Edmund ; if I come to you it'll be for what I can get 
 out of you, 'money and a position,' and, what I want 
 far more, an active life of wide interests and fresh 
 feelings. I'm not patient: I'm full of energy, and 
 at the Manor Farm I haven't enough to fill my hands. 
 I like pleasure, I don't much mind pain, but I cannot 
 stand inaction. I'd rather go through any amount 
 of wear and tear than be laid up in lavender." 
 
 "I don't care a snap of the fingers why you come to 
 me so long as you do come." 
 
 "Pears' Soap !" Kitty jeered at him. "Listen don't 
 touch me: I'm not yours yet. Do you hate me for 
 making conditions? Am I hard? Well, you can take 
 me or leave me I feel hard. I can see you're hurt, 
 and I'm sorry for you, but not very sorry, because I'm 
 hurt too and if I come to you I I " 
 
 She broke down and sobbed, hiding her face in her 
 handkerchief against Meredith's arm. 
 
 "Kitty, my sweetest, my own," Meredith soothed 
 her brokenly, "I could shoot Evelyn when I see you 
 Buffer so !" 
 
 "But I never will come to you unless " 
 
 "Unless what, my dearest?" 
 
 "So long as Evelyn is faithful to me." 
 
 Meredith sighed. In some ways he would rather 
 have made sure of Kitty out of hand by an irregular
 
 CLAIE DE LUNE 253 
 
 connection and left it to Evelyn to set her free: one 
 could trust Evelyn to be generous. An undefended 
 suit, it would have gone through so quickly and 
 quietly, whereas now ... To divorce Evelyn meant 
 interminable delay, and tedious prudence from end to 
 end of it ; this very journey was an indiscretion. . . . 
 And in the bottom of his heart Meredith was not so 
 certain of Sophy's presence at iSvol as he would have 
 liked to be. It must be so, and yet. . . . He had no 
 particular faith in Evelyn's married morality, but 
 there were limitations of taste and temperament to 
 consider: Evelyn's temperament, so cold, eternally 
 preoccupied with his work, and Sophy's so fond of 
 luxury! Wouldn't it require a bolder woman than 
 Sophy to face the solitudes of Evol? Could she live 
 without a shop? 
 
 "I accept that decision, Kitty: though I rather 
 regret it. This is one of the cases where there's much 
 to gain and little to lose by defying convention." 
 
 "Leave me, then," said Kitty, languidly rising to 
 her feet. "Oh, why was I so inconsiderate as to faint 
 in this dress? I've only one other with me, and now 
 I'm all dusty. Well, leave me: marry a nice girl that 
 you can marry out of hand without going through 
 the mud for her. I owe you friendship and gratitude, 
 but I won't defy convention for you. If you want me 
 you must give everything and I shall give nothing. 
 It's a bad bargain." 
 
 "I call no bargain bad that gives me you," said 
 Meredith hoarsely. 
 
 Kitty's eyelashes fluttered, her bosom rose and fell : 
 she was too young not to feel glad to be desired. And 
 yet "I am doing wrong," she said, turning her
 
 254 CLAIK DE LUNE 
 
 small, still, white face and wide eyes towards tlie star- 
 lit redness of after-sunset. "Adultery does not con- 
 done adultery." 
 
 "Kitty ! it is you for calling a spade a spade. How 
 oldfashioned you are in your heart! Do you really 
 believe all these 'fables and antique toys'? Ah well, 
 I love you for that too, for being different from most 
 of the women I've known. After all, when it comes to 
 getting married, one likes a woman to be religious. 
 No, I wouldn't have you come to me on any other 
 terms; if you did I shouldn't trust you as my wife, 
 whereas now " 
 
 "Now you take it as a compliment to your manhood 
 that you can make me sin with my eyes open?" 
 
 "I love you," said Meredith humbly. 
 
 She was touched by that and smiled at him. "At 
 all events there shall be no half measures. I won't 
 come to you unless Evelyn betrays me, but if I do I'll 
 grudge nothing and I'll never look back."
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THEN, by Meredith's wish, the strange terms 
 on which he stood with Kitty were laid before 
 George Dent. Meredith said, "Let us do nothing 
 underhand. I've no one to consult, but your brother 
 is your natural guardian and ought to be told. We're 
 in for a long wait, and we shall have to act with the 
 utmost prudence, for I dare say you know enough of 
 the law to understand that you wouldn't obtain your 
 divorce if any gossip got about. I shan't be able to 
 see much of you when we're back in England. I ought 
 not to be here now. Most certainly I ought not to 
 have been here last night while Dent was away. But, 
 since to that extent the mischief's done, I should pre- 
 fer, unless you dislike the idea very strongly, to be 
 quite open with your brother. He's always behaved 
 very decently to me and I should feel like a sweep 
 if I deceived him." This view commended itself to 
 Kitty, a scorner of crooked ways and dark corners. 
 It made her feel that her feet were on firm ground. 
 Meredith was sincere in it. 
 
 In the half-Spanish patio of their h6tel that eve- 
 ning, with undisputed courage and tact and temper, 
 Meredith gave Dent the substance of what had passed 
 between him and Kitty. He did not even conceal the 
 irregularity of his original offer. The sky overhead 
 was densely and deeply blue, as if all the dust of noon 
 floated under the bright sparkling stars, and dark- 
 ened them. The courtyard, shut between four dazz- 
 
 255
 
 256 CLAIE DE LUNE 
 
 lingly white walls that had reflected the sun all day, 
 was intensely hot, and crammed with flowers so thickly 
 planted that one could not move between them tall 
 palms, the pink papery blossoms of lauriers roses, 
 golden epaulettes d'officier, garlands of heliotrope, 
 thickets of rose and fuchsia and hydrangea, packed 
 together into one rich heady-scented tangle without 
 grass or shade. Among the sycomores in the not 
 far distant Place a military band was playing Sous 
 Ics Fonts de Paris 
 
 
 
 H6-tel duCour-ant d'Air, 
 
 Ou 1'on ne paie pas 
 
 
 
 cher, . . . L'parfum et 1'eau c'est pour rien mon mar 
 
 
 
 quis, Sous les ponts de Par - is .... 
 
 with the precision and gaiety which are the birth- 
 right of sweet France : and there no doubt under the 
 shadow of the plane trees, in and out among the tables 
 at which their parents sat frugally sipping strops at 
 fifteen sous a glass and red wine at two francs a litre, 
 the young men and girls were waltzing with the in- 
 communicable entrain of youth. The merry, sad little 
 tune which praised love and made a jest of poverty 
 was mingled with the hushed murmur of a fountain 
 behind Meredith's clear, soft voice. 
 
 "Do you know anything about the divorce laws?" 
 Dent shook his head. "Well, divorce for desertion 
 is a slow business, and one has to go deucedly cau- 
 tiously to work. If it came out in court that Kitty
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 257 
 
 that I that she was going to marry again, as likely 
 as not her petition would be refused and she would 
 be tied to Evelyn for the rest of her life. In any 
 event, English society doesn't draw much of a line 
 between the woman who divorces her husband and 
 the woman who is divorced by him. Broadly speak- 
 ing, both are received in London and cold-shouldered 
 in the country. So that I was more than half inclined 
 to take Kitty away now and leave it to Evelyn to set 
 her free. It would have meant beginning with an 
 irregular step. But it wouldn't have lasted long 
 not one day longer than I could help; and it would 
 have come to the same thing in the end, and a much 
 quicker end. I own I dislike this long delay and sep- 
 aration with no declarable engagement. In all the 
 circumstances, I hope, Dent, you're not going to be 
 angry with me for suggesting such a step." 
 
 "But you didn't agree to Meredith's proposal, 
 Kitty?" said Dent, turning his kind sad eyes on his 
 sister. Kitty glanced down. She was in the thinnest 
 and softest of grey dresses, her arms and shoulders 
 only veiled: its semi-transparency revealed how thin 
 and fragile she had grown, slenderer now in her fin- 
 ished maturity of womanhood than in her teens. 
 
 "No : but I wasn't angry with him. I am not happy 
 at the Manor Farm now, George. It isn't that I'm 
 tired of it, I love the dear old place as much as ever, 
 but one can't, after being a married woman, go back 
 and be a girl again." 
 
 "Of course the stock arguments would be thrown 
 away," Dent mused, lighting his pipe. "I'm not going 
 to preach. You wouldn't listen if I did. ... Do I 
 think it wrong? Well, I don't think : I know, and so 
 do you, old girl. 'Course it's wrong. You ought to
 
 258 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 stick to Eve. By what I can make out you ought to 
 have stuck to him all along, but anyhow you've no 
 right to pick and choose now, say you don't like this 
 and you can't put up with t'other. We weren't sent 
 into this world to be happy but to do our duty. So far 
 as I can see, it don't signify two straws whether we're 
 happy or not. If it comes to that, you two in making 
 yourselves happy will make me wretched for the 
 rest of my life : but I don't say that to influence you 
 that's not the point." 
 
 "Is it my leaving Evelyn that you dislike so much, 
 or my re-marriage?" 
 
 "Re-marriage! I wonder you can sit there and 
 talk about re-marriage. You're a Churchwoman, 
 aren't you? Oh Lord yes! you'll soon find a clergy- 
 man that's willing to ^re-marry' you. It's legal, and 
 the Church of England has got men in it that would 
 marry a man to his grandmother if it were legal. But 
 the best men in the Church don't hold with it : and I 
 don't and never shall. To my mind it don't make much 
 odds whether you wait to be 're-married,' as you call 
 it, or go off with Meredith now. I tell you straight, 
 Kitty, in my eyes you'll never be his wife so long 
 as Eve's alive. Now then." 
 
 "That is an extreme view," said Meredith quietly : 
 "entirely unreasonable." 
 
 "Maybe," Dent nodded. "But I'm talking to my 
 sister, not to you. You're not a Churchman and don't 
 hold the same opinions that Kitty and I do. You've 
 acted quite straightforwardly according to your lights. 
 The worst that can be said of you is that you're be- 
 having pretty badly to Evelyn. To my mind you've 
 no right to pick his pocket."
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 259 
 
 Meredith shrugged his shoulders. "Will he care?" 
 
 u 'Course he'll care. It's a disgrace : a black mark 
 on his name. Evelyn's careless about nine hundred 
 and ninety-nine things out of a thousand, but he's 
 jealous of his name. Rightly, too: it's an old name, 
 and the womenfolk of the family have always been 
 careful of it. They say both Charles II and George 
 II came to Temple Evelyn and were sent off with 
 fleas in their ears. In those days our people were 
 bailiffs on the estate. I've read about Charles's go- 
 ings-on in Roger Dent's Commonplace Book. <I have 
 supped well and yet I go hungry/ said the Stuart as 
 he hoisted himself into the saddle Lawrence Evelyn 
 was holding his stirrup for him and Roger was stand- 
 ing by. <Oh, my wife/ said Lawrence, 'is famous for 
 sending folk away with a good appetite/ " 
 
 "Lawrence Evelyn is dead," said Kitty, "and the 
 fair Dorothy is dead and entirely undistinguished. 
 If she had played her cards better I might be a duchess. 
 But not to make myself out worse than I am which 
 you irresistibly tempt me to do let me point out to 
 you that I'm not going to divorce Evelyn for desertion 
 only. I couldn't do it, as I suppose you know, though 
 you never read divorce reports, do you? The law 
 requires other grounds. Edmund thinks they have 
 been given." It irritated her to find that it required 
 courage to call Meredith by his Christian name before 
 her brother. But in her present temper opposition 
 only hardened her. "In that case it would be Evelyn 
 who was answerable for the black mark. Edmund, 
 please tell George on what condition I've promised to 
 go to you." 
 
 But Dent was not placated by Kitty's condition.
 
 260 CLAIB DE LUNE 
 
 He got up "Kitty ! this passes. Don't I tell you I 
 asked Evelyn point-blank if he had been faithful to 
 you? 'Neither act nor thought' that's what he said : 
 and he gave me his word for it. Would Eve lie to me 
 Eve that never told a lie in his life, not even to 
 Philip, and that I've always felt towards as if he 
 were a young brother of my own? You know better 
 than that." 
 
 "Evelyn," Meredith remarked, "may never have 
 had such excellent reason for telling a lie before." 
 
 Dent turned on him in anger. "Look here, Mere- 
 dith, you came to Chelsea as Evelyn's friend." 
 
 "And I regret it very much. It puts me in an odious 
 position. But let us qualify our terms : I should not 
 blame him for lying to protect a lady would you?" 
 
 "Edmund thinks," said Kitty, suppressing an irrele- 
 vant and untimely wish that Meredith would not 
 always say a, lady instead of a woman, "that Evelyn 
 was not alone at Evol." 
 
 Under Dent's light blue level eyes Meredith 
 shifted in his chair. Dent was dismayingly shrewd. 
 He gave a short laugh. "Kitty, don't let cats out of 
 bags. Meredith says a lot of things to you that he 
 wouldn't care to repeat to me. That's one of them. 
 You don't believe it, Meredith. You only want to 
 make Kitty jealous. You aren't ass enough to believe 
 he had a woman with him in a four-roomed cottage 
 ten miles from anywhere with no water laid on and 
 no cooking apparatus but a paraffin stove." 
 
 Meredith jerked his cigar away. He too was angry 
 now though his manner remained polite: the angrier 
 because, though his ^reason was honestly convinced 
 that Sophy was at Evol, there lingered in the back
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 261 
 
 of his mind that stubborn, instinctive doubt. "It 
 seems improbable. But the fact remains that Evelyn 
 hustled you out of the house in under twelve hours 
 and you did not go into all four rooms. You are mis- 
 taken if you think I should bring this charge lightly. 
 No, I've no proof: but I have evidence." Rapidly he 
 ran over what he had learnt from Millerand and from 
 Sophy's maid. "No one but Evelyn would have 
 employed this girl as a go-between; nor would even 
 Evelyn, one supposes, have done it if he had not been 
 on intimate terms with her and indifferent to com- 
 ment." 
 
 Dent's heavy, slightly undershot jaw was clenched. 
 "I tell you he gave me his word !" 
 
 "So should I, in his shoes. You're so energetic. 
 You would have been capable of going upstairs. . . . 
 I'm no lawyer, but I'm a lawyer's son, and I can't but 
 point out that in a court of enquiry your evidence 
 wouldn't go far. It amounts to this, that we've Eve- 
 lyn's word for his innocence ; and a man's word isn't 
 usually taken for proof. Dent, since you press me, it 
 does seem strange to me that he should have got rid of 
 you in such a hurry. In a queer place like that, a 
 makeshift camp in the woods, the first thing one nat- 
 urally says is 'Like to look over it?' Evelyn appar- 
 ently said nothing of the sort. You say you never 
 even saw inside his room." 
 
 Dent's face changed. He put his hand before his 
 eyes. Suddenly there had floated back to him the last 
 noise he had heard before going to sleep overnight 
 the locking of Evelyn's door. 
 
 "If I thought that," he said more to himself than to 
 Meredith, "if I thought that, by Heaven . . ."
 
 262 GLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 Meredith eyed him curiously. "What then? he 
 isn't up to your fighting weight, my dear friend or 
 mine." 
 
 "Fight, there'd be no fight . . . but it's impossible. 
 Careless if you like, and as stubborn as but not 
 treacherous : no, no." Dent straightened himself and 
 braced back his shoulders as if to fling off a burden. 
 In his steady eyes there was more than a shade of 
 contempt. Its injustice angered Meredith, yet he 
 winced under it, for Dent carried heavy guns. Men 
 like Meredith, aware of mixed motives, find it hard to 
 face the indignation, right or wrong, of an upright and 
 equitable mind like that of George Dent. "So that's 
 your opinion, is it? Back it, then." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "Come up with me to ifcvol to-morrow. Eepeat to 
 Evelyn's face, if you've pluck enough to do it, what 
 you've said behind his back to me and Kitty : challenge 
 him to clear himself." 
 
 "That is quite a good idea," said Kitty. "Do it, 
 Edmund. Let us all know where we stand." 
 
 But Meredith did not like the good idea far from 
 it: Dent could not have hit on a more disagreeable 
 ordeal. It brought a flush to his face. "But, my 
 dear fellow, these are Red Indian methods the social 
 equivalent of the bowie and the tomahawk ! In polite 
 warfare one doesn't go to work so crudely. Are you 
 trying to force a quarrel between me and Evelyn? 
 I'd rather not come to blows." 
 
 "There'll be no quarrel, if I know Eve. He can 
 keep his temper if you can't. Be frank with him, 
 since you're so keen on being frank; if you want to 
 steal your friend's wife don't do it behind his back!"
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 263 
 
 "It's preposterous," said Meredith hotly and with- 
 out any of the affectation that had become his second 
 nature. "He would kick us both out of the house!" 
 
 "You're afraid to face him." 
 
 "Afraid to face Evelyn ! I?" He laughed, genuinely 
 amused. "My good chap, Evelyn must have altered 
 a lot before I should be afraid to tackle him !" 
 
 "Oh, not afraid in that way," said Dent impatiently. 
 "You're not going to come to blows. If there were a 
 row it would be me but that's neither here or there. 
 'Afraid' 's the wrong word : what I mean is ashamed." 
 
 Meredith stood up. He had not felt so angry since 
 he was a boy, but to quarrel with Dent was impossible. 
 He brushed his way once or twice up and down a 
 ribbon of path threaded in and out of the flowery patio, 
 struggling with his incontinent temper, before coming 
 back to the brother and sister who waited for him 
 under the palm arcade. Singularly alike, those two ! 
 they had not exchanged a word during his absence, 
 both wore the same placid expression, both were 
 obviously waiting for him to agree to this extraor- 
 dinary proposal, against which every fibre of his 
 common sense rebelled. Dent too, with his shrewd 
 level head! One would have resigned oneself to a 
 strange whim or two in Kitty a woman, and a young 
 and pretty woman, and one so strangely placed that 
 almost any disturbance of the situation might do her 
 good and could scarcely do her harm. It would have 
 been easy to consent and subsequently wriggle out of 
 it. But Dent! Once nailed by Dent, wriggling 
 would be both undignified and ineffectual. One would 
 have to go through with the disgusting business . . . 
 Well, Dent was not a man of the world, that was what
 
 264 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 was wrong with him. He was bitten with High 
 Church fads : and raging Meredith said to himself that 
 if this was what came of Dent's affection for the 
 Sermon on the Mount, confound him, it was certainly 
 not a religion for gentlemen. An agreeable interview 
 this that he had so coolly mapped out for Meredith 
 to go to a man who still considered Meredith his 
 friend, and explain to him the terms on which he hoped 
 to steal his wife ! "I'll take up your challenge, though 
 it is a foolhardy one, will give Evelyn unnecessary 
 distress, and may lead to mischief. But I accept it as 
 I accepted Kitty's original condition : because she has 
 the right to impose what terms she likes." 
 
 "It'll clear up the situation at all events," said Dent 
 rising. "Calling yourself Evelyn's friend, you can't 
 pick his pocket. Fair and square is my motto. I'll 
 turn in now. Kitty, you had better cut off to bed too." 
 
 "It's early yet," pleaded Meredith. He would have 
 liked five minutes with Kitty under the lauriers roses, 
 even if they had said nothing to each other which Dent 
 might not have heard : he felt jarred and restless, and 
 the longing to be alone with her was strong upon him. 
 He would have been content simply to sit by her with- 
 out uttering a word. But Kitty shook her head, 
 faintly and compassionately smiling at him. 
 
 "Not tonight, Edmund. I agree with George I 
 had rather Evelyn knew."
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 CHARLES." 
 "What?" 
 "I only wanted to make sure you were in- 
 doors." 
 
 "Rather! Why?" 
 
 "Just look at the sky." 
 
 "Shan't. I'll put you in a corner, Sophy, if you talk 
 to me while I'm working." 
 
 Sophy smiled, the frame of mind was healthy; in 
 Chelsea Evelyn would have come out to look at the 
 sky, raging irritation imperfectly disguised under a 
 tense affability. In his newfound peace of mind he 
 could afford to be rude. "Play to me." 
 
 "By'n' by." 
 
 Sophy sat on the doorstep, her arms about her knees. 
 Her brown hair hung in plaits down her back, her feet 
 were bare, and she wore one of the Shetland dresses 
 that were going to be worn that year, a thin white 
 woollen dress without collar or girdle, the shawl - 
 shaped bodice open over her long ivory throat. She 
 had reached Evol on Thursday afternoon and it was 
 now Friday evening; twenty -four hours had sufficed 
 to peel off her few faint airs of sophistication; she 
 looked like a boy of fifteen, "cool as aspen-leaves" and 
 graceful only with the accidental grace of saplings 
 and grasses. In a French gallery to which few 
 English painters have gained entry, there hangs a 
 painting of a young girl lying face downward on the 
 
 265
 
 266 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 turf beside a bonfire, and raised on her folded arms 
 so that the flamelight is reflected on her face and 
 bosom. It is little more than a portrait of Sophy at 
 nineteen: and the critic was right who wrote of it 
 in the Revue des Deux Mondes that it is "at once 
 Romantic and Classic; Eomantic in its decor and in 
 the bravura of the black shadows and orange-coloured 
 lights that shift and quarrel on this ivory flesh, and 
 Greek in the severity of an innocence that knows no 
 shame." Such was Sophy in Paris at nineteen, and in 
 JiJvol at twenty -nine. 
 
 Evelyn got up from his table strewn with manu- 
 script. She heard him moving across the floor and 
 sitting down to the piano. Sounds stole out like the 
 rustling of wet leaves, a dew of music the prelude 
 to the fifth Act of Glair de Lune . . . From it he glided 
 into colder intricacies of Northern harmony, the snor- 
 ing ripple of tides on a shelving beach, crossed at 
 intervals by great chords that had in them the harsh- 
 ness of a winter wind, plangent and melancholy. 
 Sophy had been too long and sternly trained to 
 commit the indiscretion of asking "What's that?" 
 She was rewarded for her self-restraint. 
 
 "Le marin pres la meule," Evelyn called out to her. 
 "Swedish." 
 
 "Lovely !" said Sophy with an immense sigh. 
 
 Then Evelyn began to sing in his light, silken tenor, 
 a slight voice but of agreeable quality, and irreproach- 
 able in time, tune, and taste : 
 
 "J'entends dans le bocage 
 Le rossignol joli, 
 Qui dit dans son langage, 
 'Les maries sont unis.
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 267 
 
 II n'y a pas de jour si beau 
 Que le jour du mariage. 
 II n'y a pas de jour si beau 
 Que le jour du mariage.' 
 
 Vous 1'entendez, Madame, 
 
 Au milieu des plaisirs, 
 
 De ce jour plein de charmes 
 
 Depend votre avenir. 
 
 Si le chagrin et les ennuis 
 
 Vous tourmentent dans le monde, 
 
 Vous aurez pour vous un ami, 
 
 Vous souffrirez moins ensemble." 
 
 The last Terse was interrupted by a crash of thunder 
 which came rolling down out of the mountains and 
 made the very wires of the piano vibrate. Evelyn 
 shut the lid and came to the open doorway. "Oh- 
 la-la ! yes, that's quite a good sky. We get thunder 
 every ten days up here in the summertime." He sat 
 down by her and lapsed into a companionable silence. 
 
 Their world was split into two halves. Overhead 
 the North was blue, the sapphire blue of a French 
 summer evening, and the hillside clothed in cistus and 
 ilex and fir forest, and the alders and acacias that 
 shaded Evelyn's tributary brook, rose up in a fine 
 tracery of green and silver on azure, every spray 
 glowing in the clarity of moist air; but South over 
 the valley and the Pyrenean chain hung a tremendous 
 rain-storm, a medley of black and white clouds rimmed 
 and shot with bronze. The setting sun burst through 
 them flinging down white rays which smote the hills 
 like a swordstroke. Where it fell, cliff and sward
 
 268 GLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 shone out in patches of light as green as verdigris; 
 where its shadow fell, every rocky tower was as black 
 as basalt but for an occasional vein of snow, while 
 the glens were drowned in wild glooms of red or iron- 
 colour. Moment by moment lightning flickered in 
 broad gleams not far off, and the claps of thunder 
 were so loud that one would have thought they came 
 out of the crags; it was difficult to believe that mere 
 air and water could generate such solid and shattering 
 noises. And, while Evol glittered in evening gold, 
 there was among the opposite heights, between broken 
 ladders and shafts of glory tilted by some strange 
 effect of refraction into different angles, one long rift 
 where rain was falling in a great brown curtain 
 scarfed by an arc of iris. 
 
 "D'you enjoy a storm, Charles?" 
 "Yes," said Evelyn contentedly. "Don't you?" 
 "S'long as I'm not alone I don't mind," replied the 
 candid Sophy. Evelyn laughed and took her hand for 
 consolation as lightly as a child's. But it was no 
 child's hand that turned over and nestled into his 
 clasp, warm fingers enlacing his fingers and soft palm 
 pressed to his palm. Evelyn sat still but with an 
 effort. Her touch affected him in some nameless way, 
 as scents will now and then, or sounds : the same scent 
 as used to come in long ago at one's bedroom window 
 when the limes were out, or the noise of a door that 
 shuts with exactly the same slam and brassy rattle of 
 its handle as the landing door "at home." Such 
 associations cannot always be tracked to covert, and 
 even so Sophy brought Evelyn to the brink of a 
 memory, and left him there. Or was it not a memory 
 at all not a refrain out of his past, but a prelude of
 
 CLAIB DE LUNE 269 
 
 days to come? It teased him by its vagueness: and 
 yet there was pleasure in it. 
 
 Sophy dragged her hand away and propped her chin 
 on her doubled fists. "Look, it's raining like the devil 
 over there and all down by Kia. I declare the river's 
 rising already! It's whiter and louder than it was 
 half an hour ago." She nodded towards the torrent 
 in the ravine, fifteen hundred feet below. "I suppose 
 now you'd like to run down and bathe in it." 
 
 "No fear. But I shouldn't mind being up on top 
 under that rainbow. Jolly showerbath, all pink and 
 blue." 
 
 "Yes, and get struck by lightning ! I want to die in 
 my bed when I do die. It's bad enough at the best of 
 times. Aren't you awfully afraid of death?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "What's the use? One might be if one saw one's 
 way to dodging it : but as we've all done it, or shall 
 have to do it, why funk?" 
 
 "Silly old thing!" 
 
 For Sophy knew how to draw a man on. Under 
 such bracing comment Evelyn was happy to air his 
 simple philosophy. "Look at all the fellows who were 
 killed in the war, young men with their lives before 
 them, boys fresli from school and shot in their first 
 fight : the first time I saw a lot of dead men together 
 was the last time I bothered my head about death. 
 One lost the sense of loneliness. It would only have 
 been like going over to join one's friends. I've heard 
 other men say the same thing civilians too." 
 
 "'Everybody's doing it.'" Sophy smiled. 'The 
 air was so thick with ghosts they kept one another
 
 270 GLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 company. Didn't you mind the war much, then?" 
 
 "Bather!" 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because I didn't like being dirty, and I didn't like 
 being tired, and I couldn't stand the noise of the guns : 
 and I was most dreadfully frightened," Evelyn added, 
 "all the time. No, not of death, but of dying. <Mal- 
 heureusement, pour etre mort, il faut mourir.' Or 
 spoiling my hands so that I couldn't play any more. 
 I never did run away but I always wanted to." 
 
 "Most fellows did. I knew a man once, not very 
 young he wasn't, it was when I was in Paris : well, he 
 was mj lover if you want to know. I wasn't exactly 
 fond of him, but I let him because I was so sorry for 
 him. He cried in my arms half the night. Yes, it 
 was creepy, but I didn't mind because I could feel it 
 did him good to be with some one that he didn't have 
 to be ashamed before. He's a K. C. B. now." She 
 remained silent for a little time while the lightning 
 thrust and thrust again its crooked steel blade among 
 the sun-sprinkled peaks. "That storm's coming up. I 
 hope it won't rain to-morrow if I've got to go down 
 to Ria in one of those canvas carts. I don't much 
 want to move on. It's been so jolly here. But you 
 want me to clear out, don't you? I don't blame you, 
 with your wife at Perpignan ! There'd be the devil 
 of a row if Mr. Dent came up again and caught me 
 here. Funny, wouldn't it be? I think I shall go 
 back to Paris." 
 
 "To Paris? Why?" 
 
 "Because I'm sick of London. There's no one there 
 I much care for now you're over here and Wright and 
 Hurst are gone to Ireland. I'd like to have some jolly
 
 CLAIB DE LUNE 271 
 
 times again like I used to have, before I get old and 
 lose my looks." 
 
 "Don't go back to Paris, Sophy." 
 
 "Why not?" said Sophy defiantly. "Being good 
 doesn't pay." 
 
 "Thank the Lord, no!" Evelyn nmrnmred. <f Why 
 should one bother with it if it did? But it's like the 
 race in Alice in Wonderland, you don't get any prize 
 except your own thimble back again : not in this life 
 at all events. In the next, if there is one, who knows? 
 perhaps the revelation of the heart of God. . . . And 
 then 'they shall sit in the orchestra and noblest seats 
 of heaven, that have held up shaking hands in the fire 
 and humanly contended for glory.' " 
 
 "I didn't know you were religious," faltered Sophy, 
 when she could get her breath. She was utterly 
 astonished and awestruck. 
 
 "I'm not, I'm not! . . . but I rather wish I were. 
 One of these days I should like to write a Passion. 
 But I'm too young yet. Still I've written some church 
 music that wasn't bad. Years ago, when I was at 
 Queens', I wrote a Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis that 
 I rather like, they sing them in King's College Chapel : 
 most English services bang into the major for the 
 Gloria, bim-boum, an awful noise, but I made mine all 
 quiet and golden as if the heavenly choirs were singing 
 under their breath. I mean I tried to. Sophy dear, 
 don't go to Paris." 
 
 "I never will, Eve." 
 
 "Thank you." 
 
 Silence fell again if it could be called a silence 
 which was so full of inanimate noises: Evelyn con- 
 tentedly working out in his head the last ten bars of
 
 272 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 his Prelude, and Sophy brooding over Evelyn's good- 
 ness, which seemed to her quite superhuman. It was 
 at all events free from self -consciousness. Her threat 
 had made him feel distressed and ashamed, but now 
 that she had given him her word he returned happily, 
 secure in it, to Glair de Lune. And meanwhile from 
 under her long lashes Sophy watched him with a smile 
 full of pity and love and mockery. Men were so 
 innocent! He was not thinking of her any more. 
 After extorting that promise he had relapsed into his 
 own thoughts, not caring to ask what life it left for 
 her. 
 
 "I'm glad I came, though it's a long way to come 
 for a couple of days. Still I've enjoyed it. I've liked 
 seeing you. Say you've liked seeing me you'll miss 
 me, a little? You'll miss my omelettes, won't 
 you?" 
 
 "I shall miss you most awfully. It's odd, but I never 
 seem to mind you," Evelyn added naively, "not even 
 when I'm working." 
 
 "Not so much as Mr. Dent?" 
 
 "Oh, I minded old George like anything! I was 
 immensely pleased to see him, but he blocked up all 
 my sunlight." 
 
 "Moonlight," amended Sophy. "D'you know, Eve, 
 I often think there's a sym sym symbolicalification, 
 well, you know what I mean, between you and Clair de 
 Jjune. You've lived in moonlight all your life." 
 
 "What's that?" said Evelyn, disturbed. "It sounds 
 rude." 
 
 "Never mind. Oh I say, what a flash ! It looked 
 right overhead." She jumped up. "Let's go in- 
 doors."
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 273 
 
 Indulgent of her whims, Evelyn followed her in. 
 "Bad little storm, isn't it? Cheer up, let's turn our 
 backs on it, all the naughty weather." He closed the 
 door just as the first great gust of wind came rushing 
 up out of the ravine and shook through the house like 
 thunder. "Better lock it," said Evelyn. "It doesn't 
 fasten well and I can't have my music blowing all 
 over the room. Now shall we shut the shutters up 
 and light the lamp and be cosy?" He hasped the sun- 
 shutters over the only window. After the gold and 
 silver glare of storm and sunset, the room for their 
 dazzled eyes was instantly plunged into midnight. 
 "Now where the mischief did I put those matches?" 
 
 "Here." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "Here in my hand." 
 
 Evelyn felt for Sophy in the gloom. "Is that 
 you? Oh, I beg your pardon. Thanks." 
 
 He lit the lamp. 
 
 Sophy glanced at him furtively. She could read 
 Edmund Meredith like a book, but Evelyn, so trans- 
 parent, so careless, often puzzled her. That moment 
 in the dark had struck out an electric sparkle, but what 
 it meant, or what kind of contact it was that had been 
 completed when he touched her, she failed to under- 
 stand. At all events it was new it had not happened 
 before in her experience of Evelyn : and it had ruffled 
 him: in the sallow lamplight she saw that he was 
 frowning and his face was pale. Its effect on Sophy, 
 who was not easily embarrassed, was to make her feel 
 keenly conscious of herself and to put her to shame. 
 She picked up her stockings, which were still lying 
 across a chair where she had tossed them that morning
 
 274 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 when she first went out over the dew-pearled, dawn- 
 cool turf, and moved shyly towards the staircase. 
 
 "Don't put your stockings on," said Evelyn. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Pretty feet." 
 
 "Rats !" said Sophy. She stood in the doorway, un- 
 decided. Again after a dead lull a roaring torrent of 
 wind gushed out, fell on their south wall like a shock 
 of water, and went wailing away up into the hills; 
 while through the narrow, deepset kitchen window 
 there came in the reflection of a flame of lightning 
 that seemed to play over the furniture and dimmed 
 the lamp and quenched the northern blue. Sophy, 
 scared, came hurriedly back, shutting the door behind 
 her and dropping her stockings on the floor. There 
 was no valour in her, none of the strength to make 
 a martyr: she was infinitely more frightened of the 
 storm than of Evelyn. After all, she reflected with 
 her rather mocking smile, the smile of a gamin of 
 Paris, why should she run away from Evelyn? What 
 more could he ask of her than she had come to Evol 
 to offer him? 
 
 Sophy was always frank with herself. She had 
 come to vol to offer Evelyn her beauty and her love, 
 not out of pity, as in the case of the lover who was 
 now a K. C. B., but for love's own sake. It was only 
 since she had seen him again, and had fallen under 
 the fascination which he unconsciously exercised over 
 her, that she had begun to falter and feel shy. She 
 flung off her fanciful constraint now and sat down by 
 the wide brick hearth, listening to the noises of the 
 rising gale, "like swallows in a chimney," and giving 
 up her soul to the sweetness of this companionship
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 275 
 
 in solitude, though it was only an hour snatched from 
 between two wastes of desolation. Her feet were bare 
 on the worn floor of chestnut-wood, polished smooth 
 by generations of string-soled slippers, but there was 
 no chill in it; everything in the room was warm to 
 the touch, with the dry indoor warmth of a Pyrenean 
 summer, bone-warm beyond reach of bad weather. 
 But the summer's heat was not so warm, so soft, so 
 kindly as Sophy's love. 
 
 Evelyn leant against the table watching her this 
 bit of driftwood that had been thrown at his door. 
 That had been a strange moment when he touched 
 her in the dark ; he had felt then through his senses, 
 what hitherto he had scarcely even realised with his 
 mind, that she was his a discovery which the coldest 
 man cannot make about the plainest woman without 
 emotion; and Sophy was not plain. Hers was that 
 structural beauty which age cannot wither; one could 
 imagine that when she grew old men would still desire 
 to kiss the slight feet, fine as if carved out of ivory, 
 immobile in repose from her long training as a model, 
 and yet an incarnation of running, dancing life. Had 
 they danced their way into Evelyn's heart? The 
 question crossing his mind filled him with dismay. 
 He could not answer it because he was one of those 
 men who never can analyse the springs of sensation, 
 but his sensations themselves were vivid enough, and 
 he knew that when he touched her in the dark he had 
 never felt his manhood so strong in him before. 
 
 "Here comes the rain," said Sophy. 
 
 It came on the wings of the wind : the dash of it on 
 their glass was like hailstones : the whole house shook 
 and strained. Every door rattled, every lock creaked,
 
 276 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 by sash and keyhole and down the wide chimney went 
 whistling draughts that set the lamp jumping and 
 fluttered the heavy manuscript of Evelyn's orchestral 
 score. The flare of lightning was almost uninter- 
 mittent and displaced the lingering sunset glow behind 
 the window-frame. 
 
 "I'm glad we aren't out in it," said Evelyn. 
 "There's not much cover between this and Ria. Lord, 
 how the lightning stares through the chinks in the 
 shutters ! Suppose you can't get on to-morrow after 
 all? It doesn't take much to bring down a fall of 
 rock over that Ria road, and if Hallo !" 
 
 "What's that?" cried Sophy, starting forward in 
 her chair. 
 
 "Some one coming up the steps or was it only the 
 wind?" 
 
 There came a murmur of voices followed by a loud 
 knock at the door. "Wayfarers, as I live," said Eve- 
 lyn, springing up. "Poor wretches, they must be half 
 drowned ! Fly away upstairs, Sophy, I shall have to 
 let them in and you mustn't be seen." 
 
 Sophy was already in retreat, halfway up the wind- 
 ing stair. But she lingered at the turn of it to listen 
 while Evelyn opened the door. "Come in then, my 
 friends," she heard him say and then silence: a 
 sudden, sharp, breathless silence. Sophy, peering 
 down in great curiosity, could not see the men on the 
 doorstep nor they her, but an appalling suspicion 
 rushed over her as soon as she felt the quality of 
 Evelyn's silence. It meant utter surprise if not dis- 
 may. 
 
 "Let us in, old man ! we're getting wet through." 
 
 "But come in of course!" said Evelyn. "I didn't
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 277 
 
 mean to bar you out, only I couldn't believe my eyes. 
 Have you walked from Ria to-night?" They could not 
 have come from any other direction except by aero- 
 plane, but he scarcely knew what he was saying. 
 "Has it been raining all the way?" 
 
 "No, it only came on ten minutes ago. Didn't you 
 hear it? you must have been asleep !" 
 
 "No, but I shut out the storm." He barely saved 
 himself from saying we. "Sit down, won't you, 
 George?" He pulled up for Dent the chair that Sophy 
 had been sitting in, still warm from her body. "And 
 you, Meredith . . ." 
 
 Evelyn was not one of those fortunate gentlemen 
 who are equal to any crisis. -He had not seen Mere- 
 dith since before the parting from Kitty in Chelsoa, 
 and his anger, which had died down into red embers 
 of resentment, leapt up into flame again as the memory 
 of that night rushed over him but it was tempered by 
 dismay. At the bare thought of Sophy's being dis- 
 covered by Dent he would have liked to get under the 
 table. "But, George," he burst out, too terrified to 
 be hospitable or even discreet, "what on earth have 
 you come up here again for?" 
 
 "Gently, gently, old fellow," Dent patted him on 
 the arm. "Meredith's got something to say to you. 
 Now you go ahead, Meredith, I'll see fair play." 
 
 Meredith had remained standing, a big powerful 
 figure in his heavy tweeds, wet from head to foot but 
 obviously indifferent to rough weather: overtopping 
 Evelyn in height by a head and shoulders and in 
 moral force by the old goodhumoured condescension 
 of trained manner and firm will. On his way up from 
 Ria he had not liked the look of the situation not at
 
 278 CLAIB DE LUNE 
 
 all! but now face to face with Evelyn he suddenly 
 found himself able to take command of it. Ue 
 measured Evelyn with his keen eye and perceived 
 that he was exceedingly confused and nervous. This 
 weakness was characteristic of the Evelyn of Chelsea 
 and helped to put Meredith at ease and to banish that 
 persistent doubt. . . . He went up to Evelyn and held 
 out his hand, and Evelyn, whose fingers itched to 
 knock him down, was instantly hypnotised into taking 
 it. Why? Meredith would have had no difficulty in 
 assigning a reason. It was the moral domination of 
 the weak by the strong not to say of conscious guilt 
 by conscious rectitude. 
 
 "Sit down, Evelyn." Evelyn sat down. ' It was his 
 own house, but he sat down when told to do so by 
 Meredith. "Better come to the point at once, as Dent 
 says. You will guess that I didn't take this journey 
 to admire the scenery. I have something very diffi- 
 cult and disagreeable to say to you, but I may as well 
 warn you at the outset that I am not going to quarrel 
 with you or let you quarrel with me. Dent and I are 
 agreed that when four people" Evelyn started 
 "four people are placed as we are, perfect honesty is 
 not only the wisest and safest but the most honourable 
 way out. So now you must forgive me if I seem to 
 intrude on private affairs of yours which are no 
 concern of mine. They are my concern because sit 
 still I love your wife." 
 
 Evelyn sat still : but his confusion had begun to lift. 
 He felt so curious to learn what would come of this 
 preamble that he almost forgot Sophy's damning pres- 
 ence overhead.
 
 CLAIB DE LUNE 279 
 
 "If I had had the chance of it before she married 
 you " 
 
 "One moment. Does she know you're here?" 
 
 "She sent me." 
 
 "She did? Well: go on." 
 
 " I should have done my best to save her from that 
 disastrous mistake. I did not: and the mischief is, 
 partly, irreparable. But you're not living with her. 
 I don't know, nor does Dent, what led to your sepa- 
 ration, but it seems to be permanent: you've just 
 refused to return to her. Will you allow me to put 
 before you the obvious aspect of your conduct the 
 view of it that would strike an average casual observer 
 with no inside information?" Evelyn was incapable 
 of reply. He had begun to feel like a patient in a 
 dentist's chair. "Then I say," Meredith continued 
 firmly, "that, whoever was wrong thirteen months 
 ago, you're wrong now. I am oldfashioned enough to 
 share Dent's view that between husband and wife there 
 ought to be no question of wrongs and rights." 
 
 "I wish I weren't in flannels." 
 
 "You wish what?" 
 
 "I can't cope with you in those tweeds," Evelyn 
 explained. "Morally, I mean. They give you an un- 
 fair advantage." 
 
 Meredith was not to be put off by this puerile 
 irrelevance. He had got into his stride now and was 
 enjoying it. 
 
 "Your duty is clear. If your wife asks you to return 
 to her, you ought to go." 
 
 It was too much. "Thank you," said Evelyn, rous- 
 ing himself, "your advice is excellent, I dare say, but 
 it is an infernal impertinence for you to offer it. I'll
 
 280 CLAIE DE LUNE 
 
 deal with my wife direct but not through you or even 
 George here." 
 
 "But your wife isn't anxious to deal with you 
 direct," retorted Meredith drily, "and if she prefers to 
 send a commissioner you must face him, however dis- 
 tasteful you may find the process. You can't run 
 away. For our old friendship's sake I'll make it as 
 easy for you as possible, but one thing I'm determined 
 on, and that's to have the truth out of you before I 
 return to K to Perpignan. The issue is clear 
 between us. Will you return to her? you won't 
 you've already refused. I've warned you where your 
 duty lies, but you shirk it. So be it : but in that case 
 you mustn't complain if your wife claims her freedom 
 to rearrange her life as you're rearranging yours. 
 Have you ever realised how tragic her position is 
 a young and beautiful woman left stranded with 
 empty hands? It's because a woman of such force and 
 vitality as hers is unfit to live out her life under such 
 conditions, that I've offered her a chance to rearrange 
 it. Now don't misunderstand me," as the patient 
 showed galvanic symptoms of activity: "Kitty and I 
 aren't, as the phrase goes, blinded by passion. We're 
 simply determined to do in cold blood a necessary bit 
 of reconstruction. The first steps will be difficult and 
 dirty, but the discomfort of an initial irregularity is 
 worth facing for all we have to gain." 
 
 "What on earth are you driving at, Meredith? 
 you're not going to run off with Kitty, are you?" 
 
 "I hope to take her from you." 
 
 "Then why the devil," Evelyn broke out furiously, 
 "do you come to me? You don't want my blessing I 
 suppose?"
 
 GLAIR DE LUKE 281 
 
 "Not precisely, my dear Evelyn : but I want your 
 assistance." 
 
 "You confounded, cold-blooded sc " 
 
 "Shut up, Eve," Dent hastily interrupted: "and 
 drop it, you, Meredith: why can't you come to the 
 point? Meredith always will talk through his hat. 
 He isn't going to run off with Kitty. What he wants 
 is for her to divorce you and marry him. So far as 
 his lights go he's acting straightforwardly and has 
 her backing and mine. Not that I want her to marry 
 him : on the contrary, it'll be the blackest day of my 
 life if she does. But in coming to you to-night I do 
 back him, for you've behaved pretty foolishly, and 
 anyone that didn't know you as well as I do might say 
 badly too. I'll even go so far as to say that I don't 
 much blame Meredith for wanting Kitty. It's true 
 that she's unhappy : and as for you, my dear old chap, 
 you can't eat your cake and have it too! If you don't 
 look after your wife other men will. Now Meredith." 
 
 Meredith could be succinct when he liked. Under 
 the roof of his father the K. C. he had picked up some 
 useful tips for a cross-examination, and he knew the 
 value of taking a nervous witness by surprise. 
 
 "What have you done with Sophy Carter?" 
 
 "Sophy?" 
 
 The blood rushed up into Evelyn's pale face. "I 
 I don't understand you." 
 
 "She was your mistress before you married Kitty." 
 
 "No ! That she never was." 
 
 "So you told me before, and I believed you, but I 
 know better now. She was your mistress when Kitty 
 was your wife: while you were all living under one 
 roof."
 
 282 CLAIE DE LUNE 
 
 "That is a lie," said Evelyn, scarlet. 
 
 "And since you ran away from your wife you've 
 returned to her, or she to you. Yes, you're innocent, 
 aren't you?" He laughed. "You look it." 
 
 Dent half rose. "I'll have no bullying, Meredith " 
 he began, and then sat down again. With the best 
 will in the world, it was impossible to read indignant 
 innocence into Evelyn's face. He looked unutterably 
 confused and guilty : as w T as scarcely to be wondered 
 at, since Sophy, through the cracks in the worn floor- 
 ing, could hear every word they said. 
 
 "How on earth did you find out that I that she 
 It's not true, not one syllable of it, George! but how 
 did you " 
 
 "Find out that it wasn't true?" Meredith's tone was 
 goodhumoured in its contempt. He had expected 
 Evelyn to put up a better fight, and was relieved but 
 faintly disappointed : it is poor sport to shoot a sitting 
 hen. "From Millerand. I asked him where you were 
 and he referred me to Sophy. It was as clear to him 
 as it was to me that you wouldn't have entrusted your 
 money affairs to a lady of Sophy's calling unless you 
 had the best of reasons for counting on her good will. 
 Disinterested honesty isn't the rule in that class." 
 Evelyn writhed. He dared not bid Meredith lower his 
 voice. "I then went to Sophy's rooms, where I got 
 your address " 
 
 "From?" 
 
 "Fifine : she had seen it on a letter. From her I also 
 learnt that Sophy had left England to join you. My 
 good chap, don't you know that girls like Sophy always 
 talk to their maids?" 
 
 Evelyn went to the window, flung open the shutter,
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 283 
 
 and leaned his arms on the sill. It had grown dark 
 during the last half-hour, for the sun had gone down 
 behind the Pyrenean sierras, and immense clouds, 
 turbulent and swollen, had come up over the whole 
 sky, blackening the landscape under their wings. The 
 lightning-flashes had grown rarer, quenched in drench- 
 ing rain; every hillside streamed with water, every 
 cranny was a torrent, every lip of rock a spout ; dim 
 in the valley bottom the river went roaring down in 
 a spate of snow. And, like the dying storm, passion 
 in Evelyn had begun to die down into sadness. What 
 a wreck he and Kitty had made of their marriage! 
 and he had meant so well when he married her. Clear 
 sunlit moments of their life together floated back to 
 him Kitty in the railway carriage lifting down her 
 chinchilla scarf, Kitty's inimitable courage under her 
 bright blush, Kitty's thick fair hair blown across his 
 eyes. And now . . . 
 
 What right had he to be angry with Meredith for 
 misjudging him? None: his own indiscretion had 
 been very great. W T hat right even to resent the 
 relations that apparently existed between Meredith 
 and Kitty? None it was as natural for Meredith 
 to desire Kitty's love as for Kitty to desire her 
 freedom. And fantastically he found himself for a 
 moment almost regretting that no freedom was 
 possible for her, almost sharing her disappointment, 
 yes, and Meredith's too. Meredith thought Evelyn 
 weak: and so he was, if it is weak to shrink from 
 giving pain even to an enemy. His delicacy was the 
 more unwilling to wound Meredith because it had felt 
 every shade of insolence in Meredith's manner to him. 
 
 He turned round from the window. "I am most
 
 284 CLAIB DE LUNE 
 
 awfully sorry for all this, Meredith. Sorry I lost my 
 temper. You've come up here to tell me how fond 
 you are of Kitty, and to ask me if I've forfeited my 
 right to her, because we used to be friends and you 
 don't want to do anything underhand. I do thank 
 you for being so honest with me. But, you see, there's 
 nothing in it after all ! I suppose to a Frenchman like 
 Millerand it must seem strange that Sophy and I 
 should be simply friends, the best of friends, and 
 nothing more, but so it is I wrote to her because she 
 knows Millerand and because she was the only person 
 I could think of that was safe not to give me away. 
 I'd have written to Dimmie only that I knew Kitty can 
 wind him round her finger. Or to you if if It's 
 true what I told George on Wednesday, I never have 
 given Kitty the chance of a divorce: never, on my 
 honour !" 
 
 "Will you swear it?" 
 
 For the second time he made Evelyn turn scarlet. 
 Dent interposed. 
 
 "It's easy to see you're a lawyer's son, Meredith. 
 Eve's word is good enough for me and Kitty." 
 
 "But not for Meredith. He has no title to be 
 answered, but I choose to answer him," said Evelyn 
 haughtily. "Yes, I swear it." 
 
 "Prove it." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "Let me, or let Dent if you prefer it, search the 
 place." 
 
 Extreme and imminent danger, which unnerves 
 many men, gave Evelyn boldness. Like lightning 
 came his counter-stroke. "Surely you don't imagine 
 that I have her hidden on the premises? What an
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 285 
 
 absurdity ! Search it if you like, but I can give you 
 plainer proof than that. Because I owe you some 
 kindness in the past," he crossed to the hearth, "read 
 this : it's Sophy's last letter to me." It was lying on 
 the chimneypiece. Meredith's face darkened strange- 
 ly as he turned over the envelope. "Notice the date : 
 by the postmark you'll see it wasn't posted till the 
 fourteenth, barely a week ago. Does it sound as if 
 I were her lover? Read it aloud: Dent had better 
 know what's in it, and I'm certain that he never will 
 read it for himself." 
 
 It was the letter that Meredith had found in Sophy's 
 bureau, and which Josephine, after his departure, had 
 put into the post. He recognised the envelope at a 
 glance, but he dared not dispute it, for his hands were 
 tied by his own behaviour he could not say "I myself 
 found this letter in Sophy's locked drawer after she 
 was gone." And throbbing with anger he had to read 
 it out in his cold, indifferent voice, a piece of evidence 
 which if it had not happened to be worthless would 
 have been conclusive, for it certainly was not the letter 
 of a woman to her lover; from the "Dear Charles" to 
 the "Yours affectionately, Sophy," there was scarcely 
 a word in it but practical business detail of her deal- 
 ings with Millerand, past and to come. Dimsdale 
 Smith himself could not have written in a cooler vein. 
 
 When he had finished, Dent took the envelope out of 
 his hand. 
 
 "Postmarked in Chelsea, the fourteenth. Isn't that 
 the day after you were at the flat that is, after Miss 
 Carter had, according to you, left London to join Eve- 
 lyn?" 
 
 Meredith could not trust himself to answer. He felt
 
 286 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 certain that lie had been tricked, and tricked deliber- 
 ately, but his hands were tied. He would have liked 
 to wring Evelyn's neck: in an age of polite warfare 
 this desire had to be repressed, but the effort of re- 
 pressing it took every inch of strength in the will of 
 the cold-tempered, careless man. He threw down the 
 letter and turned away. 
 
 "Bit of a discrepancy, isn't there?" said Dent. "A 
 mistake we'll call it if you like, but it takes a lot of 
 goodwill to make a mistake like that. No need to rub 
 it in but I'm afraid you've lost the toss, Meredith." 
 
 "Have I?" 
 
 Dent, who had never forgiven Meredith for what he 
 regarded as treachery to a friend, shrugged his 
 shoulders and linked Evelyn's hand through his arm. 
 "I'm afraid Kitty'll think so. That's what comes of 
 being too clever. She never would have suspected you, 
 Eve, old chap, if Meredith hadn't been so cocksure, 
 which was natural enough no doubt, but doesn't 
 always pay in the long run. Now look here, Mere- 
 dith : you owe Evelyn an apology, and unless you want 
 me to drop you, and Kitty too, I'm going to see you 
 make it. Own up: you were wrong, weren't you? 
 You're satisfied now that Evelyn hasn't got a woman 
 hidden in the house?" 
 
 "No," said Meredith. "Evelyn, whose are these?" 
 
 In the yellow lamplight he held up Sophy's silk 
 stockings, left on the floor in her hurried flight. 
 
 Dent dropped Evelyn's arm. "Eve!" 
 
 "You have my word," said Evelyn. 
 
 "They belong to your wife, perhaps," suggested 
 Meredith politely. 
 
 "Eve! Eve, old chap!" Dent was white with
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 287 
 
 terror. "It isn't possible ! Your word of honour . . . 
 you that have always been like my brother. . . . Eve, 
 you couldn't do it : you never would have tricked me 
 like that?" 
 
 "Perhaps they're his own," said Meredith. "Shall 
 we try them on him?" He laughed and tossed the 
 stockings on the piano. "My dear Dent, you can 
 continue if you like to take the immaculate Evelyn's 
 word if his aspect inspires you with confidence. I've 
 too much at stake. I'm going over the house." 
 
 "By heaven you shan't," said Evelyn. He set his 
 back to the door. 
 
 "Hold him, we don't want a fuss," said Meredith, 
 seizing Evelyn by one arm. Dent, ashy white but 
 stern, interlocked the other. Both were by far the 
 stronger men, and between them Evelyn could not put 
 up any fight at all. Within thirty seconds he was 
 jerked out of the way and thrown down. Meredith 
 ran up the stairs, and Dent, after one glance to make 
 sure that Evelyn was not hurt, followed him. Mere- 
 dith opened the door of the room Dent had slept in. 
 It was empty and in its original bare disorder ; except 
 that the bed had been made up, there was not a vestige 
 left of Sophy's tenancy. "There's no one," said Dent, 
 "there can't be : Eve would never . . . I've known him 
 all my life !" 
 
 "Try the opposite earth," said Meredith with his 
 habitual coolness. 
 
 He lifted Evelyn's latch, but the door refused to 
 open. Meredith silently pointed out to Dent that no 
 light shone through the wards of the keyhole. The 
 'key had been turned from the inside. 
 
 "Let us in, Sophy," said Meredith in his strong
 
 288 CLAIK DE LUNE 
 
 voice. "No one's going to hurt you. It is Edmund 
 Meredith and George Dent." 
 
 There was no answer. Meredith rapped with his 
 knuckles. "Come ! open the door like a sensible girl. 
 We know you're there, and if you don't unlock it we 
 shall only have to break it down." 
 
 But still no reply came and no noise. "The room's 
 empty," said Dent. 
 
 "Lend me your stick," said Meredith. He took it 
 out of Dent's hand a solid English mahogany walk- 
 ing stick topped with a silver knob clubbed it and 
 struck two or three smashing blows with it which had 
 all the weight of his temper behind them. The wood- 
 work held fast but the rickety lock bent and tore out of 
 the jamb, and the door shot open w r ith a violence that 
 laid it flat back on its hinges. Then the two men 
 found themselves looking into Evelyn's bedroom. It 
 was almost bare of furniture and rigidly neat. An 
 oaken locker served as washstand and dressing table, 
 a bracket and curtain formed his wardrobe; there was 
 no mirror but a shaving glass nailed to the wall. In 
 front of the window was drawn up an iron camp bed- 
 stead, hard and narrow enough for a monk. But 
 across a couple of chairs were strewn the contents 
 of Sophy's suitcase, toys in gold or ivory and filmy 
 brilliancies of a more intimate nature which with the 
 best intentions she had collected and carried in at 
 lightning speed. She had foreseen that Dent and 
 Meredith would have to share her room that night, 
 and that Evelyn would give up his own to her. She 
 had done what she could to stave off discovery but 
 success had not attended her efforts. And cringing, 
 blushing, almost crying, she cowered between Evelyn's
 
 GLAIR DE LUNE 289 
 
 three-foot bedstead and open window, the rain and 
 gale thrashing in over her white dress, an image of 
 distress and shame. 
 
 "Sophy!" said Meredith letting fall the walking 
 stick in his amazement. "It is you!" 
 
 He knew then that in his heart of hearts he had not, 
 to the very end, believed that they would find any 
 woman there. 
 
 "Yes, me!" Sophy cried, raising her head in a 
 sudden furious defiance. "What about it? But of 
 course you'd think I couldn't stay here and not be 
 Charles's mistress. If it was you I should be yours, 
 shouldn't I?" 
 
 "Loyal to the last, these wretched creatures," said 
 Dent. He leant against the door, sick with horror. 
 "Loyal to that that . . . And Kitty too, that never 
 would own up why she left him . . . ." 
 
 " 'Tisn't true, but what's the good of saying so?" 
 Sophy murmured bitterly. "Not that it matters what 
 you think of me I'm only a lump of studio dirt, 
 that's pretty plain now; if I'd had the pluck of a 
 mouse I'd have jumped out of the window." 
 
 "Come on," said Dent, "let's get out of this." 
 
 He picked up the stick that Meredith had let fall 
 and followed him out of the room, shutting Sophy 
 into it. Then going down with Meredith into the 
 parlour Dent shut that door too behind him. Evelyn 
 stood by the table waiting for them. All the pre- 
 paration that he had made for facing them was to 
 put away the manuscript of Clair de Lune. He was 
 quite helpless: not only were they two to one, but 
 either of them singly would have been more than his 
 match. Dent came up to him and stood looking down
 
 290 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 at him without a trace of anger or any other feeling 
 in his light stern eyes except bewilderment. 
 
 "We've seen that girl upstairs," he said at length, 
 quietly and without touching Evelyn. "She was in 
 your bedroom. You've deceived me, and, what's 
 worse, you've deceived Kitty. Now you're not going 
 to get off with the shame of being found out. You 
 wouldn't feel it. You're going to get what you will 
 feel. I'll make you feel before I've done with you." 
 
 "I never deceived you, George." 
 
 "Stop it. Don't you dare call me that," said Dent. 
 He forced Evelyn down across the table. "Hold his 
 wrists, Meredith, if he twists about. It'll save time: 
 and I don't want to mark him." 
 
 Sophy in the room above, in which every breath 
 was audible, crouched on the floor with her arms over 
 her head. But there was little to hear : no struggle, 
 no movement of furniture : not one sound from Dent, 
 or from Evelyn, except an occasional gasping sigh: 
 nor from Meredith, standing with his back to the fire- 
 place, grimly approving Dent's performance of a 
 fraternal duty, though he would rather not have done 
 it himself. But he felt constrained to confess that 
 he could not have done it better. He had to interfere 
 in the end, touching Dent's arm. 
 
 "That'll do, Dent. You don't want to kill the poor 
 devil." 
 
 "There's no danger. I haven't given him so much 
 as all that." 
 
 "Your wrist is like a sledgehammer." He raised 
 Evelyn's head. "He's all right but he's had enough. 
 Put him in a chair, unlock the door, and let's go." 
 
 "What, and leave that girl here?"
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 291 
 
 "Well, you don't propose to take her with you, do 
 you ?" Meredith said with a laugh which was not quite 
 steady. To him the scene, though necessary, had been 
 distasteful, though he hated Evelyn. Not so to Dent, 
 who had loved Evelyn all his life like a younger 
 brother: in him there was neither pity nor disgust 
 he was simply satisfied as at a cleared score, and that 
 a heavy one. 
 
 Meredith lifted Evelyn not ungently and laid him 
 down in Sophy's chair. "What would his matinee 
 audiences say to us if they could see him now?" 
 Again his laugh was unsteady, and Dent glanced at 
 him sharply. 
 
 "You had better have a tot of brandy, there's a 
 bottle on the shelf." 
 
 "Don't mind if I do," said Meredith. 
 
 He drank from the flask and set it down on the 
 table; caught up his cap, unlocked the parlour door, 
 and called up the stairs: "Sophy." 
 
 "What?" said Sophy, standing in Evelyn's doorway. 
 
 "Come down : Evelyn wants you." 
 
 "You haven't killed him then, between you?" 
 
 "There is good blood in you somewhere," said Mere- 
 dith oddly, "or you'd have interfered." 
 
 "Mind you tell Mrs. Evelyn how brave you've been, 
 that's all. She'll love to hear how you held him down 
 for Mr. Dent to beat him." 
 
 "Come along now," said Meredith, ignoring Sophy. 
 "We shall have a devil of a wet walk back to Ria. 
 Darkish, too." He hesitated on the step. "It does 
 seem rather rough luck to leave her alone with him. 
 You have half killed him, you know." 
 
 But Dent, in the satisfaction of duty done, was
 
 292 GLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 indifferent and even cheerful. Always trim, he had 
 only lingered to shake himself down into his dis- 
 ordered clothes, settling his cuffs and giving a little 
 pull to his waistcoat, which during his late exertions 
 had worked up into a wrinkle under his arms. "They 
 can look after each other," he said, going out into the 
 night without a second glance at Evelyn : "she must be 
 used to rows by this time, a hussy like that."
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 SOPHY." 
 "Yes." 
 "Where are you? Why don't you come here?" 
 
 Sophy descended the stairs slowly, a step at a time, 
 her hand lingering on the rail. "I thought you 
 mightn't want me," she said, lingering again on the 
 parlour threshold, her head hanging down. 
 
 "I want some brandy," said Evelyn. "Like Mere- 
 dith. I shouldn't have thought he was so 'squeamish. 
 Give me some, will you? It's on the table. Rinse it: 
 he drank out of the bottle." 
 
 Sophy carried the flask into the kitchen and rinsed 
 the lip of it with a wet cloth ; found a cup and filled 
 it half full of Monsieur Blanc's excellent cognac. 
 Again she halted in the doorway. "Am I to come 
 in?" 
 
 "Lord ! don't make such a fuss," said Evelyn irrit- 
 ably. Sophy came up to him then and held out the 
 cup. But he turned his head away, felt for his 
 handkerchief, and spat out a mouthful of blood. 
 "Pah! get me some water first, there's a dear girl. 
 What are you looking so white for? It's nothing: 
 my mouth's cut." 
 
 Sophy fetched him a bowl from the kitchen, a jug 
 of water, and a glass. His cheek had been cut, not 
 by Dent but in the rough and tumble with Meredith 
 before they went upstairs, and was bleeding on the 
 inside. Leaning his head on his hand, Evelyn waited 
 
 293
 
 294 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 for the flow to cease. "This -water's warm. Run 
 down to the brook, will you, and get me some that's 
 properly cold?" 
 
 That he seemed to have forgotten the storm was the 
 only sign he gave of mental confusion. It was still 
 pouring in torrents, and the rain streaming off that 
 steep hillside had turned the mule-track into a water- 
 course. Sophy in her draggled dress and still bare- 
 foot splashed through it stolidly. It did not signify 
 to her: so far as it came home to her at all, she felt a 
 vague pleasure in getting wet for Evelyn and under 
 Evelyn's orders. Ice cold, she brought him water that 
 was half foam : the brook, which normally ran along 
 a conduit to feed an aqueduct, had burst bounds and 
 was rushing in a cataract all across the road. 
 "They'll be pretty wet before they reach Ria," Sophy 
 remarked. 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "Meredith and Mr. Dent." 
 
 "I hope they will, confound them!" Evelyn mut- 
 tered. 
 
 He washed out his mouth with Sophy's water, which 
 distilled in mist on the warm glass, and drank off neat 
 a teacupful of brandy. "That's better. Ouf ! I'll go 
 and lie down for a bit. My brother-in-law has a 
 heavy hand. Just give me your arm, will you? Here, 
 chuck over that jacket of mine." Sophy gave him 
 the incongruous white and green blazer which was all 
 he ever wore at Evol, and Evelyn with a wry twist 
 of the lip pulled it over his shoulders and stood up, 
 leaning heavily on her arm. She thought he would 
 have fainted before she got him to the door, but he 
 reached it safely in the end, and exchanged her sup-
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 295 
 
 port for the balustrade, by which he succeeded in 
 dragging himself up as far as the turn of the stair: 
 the rest of the journey a short one, fortunately 
 was performed on his hands and knees. But when he 
 got to his feet on the landing he reeled like a drunken 
 man. "Sophy!" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Come up. Help me!" said Evelyn impatiently. 
 Throwing his arm round her neck and leaning most of 
 his weight on her, he stumbled over to his bed and 
 dropped across it helpless. Sophy unlaced his espa- 
 drilles and pulled them off. No protest following, she 
 raised his legs and shifted him, gingerly, ID to an easier 
 attitude : then darting into her own room pulled open 
 drawer after drawer of the big press and rummaged 
 through them till she found Madame Blanc's store of 
 linen sheets and pillowcases. Coarse they were, but 
 pure linen, and choosing the finest she tore it swiftly 
 into strips. The miscellaneous experiences of her 
 Paris life served her well now : Dent was right this 
 was not the first fight she had seen, nor the first time 
 it had fallen to her lot to bind up the vanquished. 
 She was timid with Evelyn not because the spectacle 
 of blood and blows frightened her, but from an intui- 
 tive sympathetic shyness, the same instinct as had 
 kept her upstairs when she would have given her soul 
 to go down and fling herself between the quarreling 
 men. She might have protected Evelyn : but how he 
 would have hated to owe his safety to a girl ! No, let 
 the men settle their own scores ! Even now when she 
 was alone with Evelyn, though it made her so happy 
 to minister to him, she was terrified of displeasing 
 him. She came shyly back with a coil of rough dress-
 
 296 CLAIB DE LUNE 
 
 ings in her hand: "Say, d'you mind will you Met 
 
 "L-let you?" Evelyn mocked her. "My dear girl, 
 this delicacy is out of place ! Do make the best job of 
 me you can I'm sorry to bother you, but I don't want 
 to be laid up, and I feel as though that confounded ass 
 George Dent had taken some of my skin off." He 
 raised himself on one arm while Sophy fetched a 
 sponge and basin and deftly set to work. "How dark 
 it is!" said Evelyn presently. "Light my candle, 
 won't you? . . . Hallo!" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "What's the matter with your dress?" 
 
 "It's wet," Sophy explained indifferently. "I got 
 wet." 
 
 "Going to the brook for my water ! Of all the O 
 Sophy, I clean forgot the storm !" 
 
 "No, no! it wasn't that, I was wet before that." , 
 
 "How on earth?" 
 
 Sophy nodded towards the window, which was still 
 open : driving in unchecked, the rain had made a wide 
 puddle on the floor. "I knew they'd have to sleep in 
 my room," she explained, when she had taken her 
 safety-pin out of her mouth, "so I scurried in here 
 and carried all my things across. Then when Mere- 
 dith found my stockings (Lord! I was a scatterbrain 
 to leave them behind), I knew he'd search the house 
 and that the only thing to do was to jump out of the 
 window. But there wasn't time then to get back into 
 my own room without being seen and jump out of my 
 own window where the hill runs up, and here in front 
 it's a longish drop^and the stone steps don't give you 
 much of a chance. I did put one leg over the sill but
 
 GLAIR DE LUNE 297 
 
 I couldn't get the other to go after it. I told you I 
 was a coward." 
 
 "And a good job too! What, jump out of that 
 window fifteen feet down on the stones? I never 
 heard such madness. You might have broken your 
 back!" 
 
 "Nought never comes to harm," said Sophy with her 
 fugitive, shadowy smile. 
 
 He fingered the dripping sleeve. "You're wet 
 through. Go into your room and have you a dress 
 to change to?" 
 
 "No. I left almost all my clothes in my trunk at 
 Ria. I'm all right, Charles darling! don't you worry 
 your old head about me." 
 
 "Right, are you? you'll be as right as rain if you 
 catch rheumatic fever. Go and oh bother !" 
 
 Trying to rise, he had overtaxed his strength. 
 Sophy twisted her fingers together and turned away, 
 not daring to watch him in his weakness, though the 
 tears were in her eyes : cool as he was, and unpretenti- 
 ously cool, without strain or bravado, he could not 
 have gone through that scene in the parlour without 
 some bitter sensations. Behind her back, Evelyn 
 furtively touched his forehead with his handkerchief : 
 it was wet and his lips were pale, but his voice 
 remained natural and firm. 
 
 "Go to that locker and pull out the second shelf 
 from the top. You'll find a lot of my things in it, a 
 shirt, some clean flannels, a tie that I wear to Ria. 
 Take an outfit and put them on. My trousers will be 
 a bit too long for you but you can tuck 'em up." 
 
 "But I can't wear your trousers !" 
 
 "Oh Lord, I suppose you've never had on a pair of
 
 298 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 bags before !" said Evelyn impatiently. "Take 'em and 
 do as you're bid. You can stick my dressing gown on 
 top of them if you're so shy. And put your stockings 
 on, do : it isn't the middle of the day now and there's 
 often a freshness after one of these storms." 
 
 Bather unwilling, but docile, Sophy carried off an 
 armful of dry flannels. She had begun to feel the 
 drag and chill of her wet clothes and was not sorry 
 to get out of them, although, strangely enough, she 
 was shy of borrowing Evelyn's. Strangely, because 
 she could remember many a studio frolic when she had 
 been less particular! But now she had to console 
 herself with the reflection that it really wasn't her 
 fault, she was only obeying orders Evelyn, as a rule 
 the most deprecating of men, had for once got fairly 
 into the imperative mood, and she had not the heart 
 to oppose him. She had just buttoned herself into a 
 white flannel jacket, and was turning up the hems that 
 fell down over her ankles, when Evelyn called to her 
 again, in a startled voice. Sophy ran to him, muffling 
 herself in his dressing gown on the way. Evelyn 
 during her absence had apparently shaken off a good 
 deal of his faintness ; his face was not so ghastly pale, 
 and he was sitting up, propped on one arm. 
 
 "There's another party knocking at the door! It 
 never rains but it pours, does it? Just stick your head 
 out of the window and see what he looks like." 
 
 Sophy knelt down by the low sill and craned her 
 neck over it. "The rain's lifted but it's so dark I 
 can't see Oh !" 
 
 "Who is it?" 
 
 "Meredith." 
 
 "Nonsense !"
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 299 
 
 "It is, then: d'you think I don't know Meredith?" 
 
 "Is Dent with him?" 
 
 "No, but he may be waiting in the road. I can't 
 see much beyond the light from the parlour win- 
 dow." 
 
 "Sophy ! Sophy !" 
 
 Guarded but urgent, Meredith's whispered cry came 
 up to them from below. Sophy watched him go and 
 peer through the window into the empty sitting room, 
 then come back and try the door again. It was 
 unlocked, but he stood hesitating as if afraid to enter. 
 "Ask him what's up," said Evelyn. 
 
 Sophy leant over the sill. "Meredith, what d'you 
 want?" 
 
 "A lantern or flash, if you have such a thing, and a 
 coil of rope." 
 
 "What in the world for?" 
 
 "There's been an accident." 
 
 "Oh ! Is Mr. Dent hurt?" 
 
 "No. Come down and see if you can find them, will 
 you? I suppose you know where they're kept." 
 
 Sophy made a fleeting grimace. "As I said before, 
 I've only been in the house twenty-four hours ; still I'll 
 try." 
 
 She turned, to find Evelyn on his feet and re-lac- 
 ing his shoes. "Charles! you mustn't you can't 
 walk about. Let me " 
 
 "You can't. You wouldn't know what to do," said 
 Evelyn. "Shut up, Sophy, and don't make a fuss. 
 I've broken no bones and moving about won't hurt me. 
 In plain English I've had a devil of a thrashing, but if 
 you think I'm going to lie up because of it you're jolly 
 well mistaken." He hurried downstairs, his step
 
 300 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 growing firmer as lie pulled his strength together. 
 Meredith was still waiting on the doorstep ; apparently 
 he felt delicate about re-entering Evelyn's house. 
 When the door was opened by Evelyn himself, Sophy's 
 extempore bandages ruling a transverse pattern under 
 his thin shirt, Meredith gave an irrepressible and 
 violent start. 
 
 "Here, come in, do. What's happened?" 
 
 Meredith had to conquer an immense disinclination 
 to set foot a second time in Evelyn's parlour. "I 
 want a length of rope and a lantern. Dent has had 
 a fall ; he's not hurt and there's no danger, but I can't 
 get him up because I can't see what I'm doing. There 
 has been a bit of a landslide across the Ria road, a 
 fall of rock that has carried down a bit of the coping ; 
 trying to scramble over it in the dark, he went too near 
 the edge and it gave way under him." 
 
 "But where is he?" 
 
 "On a ledge: not far below, but everything's run- 
 ning with water and as slippery as glass. I tried to 
 reach him but he warned me off; said I should bring 
 half the hillside down on top of him." 
 
 "Sapristi!" muttered Evelyn. 
 
 He vanished into the kitchen, where Meredith heard 
 him giving rapid directions still in the imperative 
 mood. 
 
 "Sophy, do you know how to light a fire on that open 
 hearth in the parlour? . . . Good girl! There's a 
 shed in the yard where you'll find a lot of dry wood 
 and fircones, and here are my matches. Use paraffin 
 there's any surface wet on the faggots. In that 
 cupboard you'll find a tin of soup: hack it open 
 there's a what-you-may-call-it on the shelf and
 
 GLAIR DE LUNE 301 
 
 hot it up. Put a drop of milk to it. Then get your 
 blankets down and warm them." 
 
 "But you can't you'll hurt yourself !" 
 
 Turning a deaf ear to Sophy's lamentation, Evelyn 
 came back with a coil of thin strong rope in his hand. 
 It was what Monsieur Blanc had used for cording 
 bales on his hay-wain. "This long enough? it's all I 
 have so we must make it do." He thrust an electric 
 torch into the breast of his shirt. "Can you stow 
 away the brandy? We may want it, and it's not so 
 likely to break in the pocket of your thick tweeds." 
 He was hurrying out when Meredith caught his arm. 
 
 "Give me the cord and the torch. You're not fit to 
 go." 
 
 Evelyn flushed scarlet and freed himself with a 
 fierce jerk. "Fit or not, I must go. You don't know 
 these hills." 
 
 "I recognise your pluck, Evelyn, but you would be 
 more trouble than you were worth. I beg your 
 pardon, but you can hardly stand." 
 
 "Compliments afterwards. Oh ! come on, do. How 
 long do you suppose that loose shingly stuff will hold? 
 It may fetch loose at any moment: and it's fifteen 
 hundred feet to the torrent." 
 
 "Good Heavens!" said Meredith aghast. 
 
 Unacquainted with the country, and preoccupied 
 with the odious necessity of going back to ISvol, he 
 had not realised that Dent was in danger. He had 
 taken for granted that so long as Dent kept quiet he 
 was safe. But what safety could there be on those 
 crumbling slopes, if one came to think of it, for any- 
 thing larger than a goat? Frightened into acquies- 
 cence, he followed Evelyn out into the night.
 
 302 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 It was by now dark: on an ordinary evening it 
 would still have been twilight, but the clouds that had 
 come up with the storm were such as make candles 
 bum bright at noonday. The rain had stopped, but 
 everything was streaming wet, and the valley bottom 
 was a black gulf through which the Ria torrent roared 
 like surf on a pebble strand. When they reached Eve- 
 lyn's tributary brook he produced his torch and they 
 had to go carefully. It had brought down a quantity 
 of big stones which were strewn all over the roadway, 
 and where they dammed the channel it swirled like a 
 cataract, almost knee-deep. Evelyn in his weakness 
 could hardly stand up under it. Meredith silently 
 offered him a hand. 
 
 "Thanks," said Evelyn, impassively accepting it. 
 
 "Take my arm, won't you?" 
 
 "I will if you don't mind." 
 
 In after years that walk lingered in Meredith's mem- 
 ory like a bad dream one of those dreams of wide 
 flooding when the habitable world seems to be resolv- 
 ing itself, amid the unutterable confusion and anxiety 
 of the dreamer, into a single element. The splash of 
 puddles underfoot, the universal murmurous ripple 
 of thousands of runnels coming down over invisible 
 heights, the wan gleam of an occasional lightning flash 
 which spilt itself among distant clouds like a pool 
 of white water among black rocks, the precipices and 
 tossing peaks which for a moment opened out under it 
 clear as day and rough as an unquiet sea, the night- 
 mare conflict between having to hurry to rescue Dent 
 and not being able to hurry because they could not 
 without stumbling put one foot before another, above 
 all the discomfort of feeling that light but painful
 
 GLAIR DE LUNE 303 
 
 weight on his arm confused yet intense impressions, 
 they were of those that pierce below the normal regis- 
 tration strata and leave their print on the mind for 
 ever. Chief among them was distress on Evelyn's ac- 
 count : but he dared not give it utterance. 
 
 "Hallo ! is this the place?" 
 
 Evelyn held up his torch and flashed it across the 
 chaos ahead of him. They had gone about a kilo- 
 metre on the mule-track to Ria, and had reached 
 a spot where it rounded a great bluff in a hairpin 
 curve, a headland of rock hanging over it, a stark 
 torn cliff dropping down from it into abysmal gloom. 
 This turn, always dangerous for carts and horses, 
 had been protected by thirty or forty yards of stone 
 coping. But wind or rain or lightning had split the 
 rock overhead, most of the coping had gone down head- 
 long into the ravine, and what remained of the road 
 was buried under thousands of tons of raw red soil, 
 boulders, uprooted firtrees, shreds of turf, and black- 
 ened shards of limestone, which when the small round 
 beam from Evelyn's torch danced over them looked 
 like raw flesh and bones of earth, or debris left over 
 from its creation. 
 
 "Dent! Dent! are you all right?" 
 
 "Right as rain," Dent's voice floating up from be- 
 low sounded rather thin and exhausted through the 
 wailing gusts of wind. "But be careful, I can't stretch 
 about. Can you see me?" 
 
 "No. Where are you?" 
 
 "On my right, that's Ria way, there's a goodsized 
 firtree sticking out with its heels in the air. On 
 my left nothing but a gigantic rubbish heap. Right
 
 304 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 oYerhead a big boulder that looks beastly loose. I 
 can't see anything under me at all." 
 
 "Has your firtree a split trunk like an L? . . . All 
 right. Hold on half a minute." 
 
 "Well, hurry up, there's a good chap, I feel awfully 
 near slipping." 
 
 No time had been lost, for, while Meredith was try- 
 ing to locate Dent, Evelyn had been making the rope 
 fast to a bit of unbroken coping, and tying knots in 
 it and a loop at the end for Dent to slip over his head. 
 "Ask him if he can manage the rope by himself," Eve- 
 lyn prompted Meredith. "It's full long enough to 
 chuck over." 
 
 "Yes, if you can hit me off," Dent called back in his 
 goodhumoured cool tone. "But I can't go looking 
 for it. This ledge is about fifteen inches wide and 
 feels shaky, also I've strained my right shoulder pretty 
 badly ugh !" 
 
 "What's wrong?" Meredith asked, swiftly flinging 
 out the rope in what he judged to be the right direc- 
 tion "Here you are." 
 
 The rattle of a couple of pebbles, which ran on and 
 on down the cliff and never stopped till they rolled 
 out of earshot, made Dent's danger appallingly plain. 
 "Bit sensitive, this old ledge," the voice was weaker 
 now, "doesn't seem to like me to sit up on it. ... 
 Send down the rope for goodness' sake !" 
 
 "I have sent it down." 
 
 "I haven't got it." 
 
 "I must go down," said Meredith, swiftly hauling 
 in the rope. 
 
 "No, I," said Evelyn : "you're too heavy." 
 
 "Evelyn, you can't!"
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 305 
 
 "I must. Your athletics are a thing of the past: 
 you weigh twice what I do and you're out of training. 
 I'm used to these hills and I can climb about them like 
 a fly." 
 
 "That won't mend matters if you faint," said Mere- 
 dith bluntly. 
 
 "I never faint." 
 
 He pulled the loop over his head. Meredith would 
 have given the world to insist, but dared not, for 
 Dent's sake: he was too heavy and his muscles had 
 lost their spring. All he could do was to pay out 
 the rope, while Evelyn, his torch in one hand, threw 
 his leg over the parapet and scrambled warily down 
 from boulder to boulder, a round disk of light danc- 
 ing ahead of him and lighting up every tuft of wet 
 grass and every pebble on his road. Torch or no, 
 Meredith could have tracked him by the noise he 
 made, for at each step earth and stones went rolling, 
 rolling out of earshot. 
 
 "Where are you?" Dent's voice was very feeble 
 now. "What are you doing?" 
 
 "Bringing down the rope." 
 
 "Who is it?" 
 
 "Evelyn." 
 
 "Evelyn? . . . Don't come down. Keep back for 
 God's sake keep back! this shelf is rocking under 
 me. Throw me the rope." 
 
 "Can't, there's a branch in the way." 
 
 "Then I'm done. Don't come any nearer, I'm going. 
 O God! Say goodbye to Kitty for me. Eve, you 
 fool, keep back, it's cracking " 
 
 Evelyn sprang for it. He crashed through a net- 
 work of twigs and fell on his hands and knees on the
 
 306 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 lip of rock where Dent was lying. It broke under 
 him with a roar like thunder, but as it split and 
 crumbled he got hold of Dent by a leg and an arm 
 and held to him by his grip on Dent's clothes. 
 For one appalling moment they seemed to drop with 
 a dropping universe; and taen the loop pulled taut 
 under Evelyn's armpits, the hillside below came rush- 
 ing up to meet them, Dent dug in his fingers and 
 toes, and slowly, panting, dripping with sweat, groan- 
 ing aloud with the anguish of his wrenched shoulder, 
 Dent got his weight off Evelyn and Evelyn shifted 
 the loop over Dent's head. 
 
 "That was a good bit of cord," Dent remarked 
 soberly. 
 
 Dirty, wet, and bleeding, he sat in the road, his head 
 on Meredith's knee; the loosely cut tweed coat was 
 already strained tight over his swollen shoulder. 
 Evelyn, a step or two away, was coolly unknotting 
 the rope from the parapet and coiling it over his 
 arm. Meredith alone was not cool. It had irked 
 and mortified him to have to stand by inactive, he 
 had been frightened out of his life when the rock 
 cracked, and he was afflicted by scruples which his 
 companions did not seem to share. "Confound it all," 
 he burst out, "what are we to do? How am I to get 
 you to Ria in this state?" 
 
 "To Ria?" 
 
 "There'll be no cart or diligence no conveyance 
 of any sort to be had on a night like this: and even 
 to-morrow there'll be this infernal road blocked 
 and you can't walk ten miles what is to be 
 done?"
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 307 
 
 Evelyn opened his eyes. "You were not thinking 
 of pushing on to Eia to-night?" 
 
 "Where else can we go?" 
 
 "Why, back to Evol, of course. You're woolgather- 
 ing, Meredith." 
 
 "To Evol?" Meredith repeated stupidly. 
 
 "George can get as far as that if we each give 
 him an arm : can't you, George?" 
 
 "But we can't go to Evol !" 
 
 "Oh, rubbish!" said Dent, "there's no getting on to 
 Ria to-night nor yet to-morrow for me. I feel done 
 to the world and I want this coat cut off me. Eve'll 
 give us a room." 
 
 "But of course !" said Evelyn laughing. "What are 
 you dreaming of? Didn't you hear me tell Sophy to 
 get soup and hot blankets ready? We had better get 
 a move on, too, George ought to be in bed." 
 
 "But!" 
 
 "But what? If it's the commissariat problem that 
 bothers you, pray set your mind at rest. I always 
 keep ten days' iron rations in the larder since one 
 depressing occasion last winter when I was snowed 
 up and lived for a week on rice and jam." He stooped 
 to help Dent to his feet. "Come along, old fellow, 
 the sooner you're between the sheets the better." 
 
 "But I" said Meredith for the third time and as 
 unavailingly as before. He felt bewildered, as if set 
 down to play in a game of which he had never learnt 
 the rules. It was all very well for Evelyn to be 
 magnanimous (confound him!) after saving Dent's 
 life, but what was Dent doing? Had he so soon for- 
 given Evelyn? Forgiveness apart, wasn't the situa- 
 tion a trifle delicate, a trifle awkward? How could
 
 308 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 Dent go to Evol and accept the hospitality of Evelyn 
 or of Sophy? 
 
 But Dent with his delusive simplicity seemed to 
 find nothing indecent in what was inevitable. It had 
 to be, therefore it ought to be, and he was not going 
 to boggle at it. He got up slowly and stiffly, grunt- 
 ing like one of his own cows, and dividing his weight 
 between Meredith and Evelyn. 
 
 "That was something like a storm, my word ! I'm 
 glad I don't get storms like that on top of my harvest. 
 It'd lodge the crops as if a steam roller had gone over 
 them. No, it's no mortal use your fussing, Meredith, 
 you couldn't get to Ria to-night not if it was to attend 
 your own wedding !"
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 NOW began an interlude which seemed to Mere- 
 dith as strange and as completely out of touch 
 with their life before and after it as the time 
 spent by shipwrecked sailors on a desert island ; and 
 the stranger because his companions were content 
 apparently to take all for granted and settle down 
 together as if they meant to stay at fevol till they died. 
 To move Dent was impossible ; he turned out to have 
 broken two ribs as well as spraining his shoulder, 
 and was light-headed for a few nights, with a tempera- 
 ture of a hundred and three. It would hardly have 
 been safe to get him to Ria even in an ambulance, 
 still less in a farm cart, and in point of fact no vehicle 
 of any kind was available till a breakdown gang had 
 been sent up to clear the landslide and restore com- 
 munication by road. While that was doing they were 
 almost cut off from their neighbours, for the only way 
 down from Evol was by footpath over the hills. Eve- 
 lyn departed at dawn, sent a telegram to Kitty, and 
 brought back a medical man on a high-shouldered, 
 mild-eyed mule, who praised Sophy's dressing of the 
 damaged side, and ordered Dent to keep quiet and 
 live on strong broth and tisane (a febrifuge of the 
 country brewed from lime-leaves, and perhaps the 
 mildest drink that ever was quaffed from a teacup) ; 
 after Monsieur Bailbe" left again, there was nothing 
 to do but wait. Dent and Meredith shared the big 
 room at the back of the inn, Sophy was put into Eve- 
 
 309
 
 310 CLAIB DE LUNE 
 
 lyn's bedroom, and Evelyn slept on the kitchen 
 floor. By tacit consent, the collision between Dent 
 and Evelyn was ignored as though it had never hap- 
 pened. 
 
 Evelyn being host and householder, the control of 
 the situation was for him to take, and to the irritation 
 and bewilderment of Meredith he took it ! He it was 
 who mapped out their duties for them, sitting on the 
 edge of the parlour table and gravely making notes on 
 a chart which was afterwards nailed to the wall : 
 Sophy to do most of the cooking, and act as nurse by 
 day and occasionally by night, sleeping with her 
 door open and going in and out to minister to Dent 
 when Meredith called her; Meredith to sally forth 
 with a gun or a fishing net, and bring in rabbits and 
 pigeons and grives and an occasional izard, or a trout 
 ignominiously hauled ashore in defiance of Waltonian 
 etiquette Meredith who had never in all his life 
 before attacked a trout with anything but a fly! 
 and Evelyn himself to do the ordinary work of the 
 house, sweeping and washing and fetching wood and 
 water with the energetic neatness of a well-drilled 
 batman. Meredith used to hear him whistling about 
 his duties as if it were his chief pleasure in life to 
 scrub the parlour floor. Dust thickened on the lid 
 of the shut piano. The unfinished MS. of CMr de 
 Lune was stacked out of harm's way in an empty 
 biscuit tin. And Evelyn was not often seen to cast 
 regretful glances on it; the tune to which he blacked 
 Meredith's boots (for the amenities of life were not 
 neglected) was
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 311 
 
 A blue and white young man 
 
 (Believe it if you can!) 
 A "What's the next article?" 
 
 ( Don't care a particle ! ) 
 Howell and James' young man ! 
 
 Which was all very well for Evelyn but left Meredith 
 fuming. 
 
 What chiefly mystified him were the relations be- 
 tween Evelyn and Dent. He tried once when they 
 were alone to get an explanation out of Dent, but 
 the invalid was uncommunicative and even peevish. 
 "You must hate being tied here by the leg," Mere- 
 dith said, sitting on the edge of Dent's bed to light 
 him a cigarette. "It is excessively trying for us both 
 to be Evelyn's guests, considering the terms on which 
 we parted from him." Dent took his cigarette with 
 a grunt of ungracious thanks. "Excessively" was a 
 word that he had never used in his life. "I feel the 
 strain as acutely as you do, but for the moment I 
 can see no alternative. But you may rely on me to 
 get you out of Evol at the first possible moment." 
 
 "No hurry," said Dent stolidly. 
 
 "I appreciate the courage with which you face an 
 awkward situation." 
 
 " 'Don't feel it awkward." 
 
 "I should have thought " 
 
 "Well, you'd have thought wrong. You generally 
 do." 
 
 Conversation was becoming difficult, and Meredith 
 was not sorry to be called down by Evelyn and des- 
 patched into the ravine under orders "to shoot some
 
 312 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 supper." Left alone, Dent lay back on his pillow with 
 a frown for Meredith and a ruminant smile for Eve- 
 lyn. He was glad to have "sorted" Meredith. He 
 had instantly discerned and resented Meredith's at- 
 tempt to draw him out. He was not going to discuss 
 Evelyn with Meredith. An inquisitive fellow, Mere- 
 dith ! Dent was too little self-centred to realise that 
 after a volte-face so unaccountable as his own Mere- 
 dith or any man might well feel curious. 
 
 To Dent it all seemed so simple and so natural: 
 directly his first anger had begun to cool, the old af- 
 fection for his feudal overlord had revived in him 
 strangely mingled with the affection of a good elder 
 brother in the Sixth for his junior and fag. After 
 all, what had Evelyn done? Gone off with another 
 woman and then lied about it! Dent hated the lie, 
 but vaguely supposed it belonged to the Evelyn tra- 
 dition; an Evelyn would dishonour himself to pro- 
 tect a woman, as coolly as he would cheat a trades- 
 man to pay a gambling debt. Remembering the pun- 
 ishment that Evelyn had undergone and the truly 
 Christian revenge that he had taken for it, Dent was 
 inclined to write "Discharged in full" at the foot of 
 that bill the more readily because there would keep 
 coming back a creeping doubt, had it been circum- 
 stances that lied, and not Evelyn after all? It was 
 difficult in cold blood to associate Evelyn with dis- 
 honour. 
 
 Of course, if Evelyn were innocent, Meredith would 
 have said that Dent ought to feel ten times more un- 
 comfortable at 6vol. But Meredith never saw any- 
 thing straight! Dent with his shrewd smile reflected 
 that this was not the first time Evelyn had felt the
 
 GLAIR DE LUNB 313 
 
 weight of his friend's right arm. There was that June 
 afternoon long ago when Evelyn had been discovered 
 in the Manor Farm dairy decorated with whiskers of 
 Manor Farm cream. . . . What a pity to manufac- 
 ture emotions! It was not as if Meredith had had 
 a hand in it. Luckily he had stood by inactive ; and so 
 long as it lay between Dent and Evelyn what did it 
 signify? Not much and especially in view of Eve- 
 lyn's revenge! 
 
 "Meredith," Leslie Wright had once said, "is one of 
 those fellows that always prefer penny coloured to 
 tuppence plain." Incapable of simplicity, he could 
 not follow the workings of Dent's mind, not at all 
 they were a dark riddle to him; but the result was 
 clear though not the process. He stood alone at 6vol. 
 Evelyn was in command, Sophy was his ally, and Dent 
 in some incomprehensible way had subsided into a 
 benevolent neutral. It was the old story, and a dim 
 distress, the wistfulness of a dog that has been hurt 
 and does not know why, mingled in Meredith's anger 
 as he asked himself why he always stood alone. Why 
 had he no friends who would stand up for him right 
 or wrong as these two would stand up for Evelyn, the 
 ungrateful, the undeserving? Then remembering 
 Kitty's constancy "I shall always love Eve best" 
 he set his teeth and swore that here at all events 
 Evelyn should not supplant him. Possibly it was 
 an unwelcome idea which only very stern pressure 
 could have forced on him it was his own fault if 
 he lacked friends. His temper was fastidious and 
 reserved. But not for Kitty no, not for Kitty: if 
 it is love that begets love, he would surely be able 
 to oust that unresponsive image of Evelyn from Kitty's
 
 314 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 warm and tender heart? For he loved her, and not 
 selfishly; it was her happiness that he was seeking 
 as much as his own. She should not waste her sweet- 
 ness and beauty on Evelyn's want of manhood. Surely 
 he could detach her from Evelyn? With a rush of 
 the old unscrupulous audacity, Meredith reflected that 
 the simplest if not the most delicate method was to 
 begin by detaching Sophy from Evelyn. Well, that 
 ought not to be difficult, seeing that in days gone 
 by 
 
 It was sunset, and the sixth night after the storm. 
 Having been with Dent most of the day he was an 
 insubordinate invalid and had to be watched to keep 
 him from moving about Sophy had come forth for 
 a breath of air, and to stretch her limbs, cramped from 
 sitting on a wooden chair. She had thrown herself 
 on the turf a little way from the house and was 
 watching the sun's descent into the western head of 
 the ravine. It was one of those mild and cloudy 
 French evenings that recall England, the England of 
 springtime ; under a rippled sky, grey nearly all over, 
 but a grey that was perpetually on the verge of parting 
 over the blueness of air or the gilding of low sunshine, 
 the valleys took on a fresher greenness and the hills 
 were dimmed by a misty bloom. Far off in some 
 lonely upland a cuckoo was calling and flying from 
 crag to crag, and his voice, always a little melancholy 
 in an English ear 
 
 The bloom is gone, and with the bloom go I 
 
 was in tune with these half-tones and low lights, these 
 grey stones that reflected the colouring of the motion-
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 315 
 
 less clouds, and these brooks tenderly watering their 
 solitary and sweet-scented dales, where forget-me-not 
 and gentian and frail narcissus blew side by side in 
 fine, thymy grass. 
 
 Only in the east, in the direction of the Mediter- 
 ranean, between quilting cloud and invisible sea- 
 board, there shone as there had shone all day a wide 
 gleam a girdle of sunlit air, primrose at dawn, azure 
 at noon, and now green and faint, to remind the 
 mountain-dwellers of amber sails on a wine-dark sea. 
 Sophy's sun-loving eyes dwelt on it, turning away from 
 the grey peaks and shady glens. She was still wear- 
 ing Evelyn's flannels, and they hung loose on her, 
 as the clothes of even a slight man will on a woman, 
 quaintly travestying the straight shape of a boy ; his 
 coat came down halfway to her knee, and under it 
 she wore a sash made out of a couple of red silk hand- 
 kerchiefs and loosely knotted round her waist. But 
 she had coiled up her hair and put on her shoes and 
 stockings. She sat on a flat bit of sward, her shoul- 
 ders propped against the cosiest * of natural cushions, 
 a good-sized broom bush, which, at once dense and 
 compact and soft, springy and yielding, did as well 
 as the most luxurious armchair ever turned out by 
 Waring and Gillow. Her hands were folded on her 
 lap, her legs stretched out at full length and crossed 
 at the ankle. 
 
 Steps on the Ria road: steps she had known very 
 well in days gone by. Sophy frowned, drawing down 
 her straight, rather thick eyebrows till they had the 
 
 i In my opinion. But I know little about heather, of which many 
 speak highly. It should be noted however that to get the beat out 
 of a broom bush one must sprawl plump in the middle of it. Sophy 
 was a townbird.
 
 316 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 effect of darkening her eyes. Yes, there was Meredith, 
 carrying Evelyn's gun in one hand and a bird of un- 
 known plumage in the other. He waved to Sophy and 
 vanished into the house. In a minute or so he came 
 out again, bare-headed and relieved of his burdens, 
 and by a gesture asked Sophy's leave to join her on 
 the turf. Sophy gave it with a negligent nod, and 
 Meredith came striding up to her and cast himself 
 prone at her side, leaning his cheek on his hand. 
 Sophy continued to stare at him with her little hard 
 frown as if he puzzled her. What really did puzzle 
 her was her own feeling for him. 
 
 She had been so desperately in love with him once ! 
 without regret or shame she remembered those hours 
 in Tennant's studio when she had felt there was noth- 
 ing, nothing he could ask that she would not give . . . 
 with the sweet and reckless prodigality of a woman 
 who will burn her own house down to light a man's 
 candle, for Sophy had no sense of proportion and she 
 was very, very young. Innocent too more innocent in 
 thought than many women of spotless life: she had 
 given her maidenhood to Meredith to please him not 
 herself, and though she loved him with all her heart, 
 and though to charm him she learnt every wile, yet the 
 moments that were sweetest both in their passing and 
 in her memory were innocent. And what was left of 
 it all now? A handful of cold ashes? Not quite cold. 
 Gone, infinitely remote were those days when all her 
 Me was either meeting him or hurrying to meet him : 
 if possible remoter yet the days of her anguish when 
 ie discovered how little a model's love meant to him : 
 all that passion and tenderness and grief and tortur- 
 ing humiliation might have happened to another
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 317 
 
 woman, so deeply bad other events and feelings silted 
 up over her not far distant girlhood : and yet for old 
 sakes' sake Meredith was not and could never be to 
 her quite the same as other men. 
 
 Sophy kept a diary (in French, and under lock and 
 key). There were names in it, names of men, that 
 she had entirely forgotten. She could not recollect 
 what they were like or when or how she had met or 
 parted from them. There was a cloud over certain 
 years of her girlhood in Paris, the years when Mere- 
 dith had left her to struggle against the pressure of 
 life without the defense of self-respect. But over 
 the year of her love-affair with Meredith there was no 
 cloud ; each tiny incident stood out clear, jokes, way- 
 side meals, a compliment that he had paid her, a walk 
 they had taken together in the Forest of Fontaine- 
 bleau in autumn, the shoes she had worn ( green shoes : 
 Meredith had liked them), the colouring of the elms 
 (it was October, and on one particular tree he had 
 admired one particular gold bough) , the purple velvet 
 petals and gilt stamens of dahlias in an inn garden, 
 Meredith's insistence on cutting off the tops of her 
 eggs for her instead of letting her pat them all over 
 with a spoon as she liked to do. ... No, he could never 
 again be to her no more than other men. Now and 
 again his eyes appraised her as if she were for him 
 not quite like other women. 
 
 "Where's Evelyn?" 
 
 "Gone to the me"tairie to fetch some more milk." 
 
 "Is Dent asleep?" 
 
 "Yes. His temperature's down to ninety-nine 
 point two to-night, which means he'll be pretty well 
 normal to-morrow morning. He's much better. Did
 
 318 CLAIK DE LUNE 
 
 you come up past the landslide?" Meredith nodded. 
 
 "They're doing famously: people on foot or riding 
 can get by now, and in another twenty-four hours 
 there'll be a track available for mule-carts. Then we 
 can send for a conveyance from Ria and ship him down 
 to the railway. Candidly, I shall not be sorry to clear 
 out of fevoL" 
 
 "Why don't you go on alone?'' Sophy was malicious 
 enough to ask. "Charles and I could see after Mr. 
 Dent without you." Meredith's smile was rather dif- 
 ficult and strained. 
 
 "Sophy, you are a woman, and a clever one. You 
 do not need me to explain to you, in words of one 
 syllable, that I can't steal a march on Evelyn by 
 going back to Perpignan while he is detained here 
 by Dent. That is one of the things that aren't done. 
 Perhaps I am over-scrupulous, for it seems he wouldn't 
 go if he could, still one prefers to be on the safe side. 
 But as soon as the Ria road is clear that moral veto 
 will be withdrawn, and then . . . Sophy, I want to 
 talk to you. You understand Evelyn pretty well, don't 
 you?" 
 
 "Ought to, oughtn't I? if!" 
 
 Meredith shrugged his shoulders. "Your relations 
 with him, my dear, are a riddle I do not pretend to 
 have solved. But this much is plain, you are here with 
 him and he did try to conceal your presence from us. 
 You know everything that passed that night we ar- 
 rived?" 
 
 "Yes. You can hear pretty clearly through to the 
 room overhead." 
 
 "It was an odious scene," said Meredith. His strong 
 fingers had pulled up a tuft of grass and were tearing
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 319 
 
 it to bits as if the memory worked on his nerves. 
 "Odious. I'd give a thousand pounds for it never to 
 have happened." 
 
 "Would you really?" Sophy murmured. "A thou- 
 sand pounds? That's a good round sum; and you 
 never did much like parting, did you?" 
 
 "You have a natural gift of irony, Sophy, but don't 
 exercise it on me. Perhaps I don't deserve anything 
 better from you, but you should be generous, for 
 I'm at your mercy. You must know that, since you 
 know how matters stand between Evelyn and me." 
 
 "Don't you wish you were French, or that it was 
 a hundred years ago?" 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "So as you and Charles could have a shot at each 
 other and Mrs. Evelyn could belong to the winner." 
 
 "Not in the least. I neither wish to shoot Evelyn 
 nor to let him shoot me," said Meredith drily. "You 
 are a very woman ! Why? Because all women love 
 to set a couple of men at each other's throats. You 
 would like to tarre me on against Evelyn, wouldn't 
 you? but you won't do it. Evelyn is my friend. Cir- 
 cumstances have made us hostile but I'm still too fond 
 of him to wish him any harm." 
 
 "Is that so? ... Don't beat about the bush, Ed- 
 mund. I know you well enough to see when you're 
 only marking time." 
 
 "You know me very well, don't you?" 
 
 "Better than you'd like," Sophy muttered, not 
 flinching under Meredith's libertine eyes. "D'you 
 flatter yourself you can get one in on me that way? 
 Not you. For all that's come and gone between us I 
 don't care that" she snapped her fingers not too far
 
 320 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 from Meredith's nose "except that it's left me a sort 
 of silly, sneaking fondness for you, I suppose because 
 I gave you such a lot when I was a girl. You didn't 
 treat me well. You'd better not rake up that time in 
 Paris. There's more in it for you to be ashamed of 
 than for me." 
 
 "Oh ! well, don't let's drag all that up again." He 
 was discomfited and showed it, but only for a moment. 
 "All that Paris life is dead and done with. But after 
 all it was sweet, wasn't it? Do you regret it? I 
 don't. I could never regret anything so delicious as 
 the love and the freshness you gave me. Why should 
 either of us be ashamed? Haven't you the courage 
 to say boldly, as men do, 'This and this were indiscre- 
 tions, but they were part of my life and I wouldn't 
 lose them out of it, not even now when I've put follies 
 behind me'?" 
 
 "Pretty: but I still don't see exactly what you're 
 driving at." 
 
 "Alliance offensive and defensive." He raised his 
 bold blue eyes. "Don't you beat about the bush either, 
 my lady. You were in love with me once, but you 
 aren't now. You want Evelyn. That suits my book, 
 because I want his wife." 
 
 "How d'you mean to many her?" 
 
 "Good God yes !" 
 
 Sophy laughed a little ironic laugh without bitter- 
 ness. "Sorry, I forgot. She's got a good social posi- 
 tion, so naturally you would want to marry her. But 
 what's the use of coming to me about it? I don't 
 carry the moon in my pocket, do I? Go along baby! 
 you've wandered up the wrong street." 
 
 "You can tell me what I want to know."
 
 CLAIE DE LUNE 321 
 
 "About me and Evelyn? Go on, Edmund don't 
 be coy." 
 
 Meredith sighed. He was not proud of the part 
 he was playing. But for a short cut to Kitty he would 
 have gone through any mire, and fixing his cynical 
 eyes on Sophy he marshalled his arguments before 
 her with the suave brutality which he had inherited 
 from the K. C. his father. "I can't win Mrs. Evelyn 
 unless I can prove that Evelyn has been your lover. 
 He denies it, so now I come to you." 
 
 "What, you want me to own up? It's an ill bird !" 
 
 "Come now, Sophy : he isn't the first." 
 
 "No, you were that." 
 
 "Perhaps. But you see, my dear, he isn't the sec- 
 ond either." 
 
 "So that I shall be none the worse for owning up?" 
 
 "And will you? ... If you do it, Mrs. Evelyn will 
 divorce her husband and marry me; and if you played 
 your cards well you might easily get Evelyn to marry 
 you." 
 
 "Social rehabilitation all round," said Sophy after a 
 moment. Her lip curled. "No wonder you hung in 
 the wind a bit before you brought it out. You are 
 a caution, Edmund! It does puzzle me what I ever 
 saw in you to be so fond of." Her voice rose. "You're 
 a gentleman, aren't you? Is this what you call a gen- 
 tlemanly bargain? Me to give Charles away so as I 
 can get him and you can get his wife? I wonder what 
 Mrs. Evelyn 'd say to it if I gave you away to her 
 instead!" 
 
 Meredith was not alarmed ; he knew his own power 
 too well. "For old sakes' sake you won't do that. I 
 trust you, Sophy."
 
 322 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 "I trusted you." 
 
 He laid his hand on hers. "Quiet ! what's the good 
 of going back over that? I did treat you badly and 
 I've never denied it, you trusted me and I failed you, 
 but I trust you now and you won't fail me: that's the 
 way of the world between men and women, the 
 ha'pence for us and the kicks for you ! And after all 
 what is there to give away? There's nothing base 
 in what I propose except the bare look of it. Evelyn's 
 a dog in the manger. He won't let his wife go, but 
 he doesn't want her himself. Heaven knows why he 
 ever married her. They haven't a taste in common. 
 He would be happier if he were a free man ; far, far 
 happier if he were married to you. You do look jolly 
 in those clothes, Sophy," he sat up and slipped his 
 arm round her waist : "for a wild unconventional devil 
 like Eve you would make an ideal wife! He doesn't 
 want to go into society, no more do you. He's always 
 running away from his obligations, and you would 
 run with him. He's an artist to his fingertips and 
 beauty means more to him than it does to most men, 
 and you're beautiful enough, heaven knows ! too beau- 
 tiful for most men's peace of mind. That's why I 
 can't believe his relations with you are so Platonic 
 as he pretends. He's a man like the rest of us, and 
 no man could leave such a fruit on the wall when it 
 was his for the picking: why, I can hardly keep my 
 fingers off it myself when I remember how sweet it 
 was in the old days, though I know it's not for me ! 
 But that afternoon in the Forest of Fontainebleau, 
 do you recollect? and the inn at Barbizon " 
 
 "Don't," said Sophy brokenly : " 'tisn't fair. ..." 
 
 Meredith let her go and relapsed on the turf. "It
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 323 
 
 isn't. You're right, I ain a blackguard." Lined and 
 drawn by passion, he leant his head down on his folded 
 arms. "But I want her I want her." 
 
 "Poor old boy!" Sophy murmured, caressing his 
 hair. Tears were in her eyes. 
 
 So, in the forest of Pontainebleau, under the Oc- 
 tober oakleaves, he had laid his head in her lap and 
 said "I want you I want you," and her answer had 
 been given in the inn at Barbizon. He had been sin- 
 cere then, at twenty-five: unmoved by her distress, 
 heedless of her future, a selfish egoist, yet honest in 
 his need of her. He was sincere now, though there 
 might be a vein of calculation, Sophy fancied, in his 
 candour: his suffering was real, though perhaps he 
 hoped to touch her by it. And she was touched, for 
 the passion that had devastated her girlhood and 
 spoilt her life had left a faint maternal warmth be- 
 hind it, a disposition to give her baby the moon if he 
 cried for it. But, alas ! she could not reach it. Sophy 
 was incontinently truthful. For Meredith, she could 
 have pulled off without a sigh her hardwon mantle of 
 respectability, but not for him nor for Evelyn nor for 
 her own happiness could she say the thing that was 
 not. 
 
 "I can't help you, Edmund. I can't say he was my 
 lover when he wasn't, can I?" 
 
 "Not your lover?" 
 
 "Oh no! never. I loved him, but he never, never 
 wanted me." 
 
 "Make him so." 
 
 "Make love to him, d'you mean? He wouldn't 
 . . . He's not like you." 
 
 "Damn him! I know he isn't." Meredith mut-
 
 324 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 tered, hiding his face in his hands. He was half mad- 
 dened by the shock of disappointment. "He's only 
 half a man. But you could get round him: never 
 tell me! There are ways." 
 
 "But I'm not that sort," Sophy pleaded, her voice 
 full of pain. "I don't make up to men that don't 
 want me and another woman's husband at that! 
 I like Mrs. Evelyn. I used to see her in Chelsea. She's 
 got an awfully nice face, and she was very fond of 
 Charles." 
 
 "She's had enough of him now." 
 
 "That's not true." Sophy paused, her voice chang- 
 ing. "If it were " 
 
 "I tell you she's sick to death of him!" Meredith 
 said savagely. "Any woman would be that had a 
 grain of self-respect in her. If it's for her you're 
 sorry, your scruples are misplaced. I shall make her 
 happy, which is more than Evelyn ever did or will." 
 
 "D'you mean she likes you best?" 
 
 "My good girl, that's not the sort of thing one cares 
 to proclaim from the housetops! ... Oh well, if 
 you must have it, I believe I have her photograph 
 somewhere on me." He began to rummage through 
 his pockets. "Where the deuce ?" 
 
 "Breast pocket," suggested Sophy with ten thousand 
 devils in her smile. 
 
 "Breast pocket it is." Reddening to his forehead, 
 yet brazen under his confusion, he dragged it out and 
 flung it on the turf: the same photograph that Dent 
 had taken away from Evelyn, and which Meredith 
 had found lying about in Dent's study and had appro- 
 priated without leave. Reckless now, Meredith was 
 not going to explain how he had come by it. The end
 
 GLAIR DE LUNE 325 
 
 justifies the means; Sophy was irrationally and un- 
 fairly sceptical, and here was one of those lies which 
 are truer than the truth as Meredith saw it. Sophy 
 examined the portrait long and thoughtfully. A 
 trifle dimmed by hard wear, Kitty's speaking eyes still 
 looked up with the old sweet and gay bravery from 
 under the brim of her shady hat. Sophy shook her 
 head over it with a faint sigh. 
 
 "I've seen this photo before, it's the same as the one 
 she gave to Charles when they were engaged. That 
 was the night it all began. ... So now she gives it to 
 you, does she? She does look nice all the same. Are 
 you so sure you'll make her happy?" 
 
 "Turn it over." 
 
 "Hallo!" Obeying him, she had come on the in- 
 scription : "With Kitty's love." "My goodness ! does 
 she chuck her love about like that? Well, perhaps 
 you will make her happy if she's that sort." 
 
 "Give it me back," said Meredith. He did not in- 
 tend to correct Sophy's false impression, and yet 
 against his will he felt sick and ashamed. He tried 
 to take the photograph from her, but she held it fast. 
 Her perplexed and half-displeased eyes had travelled 
 suddenly beyond him and were fixed in a fascinated 
 stare. Meredith, looking round, gave a violent start. 
 Who was this who was coming towards them like a 
 ghost in the twilight, white-clad, and barefoot on the 
 soundless turf? It was Evelyn, carrying the water- 
 bucket on his way to the spring. 
 
 Flight and concealment were alike impossible, for 
 he was already close. He stood still, smiling down 
 at Sophy and stretching out one hand for Kitty's por- 
 trait, "Mine, I think."
 
 326 CLAIE DE LUNE 
 
 " Tisn't, it's hers, she gave it him," said Sophy, re- 
 linquishing it not to Evelyn but to Meredith. 
 
 "Did she?" said Evelyn. He took it from Meredith 
 and slipped it into the breast of his shirt. 
 
 "Don't let him take it, Edmund !" Sophy cried out, 
 more jealous for the man who seemed to need protec- 
 tion than for the man she loved : "why d'you let him?" 
 
 Meredith smiled weakly and said nothing. In every 
 struggle, between individuals as between nations, there 
 comes a moment when the balance shifts finally this 
 way or that. In the struggle between himself and 
 Evelyn, Meredith had always innocently assumed that 
 he would win by virtue of that moral domination pre- 
 viously mentioned of character and will. But he was 
 not winning now. Under Evelyn's gentle and amused 
 glance his pretensions shrivelled off him and he felt 
 as though he were left naked. His last garment had 
 fluttered away when Sophy unwittingly betrayed his 
 lie to Evelyn and when Evelyn disdained to expose it. 
 
 "That bird you've brought in, Meredith," said 
 Evelyn, shifting his bucket from one hand to the other 
 and gazing down with the unshadowed and firm eyes 
 of a captain who issues orders to his crew, "wants 
 plucking and drawing. I've told you before that 
 that's part of your job. It's quite easy to disembowel 
 him, but getting the feathers off is a slow process and I 
 haven't time for it. You go in and do it or you won't 
 have anything but porridge for breakfast. Sophy, 
 George has woke up and threatens to get out of bed 
 and come down to supper. You might help Meredith 
 with his bird. It would be something for George to 
 amuse himself with if you took it into his room." He 
 departed, swinging the bucket.
 
 GLAIR DE LUNE 327 
 
 "D'you mean to tell me," breathed Sophy, round- 
 eyed, "she never did give you that photo after all?" 
 
 Meredith got up flicking a blade of grass from his 
 cuff. "I forgot that infernal bird. Come aloiv 
 Sophy, we've received our marching orders."
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 AND that night there came to Evelyn his renais- 
 sance. 
 He had not foreseen it: a dreamer, a labor- 
 ious artist, absorbed in his work, he had not felt the 
 change that was working in him, and when it forced 
 itself on his consciousness he was taken by surprise. 
 He had gone about all the evening in high elation, for 
 he had enjoyed every moment of his little duel with 
 Meredith, and it was sweet as honey in its after-taste; 
 but he did not know that he had enjoyed it because for 
 the first time in his life he had bullied another man 
 into obeying his orders. He had whistled as he laid 
 the supper, but with no more comprehension of his 
 own instincts than a robin in May. Dent was cheerful 
 as usual, Meredith silent and stiff, while Sophy, all 
 eyes and ears, watched Evelyn timidly as though nerv- 
 ous of him; and Evelyn was amiably polite to all 
 three of them, and ministered to their carnal needs 
 with fried trout and an omelette aux fines herbes 
 and white wine of Ronciaulx and purple lowland figs 
 at fifteen centimes a dozen with the red pulp bursting 
 out of the seams of their jackets he enjoyed pressing 
 those figs on Meredith, who was a gourmet and known 
 to be fond of them. But it was not till after supper, 
 when the house was quiet but for the murmur of fall- 
 ing water which haunted it day and night, that he 
 began to analyse his own sensations. 
 
 Evelyn was always first to rise and last to retire. 
 
 328
 
 CLAIB DE LUNE 329 
 
 Now that he was no longer alone, he had taken to 
 locking up at night. But before doing so, as soon as 
 the others were safe in bed, he went up to his bathing 
 pool. The stream, shrunk to its old dimensions, was 
 lipping placidly on its stone brim under a dark fringe 
 of maidenhair; the moon, now full, was hanging over 
 the valley like a cup of pearl, out of which a pallor of 
 light rained down evenly over opal cloudland and 
 frozen peak and flowery turf and the dark leaf and 
 stem of his sentinel ash tree. He stripped and stood 
 for some moments indolently bathing in that grey 
 glow, which was so tranquil that not a twig stirred 
 overhead nor one seeding grass-stalk moved at his side. 
 All above him the cistus bushes and the hollies and the 
 more loosely sprinkled foliage of birch and alder 
 painted blots of shadow, black as jet, on slants of whit- 
 ened turf. The surface of his pool was glassy quiet, 
 and like a glass it reflected the moonlight, and the 
 leaning ash tree, and a frieze of knotgrass, and even a 
 tiny pattern of maidenhair fronds along its granite lip. 
 The reflection of the moonlight was so brilliant that it 
 almost dazzled him. This was the Southern moonlight 
 that is as bright as day. And slowly, languidly, thrill- 
 ing as the chill water crept up from instep to knee 
 and from knee to thigh, Evelyn waded into his bath 
 and stooped down in it till the wave was over his head 
 and all the world was for him a narrow moonshot 
 pool, a rippling gloom veined and glossed with silver, 
 drenching his hair, fingering his eyelids, taking his 
 breath, feeling him all over like the fluid arms of some 
 Ovidian nymph. 
 
 Then with hair still dark and wet Evelyn returned to 
 the inn, threw down a rug on the parlour floor, fetched
 
 330 GLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 a sheet and a pillow, and went to bed in his usual way. 
 But he could not sleep. It was hot in the house. He 
 would rather have lain down out of doors, but dared 
 not, in case Dent should want anything in the night. 
 He lay quiet in a ray of the moon, his eyes wide open, 
 the events of the last seven days flitting before him like 
 the painted sequence of a dream; Dent going down 
 between hot cistus bushes into Eia: Sophy, moth- 
 white in the dusky parlour: Meredith meekly hand- 
 ing over Kitty's portrait and at that point Evelyn 
 began to laugh, burying his head in his arms not to 
 be overheard: had ever the tables been more neatly 
 turned? They were his guests. How Meredith must 
 be chafing! But for bare decency he could not go to 
 Perpignan while Evelyn was tied to fivol. He was 
 Evelyn's guest and had to do as he was bid even 
 to the extent of handing over Kitty's portrait ! 
 
 Dent too ! Evelyn's shoulders were still sore from 
 his encounter with Dent, but after saving Dent's 
 life he could afford to remember it without bitterness. 
 Even apart from that most Christian and consolatory 
 vengeance, he felt fairly satisfied with his own be- 
 haviour. He had not winced under punishment; he 
 had borne it as well as it could be borne, after the 
 rules laid down for his order. It was not his fault 
 if Dent was too strong for him. Poor George ! he had 
 suffered worse than Evelyn, for his righteous indigna- 
 tion had burnt out into grey ashes of discomfort and 
 remorse, whereas Evelyn had nothing to be ashamed 
 of. 
 
 And so he lay still thinking fast in the moving moon- 
 light : at first incoherently, scene after scene shaping 
 itself before his mind's eye without his own will, but
 
 GLAIR DE LUNE 331 
 
 afterwards in terms of greater precision, when he 
 came to analyse not thoughts only but sensations too. 
 As the heat of the house began to supersede the fresh 
 chill of his bath, he became aware of his own body, 
 drawn like a violin-string taut from head to foot with 
 potential energy, and tuned to what? To the meas- 
 ure of a dance that kept time and tune with the danc- 
 ing rhythm of the universe. Every man to his trade : 
 the athlete in such hours, Greek, Roman, or English, 
 sees himself hurling a discus, or bending a bow, or 
 kicking a goal : Evelyn phrased the sense of power in 
 terms of music. He was an instrument on which im- 
 mortal airs could be played : no he was both instru- 
 ment and agent, the violin and the hand that held it. 
 And still the tension was drawn ever keener and 
 keener till a cry trembled on his lips. . . . But what 
 on earth was there to set a man's blood on fire in the 
 grave, dark inn of Evol standing solitary under that 
 rain of moonlight? He glanced at the watch on his 
 wrist. It was after midnight. No doubt the others 
 had gone to sleep long ago; and why not Evelyn? 
 As well bid the first violin sleep while the orchestra 
 sways to the rhythm of his bow ! Evelyn was violin 
 and orchestra too. 
 
 He lay quiet : clasped his arms behind his head and 
 forced himself to lie perfectly quiet, staring up at 
 the whitewashed ceiling blackened by charcoal smoke 
 and striped by heavy rafters. His moonray had 
 shifted round and was falling slant across his throat 
 and shoulders, leaving his eyes in gloom. An immense 
 moth had strayed in and was fluttering about now 
 high, now low, its faint shadow following it. And 
 still those waves of sensation, too sweet for pain, too
 
 332 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 restless for pleasure, came thrilling over his limbs: 
 waves of power, of energy, of vital force, like an in- 
 coming tide that slowly washed up over him from his 
 feet to his head. In his nervous, strained boyhood he 
 had never felt anything like them, unless it were on 
 those nights of glamour when he had slipped out of 
 Temple Evelyn to lie on the grass of the Roman Road. 
 
 But on the Roman Road he had been happy be- 
 cause he was alone : and so too at Evol, under those 
 fields of blue air where the hawk and the vulture 
 wheeled and fell, or the moon rained down her clear 
 light. Now however he was no longer alone, and yet 
 he was happy. 
 
 Yes, and happier than ever, and stronger, and more 
 fully alive : and what was so strange was that the in- 
 truders overhead went far to make him so ! Dent in 
 bed in borrowed pyjamas, Meredith gloomily trussing 
 his fowl, he had the whip hand of both of them he 
 was captain and they were crew. So far as other men 
 were concerned, Evelyn felt that he was at last getting 
 into right relations with the world : a man's large free- 
 dom of give and take, sure of his own footing and 
 therefore indifferent to the pressure of other lives. 
 
 And then there was Clair de Lune boxed up in the 
 biscuit tin ! Never before had Evelyn laid his work by 
 when he was in the thick of it without a miserable 
 ache of fear. Suppose one's imagination ran dry? 
 The mood of every artist in his fits of despondence 
 "I shall never paint another stroke," "I shall never 
 write another line," had been Evelyn's normal frame 
 of mind. Joyous hours of inspiration had come as a 
 caprice of good luck, on butterfly wings. Never had 
 he felt sure of himself beyond the morrow. Delays
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 333 
 
 and hindrances had been magnified from a trifling 
 vexation into torture by this secret nervous dread. 
 It was an absurd fear to be cherished by a man like 
 Evelyn, a musician born and bred, who had been found 
 at two years of age squatting on a fender stool ab- 
 sorbed in the tune played by the nursery kettle, and 
 gravely trying in his infant treble to fit it with an ob- 
 bligato: but it was a real fear all the same, and a 
 dangerous, for, in the inevitable interaction of nerve 
 and brain, it had often produced the paralysis it 
 threatened. Now however, taking account with his 
 own soul, Evelyn swore that he would finish Clair de 
 Lune if he lived, to-morrow if not to-day, next year if 
 not this year ! he had in time the courage for it, and 
 the craftsmanship, and the judgment, and above all 
 the great creative vision that feeds the springs of art. 
 
 And when it was done he would go on to better 
 work, to work more solid and strong and lasting: to 
 the Passion of which he had talked to Sophy, or an 
 Arab Symphony whose spacious barbaric curves had 
 long run in his head, or perhaps the Requiem, 191^ 
 over which his undermind had brooded even while 
 H. E. and rifle-fire were deafening him with their in- 
 fernal duet : never mind whether he could get it pro- 
 duced or no or whether critics and compeers praised 
 or blamed, done it should be from the only motive 
 that ought to count with an artist because power 
 and vision and will are fused in one force which drives 
 to its outlet in creation. . . . 
 
 But what on earth was to be done with Eitty? 
 
 Kitty, his wife, who was prepared to give herself 
 to Meredith ! Evelyn drew a long sigh and turned 
 over, clenching his hands till their knuckles whitened
 
 334 CLAIE DE LUNE 
 
 in the moonlight. "Hang it, she's my wife," he re- 
 flected with a laugh under his breath. "She has been 
 my wife. . . ." And suddenly he found himself re- 
 calling certain moments of their married life in a 
 brooding heat of memory which beggared sensation. 
 Out of those hours of dalliance he had always emerged 
 unhappy, restless, and profoundly ashamed, but he 
 felt no shame now and no conflict, for in this fresh 
 strength that had come on him all dissensions were 
 reconciled: and latent far down in him he felt the 
 forces of life moving towards their end, which was to 
 beget life : blind and slow forces, but inexorable, and 
 no more willing to satisfy themselves through purely 
 intellectual pleasures, than is a tree in April to put 
 forth flowers and no leaves. They moved towards wife 
 and child : and they were irresistible because the force 
 of all the world went with them. 
 
 But they were blind forces. In regard to Meredith, 
 and Dent, and Clair de Lune, Evelyn knew where he 
 stood and what he was doing: but he was far from 
 having mastered these old, dim, latent, and universal 
 instincts, which carried him along like a leaf on the 
 rhythm of the world. In his married life he had 
 never known his way, nor did he know it now. 
 
 His view of his duty to his wife was purely external. 
 He never had thought it out for himself. In the 
 Hunting Tower he had found out that she loved him. 
 A secondhand code of chivalry indicated marriage, 
 and he married her : only to tangle himself in a net- 
 work of delicate evasions and hypocrisies, because he 
 did not like being married to her. As soon as she 
 gave him an excuse he ran away from her. His precip- 
 itate blind flight to 6vol had at least the merit of its
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 335 
 
 spontaneity! It was perhaps the one perfectly sin- 
 cere thing Evelyn had done in all his dealings with 
 Kitty. But he had not been able to keep on the same 
 level ; when he found that Meredith desired Kitty he 
 had relapsed into the conventional attitude. No man 
 can be called by a more odious name than that of the 
 complaisant husband, and it should never be applied 
 to him. Beyond that point he had not gone. He had 
 never asked himself whether he deserved to hold Kitty, 
 or whether in the end an irregular readjustment might 
 not be, for them all, the best way out. No man should^ 
 call him a complaisant husband ! And so he had de- 
 fied and mated Meredith and had taken Kitty's por- 
 trait from him and by the by what had he done with 
 that portrait? 
 
 He had slipped it into the breast of his shirt, partly 
 because that seemed to be the proper thing to do and 
 partly because he had no jacket on and it was too 
 large to go into the pockets of his flannel trousers. 
 When he came back with his bucket of water and 
 turned in to light his Primus and boil a kettle for sup- 
 per, it had got in his way and the sharp edges of 
 cardboard had pricked him, and he had taken it out 
 and put it now where had he put it? Evelyn's happy 
 smile became sheepish and sickly when it dawned on 
 him that he had left his wife's portrait inside the tin 
 of Quaker Oats! By the code of eternal Aphrodite, 
 it had better have been left inside Meredith's waist- 
 coat. 
 
 And yet no, for it was Kitty's portrait, and Kitty 
 was his wife : he had never loved her, and apparently 
 she had ended by not loving him, but no other man 
 had ever known her as he knew her: touch her who
 
 336 CLAIB DE LUNE 
 
 dare! "She has slept in my arms," he said under 
 his breath, and frowning he turned over again to face 
 the moonlight. The house was deathly quiet. Indoors 
 he could hear no sound but the ticking of his watch, 
 and the louder whirr of Monsieur Blanc's brass- 
 weighted pendulum, and a dry rustle of moth-wings 
 among rafters, and the beating of his own heart, loud- 
 est of all. "And, by heaven, she shall be my wife 
 again." 
 
 . . . and then there was Sophy: once Meredith's 
 sweetheart by her own confession, since then the light 
 o' love of many men, now, if he cared to take her, his 
 own. How loud the beating of his heart sounded in the 
 midnight quiet ! He touched it and found it throbbing 
 like a hammer. How strange ! He debated this phe- 
 nomenon as well as he could for the cobwebs that still 
 clouded his brain, and supposed that he was at last 
 beginning to feel as other men felt towards these 
 women who gave so much and asked so little. He 
 had heard the taunt, if it was a taunt, that Sophy 
 had flung at Meredith "If it was you I should have 
 been yours, shouldn't I?" This then was where he fell 
 short of other men. Moving blindfold, Evelyn 
 travelled by Heaven knows what bypaths of instinct 
 diverted by tradition, when he should have followed 
 his instincts alone; they had led him right for Mere- 
 dith and for Clair de Lune, but for Sophy as for his 
 wife they failed him or he deserted them. For here 
 it was harder to find his way so many thousands of 
 other men had trodden the wrong road before him. 
 
 And still the wild surge of life continued to stream 
 through him in ever-mounting strength, and still un- 
 disciplined. The low parlour lit by one moon-ray had
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 337 
 
 grown too dark and hot for him, and the flutter, flutter 
 of the moth irritated him. Evelyn flung off his sheet 
 and stood up. The moth had settled on the ledge 
 of the piano and sat there slowly folding its drowsy 
 vans : a happy night-wanderer, the freaked wings thick 
 in bloom. As soon as he tried to seize it and put it 
 through the window, it rose again and fluttered a few 
 inches away, out of his reach. Its aimless activity 
 and silly fear provoked Evelyn. He took a swift step 
 forward and caught and crushed it in his hand. He 
 had never done such a thing before in his life. He 
 opened his palm and looked down at the small wreck 
 of plumage. Dead! no more flutterings: the rich 
 wings were a mere smudge on his fingers. He shook 
 it off and opened the parlour door. 
 
 All the house was hushed now but for the murmur 
 of brooks and runnels that encompassed it. Bare- 
 foot, he went to the foot of the staircase. The door 
 of Dent's room was shut ; it had been agreed that he 
 no longer needed Sophy's ministrations. Treading 
 softly, Evelyn listened at the keyhole. He could dis- 
 tinguish Dent's regular breathing, but no sound from 
 Meredith. Evelyn shrugged his shoulders : if Meredith 
 were awake what would it signify? He did not realise 
 that in his excitement he was more reckless than Mere- 
 dith would have been in his place, just as Meredith, 
 though he did not care for animals or pity them, would 
 scarcely have crushed the moth in his bare hand. Eve- 
 lyn tried the opposite door. It was not locked. He 
 opened it noiselessly and went in without knocking. 
 
 The room, his own room, was bathed in moonlight 
 and on his bed under the open window Sophy lay 
 asleep. She had pulled the sheet half over her head
 
 338 CLAIE DE LUNE 
 
 and nothing much of her was visible except two long 
 brown plaits thrown back on her pillow and her thick 
 brown eyebrows and the tip of her nose. Alone in 
 the house with three men one of whom she loved while 
 another had been her lover, she slept as placidly as 
 an infant. Evelyn shut the door behind him without 
 a sound and stood watching her. What had he come 
 to find? Not this tranquillity of innocence. Her life 
 had written no mark on her, so far: even her lips, 
 which quickly betray the sensual nature by their droop 
 of fatigue, were as firmly and as delicately set as the 
 lips of his wife. There was nothing of the moth in 
 Sophy. A tinge of sadness darkened that strong little 
 face, but not a tinge of fear. 
 
 Evelyn stood watching her so long that the moon- 
 light perceptibly shifted its pale quadrangle on the 
 floor. Shadow invaded Sophy's silken head. She 
 slept sound, tired after her broken nights. The roar 
 of the torrent in the valley-bottom came in through 
 the open window like the washing of waves of moon- 
 light made vocal, blown by the wind. 
 
 A chime struck in the parlour : Un deux trois 
 quatre, and then on a deeper tone, Un : Deux. It was 
 two o'clock in the morning. Before long the moon 
 would be down in the western valley, and the roses of 
 dawn would begin to blossom out of blue air. Evelyn 
 raised his head with a start and looked round him as 
 if he scarcely knew what he was doing, or had dreamed 
 of doing. But he was in Sophy's room and Sophy 
 was at his mercy. She loved him now as she had loved 
 Meredith at Fontainebleau, and would love other men, 
 perhaps, in the future: poor Sophy, destined to ad- 
 ventures! He had come to prove his manhood. . . .
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 339 
 
 Sophy stirred and turned on her pillow, giving a little 
 sigh like a tired dog. "I love you for being good" 
 Evelyn had not forgotten that cry, which had put him 
 to shame even when he deserved it, and if he ceased to 
 deserve it what sort of memory would it come to be? 
 It was the cry of an essentially innocent heart. . . . 
 Evelyn drew back with a reflective smile. Not by 
 trampling down a flower that had just begun to lift up 
 its head would he prove his manhood. 
 
 Noiseless he had entered Sophy's room, noiseless 
 he left it; but in a sleeping house those who cannot 
 sleep feel the vibration of movement even when it 
 makes no sound, and as he closed Sophy's door Mere- 
 dith came out of Dent's room. They met face to face on 
 the narrow landing. It was not dawn yet and there 
 was no light but a glimmer from Meredith's north 
 window. He stood still blocking the way to the stairs 
 with his broad shoulders and handsome, coldly amused 
 face. 
 
 "I have my evidence now and I shall use it, Evelyn. 
 I shall not scruple to let your wife and Dent know 
 that I found you coming out of Sophy's room." 
 
 "Hush," said Evelyn under his breath, "she was 
 very tired she is asleep." 
 
 "What's the matter?" Dent called through the open 
 doorway. He had heard their voices and had raised 
 himself on his pillow to follow Meredith's movements 
 with the anxious strained eyes of the sick man un- 
 used to helplessness. "Is anything wrong?" 
 
 "Now, how careless you are, Meredith !" said Eve- 
 lyn reproachfully. He brushed past Meredith and 
 went up to Dent. "Nothing at all, old fellow. Mere- 
 dith heard me moving about and came out to see if
 
 340 CLAIB DE LUNE 
 
 he could make himself useful, but he couldn't. You 
 lie still or you'll send your temperature up again, and 
 the more you do that the longer it'll be before we 
 can ship you back to Perpignan." He smiled at Mere- 
 dith, who found some difficulty in containing his 
 anger. But Evelyn had the whip hand of him there 
 was Dent's temperature to be considered ! "And you 
 must be dying to get back to Perpignan," Evelyn con- 
 tinued, smiling into Dent's eyes, "think of Kitty left 
 there all alone ! So now you go to sleep." 
 
 ''What's the matter with you?" Dent asked, con- 
 tentedly leaning his head on Evelyn's arm while Eve- 
 lyn turned his hot pillow and patted it into shape: 
 "you look as wide awake as though it were the middle 
 of the day instead of the middle of the night !" 
 
 "All Meredith's fault, it was him you heard not me. 
 Get back to bed, Edmund, and if you hear any more 
 noises don't prowl round : this is my house not yours 
 and I always sleep with one ear open : you go to 
 the Land of Nod and stay there." He gave Meredith 
 a little push with the tips of his fingers towards the 
 opposite alcove. 
 
 Meredith was white with passion. Evelyn in the 
 imperative mood was an Evelyn whom he would 
 have liked to shoot ! But one cannot shoot one's host 
 or even throw him downstairs, and he had to stand 
 by inactive while the delinquent, still broadly smil- 
 ing, walked out of the room. Whither? Not back to 
 his own hard bed on the parlour floor. 
 
 Dent was asleep again in five minutes, but for Mere- 
 dith no more sleep was to be had that night. Through- 
 out the chill still hours before dawn he lay listening 
 to noises downstairs, small hushed sounds, such a
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 341 
 
 stir of movement as a brownie might make over his 
 nocturnal tasks : once or twice the kitchen door opened 
 and he heard steps in the yard : he racked his brains 
 to guess what Evelyn was doing, but in vain. There 
 was at all events no footfall on the landing, no fresh 
 opening of Sophy's door. 
 
 After the sun was up all noises ceased, and then 
 Meredith fell asleep. He woke late or rather was 
 awakened by a knocking. The room was flooded 
 with misty blue daylight, the north window framed 
 a square of sky "dark with excess of light" and a 
 grey peak sungilt over a garland of haze. Meredith 
 sprang out of bed, glanced at Dent who was yawning 
 and rubbing his eyes, and called out "Come in," ex- 
 pecting Evelyn with Dent's breakfast. But no one 
 came in. 
 
 "It's me Sophy. Are you up?" 
 
 "Yes, but not dressed. I overslept. I'll be down 
 in ten minutes. Is Evelyn there?" 
 
 "I can't find him anywhere!" 
 
 "What!" said Meredith, flinging open the door. 
 
 "There's water in the bucket, and faggots piled 
 by the fireplace, and the eggs and all put ready for 
 me to cook breakfast, but I can't find Eve, and the 
 parlour door's unlocked. He seems to have gone." 
 
 "Gone where?" 
 
 "How on earth should I know?" Sophy resentfully 
 demanded. "I'm not his nursemaid, am I? Yon 
 always expect me to know everything!" 
 
 "You saw him last." 
 
 "I didn't! You came up after I did. You were 
 out smoking on the terrasse till nearly eleven o'clock, 
 for I heard you come up, and jolly cross I felt, with
 
 342 CLAIK DE LUNE 
 
 poor Mr. Dent not able to go to sleep till you were 
 in bed ! / never went downstairs again after supper." 
 
 "Sophy," said Meredith, dropping his hands on her 
 shoulders, "you saw him last !" 
 
 "I didn't, Edmund!" She raised her hazel eyes, 
 wells of truth, clear and dauntless, not a shade of 
 any feeling in them but bewilderment and irrita- 
 tion, and, as his grip tightened, a twinge of actual 
 pain. "The last thing I said to him was goodnight 
 from the top of the stairs, and you hadn't come up 
 then. Besides if I had it doesn't follow he'd have 
 told me where he was going to, does it? I'm not his 
 wife! What are you doing?" Involuntarily Mere- 
 dith had clenched his strong hands on her as if he 
 would have wrung the truth out of her by force. But 
 when had Sophy told him a lie? She was transpar- 
 ently honest and he knew it and could have struck 
 her for it. 
 
 "Don't, Edmund! You hurt!" 
 
 "Drop it Meredith. It isn't Miss Sophy's fault if 
 Eve's stolen a march on us." 
 
 Meredith released Sophy and turned round. Dent 
 was sitting up in bed, propped on one arm. His good- 
 humoured red-brown face was quite grave but his 
 eyes were dancing. "What's the odds he's gone off 
 to Perpignan?" he said, innocently turning them from 
 Meredith to Sophy and back to Meredith again. "He's 
 such a considerate chap is Eve, and he knows Kitty 
 will be worrying. Yes, that's it, I'd lay any odds; 
 I thought something was up from his manner when he 
 came in here last night. Yes, he did say he was too 
 busy to go, didn't he? but Eve says a lot of things 
 he never means to stick to. I thought he was working
 
 CLAIE DE LUNE 343 
 
 up in that direction, these last few days. And a good 
 job too! I dare say you've heard, Miss Sophy, that 
 he's had a bit of a tiff with my sister. But it'll soon 
 come right when once they're face to face; outsiders 
 never ought to shove their oar in between husband and 
 wife."
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 KITTY was not of an impatient temper, but in 
 those hot summer days after the storm she 
 rapidly came to hate Perpignan as she had 
 never hated any spot before. Not that she was anx- 
 ious about George : at the outset a long telegram told 
 her precisely what had happened, and every day later 
 she received a bulletin describing the condition of the 
 invalid and the progress of the roadmending gang. 
 He would be with her probably in a fortnight at most. 
 Still a fortnight is a long time to wait in Kitty's 
 state of helpless uncertainty. She would have liked 
 to go to vol but dared not ; if one roof had sheltered 
 her and Evelyn and Meredith, the situation would 
 have become too delicate ! She was not even sure who 
 wrote her telegrams, for they were colourless and 
 unsigned, and referred to Dent and Meredith and Eve- 
 lyn all in the third person, as if the writer were some 
 being from a higher sphere: she suspected Evelyn's 
 hand, because they could not come from Dent, and 
 this odd trick of sending them unsigned was more like 
 Evelyn than Meredith: her own style was equally 
 colourless, and she too put no signature, because she 
 could not sign herself "Kitty" to Meredith, nor "Kitty 
 Evelyn" to Evelyn. They irritated her beyond words. 
 But on the seventh day, when evening drew on 
 without bringing her any telegram at all, irritating 
 or no, Kitty felt so restless and harassed that she 
 could have wept. It had been hot in Perpignan 
 
 344
 
 GLAIR DE LUNE 345 
 
 brutally hot. Into the lowland township the sun 
 beat like a fierce enemy come to assault it and take 
 it by storm. Dust drifted inches deep in alley and 
 square, paint blistered on the green sunshutters, and 
 the leaves even of the sycomores flagged and faded. 
 To walk in the streets was to have one's eyes dazzled 
 and one's cheeks scorched by the glow reflected from 
 house walls shining in ivory or honey-colour or the red 
 of desert sand. Most of the population, including 
 Kitty, stayed within doors till six o'clock. Not till 
 the sun began to creep downhill, and the savagery 
 of his gold stare to abate, and the tramontane to blow 
 in puffs of balm, did they come out into the air; and 
 even then they only moved slowly from one patch of 
 shadow to another, fanning themselves with little 
 paper fans or sipping iced drinks at caf6 tables, the 
 women putting back their long black veils and the 
 men lighting cigarettes to keep away flies. 
 
 Kitty, English from head to heel in her grey chiffon 
 dress and grey slippers, went no further than the 
 flowery patio of her inn. Her little waiter, amiable 
 and absurd with his little snub nose and red moustache 
 turning up at the tips, knew what she wanted and 
 brought it in a twinkling : a plate of biscuits and her 
 own spirit kettle, on which it pleased her to boil water 
 and make her own tea. The process amused Jules, who 
 hovered round her obviously taking notes. He had 
 already confided to her, between courses at table 
 d'hote, that his ambition was to make the voyage to 
 London, where one sees life and puts by money. Kitty, 
 like many another respectable and conscientious 
 Englishwoman, had smuggled a pound of the best 
 Souchong through the customs. She had not paid
 
 346 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 duty on it because she had feared that the Revenue 
 officers might succumb to temptation and impound 
 it. This illegal act sat light on her spirits, and 
 Dent, though he threatened to denounce her, had 
 vastly enjoyed what he called a decent English cup of 
 tea, while Meredith had admired the calm determi- 
 nation with which Mrs. Evelyn, when it did not suit 
 her to conform to French fashions, made herself com- 
 fortable in her own way. 
 
 She had just put two spoonfuls into the pot when 
 Jules, who had drifted indoors, drifted out again 
 all smiles : "A gentleman to see Madame." Jules was 
 truly sorry for Madame, whose Mayblossom complex- 
 ion charmed his eyes accustomed to the brunette skins 
 of the South. All the hotel indeed was sorry for her 
 it was so triste for her to be left alone, since at her 
 age it was impossible for her to go about by herself. 
 Kitty started, almost imperceptibly: the hand that 
 held the teaspoon was checked for one moment . . . 
 only for one moment, while she looked up at Jules 
 with the smile of the woman accustomed to bewitch 
 men, even the Jules of a French inn. It was not one 
 of the Messieurs who had gone to fevol? Alas! no 
 Jules, desolated at not being able to produce the right 
 person, raised his hands and let them fall again, palms 
 out. It was a Monsieur not very tall, but (hopefully) 
 fair, fair like a Frenchman of the north, and had the 
 eyes gay and the manner lively and agreeable. Would 
 Jules then have the kindness to produce this Mon- 
 sieur? Jules flew. 
 
 And Kitty finished making the tea. She had enough 
 presence of mind to put in an extra spoonful and
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 347 
 
 fill the pot to the brim. Evelyn always took three 
 cups. 
 
 A moment later Jules held up the myriad strings of 
 glass beads that formed a twinkling portiere, and 
 Evelyn emerged. Before he reached her Kitty had 
 framed a series of vivid and fresh impressions of him 
 that he was burnt brown like a gipsy, that he was 
 looking extraordinarily handsome and daredevil, and 
 that for once he was not at all nervous and she would 
 not have to wear out her own slender stock of com- 
 posure in setting him at ease. Evelyn, was for him, 
 unusually point device. Like his wife he was in light 
 clothes : a linen coat, a white shirt with a turn-down 
 collar, white string-soled shoes of the country, and 
 the prettiest of the ties that he "wore to Ria," pale 
 green and loosely knotted after the fashion of a French 
 student. His costume in short was a trifle foreign 
 and more than a trifle picturesque, but it suited him, 
 and Kitty, though she knew exactly what Meredith 
 would have thought of it, was incapable of criticism, 
 when he came up to her taking off his hat and smiling 
 with what she allowed herself to call the Devil's own 
 impudence into her astonished eyes. 
 
 "Kitty, how nice it is to see you again, and how 
 charmingly er cool you look! Are you going to 
 offer me an English cup of tea?" 
 
 "Three," said Kitty, giving him her hand. "Thank 
 you, Jules." Jules had returned with a second deck 
 chair, and Evelyn dropped into it and crossed his legs. 
 "How is George?" 
 
 "Ever so much better fit to travel in a day or two. 
 His temperature was practically normal last night.
 
 348 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 I do hope you haven't been anxious! You had our 
 wires every day?" 
 
 "I did have wires every day: yours, I suppose, 
 weren't they?" 
 
 "You recognised the signature?" Evelyn enquired 
 with a wide grin. 
 
 "I didn't think Mr. Meredith would have been such 
 a schoolboy." 
 
 "What jolly biscuits! May I have all the sugar 
 ones? You never did like them, and I don't get 
 gateaux at 6vol. It's the most God-forsaken spot you 
 ever saw in all your born days : two miles from a house, 
 and that's only what they call a metairie, a farm and 
 out-buildings, and ten from the railway. I live 
 on milk and eggs and sardines and the spoils of the 
 chase. I've been looking forward all day to my dinner 
 to-night." 
 
 "Where are you staying?" 
 
 "Here so I hope they feed you well. I want eight 
 courses." 
 
 "Have you engaged a room? I thought the hotel 
 was full," said Kitty, stirring her tea. 
 
 "So it is : I've bagged Meredith's," was the cheerful 
 reply, "so that I can use his things. I settled to before 
 I came off. No, I didn't ask Meredith, I simply set- 
 tled in my own mind. It saved a lot of trouble, be- 
 cause with ten miles to cover you want to march light. 
 I haven't brought anything except a toothbrush." 
 Kitty went on stirring her tea. She felt helpless and 
 weak and incredibly resigned, like a swimmer in the 
 last stages of drowning. "I can't help wondering," 
 Evelyn pursued his easy flow, "how George will get
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 349 
 
 on without me. Meredith doesn't shine as a house- 
 maid. I've had a tremendous job breaking him in. I 
 never even tried to coach him up in the more domestic 
 duties. What I did feel "was that if I made the beds, 
 and did the sweeping and the scrubbing and the dust- 
 ing, the least he could do was to not only shoot rabbits 
 for us and catch fish but skin 'em and gut 'em as well. 
 Oh, I assure you he's learnt a lot since he's been at 
 Evol! He can truss a hen now in a most scientific 
 manner. But he still doesn't love doing it : he chafes." 
 
 "I don't believe it!" said Kitty flatly. 
 
 "You wait and see. I had to stand over him at first 
 but now he can be trusted by himself. But he can't 
 cook Sophy and I had to do that between us." 
 
 "Who is Sophy the bonne?" 
 
 "No." Evelyn set down his cup and drew in his legs. 
 "I'm glad you ask, because it shows that Meredith 
 hasn't written to you yet. I didn't think he would, 
 but with Meredith one can't always be sure. Sophy is 
 Sophy Carter, the pretty girl who used to live over 
 us in Chelsea. Do you remember her? you used to 
 say you liked the look of her." 
 
 Kitty's wide eyelids drooped. "I remember very 
 well." 
 
 "She has been staying with me for a few days. We 
 were alone in the house the first night," Evelyn pur- 
 sued with easy emphasis. "She was not there when 
 George first came over to look me up, but I found 
 her waiting for me when I got back from seeing him 
 off at Ria. Sophy's standards aren't conventional. 
 She is a very old friend of mine and I'm very fond of 
 her, but her life hasn't been irreproachable, and that
 
 350 CLAIE DE LUNE 
 
 was one reason why I never took you up to see her in 
 Chelsea. The other was that I was too sorry for my- 
 self to be sorry for other people. It was bad and 
 ungrateful behaviour, and I owe Sophy an apology for 
 it, for I've since found out that she felt it a good deal. 
 Women in her position are naturally sensitive. But 
 now I want you to know her. She's been trying hard 
 to keep straight, but her loneliness has made it very 
 difficult, because when a woman is as lovely as Sophy 
 there's always a man waiting on her doorstep, and 
 she's tempted to let him in if it were only to scare 
 away ghosts. If you would be kind to her, go and 
 see her now and then and let her come and see us, it 
 would make all the difference. And you will, won't 
 you? I've arranged for you to go back with me to 
 ifevol to-morrow " 
 
 "You've done what?" Kitty cried, starting from 
 her chair. 
 
 "Be calm," Evelyn retained his own, "there's noth- 
 ing to be frightened at ! The road is open for traffic 
 to-day, and I hunted up a market cart, one of those 
 jolly little gigs with canvas hoods, to meet the train 
 from Perpignan in the morning. The four-wheelers 
 are the very deuce, but the two-wheelers don't joggle 
 much. Did you think I was going to walk you ten 
 miles uphill on those little velvet paws? Oh no! 
 oh no! The domain when you get there is small, I 
 own, and you won't be too comfortable, but there are 
 four rooms, so we shall shake down somehow T , and 
 you won't mind crowded quarters for once, will you? 
 It's topping country and I still have a lot of sardines. 
 We can have it for a picnic ; that's a word that covers 
 a multitude of I was going to say fleas, but there
 
 CLAIK DE LUNE 351 
 
 aren't any now. It took me three months to get rid 
 of them but I did it in the end. Unless Meredith 
 imported any." 
 
 "Are you seriously under the impression that I'm 
 coming with you to Evol to-morrow morning?" 
 
 "Can't you see George counting the hours? He 
 simply hates your being left to fend for yourself in a 
 French pub. I left a note for him in the Quaker Oats 
 tin. Meredith will find it when he goes to make the 
 porridge. It's the one thing he can do in the cookery 
 line so he jolly well has to do it. Because of course 
 shooting rabbits or netting trout isn't a fair equiva- 
 lent for washing up dishes and emptying slops, but 
 he is so very unhandy, we had to let him off lightly." 
 
 "Are you quite mad?" Kitty asked helplessly. 
 
 "I expect Meredith is a lot madder," said Evelyn. 
 
 He sat back in his chair sipping his tea and chuck- 
 ling softly to himself. Kitty's one overpowering sen- 
 sation was wonder. She felt quite dazed and could 
 have cried with bewilderment and distress. But Eve- 
 lyn looked up, caught her eye, and smiled at her with 
 such unmixed devilry that she found herself laugh- 
 ing instead. "I'm fed up with Meredith," he ex- 
 plained, lowering his voice to a confidential whisper. 
 "He's a perfect nuisance. No good whatever on a 
 desert island. You know, Kitty, I can quite under- 
 stand your wanting to run away with some one else 
 after I ran away from you. It would have been a 
 quid pro quo not to say a Tertium Quid pro quo. 
 But it does defeat me why you should pitch on Mere- 
 dith. For a journey of adventure one needs a thor- 
 oughly reliable umbrella. If you had consulted me I 
 could have recommended you half a dozen better men,
 
 352 CLAIB DE LUNE 
 
 a choix. There's Dimmie now : why not try Dimmie? 
 He's water-tight. I'm afraid you would find Meredith 
 let in a lot of rain." 
 
 "Do you want some more tea," said Kitty : "idiot?" 
 
 "Two cups please. First one and then the other, 
 not hoth together. By the by, there's just one question 
 Fm going to ask you, and it's the only one I shall 
 ever ask : did you give Meredith your photograph?" 
 
 "I certainly should have if he had asked me for one, 
 but he never did. How many lumps do you take 
 now?" 
 
 "Three. Thank you : yes, a lot of rain." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 Evelyn shook his head. "Don't be curious ; curiosity 
 is a failing of your sex from which you used to be 
 conspicuously free. And talking of women that's a 
 very pretty dress. I've always been so grateful to 
 you for not wearing open dresses in the heat of the 
 sun. Consequently you can afford to do it in the eve- 
 ning. I hate a red V, but your throat is as white as 
 milk." Kitty's hand was trembling as she gave him 
 his cup; she could not control it though she knew he 
 was watching her. "It's a long time since I've seen an 
 English lady except you and Sophy, and Sophy at this 
 moment I trust you won't be shocked! is wearing 
 a suit of my own. She came off without any luggage, 
 got wet through the night of the storm, and has been 
 held up ever since. I must say she looks awfully 
 pretty in flannels. I can't take my eyes off her, and I 
 often catch Meredith watching her too. I should never 
 be surprised if Meredith ended by marrying her. It's 
 exactly the sort of thing these cautious, cold-blooded 
 chaps do drift into doing at forty or thereabouts;
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 353 
 
 and it mightn't turn out badly, for he's a kind-hearted 
 fellow so long as he gets his own way, and Sophy 
 would ask nothing better than to warm his slippers 
 and lick his boots. That reminds me, I had better 
 extricate one of her trunks from Kia and we can take 
 it up in our gig. I hope it won't involve assaulting 
 the chef de gare, for I haven't her bulletin, I came 
 off in such a hurry ; but luckily he's a personal friend 
 of mine so I dare say I can square him. If I can't 
 you shall go and smile at him and he will instantly 
 succumb." 
 
 "I am not going to Evol with you!" 
 
 "Oh, you couldn't disappoint George ! If it weren't 
 for that I'd rather have waited another day or two my- 
 self, for the road is most awfully rough, but it's quite 
 safe, and he's bored to death, poor old chap. He pines 
 for his Telegraph. I hadn't even a pack of Patience 
 cards to keep him quiet. We might get some in the 
 town. And there are one or two other things I should 
 like, to make him more comfortable; only there won't 
 be much room in the cart but you won't want to 
 bring more than a suitcase, will you? 6vol won't 
 run to a dressing room: so you can share my 
 brushes." 
 
 "What has happened to you?" said Kitty. She 
 leaned back in her chair and gazed at him from head 
 to foot as if he were strange to her. And so in fact 
 he seemed: the pert Charles Evelyn who sat facing 
 her, his teacup precariously balanced on his knee, 
 was not the exhausted man whose languid courtesy 
 had cut her to the heart in Chelsea, but a new, an 
 original Charles Evelyn, with more than his share of 
 original sin. "What have you done to yourself?
 
 354 CLAIR DE LUNE 
 
 You're so changed I don't know you., I feel all at 
 sea." 
 
 "Say in haven." 
 
 "In haven?" Kitty repeated stupidly. "What haven? 
 Oh!" She began to blush. "No, Eve, no you 
 mustn't think it's only to ask and have. You know 
 why I left you, though I never told George or Ed- 
 mund. I kept your secret. But you know it was for 
 no light reason." 
 
 "My darling, I haven't the faintest idea!" 
 
 "Were you so blind? Yes, I see you were." She 
 stood up and moved away, and Evelyn followed her. 
 At one end of the patio there was a mossy tank fringed 
 with ferns, among which a fountain danced ceaselessly 
 like a thin silver nymph in a bath of stone; and round 
 it the lauriers roses with their shiny dark leaves and 
 pink paper flowers had grown into a dense thicket, 
 while overhead the spire of a magnolia sprang up into 
 the blue evening sky, one creamy blossom as large as 
 a waterlily glowing like a point of flame in the slant 
 of an accidental sunray. Here in the protecting 
 shadow of the lauriers roses, her voice, always low, 
 overflowed by the murmur of the fountain, Kitty 
 turned round to Evelyn. 
 
 "I left you because, in plain English, you didn't 
 want me you shrank from me. You liked me and 
 we were friends, but underneath all your kindness 
 and courtesy you were like ice, you couldn't bear me 
 near you. Perhaps I was the wrong woman for you, 
 but I don't think it was that, or not only that. The 
 incapacity was in you, not in me. I think you ought 
 never to have married. Now I've hurt you." Evelyn 
 was very pale.
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 355 
 
 "I am so sorry, Eve," Kitty murmured. "I didn't 
 want to hurt you. But you hurt me, and now you 
 want to begin all over again. Oh ! how you made me 
 suffer ! I don't say this to reproach you, because it was 
 no fault of yours ; it was mine for ever marrying you, 
 when I knew you didn't love me. But I did I did 
 suffer, and I couldn't endure to suffer like that again. 
 Oh ! that night, that last night in Chelsea," she pressed 
 her hands together with the gesture that comes nat- 
 urally to one who is either enduring or recalling great 
 pain, "that's not one of the experiences that can be 
 forgotten in a minute, directly you want to whistle 
 me back to heel. You made me feel such shame then ; 
 if you had treated me as men treat women they don't 
 respect, I couldn't have felt more abased and rolled 
 in the dust. No, it was nothing overt, nothing done 
 or said! you were always deadly polite: I'd rather 
 have been beaten " 
 
 "Like me." 
 
 "Like?" 
 
 "George gave me a beating," Evelyn explained. 
 "We had a fight and I got the worst of it. You're not 
 the only one that's been rolled in the dust. Dearest, 
 why nurse this rankling grudge? I don't. I've entirely 
 forgiven George, and I think he knows better now : he 
 hasn't apologised, but I catch him eyeing me wistfully, 
 as if it worried him to reflect that he hasn't always 
 acted up to the ideal of the feudal retainer." 
 
 "Are you serious?" 
 
 "O Lord yes ! it was the most dramatic incident you 
 ever saw. But that's all past and done with, we're the 
 best of friends again now, and I only mention it to 
 show you that you can't have all the tears to yourself.
 
 356 CLAIE DE LUNE 
 
 I suffered too, like the cook in Candide. But why 
 harp on bygone sorrows? They give me no pleasure. 
 It's the future I'm interested in. What should you 
 say to keeping on the inn at 6vol? Then when England 
 gets too much for me (not Chelsea I shall never live 
 in town again. You don't mind, do you?) I could slip 
 across and take a rest cure. It's an ideal spot for 
 making music. I've rewritten three quarters of Clair 
 de Lune, by the by, since I've been there, and it ought 
 to be finished before the autumn. It's quite good 
 much better than when you heard it in town. But 
 I shall be glad when it's done, I want to get on to 
 new work, something more solid and intellectual, 
 I've got the hang of it in my head, and if there's a 
 decent piano here I'll play you some of the themes/ 
 after dinner. Unless you would rather wait till we 
 get to fivol? I've got a full concert grand up there, 
 a ripping instrument, you'll love it." 
 "I am not I am not coming with you to 6vol !" 
 "Yes, you are," said Evelyn, taking her in his arms. 
 "You are you are coming with me to 6vol." He 
 kissed her. "Kitty, I've been a devil to you. I know 
 that : I knew it at the time, only I couldn't help my- 
 self. I ought not to have married you then. But 
 I'm going to marry you now, and you must forgive me 
 for love's own sake and not because I deserve it. I 
 can't even say I'm sorry. How can I, when I don't 
 even now understand what was wrong? What on 
 earth's the good of asking what's happened to me? 
 How should I know? I only know you're safe with me 
 and I shall never hurt you in that way again. In 
 other ways, yes, perhaps, for I'm a careless ass and 
 for my life I can't keep accounts. I still owe Blanc
 
 CLAIR DE LUNE 357 
 
 seven hundred francs on the price of the furniture. 
 But you must make the best job of me you can. You 
 can't give me the chuck at this time of day when 
 you've belonged to me ever since you wore a bib. Let 
 you go to Meredith? I will see Meredith shot first. 
 I'm a better man than Meredith. Come, you're mine, 
 aren't you?" Kitty was silent. 
 
 Later that evening, when Meredith had faded to 
 a shadow in Kitty's half compassionate, half scorn- 
 ful remembrance, she felt Evelyn start as if some 
 thorn of memory had pricked him, and subdue a sigh. 
 "What's the matter?" Kitty asked, touching his hand. 
 Evelyn drew it away. "Eve, what is it?" said his wife, 
 rallying her courage to bear the suffocating throb of 
 her heart, while all the anguish of her early married 
 life came flooding back over her like a winter sea. 
 Did he shrink from her still? 
 
 "It isn't clean." 
 
 Kitty arched her eyebrows. "I should recommend 
 washing it. That is a trouble that doesn't seem worth 
 sighing over. I can lend you some soap if you haven't 
 any." 
 
 "It won't come clean with soap." 
 
 "My poor child, what is wrong?" 
 
 "I told you." 
 
 This time light dawned and Kitty laughed a little 
 tender laugh, veiling infinite relief and happiness 
 under mockery. "Are you fretting over that unfor- 
 tunate moth? It would have died soon anyway; 
 moths never live very long." 
 
 "Kitty, you mean to be consoling, I know, but the 
 form of consolation isn't worthy of you. If it comes
 
 358 CLAIB DE LUNE 
 
 to that, what are we all but moths? and we none of 
 us live very long. Yet we go on hoping that no hand 
 may shut on us and crush us. ... No, it was cruel : 
 and I hate cruelty." 
 
 "Was it cruel?" Kitty said, reluctantly conceding 
 his point. "Perhaps." She drew him to her. "But he 
 comforted : you never will do it again." 
 
 "And after all it's the way I should like to die my- 
 self," he raised his face to feel the night wind cool on 
 it and to listen to the nightingales in the patio and 
 the sharp cry of a hunting bat: "one moment your 
 aims and all this world of music, and after that the 
 dark." 
 
 THE END
 
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